What Dreams May Come: Another Interlude with Mairin and Selene. Part 2
by the_contessa--- The bed was too big. That was the first thought that clawed its way into Selene’s mind as she rolled onto her side, fingers digging into the cold sheets where Nev’s warmth should have been. The s
about 2 months ago
•long read•intense intensity---
The bed was too big. That was the first thought that clawed its way into Selene’s mind as she rolled onto her side, fingers digging into the cold sheets where Nev’s warmth should have been. The second was the scent—faint, lingering, like crushed lavender and damp earth—clinging to her sister’s pillow. She buried her face in it, inhaling deeply, as if she could pull Nev back from the mountain lake just by breathing her in. But the pillow only smelled of absence, and the night stretched on, thick with the kind of silence that made her skin itch.
Selene had never been good at sleeping alone. Even before the world had cracked open like an egg, spilling monsters and magic into the ruins of civilization, she’d always had someone—first her mother, then Nev, their bodies tangled together like roots under soil. Now, with Nev gone, stolen away by Hel’s low laughter and the promise of starlight on water, Selene was left with nothing but the ghost of her sister’s touch and her own restlessness.
Alone, her mind conjured up the mysterious woman of her dreams and the lucid midnight reverie they shared. They or was it just hers? She tried to ignore the memory. She pressed her thighs together, willing the heat between them to dissipate, but it only pooled deeper, heavier, until her breath came in shallow little gasps. *Fuck.* She was wet. Selene couldn't stop thinking of *Mairin*, that was her name, with hands in her hair, mouth on hers, the way the woman had looked at her like she wanted to... not devour like Hel did, but to be a part of her, body and soul. The cold logic of concluding that is was only a dream gave Selene no comfort. It only magnified the cruel certainty of being alone.
Selene groaned and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. The moon was high, silver light spilling through the cracks in the tent flap, painting stripes across her bare legs. She should have gone with them, her sister, Nev, and Hel. Part of Selene wanted to insist on tagging along, even if it meant watching Nev and Hel paw at each other like cats in heat, but she knew it was a very bad idea. She was was Nev's guardian and protector, a role forced upon her when they lost everything they loved except each other... and then again with the witch. No, she couldn't interfere with her sister's developing relationship, even if was with an ancient mass murdering goddess, a chaperone was the last thing they needed. That *she* needed. Besides, she was far more afraid of being tempted to join them and she was sure that was an even worse idea.
Selene hated the hollow quiet of the camp and the way her body felt too tight, too *empty*. She reached down, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of her nightshirt, and hissed. *No.* If she was going to touch herself, she wasn’t going to do it like some desperate, lonely thing in the dark. She was going to do it *right*.
Selene sat up, stripped off the nightshirt—now damp with sweat—and tossed it aside. The air was cool against her flushed skin, raising goosebumps, but she ignored it. She needed water. Needed the *pressure* of it, the way it could sluice away the stickiness of her desperation and the burs of her past.
Her breath hitched.
She was dreaming again.
One second, she was in the tent about to pleasure herself, the next—
Marble.
*Gods*, the marble.
It stretched endlessly, veined with gold that, in the light, looked like molten rivers. The walls, the floor, even the *ceiling*—all of it polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting back a hundred Selenes, pale and wide-eyed, naked as the day she was born. She spun slowly, taking it in. The sinks—two of them, spaced like altars, laden with bottles and jars and things she didn’t even have names for. Soaps that smelled like crushed roses and something darker, muskier. Oils that shimmered in their glass containers, thick and golden. A towel rack, heated, the fabric so soft it made her want to weep.
And the *robe*.
Selene reached for it without thinking, letting the white cotton slide over her shoulders. It was *warm*. Not just warm—*alive*, like being wrapped in sunlight. The initials stitched in gold—*V. V.*—gleamed against her collarbone. She didn’t know what they stood for. Didn’t care. All that mattered was the way fabric wrapped around her like a hug from a long lost lover.
Then she saw the shower.
It wasn’t a shower. It was a *temple*.
Three meters square, walled in the same white marble, the gold filigree twisting like vines, like *veins*, pulsing with the light of a dozen hidden lamps. The door slid open at her touch, silent as a sigh. Inside, the recess—big enough for two, big enough for *more*—beckoned, the overhead showerheads gleaming like the eyes of some great, watching beast.
Selene’s pulse spiked.
This was a trap.
It *had* to be.
Some witch’s trick, some faerie’s game. She could already feel the water turning to steam, scalding her skin, peeling her flesh from her bones. Or worse—*cold*. Ice needles, freezing her solid, turning her into a statue for some laughing, cruel thing to admire.
Or—
Or maybe it wasn’t a trap at all.
Maybe it was an *offering*.
The thought sent a jolt straight to her clit. Selene swayed, fingers tightening around the edge of the shallow bucket she’d grabbed without thinking. It was already half-full—soaps, oils, a sponge so soft it might as well have been cloud. She didn’t remember filling it. Didn’t remember *choosing*. But her body did. Her body *knew*.
She stepped inside.
The door slid shut behind her.
The air was thick, humid, *waiting*. Selene didn’t hesitate. She turned the first showerhead full blast, then the next, then the next, until the stall filled with the *hiss* of water, the heat of it, the way it turned the world to mist. She didn’t bother with the others. Not yet. She had somewhere to be.
The recess called to her.
She laid down, marble cool against her back, and reached up, blind, until her fingers found the controls for the overhead jets. She twisted.
Water *poured*.
Not a trickle. Not a drizzle. A *deluge*, warm and heavy, drowning her in seconds. Selene gasped, arching up, letting it crash over her face, her breasts, her *stomach*, the water slicking over her skin like a thousand fingers. She moaned, low and needy, and reached for the soap.
It lathered instantly, rich and creamy, the scent of jasmine filling her nose. Selene started at her neck, slow, deliberate, imagining hands that weren’t hers. Mairin’s hands. Massive compared to hers, and incredibly strong,, but at the same time gentle. So gentle. The way they’d cupped her face in the dream, the way they’d—
“*Please,” Selene whispered, her voice lost in the roar of the water. She dragged the washcloth lower, over her collarbones, her sternum, circling her nipples without touching them. “*I’ve been a dirty girl.*”
She heard Mairin’s voice, husky and low with laughter, and Selene added as she shamelessly pulled up her legs and spread them wide, *You made me this way*, this sent a fresh wave of heat between her thighs.
Selene dropped the washcloth.
Her fingers took over, tracing the same path, but slower. *Teasing*. She pinched one nipple, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger, and the pleasure-pain made her hips jerk. “*You made me this way*,” she echoed, breathless. “*I came so hard when you—*”
She didn’t finish. Couldn’t. The image of Mairin between her legs, shimmering platinum hair sticking to her cheeks, her mouth *glossy*—it was too much. Selene’s hand slid down, fingers parting her folds, finding her clit already swollen, *aching*. She circled it once, twice, then pressed down, hard.
“*Fuck*—!"
The sound tore out of her, raw. She was *dripping*. Not just from the shower, but from herself, her thighs slick, her ass clenching against the marble. She needed—
Selene slipped a finger inside.
Just one. Just the *tip*. But the stretch, the *fullness*—it made her whimper. She imagined it was Mairin’s tongue, thick and hot, pushing into her, *tasting* her. She added another finger, curling them, finding that spot inside that made her see stars.
“*Mairin*—" Her free hand groped for her breast, squeezing, pinching, the pleasure building, building, until—
A voice cut through the steam.
“*Valerie?*”
Selene froze.
The voice was familiar. *Aroused*. Trembling. Could it be?
She turned her head, water streaming down her face, and saw—
a towering silhouette just beyond the door of the shower room.
Even with the steam she could tell the woman's frame was muscular and Selene could imagine her skin so white it was practically glowing in the warm lap light. Platinum hair, not unlike Selene's would be cascading down her shoulders and just over the peaks of her breasts. The figure stood just outside the shower, one hand on the door, the other pressed to her chest, like she was trying to hold her heart in.
“*Is that—you?*”
Selene didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The woman approached slowly, through the blazing hot downpour, deep blue eyes transfixed on the recumbent girl, her gaze dropped, taking in the sight of her—spread out, fingers buried inside herself, thighs trembling. Her lips parted, then closed.
“*Oh*,” she breathed. “*You’re even prettier like this.*”
Selene’s breath hitched. It was Mairin.
---
The garden was silent.
Moonlight silvered the hedges, turned the fountain’s water to liquid mercury. The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine and sharp tang of ozone. Instigator's tech hummed in the eerie silence. This was the calm before the storm.
Illusiana stepped out from behind a topiary lion, her boots making no sound on the flagstones.
The Instigator didn’t turn. Didn’t *need* to. She knew she was being watched. She always did.
“*You’re late*,” The Instigator said, her voice muffled by the sleek black mask covering the lower half of her face. The gadgets strapped to her arms hummed, little lights blinking like fireflies. “*I was starting to think you’d taken the night off like everyone else.*”
Illusiana smirked. ““*You should know better than that by now.*”
The Instigator turned to face the shapeshifter ready burn this woman down as well as anyone and anything else that would stop her from reclaiming her prize.
The bed was too big. That was the first thought that clawed its way into Selene’s mind as she rolled onto her side, fingers digging into the cold sheets where Nev’s warmth should have been. The second was the scent—faint, lingering, like crushed lavender and damp earth—clinging to her sister’s pillow. She buried her face in it, inhaling deeply, as if she could pull Nev back from the mountain lake just by breathing her in. But the pillow only smelled of absence, and the night stretched on, thick with the kind of silence that made her skin itch.
Selene had never been good at sleeping alone. Even before the world had cracked open like an egg, spilling monsters and magic into the ruins of civilization, she’d always had someone—first her mother, then Nev, their bodies tangled together like roots under soil. Now, with Nev gone, stolen away by Hel’s low laughter and the promise of starlight on water, Selene was left with nothing but the ghost of her sister’s touch and her own restlessness.
Alone, her mind conjured up the mysterious woman of her dreams and the lucid midnight reverie they shared. They or was it just hers? She tried to ignore the memory. She pressed her thighs together, willing the heat between them to dissipate, but it only pooled deeper, heavier, until her breath came in shallow little gasps. *Fuck.* She was wet. Selene couldn't stop thinking of *Mairin*, that was her name, with hands in her hair, mouth on hers, the way the woman had looked at her like she wanted to... not devour like Hel did, but to be a part of her, body and soul. The cold logic of concluding that is was only a dream gave Selene no comfort. It only magnified the cruel certainty of being alone.
Selene groaned and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. The moon was high, silver light spilling through the cracks in the tent flap, painting stripes across her bare legs. She should have gone with them, her sister, Nev, and Hel. Part of Selene wanted to insist on tagging along, even if it meant watching Nev and Hel paw at each other like cats in heat, but she knew it was a very bad idea. She was was Nev's guardian and protector, a role forced upon her when they lost everything they loved except each other... and then again with the witch. No, she couldn't interfere with her sister's developing relationship, even if was with an ancient mass murdering goddess, a chaperone was the last thing they needed. That *she* needed. Besides, she was far more afraid of being tempted to join them and she was sure that was an even worse idea.
Selene hated the hollow quiet of the camp and the way her body felt too tight, too *empty*. She reached down, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of her nightshirt, and hissed. *No.* If she was going to touch herself, she wasn’t going to do it like some desperate, lonely thing in the dark. She was going to do it *right*.
Selene sat up, stripped off the nightshirt—now damp with sweat—and tossed it aside. The air was cool against her flushed skin, raising goosebumps, but she ignored it. She needed water. Needed the *pressure* of it, the way it could sluice away the stickiness of her desperation and the burs of her past.
Her breath hitched.
She was dreaming again.
One second, she was in the tent about to pleasure herself, the next—
Marble.
*Gods*, the marble.
It stretched endlessly, veined with gold that, in the light, looked like molten rivers. The walls, the floor, even the *ceiling*—all of it polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting back a hundred Selenes, pale and wide-eyed, naked as the day she was born. She spun slowly, taking it in. The sinks—two of them, spaced like altars, laden with bottles and jars and things she didn’t even have names for. Soaps that smelled like crushed roses and something darker, muskier. Oils that shimmered in their glass containers, thick and golden. A towel rack, heated, the fabric so soft it made her want to weep.
And the *robe*.
Selene reached for it without thinking, letting the white cotton slide over her shoulders. It was *warm*. Not just warm—*alive*, like being wrapped in sunlight. The initials stitched in gold—*V. V.*—gleamed against her collarbone. She didn’t know what they stood for. Didn’t care. All that mattered was the way fabric wrapped around her like a hug from a long lost lover.
Then she saw the shower.
It wasn’t a shower. It was a *temple*.
Three meters square, walled in the same white marble, the gold filigree twisting like vines, like *veins*, pulsing with the light of a dozen hidden lamps. The door slid open at her touch, silent as a sigh. Inside, the recess—big enough for two, big enough for *more*—beckoned, the overhead showerheads gleaming like the eyes of some great, watching beast.
Selene’s pulse spiked.
This was a trap.
It *had* to be.
Some witch’s trick, some faerie’s game. She could already feel the water turning to steam, scalding her skin, peeling her flesh from her bones. Or worse—*cold*. Ice needles, freezing her solid, turning her into a statue for some laughing, cruel thing to admire.
Or—
Or maybe it wasn’t a trap at all.
Maybe it was an *offering*.
The thought sent a jolt straight to her clit. Selene swayed, fingers tightening around the edge of the shallow bucket she’d grabbed without thinking. It was already half-full—soaps, oils, a sponge so soft it might as well have been cloud. She didn’t remember filling it. Didn’t remember *choosing*. But her body did. Her body *knew*.
She stepped inside.
The door slid shut behind her.
The air was thick, humid, *waiting*. Selene didn’t hesitate. She turned the first showerhead full blast, then the next, then the next, until the stall filled with the *hiss* of water, the heat of it, the way it turned the world to mist. She didn’t bother with the others. Not yet. She had somewhere to be.
The recess called to her.
She laid down, marble cool against her back, and reached up, blind, until her fingers found the controls for the overhead jets. She twisted.
Water *poured*.
Not a trickle. Not a drizzle. A *deluge*, warm and heavy, drowning her in seconds. Selene gasped, arching up, letting it crash over her face, her breasts, her *stomach*, the water slicking over her skin like a thousand fingers. She moaned, low and needy, and reached for the soap.
It lathered instantly, rich and creamy, the scent of jasmine filling her nose. Selene started at her neck, slow, deliberate, imagining hands that weren’t hers. Mairin’s hands. Massive compared to hers, and incredibly strong,, but at the same time gentle. So gentle. The way they’d cupped her face in the dream, the way they’d—
“*Please,” Selene whispered, her voice lost in the roar of the water. She dragged the washcloth lower, over her collarbones, her sternum, circling her nipples without touching them. “*I’ve been a dirty girl.*”
She heard Mairin’s voice, husky and low with laughter, and Selene added as she shamelessly pulled up her legs and spread them wide, *You made me this way*, this sent a fresh wave of heat between her thighs.
Selene dropped the washcloth.
Her fingers took over, tracing the same path, but slower. *Teasing*. She pinched one nipple, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger, and the pleasure-pain made her hips jerk. “*You made me this way*,” she echoed, breathless. “*I came so hard when you—*”
She didn’t finish. Couldn’t. The image of Mairin between her legs, shimmering platinum hair sticking to her cheeks, her mouth *glossy*—it was too much. Selene’s hand slid down, fingers parting her folds, finding her clit already swollen, *aching*. She circled it once, twice, then pressed down, hard.
“*Fuck*—!"
The sound tore out of her, raw. She was *dripping*. Not just from the shower, but from herself, her thighs slick, her ass clenching against the marble. She needed—
Selene slipped a finger inside.
Just one. Just the *tip*. But the stretch, the *fullness*—it made her whimper. She imagined it was Mairin’s tongue, thick and hot, pushing into her, *tasting* her. She added another finger, curling them, finding that spot inside that made her see stars.
“*Mairin*—" Her free hand groped for her breast, squeezing, pinching, the pleasure building, building, until—
A voice cut through the steam.
“*Valerie?*”
Selene froze.
The voice was familiar. *Aroused*. Trembling. Could it be?
She turned her head, water streaming down her face, and saw—
a towering silhouette just beyond the door of the shower room.
Even with the steam she could tell the woman's frame was muscular and Selene could imagine her skin so white it was practically glowing in the warm lap light. Platinum hair, not unlike Selene's would be cascading down her shoulders and just over the peaks of her breasts. The figure stood just outside the shower, one hand on the door, the other pressed to her chest, like she was trying to hold her heart in.
“*Is that—you?*”
Selene didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The woman approached slowly, through the blazing hot downpour, deep blue eyes transfixed on the recumbent girl, her gaze dropped, taking in the sight of her—spread out, fingers buried inside herself, thighs trembling. Her lips parted, then closed.
“*Oh*,” she breathed. “*You’re even prettier like this.*”
Selene’s breath hitched. It was Mairin.
---
The garden was silent.
Moonlight silvered the hedges, turned the fountain’s water to liquid mercury. The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine and sharp tang of ozone. Instigator's tech hummed in the eerie silence. This was the calm before the storm.
Illusiana stepped out from behind a topiary lion, her boots making no sound on the flagstones.
The Instigator didn’t turn. Didn’t *need* to. She knew she was being watched. She always did.
“*You’re late*,” The Instigator said, her voice muffled by the sleek black mask covering the lower half of her face. The gadgets strapped to her arms hummed, little lights blinking like fireflies. “*I was starting to think you’d taken the night off like everyone else.*”
Illusiana smirked. ““*You should know better than that by now.*”
The Instigator turned to face the shapeshifter ready burn this woman down as well as anyone and anything else that would stop her from reclaiming her prize.