golden_lyre | The Drowning Fiddler

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eurydice

The Drowning Fiddler

The Drowning Fiddler is a little pub in Earl's Court that Orpheus has been visiting, on and off, for about two hundred years now. In more recent decades, the basement has been remodeled to double as a concert venue, and a number of bands who went on to be famous got their start on its cramped stage. Having spent a good deal of time and a good deal of coin at the bar, Orpheus has come to know the owner, Martin, well enough that he's occasionally asked to fill in for any musicians who back out at the last minute or on any nights when the stage isn't booked.

(Orpheus suspects that Martin keeps nights open when business isn't going well, so Orpheus can help him pick up the slack. Orpheus doesn't mind. He always puts a little encouragement to drink in his music when he plays. Martin deserves it.)

It's a Wednesday night, and though that's the Fiddler's least busy night in general, the room is packed. There wasn't a lot of time for advertising, but since the advent of social media (something Orpheus still can't quite get his head around), a few hours is all the notice needed to fill a room when he plays.

There's no amplification system because Orpheus never needs one, and there's no one to introduce him. He just sidles onto the stage, whiskey in one hand, cigarette in the other, and takes a seat on a wooden stool. As he settles himself (whiskey on an unused amplifier, guitar in his lap, still lit cigarette tucked between two strings), the room gradually quiets, but anyone still speaking comes to a hush when Orpheus starts to play.

He starts off with something quiet, something that feels like a Wednesday night, a needed breath of fresh air and freedom in the middle of the week. The room relaxes in the wake of it, as if communally exhaling in relief, and Orpheus smiles, loving the moment he knows he has the audience in the palm of his hand.

A quick sip of whiskey, a couple of drags on his cigarette as he retunes his guitar, and then he plays what they all came here to hear.

Something to dance to.

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"I will feed you," she promises, and it's more than just his belly she intends. Heart, mind, soul... and if his flat is bigger, she'll move. But if it isn't, she'll ask him to stay. Later.

For now, she whoops with laughter again as he throws himself onto the bed, and she catches herself easily on his lap, hands by his shoulders and her mass of curls tumbling down around them.

"Ask and ye shall receive," she tells him, nipping gently at his lower lip before sitting up to peel away her top and sports bra. The latter is for modesty while dancing; she's a delicate thing, built small and toned, with gentle curves. Petite, she's often called, and it's only because hip-hop has her throwing herself around that she bothers to wear the extra layer. Her nipples are hardened pink buds at the tips of small breasts as she bares herself to his gaze, excitement evident.

But he's shirtless, now, too, and she reaches out a finger to trace the familiar planes of his chest - and upwards, to where an unfamiliar scar crosses his neck.

It's a sight he's dreamt of over and over again: Eurydice naked and laughing on top of him, her hair cascading between them. His hands slide up her skin, warm and real beneath his touch, and he sucks in a breath at the curve of her breasts against his palms, his cock pulsing between them.

When her fingers trace his scar, he moves one hand to curl around her wrist, bringing her palm to his lips. There will be time enough later for stories and questions.

Her body heats under his questing fingers, her skin warming under his palms the way it always has - but when he places a kiss into her questioning hand, she accepts the unvoiced deflection and turns the touch into a gentle caress of his cheek. Not now.

Now there are more urgent requirements. Pleased with her earlier decision to undo his fly, Eurydice finds it no bother to reach down between them once more and wrap her fingers around his cock. She uses only gentle touches at first, reacquainting her memories with the moment, but it soon becomes a careful placement of hardened flesh against his stomach as she rests herself along him. The folds of her sex are smooth and hairless, hot and wet as she slowly rubs herself over his length.

Three thousand, two hundred and sixty-three years, four months and seventeen days since she last had him in her arms, in her heart, in her body.

Eurydice moans softly, green eyes closing in delight as she allows herself this simple pleasure, the rasp of denim on her inner thighs a lovely counterpoint to the pressure of his cock against her clit.

"In me," she breathes, and when she opens her eyes to look at him once more, her pupils are blown wide with hunger for him.

It has been so long since he's touched a woman like this, and it feels as though every inch of skin he touches brings back a memory, awakens some part of him he'd thought long since dead. She moves over him in a dance older than any other, and the wet heat of her sliding along his cock, brings to the front of his mind how long it's been since he's felt her body on his, since he's been inside her.

And suddenly he can't wait a moment longer. His eyes meet hers, dark and wide, and she breathes her request. His hands move, one to her hip, the other to ease his cock inside her.

He groans, deep in his chest, and his gaze never leaves hers as he pulls her down onto him, as deep as he can manage, trembling with desire.

The phrase 'it's been a while' certainly applies here, but for Eurydice, a while might just as well have been yesterday. Orpheus pulls her down onto his cock, and the welcoming heat of her body accepts him with an ease that belies the literal millennia she's gone without him.

Her emotional response is a completely different story, however.

He's fully sheathed within her, a thick, solid presence inside a body she's always privately thought was waiting only for him, nymphly activities notwithstanding, and she can feel the slight pressure of his sac just behind their joining. His jeans are rough on her thighs, his stomach heated and tense beneath her fingers, and his gaze - that deep and intense blue she could lose herself in for years - traps her in a motionless state of blissful disbelief.

He's here. He's come back, she's found him, he's here and he's inside her, and she feels her lower lip start to tremble in what might be the beginning of tears - until she shifts her weight ever so slightly, and a sinful smile curves her lips instead.

"How long I've waited," she sighs, then flexes her thighs to slide upwards, shuddering as she feels him slip out of her just the slightest bit - and then she sinks down again with a low sound of pleasure as he's fully settled within her once more. "...missed you more than life."

It's like coming home, burying himself inside her. It has always felt as though their bodies were made for each other. Plato may have been an asshole, but he'd gotten some things right. Eurydice is the other half of his soul, and he feels as though he is suddenly whole after living as half of himself for so long that he'd forgotten he'd ever been more.

In that moment when she holds herself still, when they are completely joined, he wishes that he could stop time and live in this millisecond of perfection. But then she moves, and it is so much better. His hands slide up her thighs to settle at her hips only to steady her, letting her find their rhythm, set their tempo.

As she lifts her body over him, Orpheus makes a low noise of pure need that slides into a groan of pleasure when she takes him into her again. His lips curl up in response, and he laughs breathlessly. "Oh, my love," he says, hips rolling slowly, "you have brought me back to life."

His voice has always been a thing of beauty and wonder, and every tiny noise he makes makes her tingle regardless, but that little sound followed by his groan as she sinks down on him sends heat through her limbs til her toes curl.

"I'll keep doing it," she laughs softly, rocking back over him in slow counterpoint to the deep rolling motion of his hips, "if this is how to do so."

Her grin is wide, unable to contain her joy at their reunion, and her cheeks stay lifted in that same elated smile even as her jaw drops on a sigh of pleasure as she intensifies her movements. It's subtle, but slowly she's adding a lift to the rocking, an inner squeeze as she pulls upwards. Eventually it will become a definite riding of his cock, albeit a very slow and controlled one. She wants to savour every moment of having him back inside her body, because it's as near to being inside her soul as they can manage.

From the moment he first saw her, Orpheus has been entranced with the way Eurydice's body moves, unable to take his eyes off her whenever she dances. And this dance has always been his favorite.

Her laugh rolls through him, lighting up his face, lifting his soul, until he is laughing as well. "Every day," he says, his voice gruff and low but lilting with amusement. "Bring me to life every, every day."

He has more to say, but his words are lost in the sensation of her body tightening around his cock, as though pulling him in, reluctant to be parted. His hips move with the same design, to stay as much inside her as possible, to revel in every moment they're connected this way, part of the same being. He shifts to raise himself up, catch her lips with his, feel her moans against his lips.

This dance is as old as time, and she's been created by the gods to be exemplary in its execution. And to help the plants, but that's not really relevant at this junction, which is purely about them.

He asks for every day, and she tilts her head, pretending to think about it, still rolling her hips in a slow, deep rock, feeling her breath pick up as her arousal grows.

"Every day?" she asks. "I believe, my Orpheus, that I can easily manage every day."

And then he's sitting up to kiss her, and the angle changes. A low cry falls from her lips to his, and she drags her hands up his stomach and chest to grip his shoulders, clutching him tightly as their mouths meet. She can still taste the whiskey on his tongue, a taste she finds she quite likes, and the kiss deepens into something almost desperately passionate as she grinds her hips down against him, her soft noises of urgent pleasure a counterpoint to the quiet creaking of her bed.

Anything he might want to say to that flees from his mind when she deepens the kiss, and he moans a wordless tune into her mouth, laced with millennia of desire, with a fulfillment centuries in waiting. He curls his arm around her back and pulls her close, tight against him, his rhythm matching hers until he is pushing deeper into her than he would have thought possible, until he thinks they might actually merge into each other.

Both hands slide to her hips to keep her even closer, though he doesn't pull her down to meet him, trusting her rhythm to complement his. His fingers dig into her skin, and he finds he wants to leave a bruise, some sign that he was here, that he'd touched her.

His voice - by all the gods above and below, his voice - does things to her she'd almost forgotten. It suffuses her with warmth, it sends a shiver down her spine, it winds its way deep within her to set a fire low in her gut, it sings of love and lust and perfect rightness... Eurydice has found home again with him - and she's got nothing on his gift but it demands a response, so all she can offer are sweet moans of utter pleasure in a delicate descant.

She's sure they're acceptable, since he's now gripping her hips with the kind of hungry force that lets her seek their pleasure together but also says 'mine'. The kind of 'mine' that will leave marks on her hips. Her stomach clenches in response, and she follows it with a deliberate tightening of inner muscles around his cock. 'Mine?' So is he, for her.

The kiss breaks only for her to pant for breath against his mouth, her forehead resting on his, and her hips ever moving over him, rocking and grinding and clenching. Her skin feels hot, but his feels hotter, and the smile she gives him is both ecstatic and hungry, the first orgasm of the evening closing in.

"My love?" she asks, breathless and urgent.

It's a deliberate claiming by each of them, renewing the hold they have always had on each other, and Orpheus gladly gives into it, to her claim on him, on his body, his heart, his very soul.

He can feel her breath hot against his lips, and even with millennia apart, he knows her well enough to read the signs. He can feel it in her body, in her breath, in her voice, so that when she speaks, he knows already, and he pulls back only enough to look her full in the face, his eyes locked on hers.

"Yes," he groans, rough and ragged, his eyes darkened and wide. His grip on her tightens, and he thrusts up hard, needing to be as deep as possible when he spills inside her. "Yes, come for me, my love, come with me."

He knows her. He knows her and she loves him, and her green eyes are locked on his blue as they move together, until the pleasure she's now actively seeking overtakes everything.

"Oh, there!"

The ragged cry falls from her lips as he thrusts up hard, and it's what pushes over the edge of need into sheer release. Letting the clutching of his hands on her hips ground her, Eurydice feels orgasm sweep through her in a rush of shuddering warmth, her body shaking atop his as she clenches around his cock. The sensation is almost foreign, it's been so long since she's had him inside her, and the physical relief that coming gives her has her crying out in agonised pleasure, her entire being caught in wave after wave of ecstasy.

"Orpheus..."

A tear falls onto her cheek, then onto his. It's involuntary, borne of pure joy.

Oh. Oh.

It's been so long, so very long. To feel her body clenching around him, holding him deep inside her, is ecstasy enough, but the sound of her voice crying out, his name falling from her lips brings his orgasm shuddering through him, and he clings to her as he comes, her name on his lips like a prayer or a blessing.

His arms encircle her, and he feels the drop on his cheek. He laughs, unable to contain it, and kisses her, still laughing into her mouth.

She feels him come, her own grip on him so tight that the pulsations of his cock are palpable. It's the literal culmination of miliennia of waiting, their bodies finally joined once more. Her curls fall around their shoulders as she trembles above him, grinning against his laughing mouth, the kiss he's trying to give her failing utterly as she's completely unable to stop smiling.

"I'm crying because I'm happy, I promise," she tells him, finally managing to calm herself enough to kiss him properly.

"I can't believe I've found you."

Gentle fingers lift to trace over his cheek and temple, then sneak into his hair, slowly learning the changes several thousand years have wrought.

There are tears in his eyes as well, but his smile never wavers, even as they slide down his cheeks. He holds her close, watching her face as she touches him, wanting to see every expression, every emotion that crosses her face.

When her fingers move into his hair, he presses his face to her neck, breathing her in. "You're here. You're here and alive, and I'm still not sure I'm not dreaming, but I don't care."

So long as he never wakes up, he's happy to live in this dream forever.

"You're not dreaming," she promises, a whispered prayer across his ear. "My love, you are not dreaming. We are awake and alive and I love you so much."

She's properly crying, now, her emotions finally catching up to her - finding him again against all odds, loving him physically, knowing that he's here, with her... it's joy, but it's almost painful.

"I have missed you for more years than I care to count," she sobs quietly into his shoulder, and while she doesn't care to count them, she has. "Will you stay?"

He wraps himself around her just to be certain she's not going to slip away. The tumble of emotions, both his and hers, is too much to contain, and he's laughing and weeping into her hair.

"I will stay," he says, his voice rough, squeezing painful past the lump in his throat. "I will stay with you always."

Just now he thinks he might never let her go. His breaths are shuddering, and he feels the weight of three thousand years of guilt weighing down on him. "Oh my love," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."

She has absolutely no intention of going anywhere, and if a tangle of limbs is the goal, they've achieved it. Still joined in the most intimate way, Eurydice feels home at last. Home is where he is. Where they are.

His apology prompts fresh tears. She'd been so close to the sunlight - two more steps and they'd have lived these years together. But that wasn't what happened, and her agony and rage and despair over a single error have long since run their course.

"I forgive you."

And she had, millennia ago. How can she fault him for loving her? Whether he forgives himself, though...

He may never forgive himself, but hearing those words from her sends a flood of relief through him that overflows into a wave of tears. He can hear all of it in her voice: the rage and despair giving way to forgiveness. The truth of it, distilled down into three words, has him weeping into her hair.

It doesn't lift the entire weight, but it gives him a pillar to help with it.

That’s all she could ask for. She is the cause of his grief and guilt, so if she can help him accept peace in himself now, she will.

Her fingers run soothingly over his scalp as he cries into her hair, his arms locked about her so all she can do is touch him tenderly and whisper quietly over and over that she loves him, she forgives him, she loves him, she forgives.

“My precious Orpheus,” she kisses his temple, her own tears still falling. “I’m sorry I had to leave you, that I was gone for so long. But we have forever now. All the years we could ever want.”

Her words soak into him like rain in the desert, and gradually his tears slow and his breath steadies. She loves him and she forgives him, and whatever else comes their way, he can live on that alone.

His arms loosen slightly, and he pulls back to look at her, to cup her cheek in his palm. "Not one iota of blame rests on you, my love. Not for any of this." Leaning up, he kisses tears from her cheeks. "But if you forgive me, and I forgive you, let us put the entire affair behind us and start again, with the whole of our lives ahead of us."

He doesn't know if he'll be able to put it behind him completely, but in this moment, anything seems possible.

She shifts her head just enough to press a kiss to the mound of his thumb, her eyes closing as he follows the gesture to kiss away her tears. She smiles, sniffling slightly, then huffs a quiet laugh.

"I can do that," she murmurs, and rolls her hips to let him slide out of her, so she can stretch herself along his side. "I can definitely do that."

Her foot lifts to shove gently at the rest of his jeans, which did not previously make it all the way off him. Nudity, please. Skin to skin and heart to heart and soul to soul.

"...I nearly started an orgy tonight because of you," she remembers suddenly, and grins against his shoulder. London would not have been prepared for quite the sort of thing she can induce.

Her laugh tugs at the corners of his mouth, and when he kicks his jeans away he laughs, shifting onto his side and tangling his legs with hers. Eternity, which has ever seemed a daunting and lonely prospect, suddenly looks bright with possibility. He takes her hand in his, weaving their fingers together, and presses a warm kiss to the curve of her neck.

"I remember," he says with a laugh that is just a little bit smug. "There are places we could do that still, but I am happy to keep all of you for myself for quite a while longer."

She’d never thought to hold and be held like this by him again. Her fingers squeeze his gently in response, and she wriggles slightly so their bodily entwinement won’t send her leg to sleep. He’s not leaving her bed til morning. If ever. Skin to skin is what she needs.

Of course, a bed isn’t what they were used to, but times change. Her love for him hasn’t.

He remembers. She grins, mischief and joy sparkling in her green eyes.

“Probably not in London, anyway, unless you want to wear leather. It’s a whole scene, I’m told.” She presses her nose to his jaw and inhales. “And I’ve only just found you again. I don’t want to share.”

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hel-LO, icon.

ahaha thanks for giving me the opportunity to use it :D

and this one, too! i don't even have a kissing one. IMAGINE SMUTTY ICONS OK

:D I've been collecting them for years now

I look forward to seeing the selection :D. Also his eyes are just gorgeous.

I knooooooooooooow. It's not fair, really

tell me about it!

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Ree and Orpheus hit Burning Man...

They’ll bring a whole new meaning to interactive performance art...