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There was a perfect, contorted, dead-sleep feeling in her muscles she was loathe to begin to shake. Chel hummed, low, and snuggled shamelessly tighter into the firm body beneath her, cradling her head upon the sternum, slinging her arms over the shoulders, and side-straddling the hips. New sunlight filtered through the canopy, its lulling radiation off her skin a placating lie before the humidity of day. She absentmindedly toed the earth, seeking the edges of a threadbare quilt which had blanketed them last night — and had likely been tossed soon after: she tended to flail. Soon, hers was a self-certain, if despised, wakefulness. The chittering, cawing jungle bore into her skull, a smug collaborator with her traitor mind. Against her basest wish for sleep, her eyes peeled open. Resigned to restlessness, she tried at lucidity. Propped up on her forearms, one in the earth alongside and the other on the chest of this bed-body.
Tulio, beneath her: out cold and stock-still. Naked in a grass-sparse clearing; no doubt the rumpled foilage had imprinted his back. Chel drunk him in. Smiled lazily at the slight parting of his lips; the wild, dark curls haloing his face; his splayed limbs, palms upturned. His chest barely rose with measured, silent breaths.
She could indulge herself, alone. Let her eyes and fingertips rove over his lean frame and angular features. Tracing, feather-light, the nail of her index finger down his elegant nose, she gently tapped the end. Then guided both hands down either side of his jawline, meeting to tip his chin for a moment, before gently raking her fingers back through his stubble, laying her thumbs to rest on the tops of his ears and her fingers to tangle in his hair. Gods, that hair.
Her smile widened, now unreserved and morning-shining.
He finally looked peaceful, without the knit in his brow, the anxious dart of his eyes, and the reflexive, quick grimace that marred his face in consciousness. While she admired his shrewd thinking, — his stratagems, she knew, more for her and Miguel's preservation than his own — it really did worry her how he worried. Tulio had come to mean so much to her so fast, and his mind had to account for at least some of that. How he treated her agency as a given; how he thrived off schemes and greed but all that sheltered a more elusive, tender, burnt-edges soul. In the temple that first night: the disbelieving question dying on his lips, supplanted by a spark of recognition of mischief, — of kinship — when he realized she had waltzed right over any design for a stylish, undetectable con on their part and wouldn't back away without a (meager) lifetime's sum of gold. He had assessed her then, terrified and taunted and smitten by the notion of a woman with whom he could mentally spar. That levelling, that respect, that 'do you dare?' in his gaze had arrested her. She fell, hard.
If he, or Miguel, ever asked why him, Chel would say she was bored and had never seen a man so scrawny. Not that he was the most adorable challenge she had ever encountered.
Now, she felt a fond compulsion to reach out and soothe his anxieties: to taste the addicting glow of pride when he relaxed under her touch or her words. Travelling back through the jungle, they'd come too close yet with jaguars, vipers, and Cortés' trail. Food was scarce. Plus, they were following Miguel's map 'of memory and heart', which, though lovely, was inconstant. Tulio seemed a sentient migraine in waking, anticipating capture or worse at every turn, and no way home to Spain.
She'd like to see it with him. If he'd permit: his favourite towns full of suckers, his old thinking spots; where he grew up, if it existed. She doubted he ever had much family or a single home for long, but there must have been someplace from which an even skinnier, pricklier kid-Tulio sprang. It was the kind of thing he would swallow tightly, cocky about how well he could resist her preferred method of espionage. He would tell her, if she demanded to know while his wrists were bound and she'd edged him twice and was smirking about it while licking everywhere but his cock. Oh, that would be altogether too much fun.
She wondered what Miguel might feel about their homecoming, whether there'd be any bitterness or regret. But then she imagined his eyes and smile, lit brighter from within than any torch, as he rushed Chel onto Spanish soil, chattering about a dozen different places and twice as many fond memories at once, stories crossing, leading her by the wrist as if it were just the matter of a decision and a brief jog to any of them. Miguel would carry the vague enchantment of El Dorado, transformed into a vitalizing spell by his hand, anywhere he went, imbuing everything with extra colour and far-off bells and truth.
Yes, she'd like to see them home. They needed that chance, at least.
Her head quarter-turned, despite her protest, to discover Miguel lying, face nearly smushed in the earth, by the banks of one of the river's more modest tributaries, which they'd stuck along for the past two days. Altivo curled next to him, ever-affectionate to his most reliable source of food. One hand and hoof each rested in the other's mane. They snored, half a beat from synchronicity. Chel chuckled softly.
The sweet babble of the water just beyond them absorbed her in conversation. Soon it gifted her a plan, neatly formed: she would bathe in this shallow section, with its ribbons of current cut between rocks and divots in the riverbed, before they moved on today. Maybe she could convince Tulio — who normally refused to enter the water more than was necessary for fear of leeches — to join her. She returned to face him, refocussing on combing her fingers through his hair.
A flash of an image overcame her: reclined, with his head in her half-submerged lap and his wet hair tickling at her crossed legs, Tulio smiled at her and let her wash it. She shut her eyes to crystallize the picture, frame the ecstatic blankness on his face. Almost embarrassed at her earnest wish it would come true. The sensuality of it tightened her chest and sent something like a swig of anise liqueur to her core.
Chel made a starved little grunt at the back of her throat and shifted to ghost her hands over Tulio's neck, collarbone, and shoulders, too slowly, before laying her palms on his chest. Pressed feather-light kisses to his forehead, nose, and lips in succession and nestled her head between his jaw and shoulder, squeezing her thighs together for entertainment. Her thoughts trained increasingly onto one track, well-tread in the past few weeks: Mess Around with Tulio.
Always, she delayed touching herself as long as was tenable, revelling in the torturous preparation of a vivid fantasy. Her imagination pinned and released various scenes like butterflies for study to a board: her writhing in Tulio's lap while his hands and mouth luxuriated her breasts; him taking her roughly from behind, near-screaming each other's names as if their salvation; his face buried between her legs, and she so wet and so close she rutted her hips right into him.
Her arousal mounted. She dragged her hands up her torso to massage her breasts, fluttering eyelids rendering the jungle around her a half-dark blur. Silent, so as not to disturb Tulio, and despite how loud she usually liked to be there was a thrill to the self-imposed edict. And to his body heat. Chel repurposed one hand, grazing the fingernails in swirls along his abdomen and pelvis, especially the jutting hip bone.
One of their first nights, snuggled back against him by a dying fire, he had wrapped his arms around her and kissed from temple to shoulder. As his kisses retraced the path, he broke to nip at her earlobe and murmured, breath hot, 'Mi reina, I'm yours now, you know. You can do whatever you like to me. You have my permission'. Chel was wise to him, suspicious of a ploy to encourage unsolicited blowjobs, — curse Tulio, vile manipulator — but she couldn't deny how hot she found it that he had entrusted himself to her. The recollection sent a shiver up her spine. Innumerable ways to exploit that permission crossed her mind…
Finally she angled her head down, breaking into a devilish smile. His cock was already half-hard in its thatch of black curls. Might he be dreaming? She returned to his face but it remained impassive. He struggled falling asleep but once he did, passed for dead. The light and his natural rhythms would wake him soon enough, but her prodding wouldn't hurt. She adjusted to relieve the strain in her arm, then reached for his cock. Sighing as she gave it a few longing pumps and he hardened.
Suddenly, a keening cry and rustling of leaves overhead. Chel shot up and retracted her hands as if from hot coals. Some birds unlike any in El Dorado, black wings glinting, streaked out from the treetops and across the sky, clearly combatants. The noise set her heart hammering, feeling immediately exposed, surveilled, embarrassed. After several deep breaths, she regained perspective. That was ridiculous. No one else was around.
She reclined against Tulio once again and scratched down his front back to his cock, teasing it. Her other hand grabbed at her own breasts, waist and ass before she delicately ran one finger, through her wrap, over her entrance. The heat palpable despite the fabric. She pressed the swell of her clit with the pad, far too lightly. If anything, that disruption, coupled with her self-withholding, heightened all her pleasure. Building pressure would prove its own reward, if her foresight was to be trusted. She'd enlist Tulio to unleash it all when he woke, and he'd have to match her wildness to oblige her.
Chel snaked down his body, pressing kisses, and came to to kneel between his legs. She bit her lip and stared at him through heavy-lidded eyes. So, so beautiful, and entirely at her mercy. Her hand squeezed deliberately up his length, pushing back the foreskin as her thumb spiralled over the tip. His face contorted slightly. Oh, she'd get to him.
She folded forward, kissing and nibbling all over his hips and thighs; only glacially did she narrow her radius of contact around his cock. His breath hitched, eyebrows furrowed when she licked an exploratory stripe up the underside of his shaft. That was better. She sucked the tip lightly, swiping over his frenulum, and pumping lazily from the base. It was yet unclear if he had woken. Taking more of him, she sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks. Drenched him in saliva, glided down the shaft, trying for his full length.
“Gah!” Tulio gasped. His legs snapped up before his heels thudded down. His hands flew to his face, patting for reality.
So, he was finally up. (Well, he had been up, now his head was matching.) He propped himself on his elbows and stared down at her, unfazed and half-smiling around his cock; she met his eye. Mouth hung open dumbly, pupils blown, his voice thick from disuse: “Gods, Chel. You scared me.”
“Mhmm. Is that a complaint?” She lay a particularly underhanded lick, right with the tip of her tongue, over his slit and down to the centre of his frenulum.
“No. No, mi amor. I complain not.” Nervous, rambling and reverent, praying she wouldn't stop. He reached to smooth a hand through her hair, tucking some behind her ear. “Please, by all means.”
She gave a few deep, demonstrative sucks that had him whining in his throat. Then came off his cock with a sensuous pop, kissed it, feather-light and final, and trailed those same kisses up his body, lavishing attention on his neck while settling in to straddle him.
“That's enough, don't you think? If only you knew what you missed while you were asleep." A complete lie, told smiling. "The rest, you won't get that easy.”
Her lips met his in a chaste kiss. His hands scrabbled at her back until he collapsed her against him, deepening the kiss to discover his taste stamped on her tongue. Fingers danced along her spine; his knowledge of this weakness battle-won and strategically deployed. Those dark curls, the culprit behind her arousal, beckoned her again and she tugged him closer by handfuls. They moaned into each other's mouths as she ground her hips into him, picking up a rolling rhythm.
It could have been hours later, when he bit her bottom lip, withdrawing from the kiss, and alternated gentle kisses and nips over her cheeks and jaw. Tugging at her earlobe, he exhaled hotly. Another weakness. Low and impressively collected for how turned on they were, he spoke right in her ear; impossible, then, that there should have been another sound on earth.
“I love how you woke me up. You looked so perfect, Chel, serving my cock like that. That deserves a reward, doesn't it?”
Tulio raised his hips as punctuation. Chel's head lolled back, features slackening. She was impossibly hot and slick, soaked through her wrap. He needed to rip it off her, now. But his mouth was back on her, enthralled by her neck while his fingers worked over her waist and nipples. Moans stifled any response. Glutton for punishment, he took advantage, mouth now nearly covering one peak.
“I won't touch you until you answer me, querida. Tell me, how do you want me to fuck you?” His breath ghosted over the nipple, then finally he began to suckle.
Waiting for that, him clenched around her nipple, had killed her. Now that she had it, — and fuck, if she lost it, she'd kill Tulio — she regained her voice. “Godsyes, I wanna sit on your cock. I'm gonna ride you 'til you come.”
Effective. His hands shot to her hips, hastening to undo the central knot of her wrap. She hovered for a moment to free herself, discarding the garment blindly. Grinding into him again now coated his cock with her arousal. At once, his fingers explored her entrance, while hers wrapped around him.
“Fuck, you're wet. Take what you want from me, Chel.” Voice strung out, breathless.
He lined up to her pussy. She wiggled a bit onto his tip to tease him. Then sat down, hard. Suddenly full, and he overwhelmed by her velvet. Hands planted on his thighs, she thrust forward, punishingly slow, in strokes so long he nearly fell out of her at each crest. Shamelessly moaning as she controlled where his cock hit her walls. His hands roved over her thighs, drawing circles.
“Mmm, that's so good. I wanna feel every inch of your cock.” Her face screwed up in pleasure, she smiled and bit her lip.
Next thing Tulio knew her eyes glinted, black-and-brown agate arresting him; her hips snapped forward, her hands seized his neck, her tits undulated above his face. Chel set a brutal and ever-mounting pace, her voluptuous hips crashing back into him every time she impaled herself on his cock. Surprised, he cursed and lauded the change all at once with an expletive-laced groan. But her new angle had a distinct benefit: he nuzzled into her tits and worked a nipple into his mouth.
For Chel, sex was equally loving and competitive. She gently batted Tulio away from her tits — not missing his dazed, disappointed look — and arched her back, digging her nails into his abdomen as she started to rock side to side, in calculated semi-circles, timing them with her bouncing on his cock to hit that delicious angle that came only with his entire length inside her. She knew she couldn't come just from this but fuck, if it didn't turn her on. She knew him, too: the rocking a major weakness; he bucked his own hips up and moaned his approval, looking and sounding exceedingly primal. He was all hers, completely gone, until…
He bolted upright. His hands gripped her hips bruisingly and lifted her off. He made to tip her onto her back and she obliged, though whined at the loss. Covered her in a second, raining a torrent of kisses from her tits up her neck and jaw, and when he reached her ear he practically growled: “Thought you were in charge, didn't you? My turn.”
Again he lined up to her pussy, teasing the tip over her folds before sheathing himself fully, without warning. Tulio's nails raked along the back of Chel's legs until he came to her ankles, winding his hands around them and pushing back, her legs now suspended over her torso. This let him fuck her deeply, ferociously, like she liked. She mewled and moaned; and then, remembering the spirit of competition, composed herself. Fixed her gaze on him and gritted out, “Don't. Fucking. Stop. Until you come for me.”
He groaned in reply, the smack of his hips against hers speeding up and totally obscene. He leaned forward to kiss her, indelicate and all tongue, driving her legs farther back. Panting, he withdrew and smiled, unconcealed. “Fuck, you take my cock so well. So fucking tight. I— gods. I want to come all over your tits.”
Glowing as if an angel in the morning light, telling her filth like that… she was far gone. His thrusts grew deeper, so satisfying, and soon erratic. She watched, rapt, as he removed his cock and stroked it but twice before shuddering, spilling himself over her breasts and stomach through a deifying incantation of her name. She reached out to ease him, spreading some come over his tip and lifting her mouth to envelope him, suck the last of it down. Another studied weakness.
“Fuck, fuck, Chel. You don't have to— you know that's just not fair, what you do to me…”
Tulio flopped next to her as she wiped her mouth, both blissed-out, and both regarded the mess. He swirled fingers through the come over her nipples, fascinated as they hardened. She eyed him, letting soft mewls escape her throat. Questioned him with a raised brow. Neither wanted to get up to clean.
“If you don't mind, I'd like to eat you out. I woke up and, before all that, my first thought was how much I wanted your delicious pussy.” He tipped her by the chin into a sweet kiss.
“Well, since you're offering…” Chel wasted no time. She knew how she wanted his tongue.
Drawing herself up, she made to straddle his face, catching the amused, silent question in his expression. Yes, like this, in psychic response. This was the 'its own reward'. Her arousal had gone unsatiated for so long; urgent and animal now, and there was something so powerful about her proportions: generous hips and thighs liable to suffocate his skinny frame.
Tulio knew what she wanted… and refused her. He blew coolly over her pussy, then licked one teasing stripe, hardly touching her clit. Straight on to kiss her inner thighs. Impatient and so, so sensitive — any other time, he could draw this out. Not now. Grinding more adamantly over his face, she chided, “Stop teasing. Give me what I want.”
“Ah, if you insist.” Muffled, yet the smirk shone through. He wanted her loud and begging. His tongue immediately strummed the very swell of her clit, firm and fast, and his hands kneaded her ass. Study dictated it would ramp up her pleasure but wouldn't make her come; for that he would need to—
“Suck on my clit, right fucking there. Don't you want me to come all over your face, Tulio?” Her voice was ragged, squeaking through an attempt at huskiness.
To her first point he obliged, and to her second hummed in affirmation, the vibrations piercing right to her core. She rode him, swaying side to side. Edged so close, the coil in her core dying to unfurl. Noting this, and so invested her climax, he waggled his whole head in tandem with her hips, his lips and tongue oscillating wildly over her clit. At precisely the right moment, he dove two fingers inside her and crooked them forward.
“Fuck, I'm— fuck, Tulio!” Her wails resounded in the morning peace. She might have split in two. He was still gently lapping at her come through her orgasm. Chel tutted and nudged him away, — though that didn't stop him trailing kisses down her inner thigh — too sensitive to take it. Squeezed her thighs on either side his face in affection, then extricated herself from his tongue, melting into his side. He turned to kiss her with her taste all over him. They embraced, and deepened the kiss.
Tulio stopped to peck her forehead, nose, and lips in succession. He beamed at her, a smile she'd been chasing, and chuckled. “Good morning. Good, good morning.” Would not stop laughing and smiling. “Shall we go clean up, mi corazón?”
Chel would rather sink into the earth, let sun beat her limbs into submission. But how natural, how comfortable he was now, how beautiful smiling: she couldn't get over how this had been exactly what she wanted. (The orgasm, too. That had really been exactly what we wanted, if she were forced to choose.)
He was rising, cracking his joints, and she accepted the hand he offered to pull her up, both on unsteady limbs. “Ah, do I have to, in yakunaj?” She shared the smile, stupid as it was genuine.
He laughed again and hugged her close. Then led her — striding half-backwards, the world an irrelevant sunspot in his eyes next to her in all her beauty, on whom they were fixed — to the river. They sauntered silently past Miguel and Altivo.
The cool water was sharply stimulating. They crouched, washing away sweat and come. Tulio slinked behind Chel, guiding her to kneel so he could kiss and massage her back and ass, her skin pliant and soft though shivering. He hummed, a habit only in moments of low inhibition.
“Gods, that was so perfect,” he said, sighing. “I love when you just take me like that, make me yours. Can I ask, in perfección, what got you so horny this beautiful morning, hm?”
Chel moaned softly, stretching her arms above her head, and craned her neck to capture him in a kiss. She turned and cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the cheekbones, and, when he shut his eyes and leaned into her touched, thoroughly disarmed, she flipped their positions in one lithe movement, directing his head into her cross-legged lap.
Alert now, his eyes went wide and his limbs swung. She prayed he wouldn't get jittery about the water. About this river, this god-conduit to whom she'd be forever grateful. She wanted him pure and happy, that crystal-vision smile in her lap.
Chel smoothed his brow, caressed his face from forehead to nose to lips, and tutted.
“Tulio, querido, I'm gonna wash your hair.”