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Pleasure. The most hedonistic kind. It coats our bodies, fills the room, amplified by the wet sound of our fucking, the rough and raspy breaths as the three of us move together as one.
We come as one.
It happens like a pin being pulled from a grenade. Death’s head goes back and he roars like an animal. He shoots inside of me, I’m bucking between them, my world moving like an earthquake. I see stars, something like Oblivion, but so much sweeter.
I haven’t even come down to earth when they both pull out of me at the same time, and my god there is going to be such a mess on these rugs. I hope he can have them dry-cleaned, though knowing Death he probably has some magic to deal with it. If he can create a double of himself to pleasure me with, then surely he can get cum out of a carpet.
I take in a deep breath, about to sit up, when his Shadow Self reaches down and flips me over so I’m on my hands and knees.
“Again!?” I cry out. Holy shit, is he not exhausted? I am, and there’s only one of me.
“One more time,” Death says from behind me, his voice hoarse. “For me. You can take it.”
“I can take it, what about you?”
“I’m almost ready,” he says as his Shadow Self grabs my ass, presses his cock against me. “We’re almost there. Almost in tune. I think this will work. This will be what does it.”
This? What’s so special about this time?
But when his Shadow Self drives himself into my aching pussy (I am going to be sore tomorrow), I look over my shoulder to see Death standing behind his Shadow Self, hands on his own fucking hips.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
Death is going to fuck himself up the ass.
I have never been so intrigued, I can’t not watch this. His Shadow Self meets my gaze, then Death himself does. Both of them are staring at me, smirking arrogantly.
I nearly roll my eyes. Figures. Every man’s dream is to fuck himself, right? Removing a rib to give yourself a blow job seems like child’s play when you can just create your own other to screw.
Death hisses in a deep breath, hands gripping hips, getting ready.
Lube! I almost shout but as I watch him push his cock into his ass, I remember he’s a God and probably doesn’t need it.
But as much as I love watching Death rail himself, the pleasure and strain contorting both their features as they fuck each other, the Shadow Self is also fucking me. Hard. I’m getting rugburn on my hands and knees trying not to slide across the carpet as the two massive Gods fuck on top of me. I can feel Death when he’s deep inside himself, like it’s being passed on to me.
I think I’m losing my mind.
And I am.
We fuck and grunt and it’s wild and lewd and, and…
I go off like a bomb, the kind that scatters you.
I come apart, screaming as I do. The other orgasms blew my mind, but this one feels life-altering, like it’s not just about the sex anymore but that something else has been unleashed into the air, like this moment has become bigger than any other.
I’m still crying out when I feel Death’s pumping slow and I watch intently as he starts to come. The corded muscles in his neck stand out, his nostrils flare, his jaw clenches. I watch this happen to both versions of him and it’s happening at the exact same time.
He did it.
He fused.
He is fully split between him and his Shadow Self.
They both howl, a loud guttural sound ripped from the depths of their lungs, mouths open, their eyes pinched shut, backs arched in pure ecstasy.
Fuck. This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
As if to punctuate the magic of the moment, wind suddenly howls through the library, causing loose feathers and herbs and torn pages to fly through the air. It all swirls above us like a small tornado, and the floor shakes until books fall off the shelves. The candles around the room all light at once, their flames flickering and the smell of brimstone fills my nose. Thunder and lightning crash, not from outside the castle but from inside the library, as if a storm is happening just down the hall. My hair stands on end, I feel the electricity in my teeth.
Then the wind suddenly stops and the feathers and papers fall to the floor, pieces of lavender and rosemary raining down into my hair.
Death’s Shadow Self pulls out of me and I collapse onto the rug, my body pushed to the point of exhaustion. Death has always been one to convince me to keep fucking even when I’ve come so much that I’m too sensitive, but in this instance I feel exhausted to the very core. I want to slip into the deepest, darkest, dreamless sleep for a very long time.
