Jessica found Eight and Angelo on the shallow wooden steps outside the Chief's hut, sitting indecently close, alternately kissing and snickering like a pair of schoolboys. Both had stripped down to shirts and trousers - Empycchu at night was far more tolerable than during the day, but still too warm for their usual layers of clothing, and Jessica was frankly grateful neither had died of heat stroke on the way here - and even at this distance, she could smell the powerful fruit wine the Chief had introduced them to over dinner.
"I thought," she said, pitching her voice low because even this late, Empycchu wasn't completely asleep, "that we'd decided it would be best not to get blind drunk the night before we go looking for the godbird?"
"We aren't drunk," Angelo said.
To his credit, he didn't sound drunk, but then, he never did. Eight, on the other hand, had started giggling, which meant they were likely going to have to carry him inside.
"Then what is going on out here?" she asked, sitting on the step beside Angelo. "More importantly, why wasn't I invited?"
"You weren't invited because this wasn't planned. We just wanted to get an idea of where we'll be going tomorrow before the sun set," Angelo said; his hand curved against her thigh, warm through her skirts. "And then the Chief's son joined us," another burst of giggles from Eight made him pause, "and was, well," the decorated hide bag at his feet sloshed when he hefted it, "most hospitable."
"Show her," Eight whispered, shoving a covered basket in her direction.
"Ah, yes." Angelo leaned forward with a wicked smile, lifting the lid and reaching inside. "In addition to sharing Empycchu's mastery of the vintner's art, he favored us with some of the local produce."
The item he withdrew from the basket was a surprisingly vivid yellow, even in the torchlight, and easily stretched the length of his hand despite the gentle curve of its shape. "That is positively obscene," Jessica observed.
"It is a bit...suggestive," Angelo agreed. He gave the stem end a gentle twist and tug, and the yellow outer skin peeled back to reveal a creamy interior that was, if possible, even worse. "Want a bite?"
"I think not," she said. He shrugged and slipped the end between his lips...and no wonder he and Eight had been too preoccupied to come inside and sleep, if Angelo was going to make that sort of production out of eating a piece of fruit. He made it difficult to remember they had an important task ahead of them, and nearly impossible to maintain her disapproval.
Eight let out a strangled cough. "It's supposed to, umm..."
"Increase appetite and stamina," Angelo finished for him.
"Yes, and I can see where you'd both have cause for concern in those areas."
"Really?" Angelo leaned back on his elbows and looked at Eight. "Does that sound like a challenge to you, my friend?"
Eight nodded thoughtfully, then forced Jessica to revise her estimate of how drunk he was when he leaned over Angelo and deftly captured her mouth. The spice of the local wine was overlaid with a creamy sweetness she assumed was the fruit, and Jessica eagerly explored the taste.
She felt them shift, felt Eight press a bit harder against her, knew without looking that Angelo had slipped out from under him. It was no surprise a moment later, when Angelo settled on her other side and cupped her breast; it was a surprise when his fingers pushed her low neckline down further, circling lightly over her nipple before he lifted her breast to his lips.
She broke the kiss with a gasp. "Angelo, we can't. Not here."
"Nobody's close enough to see," Eight said softly. He propped himself on one elbow, free hand toying with her blouse as if considering whether to follow Angelo's lead, while Angelo ignored her half-hearted protest, sucking and biting gently, one of his hands working its way up under her skirt, until her covered nipple strained against the thin fabric and her thigh muscles twitched and tightened in anticipation.
Need built low in her belly, an aching reminder that it had been nearly a fortnight since they'd had the luxury of being clean and fed and rested.
"When this is over," she said, shifting against the low, curved edge of the step behind her, "we are going someplace decadent and enjoying ourselves in a proper bed."
Angelo raised his head. "The Baccarat hotel?"
"I think she meant someplace we'd actually have a chance of seeing you," Eight said, tugging the ribbon from Angelo's hair.
"You'd see me. I have to sleep sometime."
Jessica tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head back down. "We'd best see you more than that."
He laughed; his breath felt cold against her damp flesh. "I'm not a fool," he murmured; his fingers brushed the juncture of her thigh and body, tantalizingly close to where she wanted him. "You ought to know that by now."
"What I know is..." she began, then the words were lost in a low moan of pleasure as he caught her nipple again and moved his hand just there.
"Here." Eight's voice pulled her back to herself, made her open her eyes. He was holding Angelo's half-eaten piece of fruit. "You really should try it."
It was soft, yielding, when he nudged it against her lips, as sweet as the taste she'd stolen from his mouth had promised. She crushed it between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, savoring the flavor even as the feel of it made her long for something else.
Eight leaned down, licking at her bottom lip, and she untangled her fingers from Angelo's hair to stroke the back of Eight's neck. "Want you," she whispered against his mouth.
He smiled, kissed his way down her throat, nuzzled against Angelo's hair and said something she didn't need to hear. With a gentle bite, Angelo released her breast; for a moment she was bereft of both of them, then Eight was kneeling on the step, straddling her hips, his unlaced trousers at just the right height for her to slide his erection free, and Angelo was kissing along the path he'd earlier traced with his fingers, wriggling inside her skirts rather than lifting them, his hands now warm on her hips as Eight's were warm on her shoulders.
She wrapped her hands around Eight's cock, let her tongue trace a slow, meandering trail from base to tip until the skin was slick. The foreskin had drawn back just enough to reveal a hint of the head, damp and glistening in the flickering light; she flicked her tongue out to taste, bitter-salt, felt his hands tighten and heard his breath catch. She teased him again, then eased the soft, protective skin back, circled the exposed head once, twice, and drew him into her mouth.
His blood throbbed just beneath the skin, echoing the pulsebeat between her legs. She pinned him gently against the roof of her mouth with firm, sure strokes of her tongue, then released him, drew him deeper, mouth and hands working in tandem to caress his entire length. He was digging into her shoulders, now, forcing himself steady, and Angelo's fingers were inside her, his thumb rubbing little circles that sent waves of pleasure through her.
She moaned, slid one hand back to Eight's balls, massaging, while the other tightened around the base of his cock, moving rougher, faster. He was breathing hard, each exhalation shuddering out of him; she scraped her nails lightly over his balls, felt them draw up, then he was pulsing in her mouth, an almost inaudible sound escaping his throat.
He leaned on her heavily when he was done, head bowed, shaking; she tucked him away and ran her hands soothingly up his back. After a few moments he moved, curling beside her on the step, his arms around her and his mouth seeking hers when she relaxed into the embrace. He cupped her breast, sword calluses scraping lightly across the skin, and she let her head fall back, focusing on the rising waves of pleasure.
She shifted her hips, and Angelo seemed to take that as a signal, replacing his fingers with his mouth. Jessica gasped, bit back a cry as sensation redoubled and crashed through her. It was nearly too much, too fast; she clutched at Eight, nails digging through his shirt and into skin. His hand stopped moving and he just held her, and for an eternity his arms and Angelo's hands on her hips were the only things binding her to the earth.
"You okay?" Eight asked against her hair.
Jessica was still in the process of remembering how to breathe and move and form words when Angelo said, "I think she's more than okay."
He sounded so insufferably smug that she forced her eyes open to glare at him. He was, at least, moving gingerly as he shifted back onto the steps beside them, and she shook off her lassitude and sat up, catching his hands when he fumbled at the fastenings of his trousers. "Do you think I'm going to make you take care of yourself after that?"
"The thought's appreciated, Jess, but," he grimaced, shifting uncomfortably as her hands hovered over his confined erection, "I doubt I need much taking care of."
"Hush," she said, and Eight obligingly silenced him with a kiss. "And no touching."
Jessica eased Angelo's trousers open, then reached for the last of the fruit and crushed it between her fingers, painting it on him with long, slow strokes that made his cock twitch and his breath escape in a low groan. Eight caught her hand when she was done, sucked each of her fingers clean, and Angelo's hands clenched into fists.
"Please," he begged. "If you've any mercy..."
"Since you asked so nicely." Jessica leaned over, deliberately letting her breasts rub against his fruit-slick cock, pushed his shirt up and kissed his stomach, smiled as the muscles jerked and tightened against her lips. Another deliberate rub as she moved back, then she braced her hands on his hips and began to remove the fruit with catlike licks, ignoring his protesting Jessica and the little whine that followed. She wasn't going to be able to draw this out as long as she'd like, judging from his ragged breathing and irregular jerks against her hold, so after a single pass from base to tip she took him in her mouth.
The fruit changed the taste of him, and her tongue worked against his skin eagerly, intrigued by the differences. If she could...but no, he was surging upward, her name on his lips, and she had to turn her attention to swallowing as his cock jerked and emptied itself.
One of the hands Angelo had so obediently kept on the ground came up now, stroked her cheek and down the side of her neck to her shoulder, tugged her up until she lay between the two men.
"We should go inside," she said quietly.
"Probably." Angelo's right hand covered hers, where it rested on her stomach.
"Soon," Eight agreed, and didn't move.
Together, they watched the slow paths of the moon and stars and listened to the village grow silent.
Written for 50_Smutlets. Prompt Set 1 - #21 - Banana
