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Farnese was naked beneath the gossamer, dragonfly-wing lace of her cloak.
Casca could tell by the way the cloak conformed to her slender body, to the peaks of her pretty nipples, poking out from the barely-there fabric.
It was made of magic, shimmering and ethereal, and when Farnese slipped the cloak from her bare shoulders to pool like moonlight around her slender, pink-flushed ankles, it seemed to float like early morning mist before settling in a perfect, swirling crescent.
"Miss Casca," Farnese murmured, voice hoarse. Her cheeks were pinked in intermingling arousal and embarrassment, and she curled inward a little, self conscious, her trembling hand resting gently over sparse, sandy hair between her legs.
She covered herself as though it could hide the red flecks of bruises along her neck and thighs, could hide the flushed swell of abused and pinched nipples, could hide the still-sticky saliva and thick, white come that dripped onto the floor as Farnese spread her slender legs.
"Tell me," Casca could not keep the note of pleading from her voice, "How is he?"
Farnese's smile was sad. "He's alright, miss. He passed me a message for you. Would you like it now?"
Casca nodded frantically, staring only at Farnese. If she thought about him, if she let her mind wander too far-
Farnese crawled onto the bed, back arched, small breasts hanging in perfect semicircles and dragging her already flushed nipples along the soft fairy-silk sheets. With long, slender fingers, the kind of fine-boned grace found only in the nobility, she parted Casca's thighs, rubbing a soothing, sweet circle against a scar there, some remnant of a long-forgotten battle.
Casca pictured those fingers playing along the taut strings of a violin, working out beautiful notes and tones much the same way they worked gasps and moans from her in their quiet, twilight meetings.
Almost idly, Farnese thumbed at the lips between Casca's thighs, dipping between them to stroke her clit, a sharp shock of pleasure that had Casca gasping.
"He wanted me," Farnese murmured, breath puffing wetly, hotly against the skin of Casca's folds, "To give you this."
The feeling of spreading her legs, and then the feeling of Farnese ever-so-gently parting her wet pussy lips, like rose petals dotted with dewdrops from a morning rain, was…
Don't think. Don't remember. The sensations of sex, the opening of her body, that sweet moment beside the waterfall, and then-
"Look at me, miss," Farnese panted, drawing her attention with a teasing stroke of her thumb against her clit, "Look down at me."
Casca's heart throbbed gratefully. She met Farnese gaze, her bright blue eyes, so open and honest and kind.
Farnese took Casca's clit between her plump, cherry blossom pink lips, in a deep, suckling kiss, and Casca tossed her head back with a cry.
The zealousness with which Farnese ate her pussy, like she was starving for it, was the only remnant of a long-forgotten dream Farnese had told her about, hushed with shame - the lick of flames and burning, furious blue eyes. Her tongue worked ravenously around the hot, swollen bud, back and forth along it, the wet drag sending waves and waves of toe-curling pleasure along Casca's spine.
Over-loud licking, suckling sounds filled the cool night air, lips kissing, tongue lapping at her swollen clit, along the tender bud, over and over until Casca was gasping and panting, tears in her eyes.
The inherent vulnerability in this, in the way Farnese opened her up, the air cool as it hit her velvety inner folds, peeling back layers and layers of her to find her raw, pulsing center-
Treat me tenderly , Casca thought, unable to speak beyond mewls and whimpers through the pleasure of Farnese lapping the exposed underside of her clit, where the hood did not cover, pleasure even more sharp and pressing like a knife against her skin. Treat me like you love me.
Farnese, between her legs, spread her own thighs to press her face more forcefully into Casca's arousal-flushed folds, her nose a solid weight pressing into the soft mound above her pussy lips, the scratchy tangled curls glistening with slickness. Her tongue swirled around Casca’s twitching, throbbing hole, just barely dipping inside before she licked one long stripe up to her clit, the momentary relief making the renewal of pleasure all the more intense.
Casca imagined how Farnese must look, her own pussy pale and pinkish and plumped from how, just before this, Guts had fucked her, his hands and tongue and cock bringing her to screaming orgasm.
That was how it had started, those innumerable days ago, on this island of eternal summer and willow trees reaching soft finger-like branches out to caress her and creatures that nuzzled against her, kitten-soft and smiling. Farnese, brows set determinedly, had taken Casca's hand and said it was her responsibility to make sure she could talk to Guts, even if not directly.
The bridge from that to these nighttime meetings was… hazy. Certainly, even before this, Casca called Farnese to her most nights, needing her comforting presence by her side to soothe her to sleep, a nostalgic warmth from a long-ago dream, from memories that both belonged to her and yet also felt like those of a stranger.
Perhaps that was how it started, or perhaps that was just the excuse Casca used to maintain that precious female companionship she wore like a cloak as Elaine, one of the few things wholly unfrightening to her in that dimmed, dreamlike state. After all, hadn't she and Farnese already stolen sweet moments together, not as lovers but as something akin to mother and child, away from Guts? Hadn’t Farnese confessed dreams, insecurities, hopes to her in soft whispers where no one else could hear them, and hadn't Casca responded as best she could in that state?
Even before this, they'd had their own little world. And anyway, wasn't it easier to be intimate with someone who didn't know her before? Who didn't expect the bright, vibrant, hopeful girl she'd-
Farnese grabbed her hand, still eating her out unrelentingly, the sounds of her tongue teasing Casca's clit wet like the soft waves lapping on the shoreline. She always, always seemed to sense when Casca was getting lost in her own head again.
Casca focused on the feeling of the present - she focused on the slight tickle of cornsilk hair against her thigh, focused on the gentle parting of her lips from Farnese’s slender fingers, focused on the pleasure, on the waves of it, the build and build like a taut rope about to snap-
“Farnese,” Casca panted, sounding desperate and girlish to her own ears, “Farnese, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m-”
Farnese said nothing, only hummed, the vibrations wonderful against Casca’s clit. She brought her thumb up, and Casca realized just before Farnese took her swollen bud in her mouth and sucked that Farnese had pulled back her velvety hood to expose her clit fully. As Casca cried out, she hoped Guts was on the outside of the door listening, could hear her whimpers of pleasure and know she still-
The orgasm hit her suddenly, and in that moment there was only Farnese, and Farnese’s tongue, and the moans she pressed against Casca’s pussy as she made her come hard with harsh, swirling laps and suckles along her exposed, hypersensitive clit. It was as though Farnese was pulling the orgasm from her as she tongued at her, not stopping even as Casca’s cries grew higher, harsher, more animal-
It came in a throbbing wave deep inside her, and it ebbed slowly, and only when Casca collapsed bonelessly against the soft, satiny cherry blossom sheets, whimpering, did Farnese pull away.
“Was that alright, miss?” Farnese panted, the lower half of her face glistening, lips rosebud red and dripping saliva. “How are you feeling?”
Casca could only nod, feeling the way her lips curled into a catlike smile, as she stretched back luxuriously. She felt the orgasm in her body, still - her pussy throbbed, her entrance contracting like it was trying to suck at a cock inside her, her clit still buzzing with the phantom sensation of Farnese’s tongue.
Farnese wiped at her lips and chin with the back of her hand, her pretty, fine-boned face so serious in the low light. She sat up cautiously, flushing even pinker, and her hand came to her pursed lips. Her body was so naturally slender, her breasts small and perfectly round, with even more perfectly round pink nipples that reacted so easily to the slightest touch.
As a child, Casca remembered passing a shop window, inside which were the prettiest porcelain dolls with round blue eyes and hair in bright yellow curls. She’d stared, and stared, and stared until her mother had taken her by the hand and pulled her away.
Casca was slender now, but her body had never naturally grown that way, always with a thick layer of muscle on her thighs and back, always with overdeveloped breasts that seemed to unbalance her as they grew, always with rough, work-worn hands.
There was a cluster of red marks just above one of Farnese’s nipples, the gentle imprint of teeth, and Casca, suddenly, there was a flicker of-
Again, as though Farnese could read her mind, she tucked a strand of Casca’s now short hair behind her ears, staring at the contours of her face like a sculptor assessing a new, prized piece, forcing their eyes to meet. The vulnerability of it made Casca flush - her cheeks burned, and she looked away shyly.
A gentle finger under her chin brought her gaze back, and Farnese brought Casca to her in a deep, open-mouthed kiss, wrapping slender arms around her and bringing them close so their breasts touched, the points of Farnese’s nipples pressing gently into her skin.
“Do you want more?” Farnese breathed against her lips. “There’s more… For you…”
Casca nodded, their noses bumping against each other in her haste.
Farnese settled back, then, and spread her own legs. She was newly wet, wet from sucking on Casca’s clit, the act of bringing pleasure causing her own. Delicate, flower petal pink just barely peeked out from between her pussy lips, and as Casca watched, transfixed, Farnese reached down and spread her lips with trembling hands.
Cum dripped from her swollen entrance, and Casca gasped in sudden, heated arousal, her clit throbbing at the sight. Her inner folds clung to the sticky cum, mingled with her aroused wetness. Farnese's own clit bore the flush, the darkened coloring of recent teasing, the way it swelled beyond its hood and twitched wantingly.
Casca wondered, quite suddenly, at Farnese and Guts' lovemaking. Her entrance seemed so delicate, and the thought of a cock pressing inside it, especially one as big as Guts' - Casca imagined that flushed, red tip from her memories pressed against Farnese's entrance, imagined the way it must have yielded to him, slowly swallowing him down inch by tender inch.
Was Farnese tight at first, as Casca had been? Did Guts go more slowly as her walls, wet from him teasing her clit, clenched suddenly down on him? Did he open her up gently, softly, as though they had all the time in the world?
It had been so frantic, that day in the woods. A part of Casca still felt the scrape of tree bark against her back, still felt herself stretched so wide she thought she might split in two, felt what must have been his cock pressing against her belly from the inside.
Did Guts look into Farnese's eyes as he fucked her, or did he imagine-
A lump formed in Casca's throat, and her eyes burned with sudden tears. A hundred more times, at least - that's what he'd said, wasn't it? And now-
Casca was too afraid to think of Guts during sex, and so a part of her hoped he looked at Farnese and saw her, too. That he kept his eyes open, and that when he came, he called Farnese's name.
Farnese kissed Casca again, this time more slowly, as though she understood what Casca needed wasn’t a quick burst of distraction but a guiding hand back to the present moment. The person she’d been in those long, dimmed years, Farnese knew exactly what that person needed, knew her more intimately than anyone else had, even before. As it turned out, what that person needed and what Casca needed weren’t so different, and so even in her revived state, Farnese cared for her as though she’d known her from childhood.
When the kiss had drawn the sadness from her, like poison sucked from a wound, Casca shuddered and buried her face in Farnese’s neck, sweetly perfumed with the scent of cherry blossoms. She clutched, desperately, at Farnese’s naked back, feeling pitifully childlike, just a chanting refrain of I want, I want, I want with no real meaning.
Farnese slotted one of her legs over Casca’s, one under, and with Casca clinging to her she brought their hips together, their wetness pressing against each other, soft and velvety and warm just as her tongue had been.
Casca whimpered as Farnese began rocking her hips, pressing her dripping, cum-soaked entrance against Casca’s. Her fingers reached down, spreading her pussy lips and Casca’s, so that their red, swollen clits could rub against each other, already over-sensitive from previous orgasms, their bodies contouring together as though wrought from the same clay.
Farnese moved her hips like she was trying to push Guts' cum inside Casca, like she was the one coming inside. Casca shuddered at the warmth of it, wet and sticky and clinging to her dark pubic hair as their folds slid against each other, as their clits nuzzled each other like a kiss.
It was hard for slender, delicate Farnese to hold them both together like that, their nipples rubbing against each other, sweat beading along their necks, trying to stimulate each other with each thrust of the hips forward.
Frail as she now was, it was difficult for Casca, too.
She reached down between their bodies, where their wet pussy lips slid together, where Guts' cum pooled onto the sheets beneath them, and began to stroke Farnese's clit.
Farnese gasped prettily, sweetly, and began to do the same. In that moment, both of their hands sticky with cum, stroking each other's tender, budding clits, it felt like Guts was a physical presence in the room with them, and for a brief stab of a moment Casca bristled with irritation that he was interrupting their womanly lovemaking, that she didn't get Farnese's pussy all to herself.
Still, as Casca came for a second time, it was Farnese's eyes she was lost in, it was her fingers that caused building, shuddering pleasure from stroking her exposed clit, and it was her name she called, crying out, "Farnese, yes, please, Farnese-"
Was this what love was like, too? It was so different to those stirring feelings she'd had for Guts, more like a gentle waking than a tumble off a precipice.
Casca, convulsing and trembling with the waves of her orgasm, stroked Farnese sloppily, jerkily, face buried in the crook of her neck yet again. Despite her inexpert motions, soon Farnese was gasping, mewling harder, her hips rocking without thought into Casca’s hands. The rush of wetness that accompanied her orgasm pushed more cum out of her, and it coated their hands, their pussy lips, the hair between their legs.
There was the slightest, shadowy movement outside the door. Guts was leaving, knowing that Farnese would stay with Casca through the night, soothing her to sleep and holding her tight should bad dreams plague her.
Even when Casca was the one eating out Farnese, for Farnese to pass along to Guts, Farnese always returned back to her. What did it mean to have someone whose primary impression of her was of that mute, broken doll she’d been on the journey here? Who saw that, and still wanted to stay by her side - and more importantly who did not see her now and would not start to hate the girl she’d been before her memories returned?
I want to see him .
She did want to see him. The blossoming of new love that had happened between them, and how now that felt like something she’d only read in a storybook, eternally stuck in the place just before happily ever after , because in the end she’d disappeared before they could ever make it there - and really, Guts had, as well.
Even more, she wasn’t the same person as she’d been before it had all gone so wrong, and a tiny, childish part of her was scared that no matter what, Guts would be dissatisfied with her, that he’d think all his sacrifice to bring her back was worthless.
This new version of her was all that Farnese had ever known, and she loved her all the same. The thought was almost enough to make her tear up, that somehow, after all this-
“What are you thinking, miss?” Farnese murmured. “Did it feel good?”
“It felt good,” Casca’s voice sounded tiny, to her own ears. “Always, with you, it’s…”
Farnese smiled and cupped her cheek, the two of them so close on the bed that Casca felt Farnese’s breaths on her skin.
Casca said, “Every day I’m with you, I’m happy. I feel like you’re protecting me now, just like you protected me when I was helpless. I want it to be like this, with you, always.”
Farnese did not take her hand from her cheek, her smile sad. “But?”
“I miss him,” Casca whispered, voice breaking.
“I know,” Farnese took Casca’s hand from beneath the covers and kissed it, tenderly, on her palm. “He knows. One day, you’ll see him again.”
Casca nodded, hoping upon hope she was right. Funny, how her dreams had changed from that of a vast kingdom free of cruelty and fear to simply being able to look at one man.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Casca shuddered. “Even if, even when…”
“You won’t,” Farnese kissed her palm again, and then her lips, and then she brought Casca against her bare chest to listen to her pounding heartbeat. “I’ll always protect you, no matter who else there is.”
You brought me back . Casca thought it, but did not say it. There was a warm rustle of breeze from outside, curling around her, and she was falling deep into sleep with Farnese’s arms around her.