wet sounds at night

At camp, Aether was not permitted to do anything by himself.

If he reached for a cup, someone placed it in his hands. If he shifted his weight, a bedroll was adjusted behind him. Food arrived already portioned. A damp cloth appeared for his face and neck without him asking. The thorough bandaging around his throat was checked and re-checked. Every member of the pride treated him with the careful, slightly exaggerated solicitude usually reserved for invalids or particularly fragile children. For the moment he had become a collective imbecile who could not be trusted to stand without supervision.

Rosaria never left his side for more than sixty seconds. Even when she stepped away to speak with someone or retrieve water, her eyes remained fixed on him. The moment the short task ended she was back, pressed against his uninjured side, one hand resting somewhere on his arm or waist as if confirming he had not vanished in the interval.

Late in the afternoon the unsuccessful hunting party returned. Shenhe, Cloud Retainer, and Yelan came into camp without the Knave and without conversation. The failure sat on them like dust. While the others absorbed the news, Rosaria quietly retrieved something from the shaft of her weapon. The broken remains of the blood-red stone amulet—the engagement gift Aether had given her on the road to Natlan—had been carefully bound near the head of her polearm like a crude figurehead. The cord was snapped, the polished stone itself cracked through the center from the force of Arlecchino’s spikes, yet she had refused to leave the pieces behind.

She brought it to him with every sharp line of her face softened into something uncharacteristically vulnerable. Shoulders slightly hunched, eyes downcast, mouth turned down at the corners—she looked like a beaten puppy forced to present the ruined evidence of something precious. Her fingers stayed closed around the broken stone even as she held it out, clearly unwilling to let it go.

“It… broke,” she said, voice low and rough. “When she—”

Aether did not let her finish. He reached up, ignored the way several women tensed as if he might strain himself, and drew her down far enough to press a steady kiss to her forehead. His hand stayed against her cheek afterward.

“I don’t care about the stone,” he told her quietly. “You’re here. You’re unhurt. That’s the only part that mattered.”

Rosaria’s breath hitched. Her fingers finally loosened around the cracked red fragments, though she still kept them close. The rest of the pride watched the small exchange in silence, the unsuccessful hunters included, while the Traveler made it plain that the only engagement gift he actually valued was the woman currently trying not to cry against him again.

They agreed, quietly and without ceremony, that the broken red stone would be replaced. The next time they returned to the Stadium of the Sacred Flame they would find—or commission—something new to stand for the promise between Aether and Rosaria. Until then the cracked pieces stayed wrapped and kept close, but the decision itself settled something in the air.

The babying did not stop. If anything it intensified now that the immediate crisis had passed. Aether was still not allowed to walk to the edge of camp alone. Food continued to appear in his hands. Bandages were checked with unnecessary frequency. Every offer of help carried the same careful, maddening gentleness. The problem was that Arlecchino’s long, clinical torment had left him painfully, persistently hard under the surface, and none of the women were willing to do more than the lightest contact for fear of “stressing his body” after the kidnapping and the collapse.

His patience frayed. He started taking what little he could get.

When Lisa leaned in to adjust the cloth at his neck he let his hand slide up the inside of her thigh without warning. When Dehya brought water he pulled her close by the hip and kept her there longer than necessary, palm openly cupping her ass. Ganyu’s next attempt to help him sit up earned her a slow, deliberate grope of one heavy breast that made her cowbell jingle in flustered surprise. Even Xilonen’s clinical check of his remaining bruises ended with his fingers tracing the waistband of her shorts until she gave him a flat, knowing look and stepped just out of easy reach.

They allowed the groping. They did not allow anything more.

The single exception came late in the afternoon when Varesa could no longer restrain herself. She dropped to her knees between his legs, pushed his clothes aside, and took him into her mouth with the same single-minded hunger as before. The rest of the pride watched in resigned silence while The Starving Hole gave him a long, wet, thoroughly enthusiastic blowjob that at least took the worst edge off. When she finished and swallowed, Rosaria firmly ended the session before it could turn into anything further.

Chasca witnessed most of it. Every time Aether’s hands wandered or Varesa’s head bobbed in his lap, the Name Bearer found somewhere else to look. A faint, persistent flush sat on her cheeks. She made excuses to check the perimeter, to speak with the geo draklings, to examine the horizon—anything that kept her from standing too close to the ongoing display. The embarrassment did not appear to be aimed at him. It sat deeper, directed inward, as if the open, shameless want circulating through the camp brushed against something in herself she was not ready to acknowledge.

By evening Aether was still only partially satisfied, still closely supervised, and already calculating how many more days of this careful treatment he could endure before the grabby, frustrated behavior escalated past what even Rosaria would tolerate.

That night the entire pride slept like the dead. The three days of near-sleepless pursuit and raw adrenaline had finally collected their due. Even Yelan and Cloud Retainer—usually the last to close their eyes—lay motionless among the tangle of limbs and bedrolls. Soft breathing filled the main tent. No one stirred when Aether carefully extracted himself from the pile.

He had slept more than enough between the cave and the long recovery. His body wanted movement. He slipped outside into the cool Natlan night, rolled his shoulders, and began a slow circuit of the quiet camp to stretch out the residual stiffness.

Wet, filthy sounds stopped him short. They came from one of the smaller side tents, unmistakable even at a distance: the rapid, slick noise of fingers working a very wet cunt, punctuated by soft, bitten-off whimpers and the occasional sharper gasp. Aether approached silently and stopped at the half-open flap.

Chasca lay on her back in the middle of her bedroll, completely nude. Knees spread wide, hips tilted up, two fingers plunging in and out of herself in a relentless, almost angry rhythm. Her free hand alternately squeezed one breast and rubbed tight circles over her clit. The wet sounds were continuous and loud in the still night. Her face was flushed, brows drawn together, mouth open. She had clearly already come at least once; her thighs glistened and a small dark patch had spread beneath her on the fabric.

She was so lost in it that she did not notice him for a long minute.

Aether watched, cock rising hard and fast against his clothes at the raw, private display. Another climax rolled through her—her back arched, fingers buried deep, a choked sound escaping as her cunt visibly clenched around her own digits. Only when the tremors began to fade did her eyes open and lock onto the tent entrance.

She saw him. More accurately, she saw the clear outline of his cock.

Chasca sat up in one fluid motion, still breathing hard, and dropped back onto her knees. Without a word she opened her mouth wide, tongue out and resting on her lower lip, and looked up at him with open, animal hunger. There was no hesitation, no embarrassment left in the gesture—only clear invitation and need.

(https://im.ge/i/QMZqRtr)
(artist: Astolfius)

This was not the extinguished, passionless state Mavuika had described when speaking of Name Bearers who had lost their flame. Xilonen had been cold and clinical before he reawakened her. Varesa had been lost entirely to food. Chasca was neither.

What knelt in front of him was a fully lit, fully needy animal that had been touching herself in the dark until the object of her hunger finally appeared.

Aether stepped into the tent and let the flap fall shut behind him.