The Wolf & The Witch
Falling Leaves

The witch took his lap, naked. She wiped tears from her eyes, and smiled at him, and opened her heart, and uttered the words, I love you. And then this damn stupid wolf interrupted her, and put his hand over her mouth. He had his back to the stone wall of the small pool. She pulled her fist back, ready to punch him. Why did he stop her from saying I love you? Now she was embarrassed, and mad. “ou ghodam etter av a-“ She grabbed his hand and flung it off her mouth and glared at him.

“Slow down. Listen to me for a second.”

She punched his chest- a hard straight right into his pecs. She tightened her knuckles and leaned in and punched and it hurt her hand. She didn’t show it. She looked up at him, positive he felt that. That was the first second she gave him, and he better hurry the fuck up.

“Claire, those three words are the same as saying I do. To me. Be-“

“So you’re never going to tell me you love me?” Claire was growling, and glaring, and she was beautiful. A gust of wind shook the trees and yellow leaves fell around them, and landed on their shoulders and heads, and in the water.

“That’s not it. When I do say those words it will be the same as a proposal. And when you do, to me, it will be the same as accepting, so-“

She put her hand over his mouth. She tilted her head forward and shook her hair and leaves fell onto his chest and slid down into the water. She looked from him, to the fire, thinking. For some reason that made her mad. He was, in effect, telling her he would never say he loved her. He interrupted her to tell her that? After being all sweet and romantic? She started to cuss, then she heard his words a second time: When I do… Then she noticed the scar on his ear, and relaxed her eyes, and released her glare. When. Claire loved him- her heart loved him, but she didn’t know if she was ready to marry him. And, if she was being honest- she had a condition, too. She also didn’t know if she was ready to have sex just yet. Fine, wolf. She leaned up on her knees and kissed the scar on his ear, then leaned up more and kissed the one on his forehead.

Lestat leaned forward and kissed the center of her chest, at the top of her breasts, right above her heart; her skin was warm, and soft, and he felt the soft thud of her heart against his lips. “I do like you. A lot,” Lestat said, his mouth against her chest. “But I want to save those three words for only one woman- the woman I will marry.”

She smiled, and kissed his cheek, and sat back down on his lap, and held his face in her hands. “I like you a lot, too.”

“Not mad?”

“A little, but I understand. I… don’t want to have sex until I’m married. I want to save that for only one man, so I can’t be that mad.”

Lestat smiled at her, and Claire smiled at him, and they pulled themselves together, and kissed. His tongue touched hers, tasting her, running across her teeth, his lips against hers, sharing her breath, and she kissed back, exploring his mouth with her tongue. His hand slipped around to her back, and she moved her hand to his stomach, then chest, feeling his muscles. They pulled themselves closer, still closer, until kissing was the only thing they could do- breathing, seeing, smelling- all cancelled by taste, and touch.

Lestat needed air, but did not let her go- he had her tongue, and breath, and body, and did not want to let her go. He was starting to become addicted to her smell- her skin, and hair, like lilacs, and springtime, and distant rain- but now he was positive he would forever be addicted to her taste, which was like a mix of ripe figs and riper cherries. Her lips were soft, her breath warm, and her tongue firm, and soft, and kept eluding his, and he chased it.

Claire was sinking, melting, puddling in his arms; she was light-headed, but wanted more. She broke their kiss just long enough to whisper, “You can touch me,” then she dove back into his mouth. But he didn’t touch her- his left hand remained in the center of her back. She broke the kiss, and looked at him, and waited for him to open his eyes. “Touch me.”

“I am.”

“I meant here,” she said, and moved his hand to her hip, then up, blushing, to her breast. The fire crackled, and leaves rustled behind them in the stream. She leaned back into him, and kissed him, then ran from him with her tongue and he chased, and she pushed their mouths together tighter, tighter, until their teeth touched. She dissolved, and melted at his touch- he squeezed her breast, gently, and ran his fingers up and over her nipple and shivers ran down her arms.

His fingers sunk into her plump breast, from one, to the other, then his fingers slid up her chest, up her neck, to her ear, and he held her gently by her hair and turned her head so that their mouths locked together, then he ran his hand slowly down her back; her skin was cool, and soft, and about half way down his hand went into the water; he traced her spine with his fingertips, all the way down to the dimple in the small of her back.

Claire’s body felt like ripples in water everywhere he touched. Their cuffed hands were trapped between them, but her right hand was free- she squeezed his shoulders, and arm. She put her palm on his chest and pushed herself away, as if trying to escape, and felt his hand steady at her back, holding her close, and she smiled inside the kiss, feeling his muscles tighten against her efforts. Then she felt him hard against her leg, and shifted on his lap, to the side, and reached down, curious, and ran the back of her fingers over his hard dick.

He had to push her off- saving sex for marriage was not going to work with her naked on his lap, her breasts hanging full in front of his face, and her touching him, even barely. These kisses, her lips, her soft skin- she was turning him on too much, and he knew the fastest way to slow this down: he pulled her close and kissed her again, then reached around and ran his fingers along her round, shapely ass, tracing her skin, further down, to the top of her thighs, then inward, till his finger just barely grazed the neat, tucked-in folds of her pussy, and she jumped in his arms and her eyes went wide.

“Stay out of there,” she gasped, breathless, startled. That single, small touch sent vibrations across her body, and caused her mouth to salivate, and caused her heart to race. It felt like she had just run uphill. They were too close- she had to pull back. She scooted off his lap and sat beside him, breathing heavy, looking down at the water. “No touching... there.”

Lestat smiled at her- her face was bright red, even by firelight.

“We should stop,” she said, breathless.

“We probably should,” he agreed, but leaned over and kissed her red cheek.

But goddamnit she wanted more kisses. Her body wanted more kisses. She wanted to touch him again. She started back for his mouth and he stopped her.

“Come here,” he said, and motioned for her to move around in front of him. She did, and he turned her around and gently lowered her head back into the water. He brought her head up, and reached for the soap, and washed her hair. He slowed his breathing, and spent the slow, quiet minutes scratching her scalp, washing her neck, rubbing her ears, calming himself. He scrubbed her forehead, and her temples, then behind her ears, and tugged on them, softly, gently.

Claire was in heaven. He was so handsome, and his muscles so hard, and his voice so deep, and she loved it- the kissing, the touching, the bath- him. She would’ve never imagined in all her life that a wolf would be kissing her, and touching her, and bathing her. Her body went limp, and she smiled up at the black sky, and fell back into him.

He scrubbed her hair for ten minutes, massaging her scalp, all while she drifted into something close to sleep, combined with groaning and purring. He pulled her up out of the water a little, to wash her, but she didn’t like that. She laid her head on his chest, and held him, so he washed her right side, rubbing, soaping, scratching; his hands ran from her shoulder, to her breast, to her arm, and back- everywhere he could reach. She turned over slowly, groaning, and he washed her other side.

Claire was so tempted to tell him she loved him. If this was what married life was like, then she should’ve accepted his proposal many years ago- long ago, before they even met, so that they hadn’t waisted the last two months.

Lestat washed her, and petted her, and scratched her, and thought she was asleep on his chest. He reached back for his pack, dug a joint out, and held it in his lips, then realized he had no fire. He looked back at the bonfire- too far away. He thought he was out of matches, but fished around for them anyway, when Claire slowly held her finger up. Nothing else moved. No other sounds. He leaned forward and touched the joint to her finger and a spark shot up. He puffed, and puffed again, and smiled. He still wasn’t quite sure what she meant by village witch, but he was happy. She was, by far, the best, and most interesting woman, he had ever met, and that did not take into account the physical attraction. Woman, witch- she was perfect, and fit perfectly against him. Something about holding her calmed him, and relaxed him. He took a long, slow draw and exhaled white smoke up into the cool air, then looked back down at her.

He held her a few minutes more before she eventually pried herself off him and sat up. She shook her head- her brain was somewhere between sleep, heaven, and drowning, and she had to shake a couple of those away to function. “Thu...thank you,” she said, her voice low, and sticky.

“You’re welcome, munchies.”

She grinned, and held her hand out for the joint. “Your turn to be washed, my turn to smoke.”

The wolf laid back on the witch; he laid his head on her chest, and the witch scrubbed him, and massaged him, and scratched him and he sunk into her cleavage, calm, peaceful, relaxed, and happy to die from suffocation.

And the red scarf, the blindfold, floated to the edge of the pool, and spilled over the stones into the stream, and washed away with the falling leaves.