The Festival of Shooting Stars [MF] [fantasy] [plot] [wholesome] [public] [long]

The three young men talking over their beers were merchants, foreigners from far away. You could obviously tell it by their looks, their clothes, and their accents – but also, by the excitement in their voices.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve heard the stories, right, but you know the stories you hear in port towns…”

“All made up—”

“Yeah, yeah. So I was hoping that what I’ll see here will live up to a tenth of the hype, that would already be something… but no, this whole festival is really pretty much as they say!”

Their talk was loud enough to carry over the sunny inside of the inn. Two tables over Iden, his hand on a flagon of pear cider (blissfully cold thanks to those heroic blocks of ice that persisted in their straw-filled cellar even now in the dead of summer), smiled in an unexpected little surge of pride.

Kontaria tended to make a very deep impression on anyone who visited. It was a fairly small country, and at a glance an unassuming one – a mess of lakes and ancient woodland by a cool sea, dotted with villages and pasturelands, no stone cities or castles or anything impressive like that. Yet even so, it did have its definite claims to fame.

In the kingdoms of the plains, the Kontarians were known for their horses and horsemanship. No passable stable could be really complete without one or two Kontarian purebreds. In the coastal towns, the Kontarians were known for their small swift ships, as far-going merchants and, at times, pirates. Don’t ever actually say the “pirate” part out loud near a Kontarian, though – or you risk receiving a pained look and a three-hour lecture on the practical, philosophical, and moral distinctions between piracy and buccaneering.

But everywhere, inland or by the sea, the Kontarians also had a reputation for another thing.

Often respectable youths from respectable places in respectable kingdoms would, over the course of their respectable education, acquire a vague sense that Kontaria was not very respectable. Yet if they ever asked their respectable tutors what, exactly, was the reason for that, the answer was almost always something cryptic like “they have a loose approach to some things where strictness is well advised,” followed by a swift and firm change of subject.

“S’good?” The serving girl appeared beside Iden and pointed to his drink.

“As always, Besje.”

“Okay. But now you need to down it and get out.”

He turned to her with a crooked smile. “Kicking me out already?”

She leaned down to him, and indicated a group of three young women chatting by the main entrance. She then spoke in a quiet, conspirational voice. “That black-haired gal by the door is looking for some luck this year. She’s just going to ask the first guy to leave the inn. So get moving, you loafer.”

Iden glanced sideways, and his eyes lit up. “Yeah, I thought this might be the case.” He finished the drink. “How do I look?”

Besje inspected him critically. His tawny hair was getting in his face with all the appropriate level of artful carelessness. His eyes were looking at her with their usual lively clarity.

“Smile wider,” she said. He obliged her. She scowled. “Winsome as fuck,” she declared. “You’re good to go.”

He discreetly raised his fist. “Thanks, Besje. You’re a good person.”

The serving girl bumped the offered fist, took away the flagon, and returned behind the bar. Iden glanced at the black-haired girl, who made a point to glance everywhere except at him.

Looking for some luck, then.

Let down by their tight-lipped tutors, some respectable youths from respectable places in respectable kingdoms would resort to books, and there they would sometimes find some more concrete hints. Let us see, for example, what Tobias Aquafresca, that godly man, that great teacher of faith, had to say on Kontaria:

>*“…and therefore guard yourselves from temptation, and seek out with your heart the gods, lest ye become base, like flocks of the field or beasts of the woods; heed the warning of Old Gebrans, who through their own intemperance are become nothing; wary ye, lest ye become like the savages of Contarya, who, at the starfalls of summer, permit themselves be seduced by evil, and who live proud of their own infamy!”*

There was that season in late summer when meteor showers were particularly abundant. Many peoples marked it with some celebration or other. But none of them quite compared to the Kontarian Festival of Shooting Stars.

The Festival lasted one week, and was an excuse for the Kontarians to engage in all their favourite things – dancing, drunken parades, and draping every building, rock, tree, bush or animal in sight with colourful flags. But the thing that made it really stand out was one particular folk tradition – a popular belief that caught on among the Kontarian women.

This tradition maintained that any gal who managed to sleep with seven different people over the seven festival days would be blessed with good luck for the entire following year.

How do folk traditions start? Probably as bets. It’s hard to tell how seriously did people take the luck part – but the naturally adventurous Kontarians did like a good challenge. A great many fine daughters of the land made a point to test out this luck thing at least once. And because the naturally helpful Kontarians liked to see others succeed, they usually found in their quest plenty of enthusiastic assistance, from friends and strangers alike.

In short, this festival time was overwhelmingly well-liked. Today, it was Day Three.

Iden got up and casually headed for the exit. From the corner of his eye he saw an animated discussion suddenly break out among the group at the door. As he was passing them he slowed down a little, and suppressed a grin as the girl with the black hair lurched sideways and stepped right in his path.

“Hi!” she said, bared her teeth sheepishly, and brushed her hair away from her face. She was slim, had a pretty face, and wore a long black shirt that, together with her hair, made her look paler than she actually was – and there was a whimsical sparkle in her grey eyes that Iden instantly found adorable.

“Hello,” he replied. There was a playful encouragement in his voice, an assurance that he knew exactly what she was about to ask, and that he was going to accept.

This was, so far, a very efficient conversation.

“So, um. I’m doing this festival thing this year, you know, with sleeping with seven people, and I asked to want you…” she chortled, took a breath, and went again, slowly: “and I wanted to ask you if you’d maybe like to hook up?”

He gave her a bright smile. “Yeah. Sure!”

“Yeah?” Her eyes darted to her friends, then back to him, and the giggling fit that she had been trying to hold down now broke out. “Okay, cool,” she managed. Her friends, one short, one tall, were observing all this with an air of studied coolness.

Iden took a step towards her and clasped his hands behind his back. “You’re not from the village, right? Where are you staying?”

The girl straightened up. “Oh, we’re not staying. We’re from Olssi, across the lake.”

“We’re ferrying back at sundown,” one of her friends interjected.

“Ah.” Crap. Iden himself was an apprentice coppersmith, and roomed with two other apprentices above Enar the Coppersmith’s workshop; and the old man had decided to take advantage of the work lulling during the festival to replace his main furnace, which meant a lot of noise and stench, and made the place completely unfit for any luck-related activities.

“Hey, Besje!” The serving girl looked at him. “Got any spare rooms upstairs?”

“All taken. It’s the Festival, silly!”

The black-haired girl now looked mildly concerned. There weren’t supposed to be complications after she’d mustered up her courage. But Iden’s cheerful temper wouldn’t waver. “It’s okay, we’ll ask at other inns. We’ll figure something out.”

The girl smiled and turned to her friends. “Okay, so let’s meet at the pier at sundown? I’ll go and figure something out with…” she trailed off.

“Iden.”

“With Iden. I’m Ran, by the way!” She jutted out her hand.

“Ran. Nice to meet you!” he shook her hand. It was warm, and he thought he could almost feel with his fingers the jittery eagerness that seemed to animate Ran’s whole person. A hint of pleasure puffed up in his stomach. He had a feeling that they were going to have a lot of fun together.

The heat of the summer afternoon descended upon them as they stepped outside. This village, deep in the woods by the lakeside, was actually the largest in all of Kontaria, and its main thoroughfare was full of people, noisy with talk and laughter. A lot of them had festive clothes on, of fine colourful linen. Some carried flags, carnival masks, and lanterns – in preparation for the parade that would at twilight set out for the ritual field. Street food vendors filled the air with thin smoke, scented with roasted meats, chestnuts, and honey cakes. Over the din, on the porch of the long hall across the street a young boy was beating out a quick rhythm on a hand drum, and one of the village’s bards was chanting out a song. Some obscure one, though – if he tried to sing something popular, there was a very real danger that the entire street would join him in an elaborate musical number, and that would be just ridiculous.

Iden nodded and turned right, downwards toward the lake. Ran followed him into the crowd, and almost bumped into the side of a horse passing through. She caught up with her newly-made friend and walked by his side, not entirely sure how much distance she should keep.

“There’s so many people,” she said.

He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back. “Half of western Kontaria is here for the festival.” From a bird’s eye’s view, the land was little more than a vast, primeval forest. From the ground level, you soon realized that you were rarely far from other humans – homesteads, huts and lodges, connected by a vast network of trails, could be found huddled at almost every hillside. When all this forest folk got together – which the gregarious Kontarians often did – they could make a surprisingly great crowd.

“Think we’ll find a free bed anywhere?”

“Some guesthouse has to have at least a free mattress. If not… well, there’s the shrine, if you’re into that…”

“The shrine?”

“Yeah. The shrine of the Shimmering Ones.”

“Oh.” She stumbled a little.

The Shimmering Ones were a tribe of spirits, the ones that people believed fed on pleasure. On their altars, you were supposed to offer pleasure. The easiest way to do it was of course a rigorous session of good old ritual sex.

“There’s not much privacy at the shrine though, is there?” she said, carefully.

That much was true – once in the shrine, you weren’t supposed to conceal yourself from anyone else in there. Or the Shimmering Ones would think that you thought that you were doing something shameful and get offended, or something. “Yeah, it can get pretty intense. And there’s no way it’s empty now during the festival.” He noticed the hint of uneasiness from her, and beamed. “We don’t have to go there though. I mean, we can always just go into the woods and find a patch of soft moss.”

She nodded, and relaxed. They now reached another inn; together they elbowed their way out of the crowd, moved past two young men lounging by the door, and stepped inside.

In the dining hall past the entrance, a plump and reddish woman was scrubbing a table with considerable energy, soap bubbles whirling in the air around her. She took one glance at Ran and Iden, and immediately raised a finger.

“Sorry lovebirds, no free beds! Try down the road!”

“Well,” Iden smiled and pirouetted around, “to the next inn, then!”

“Had a free one even half an hour ago, I did. If you look around I’m sure you’ll find something.” Suddenly, she straightened up and took a stern expression. “But don’t even think about sneaking into my stable stalls! Or I’ll chase you both naked out into the street, I will! Already did twice today!” To emphasize her point, she whacked the table with her soapy rag, and laughed hugely.

Back outside Iden and Ran were about to exchange their views on that mildly terrifying encounter, but were cut off by a short redheaded girl, in her mid-twenties or so, who erupted out of the crowd in front of them and resolutely walked up to the two guys by the door.

“Hi, I’m Osk,” she said. “My festival tally’s at four, you guys want to make it six?”

The accosted pair paused. The one nearer to Osk, with curling dark hair and a short beard, was the first one to parse her greeting. “Like… both at once?” he asked. Osk shrugged.

“Sure, if you like.”

The two glanced at each other, looked at Osk, and gave corresponding shrugs. A moment later, all three disappeared together in the tumult of the street.

Ran looked on for a moment, and started laughing. “Some people, man,” she said, and brushed her hair from her eyes. “Some people just don’t give a fuck.”

Iden grinned. “Good for them, I guess.”

“Yeah. Must be nice, to just… freely go for what you want.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, and she welcomed this shortening of distance between them. She drew closer to him and they re-entered the street.

“You mean you don’t freely go for what you want?” He paused to shoulder his way around a very tall man in a ritual demon mask. “You went for me pretty smoothly.”

“I mean, I just like to overthink stuff sometimes.” Iden was about to reply, when he got a faceful of a bright yellow flag carried by another passer-by. “Know what, let’s take a side street, you can’t even talk here.”

Away from the main thoroughfare, the streets among the wooden buildings were narrow and pleasantly shadowy, filled with considerably less people, but with much more poultry. Iden clearly knew them all by heart; Ran could tell by the gentle downward slope that they were still going towards the lake.

“So, Ran. Ever done the festival before?”

She smiled and hesitated, but eventually did reply. “No, it’s the first time I’m going for the lucky seven thing.” She carefully sidestepped a chicken. “You know, I never thought I’d actually try.”

“No?”

“Yeah, because, you know. It’s easy to do when you live in a large place like this and actually have seven friends you can just ask.”

“Actually, I think that not that many people do.”

“Point is, I have two friends in my village that I’m comfortable asking. Which is my tally so far, two. I always knew that if I was ever going to do the festival, I’d have to travel to the large places and ask out strangers.”

“But this is the spirit of the festival, no? People get out of their homesteads and hamlets and meet other people, and hopefully fuck them, too.”

“Yeah but I just never pictured myself doing that, you know? Like, it was something that happened to other people?” They splayed themselves against a wall to make way for a man carrying a large bale of fragrant straw. “But this year I thought to myself, hey, wouldn’t it be interesting to at least try? So I’m here today, and tomorrow we’ll ride out to the coastal villages until the end of the festival, and… yeah, I’m…” she spread out her arms, “I’m doing this! I guess!” She laughed out again, and they moved on.

“See, you’re doing it right! That’s what’s it all about!”

“Thanks. I mean, I know I’m not super good at this whole pick-up thing, but…”

“But you are pretty good. I was charmed at once.”

“Yeah? Well.”

“Well yeah! You’re clearly fun to be around, and also you’re cute as hell, so, what else do you want?”

The horrifying reality of having received a compliment caused her to shake her head, hurry her steps, and speed a little ahead of him. “Aaah, stop.”

“But it’s true, though! You have tons of appeal about you. I mean, I can’t wait to see you naked!”

She chortled, then turned around to face him, suddenly thoughtful. He stopped.

“You can’t wait, can you?” He gave her a bright, honest smile. She looked behind him; the man with the straw was now some way off, and aside from him and one goose, they were now alone in the street.

Her eyes caught Iden’s again, and there was an unexpected, decisive glint to them. “Why didn’t you say so?” she asked, then caught the hem of her shirt and pulled it quickly up to her neck.

Iden’s mind was wiped clean. It suddenly registered only the sight immediately before him: a slim bared body, a pair of pert breasts, a sassy smile: a smile that she then tried to suppress and take on a serious, seductive expression, biting her lip and looking him deep in the eye. She leaned forward, grabbed at her breasts, she squeezed them, she yanked them up and then let them go, and they snapped back to their place with a spry little bounce. Iden’s fingers twitched.

All of sudden there was a sound close by. Ran dropped her shirt back down just as a woman with a hand cart, loaded with beer casks, rounded the corner and rolled straight towards them. Ran nearly doubled over giggling, hid her mouth behind her hand, and glanced back and forth between the cart and Iden. The woman gave her a confused look and rolled on.

Iden never took his eyes off Ran; some last vestige of situational awareness told him to make way for the cart, so he leaned against the wall, stiffly like a piece of wood.

“Come on,” Ran said, trying to calm herself. The cart disappeared behind another corner. “Let’s get to that inn.”

He took a deep breath. “I can’t walk. I’m so hard right now.” She immediately offered her hand, and beckoned with all her fingers.

“So whip it out, I’ll hold it for you.”

That giggling mess of a girl was impossible to endure any longer. With one long wobbly stride Iden reached her, grabbed her, put her up against the wall, and kissed her full on the mouth. If this was meant to release some of the pressure inside him, it failed; the taste of her lips, the scent of her hair, the jittering of her laughing body pressed against his, it only made him want her more urgently. He broke off, and exhaled heavily. Blood rushed to her face, and she was looking at him with intense, pupil-dilating hunger.

“Ran, I have half a mind to tear away your clothes and just take you here and now.” He inclined his head. “But I’m kind of afraid that that goose would bite me in the dick.”

“Honk.”

She laughed again – has she really stopped laughing ever since the cart appeared? “Is it far yet?”

The inn, mercifully, was by now close. It was similar to the others: the entrance lead to the dining hall, where around the tables two old men played dice and an old woman was busy embroidering. A man, about thirty, luxuriantly bearded and studiously gruff, was behind the bar on the opposite side of the room, and Iden went straight up to him.

“Aega! I know that you have a free bed for me!”

The man put down the clay pot he had been wiping and eyed Iden. Ran lagged behind, and stopped by the tables waiting for the end result.

“All taken, my man.”

“Aw, come on! You don’t have one tiny bed for your own cousin’s best friend!”

“It’s the festival! I would have nothing for the King of Harmen if he happened to stroll in.”

At the table, the old woman lay her handiwork down on her knees and looked up at Ran. “Enjoying the festival, hun?” she said.

“Yes. Thank you.” The woman smiled, the mesh of fine wrinkles in her skin deepening.

“You’re aiming for luck this year, I see,” she indicated Iden with a nod. “Tally looking good?”

Ran snorted lightly. “He’ll be my third, if we can find a place.”

Iden, meanwhile, was attempting to make his expression as agonized as possible. “So this is it? You refuse me in my hour of need?” The innkeeper smirked.

“Oh, it’s a fine day. Just take your need to a cove by the lake or something.”

There was nothing to be achieved here, and Iden’s hands were now distinctly tingling, questioning him why was it that they weren’t running down Ran’s body yet. He rolled his eyes and wagged his finger. “Fine. But I will not forget this!” He brushed his hand past Ran’s shoulder on his way out. “Come on, Ran, let’s just do this outdoors.”

The old woman calmly watched him as he went by. Then she looked back at Ran. “Three is good. Today is the third day of the festival, so you’re right on time. I have a feeling that you’re going to make it.”

Ran picked at her hair and gave a bashful grin. “Thank you. I’m trying.”

The woman beamed with world-worn benevolence. “I think I always made it if I had three at this point. Although this year is going even better.” She pointed at one of the men playing dice next to her. “After he loses, he’ll want consolation, and this is how I’ll get my fifth.”

“I am winning, woman!”

She raised her eyebrows and rubbed her forehead. “He’s playing uninterested for about the fiftieth straight year. Oh well.” She looked to the entrance, where Iden was holding the door and swaying from foot to foot. “Hun, you need to run along, or that poor boy is going to overheat.”

The clouds took on a creamy hue; above the village’s rooftops, the sun’s slanting rays caught the polished roof tiles of the Copper Hall, reflecting the light into Iden’s eyes. Evening was approaching.

Ran got to him and wrapped her arm around his waist, now completely at ease with him. This inn was one of the last buildings of the village, and in front of them the lake spread wide. The main street was taking a right turn towards the village’s small harbour. To the left, a lesser trail was leading off into the forest. They exchanged a quick eager look and started for the woods.

A sparse grove of ancient, massive pines grew on the village’s edge. The trees were overgrown with moss and decked out with a kaleidoscopic mayhem of flags and lanterns, and they covered the ground with a chequered shadow. Late summer grass, long, tawny, and heavy-headed, was rippling in the breeze. There was some unusual, peaceful feeling about this place. Ran noted that along the path small stone carvings of humans and animals were occasionally poking out of the grass, some clean and new, most very old covered in lichens. Then she noticed, surprised, that among the pines stood a large building, hexagonal and with a gently slanting double roof. She stopped.

“What is that?” she asked.

“That’s the shrine to the Shimmering Ones,” he answered. He took a few more steps forward before he noticed that she was no longer following.

The shrine’s timber walls were light grey in the gentle sunlight. It rested on a stone foundation which formed a narrow porch around it, a little unusual in the wood-built Kontaria. Large, latticed square windows took up much of each of its walls. A circle of rocks encircled it like a moat, tall grass and square stone censers rising up among them. The whole place, this entire grove, was at once neat and immaculate and wild and natural, combining all those things with an easy grace. On the porch were a number of people, mostly in couples, engaged in quiet conversation.

Iden was again at Ran’s side. He leaned down to her with a smile.

“Do you want to go in? We don’t have to do anything, we can just take a look and leave.”

“Would that be okay?” The corners of her mouth curled sideways. Her curiosity was definitely overtaking her apprehension.

“Sure. In there, you must only do what you feel like.” He placed his hand on her lower back. She glanced at him, and took a step forward.

They passed under a vermilion painted wooden arch. On a flat rock beyond it a shaman was sitting, not paying them much attention, feeding an egg to a copper-coloured snake resting around his shoulders. Between the arch and the shrine the trail was paved, with the same ancient and lichen-covered stone that the statues were made of. Three shallow steps were leading up to the entrance; a few glances flew their way from the porch, but nobody here paid them much attention, either. There was no door, just a curtain of heavy cloth. Beside it, some pairs of shoes were neatly propped up against the wall.

Ran and Iden joined theirs to the array, and stood barefoot on the warm stone. Ran paused. Iden shot her his best carefree glance, pulled the curtain to the side, and entered. Ran took a quick look around, hunched, and followed him in.

All of the shrine’s windows were covered with orange drapes, and the inside was bathed in orange light. This is the first thing you notice when you go in; the first things you sense are the delicate scent of incense and the snug heat, both arising from the broad stone bowl full of smouldering embers in the middle of the room – the shrine’s central flame. Above the bowl, the flat stone altar; on the wall above the altar, the gnarled spirit tree; under the walls, the people.

There were about a dozen of them, all in couples – except for a threesome huddled together opposite of the entrance. All were naked, their clothes either folded or discarded in heaps by them. By an unspoken agreement, they had all taken their places in the corners of the hexagon. All corners thus taken, by the same unspoken agreement it was up to Ran and Iden to do the next best thing and take their place in the middle of a wall; with each wall being about fifteen feet wide, this still left enough personal space to everyone to do with it as they pleased.

He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her gently, to a wall on their left. There he sat down and invited her to take her place in front of him, between his knees. She did so and rested with her back to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, rested his chin by her neck, and waited. Desire for her weighed down his breath, and his cock ached, eager and ready yet restrained by his clothes. But there was still a rigidness to her; though her adventurous side clearly got the best of her, she still felt out of place here, uncertain. She needed a little time to tame this site.

She knew the basic etiquette of a shrine like this – you were welcome to look, just not to stare. Each couple – or group – gathered here was focused deeply on itself, and was not to be disturbed, but there was a definitive sense of togetherness spilling out among all of them, a common sharing of their inner experience, eye contact made at surprising moments, sounds made for all to hear. Ran watched.

Thick hempen ropes were hanging in bends from the ceiling, and from them, of course, hung many-coloured flags – though in this light, they were all orange. Immediately to the right of the entrance, the couple in that corner were enjoying a slow and thorough make-out session, the girl splayed on top of her lover, her inner thighs slopped with his cum, his fingers dug in her short black hair. The two next to them were similarly engaged, the guy covering his girl’s breasts with hungry kisses; his hard cock made it clear that they, in turn, were in foreplay rather than in afterglow. If the festival was all about women ensuring their luck, then the two kissing boys across the room were clearly not here on festival business; but for balance, the two women on Ran’s left had worked at double the usual efficiency, and it looked like they now dozed off in each other’s arms, lulled by the shrine’s warm comfort. In another corner, a spectacularly freckled gal propped her man up against the wall, kneeled in front of him, and was now teasing him with kisses all around his stomach, as his cock was brushing unattended against her neck; the boy and the two girls nearby were chattering, quiet but animated, discussing something close together in their tiny community. Finally, there were the two people immediately to Ran’s right, and they were full in the act – the woman, a splendid Kontarian beauty, was on her knees and elbows, her cheek against the floor, her brown hair flowing on the smooth boards; the man’s lips were pressed to her neck, and his body to hers; the shaft of his cock glistened whenever he leaned back, slowly, on an outward thrust; their fitful moans carried around the shrine.

Ran felt a thin sheen of sweat form on her skin. The heat of this place, of coals and of summer and of humans, matched the heat that was within her, and they were both inviting her to take off her clothes, to set her body free. She shifted a little. The flat slab of the altar – on which you could climb if you *really* wanted to show yourself off – stood, peacefully, in the middle of the room. And on the wall opposite of the entrance, between the giggling trio and the girl who finally stopped teasing her lover and took him in her mouth – there, on the wall, was the wooden god.

It wasn’t a carved statue. It was a raw, twisted, tangled piece of an ancient oak, an oak that had been growing out of this soil for centuries, drinking deep from its water and soaking in its sun, until one day it finally collapsed under its own immenseness. In the coiling shadows of this wood, they said, you could sometimes glimpse an ever-changing face, face of a nameless shimmering spirit, a benevolent, overwhelming entity in whose domain they were now all guests. Ran looked on, and for a briefest moment she thought that she caught something looking back, in two black crevices in that hard, primal matter; and suddenly she felt encompassed, taken over by a reassuring force, and it was Iden’s arms around her shoulders, his legs around her hips, his cock throbbing against her back, his patient breath rising and falling, the scented air flowing through his chest.

“Iden…” she turned to him, and there was the unmistakable look in her grey eyes, the unmistakable curve to her smile, and her voice carried a hint of laughter and an excited urgency. “Iden, let’s do it here.”

Blood rushed through him, and his insides did a little jubilant leap. He returned her smile and kissed her. He ran his hand through her hair, and his fingers were lightly shaking, his whole body tingling with a pent-up sexual energy. On the altar, free for anyone’s use, were large, greyish sheets of pressed wideleaf[1], a soft, supple and absorbent material, ideal for spilling yourself over. He went to snatch one and promptly returned to her, spreading the sheet on the floor. She knelt up and looked around the shrine one more time, catching one or two gazes in the process. She tried to say something, but an agitated guffaw checked her throat. She grabbed her shirt with both hands, and yanked at it several times.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she managed finally, and took it off.

The black cloth was still around her eyes and wrists when she felt Iden grab her round the waist, push her firm against the wall, and press his lips to her skin. She freed herself from the shirt and sat still for a moment, her hands above her head, her hair everywhere in her sight, Iden’s impassioned kisses making their way down her breastbone.

Her chest had been on his mind ever since she’d flashed him in the street, and now finally he got to indulge in it. He grabbed at her right breast and squeezed it, just as she had done, and it yielded delightfully in his fingers, soft and firm and nimble. His lips sought out her left nipple, and he circled it with his tongue, licked the fresh, salty film of sweat off the pink skin; then he slipped it into his mouth and in turns sucked at it, kissed it, tasted it.

With a flick of her head she tossed her hair behind her, and moaned out loud. She instantly tried to quiet down, but Iden going at her with the full strength of his drive was far too enjoyable for her to control her breath, or to really care that much about anyone else. She sank her fingers deep in his hair, and her nipple hardened in his mouth. He felt her heartbeat race, felt her ribcage rapidly expand and, with a low hum in her throat, contract.

Then he felt her pull at his hair, lifting his head away. Her own excitement lent an unyielding force to her actions as she twisted around and pushed him against the wall in turn. She took his shirt and threw it off his body. She bit her lip and let air forcefully fly under her teeth as she went over his fine frame, her fingers fondly following the muscles of his shoulders, chest, and abdomen. But the sheer raw impatience was by now too strong to take it slow. She undid his belt buckle, grabbed at his trousers and underwear and pulled down, and his cock sprung up, enthusiastic to finally meet her.

She looked at its smooth curve, its strong shaft, its glans glistening with precum. Her mouth watered. Not even thinking anymore she dropped down on her elbows and licked the precum off, tasting his excitement, the sharp urgency of his want.

Now it was he that moaned out aloud. He looked down at her. Whatever plans he might have had for how to proceed, the situation had clearly slipped out of anyone’s control – there was nothing to be done here but to surrender to the overwhelming animal frenzy, to let things happen as they come. He bent over and from above, at an awkward angle, started peeling her own trousers off her. She let him go and shifted to help him out, and his hands were quick and decisive, and suddenly she found herself lying on her back, completely naked, and him completely naked above her, his hands planted on either side of her head, his hair lightly tickling her forehead.

He found enough self-control now to pause for a second, and he grinned at her. “Ran,” he said, in a quiet, low voice.

“Iden.” She returned his smile and threw her arms around his neck, and the eager invitation with which she said his name was irresistible. He adjusted himself, slid his glans across her inner lips, and then, with a single sleek thrust, he was all inside her, plunged right into her welcoming body. Her eyes unfocused a little, her jaw twitched, her elbow jerked, as if she was surprised to take all his length and girth at once so easily. A gaping urge within her was instantly quenched by a satisfying fullness. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and held tight onto him. She pulled his head down close, until their lips almost met, and looked deep into him. With a low groan he started thrusting, the sensation of her full and intense on his nerve tips. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the delight of feeling his body move, his abs sliding between her thighs, his chest against her breasts, his neck taut under her arms.

She kissed him deep, making him lose his rhythm. He returned it, and then felt her knee dig into his side. He yielded under this pressure, like a horse obeying his rider. Somehow, effortlessly, he ended up on his back and she on top, the kiss never interrupted. She broke off, straightened up, dug her fingers into his chest, and rode him, hard and fast, her voice at high pitch. He grabbed her waist and felt that lithe frame move, watched her breasts bounce and her skin glisten, watched her teasing mouth curl up and her eyes look down into his, that demon girl from Olssi. He gasped, sank his teeth into his lip, and slid his hands lower, until his thumbs met over the hood of her clit.

She slowed down, a little at first, and then all the way to a small sway, as he explored her there. He thought he got a good sense of her sweet spot when she dug her nails in him, swore loudly, and let out a heavy, moaning laughter, white teeth glittering under the black hair that again covered her face. There was another shift in their energy. He rose up, flipped her around, and pressed her, kneeling, with her face against the wall. He slightly parted her knees, wrapped one hand around her breast, reached for her clit with the other, and slid into her again, resting his chest on her back. Her nerves now completely ablaze, she was moaning loudly, needfully, occasionally weaving in his name or a shaky, earnest “fuck!” Large beads of sweat were forming on them, trickling down, blending together. Sleek and hot and wet all over, they slid against each other, skin on skin in full contact, their whole bodies now fully submerged in that tight rubbing motion with which humans come together. He leaned into her and thrust away, letting all the sensation of her unravelling person soak fully into him, and moaned in unison with her.

She arched her head back and caught the corner of his eye with hers.

“I’m gonna cum,” she announced, loudly, all others long forgotten. He grinned and kissed her on the side of her head.

“Yeah, come on, gorgeous!” he said, thrusting deep, his own approaching climax already spreading like a wild glow in his underbelly.

“I want to look at you… when I…” she gasped, and nudged his head with hers. “To the floor, come on…” She slipped from his grip and went with her back to the floorboards, pulling him behind her by the neck, and they ended up where they started, interwoven, he on top of her, cock thrusting, finger teasing, her hands grabbing his head and bringing it right before hers, where her eyes darted all over his face. He vaguely realized that his expression must have been one of a complete admiration of her – hers was certainly one of a complete admiration of him. Which meant that everything was in its right place – this was, after all, a place of worship.

Finally all her muscles shut tight around him, her eyebrows twisted, her mouth coiled open wide, and from it, from the depth of her, a prolonged, quivering outcry rose up. Her back arched, lifting his thighs up with surprising strength. Around his cock, she contracted, convulsed, clung close. Then she went limp, dropped to the floor, and looked at him with an incredulous smile; and this smile was the last thing he saw before a powerful orgasm forced his eyes shut, forced the air out of his lungs, forced his seed out of his body, launching it into her with all the strength of his contracting muscles.

For a long moment they just floated, clinging together, eyes closed, ecstasy sloshing around them incandescent, all language in their thoughts melted away. Then, slowly, Ran opened her eyes, and saw above her the wooden ceiling, orange and radiant. She remembered to register the outside world – its scents, its colours, and its sounds – a non-inconsiderable part of the latter she judged to be stifled laughter. She giggled herself, and covered her eyes with her forearm.

“Hey, Iden,” she whispered.

“Mm?” He emerged from his blissed-out fog and looked at her, with a happy sparkle in his eyes.

“I think I was kind of loud.”

He snorted, pushed her forearm away, and kissed her on the forehead. “Yeah, you completely owned this place. Good job.”

“Oh boy.”

“And now everyone here knows exactly how much fun you had.”

She bared her teeth and thwacked him on the arm. “You’re not helping, you jerk.”

He simply kissed her again, slid his fingers into her hair, and rested his face by hers. They lay still for several minutes, riding out the afterglow, mutually enjoying the feeling of their bodies calming down, drained of all energy.

*[continued below]*

[1] Common Kontarian Wideleaf, *Magnafolia cumragia.*

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/i5gtmb/the_festival_of_shooting_stars_mf_fantasy_plot