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It feels like a dream.
Maybe it is, that would explain why she's allowed to be here. Samarie had seen this bookstore before, Marina was fond of remembering it, but now she was here- really here! The light drifts in through a window, overcast and barely illuminating, but she can count the dustmotes in the air if she wanted to. The wooden floor was creaky even under her negligible weight.
Marina is sitting in her chair, one leg thrown over the arm rest. Samarie has seen her do this a few times, hazy memories in the Vatican libraries. This chair wasn't as comfortable as the ones there, and Marina had hated them. She couldn't be too comfortable when she was reading, or she'd drift off and-
“Are you just going to stand there?”
She wants to melt through the floor. That would be nice.
“S-sorry.”
“It's fine, it's whatever. You can. Stand there, I mean. At least pretend you're browsing though.”
“Right... s-sorry.” Again.
Marina doesn't sigh, doesn't roll her eyes, doesn't do anything other than flip the page of whatever it is she's reading. Samarie moves closer to a shelf. Closer to her, too, on accident. She tried very had to stay out of Marina's head. At least for now.
It's gotten her in enough trouble.
“What do you like to read?”
“Uh.” She doesn't like reading, really. She likes that Marina likes reading, and that's almost the same thing though, but Marina would just get tired if she said that so... “R-romance. I guess. Um. Horror too, b-but not so much um. Right now. Maybe.”
“Yeah.” Marina likes occult texts, and Samarie has read most of what Marina has read, either because she wanted too or because it was required Ninth Circle bullshit. “They have a decent romance section, I think. Behind me.”
She meant the shelves, but that would mean Samarie would have to look at her, walk past her, be in range of her and that made her skin prickle in some kind of way.
“You- you didn't um. Go in for it?”
“I mean, I'll read it.” She'll read anything, Samarie knows. “But it's not my go too.”
“I know- ah!- I mean-”
“It's fine.” At least she cuts her off quick. Spares her the embarrassment. As if that sort of thing is even possible. God she wants to fall through the floor and fucking die. “Pick something out and you can sit with me, okay? Or you can leave, if you want. Whatever.”
And gods, but she's just so nice and polite and patient- way more patient than Samarie ever could be. So she shuffles behind her, grabs the first book she sees, and moves to stand awkwardly next to her. Insane how she can make lingering blood smell good.
“Sit down.” Samarie drops like a sack of bricks to her knees. It's hardwood. It hurts. She can feel Marina's eyes on her head. There's no use in trying to be smooth, but she slides her legs under her and sits on the floor beside Marina's throne.
Chair.
Besides her chair.
She's being so extremely normal and okay right now. Mind kept to herself and everything. So well behaved.
“Is- is this okay?”
“...Uh Huh.”
She opens the book, the words practically swimming on the page. It doesn't matter if she's a little lightheaded and a little delirious, because she's here and Marina is with her. Seconds of this unbelievable miracle bleed into minutes. Who knows how many, she can't be expected to count, can she? It's real, it's real, it's real- this has been her dream for so long... She's been here in her literal dreams too many times to count but now it's- oh gods Marina's right there. She's so close... so close some her warmth is spreading over and Samarie can feel it on her skin and gods but she smells so- so-
She goes stock still when she feels a hand on her head.
“This okay?”
Okay?
Alll-mer fucking preserve her.
“Mmmmmmhm.” She mumbles because Marina is TOUCHING her. She shivers- vibrates, basically- as Marina's hand spreads from a delicate few fingers to her whole palm, settled careful on the crown of her head. She feels like she's on fire. Right? Right?
Marina goes back to her book, like she didn't just fundamentally alter the course of Samarie's existence. Again.
But.
But.
She's fine. She's fine and normal and behaving and keeping her mind to herself and is only sweating a little bit, but it's stuffy in here anyway, so it's fine. She's not going to freak out. She's just going to sit here, and let the most wonderful fantastic exceptional beautiful brilliant person in the whole wide world pet her head and be just so. Normal.
She really can't read now, but she turns the page every few minutes, maybe, in a way that she hopes is normal and believable and not weird or too excited. They're just two girls. Hanging out in a bookstore. Fun. Normal.
Not a date.
Could be a date?
Isn't.
Isn't though.
And that's fine. No big deal. Why would it be?
“Th-thank you for uh. Inviting me. Here.”
“Yeah, no problem. Thought it would be nice for you to get off the train for a while. Get some fresh- relatively fresh air.”
She's so considerate. And kind. And compassionate. And her hand is still in Samarie's hair.
“I...” Impulse control rapidly dwindling, she takes a deep breath. “I should um. Thank you. Somehow. Right?”
“You're okay. It's not a big deal.”
“It is for me- I mean-”
“I know.” She pats her head again, obligingly.
“I mean it's a really big deal for me.” It comes out in a rush, and Marina sighs, leaning back in the chair, hand moving away- no no no- Samarie leans up after it, even turns a little. Enough to see the look of pity on Marina's face. “S-so I just- I just want you to know that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. I know you appreciate it. I'm happy you appreciate it. You can settle back down.”
“Okay.”
And she does. And it's back to that blissful euphoric state. She doesn't even bother turning the pages anymore, happy to just sit at Marina's feet and close her eyes and breath her in. And this could be enough. It could. It should, in fact, be enough considering this is the most she's every gotten. Maybe an hour passes, maybe ten minutes pass, of absolute silence outside of their breathing and Marina's page turning. And she could just keep her mouth shut.
“If you wanted. Anything. L-like any- literally anything. I would do it for you.”
“Samarie-” She shivers, at her name. At just her name.
“Like, I could um. Get you things. Or- I don't know. I'd do anything.”
“You're not going to calm down.” Marina says. Doesn't ask. She knows her so well.
“I- j-just don't want to. To be ungrateful. Anything. Anything.”
A long moment of silence.
This is why stalking is good, actually, because when she's on the other end of a building staring at her through a tinted window she can't open her stupid mouth and ruin everything.
“Okay.” Marina sighs. “Sure. You can do something.”
“R-really?!” Like an overexcited dog, she twists around, scraping her bruised knees on the hardwood. “Y-yeah, I mean of course! Of course.”
Marina stands up, laying the book- the skinbible she found gods only know where- aside with great care. She- she-
“Oh my-” Her hand slaps over Samarie's mouth.
“You want to be helpful? Be helpful quietly.” And then she goes back to lifting her skirt up high enough that she could tug her bloomers down to her ankles. She steps out of them, laying them over the back of the chair. Samarie stares in absolute silence. She's screaming, inside. Howling, even.
Then she sits back down on her throne, leg kicked over the arm rest, and she puts a hand back on Samarie's hair, and instead of the gentle patting of before, tugs at her until she has her head under Marina's skirt.
“Go ahead.” She says, above her, muffled slightly by the soft pink fabric. “Be helpful.”
Samarie stares at all of her. How she could ever hope to take it all- she won't live long. That's the one saving grace, of that whole nightmare. She'll never be able to forget this. If she would live a normal human life span, she might have, at some point, but she can fix this to perfect memory for a few more years. Months. Whatever. Who cares.
The very peak of her existence.
She can use her hands, so she settles them on Marina's thighs, stroking ever so gently- feather light- at her pale soft skin. Not as pale as Samarie's- not ghastly. Healthy, just out of the sun. There are a few raised lines on her left thigh, an engraving of Alll-mer's sigil, that she rushes to press a kiss to. Her lipstick leaves a stain-
She's going to stain-
She's going to-
She should say something, or scrub it off with her hand but... but the allure of leaving any kind of mark on- on Marina of all people brings her near fainting. She should tell her- but Marina knew right? She saw her, obviously. So it's- it's fine. It's fine and good and maybe... maybe Marina even wanted her too-
The moan rips out of her before she can even try to tamp it down and Marina huffs a laugh above her.
“Don't keep a lady waiting.” She says, and Samarie jolts out of her euphoric stupor to lean forward and press a kiss to the head of Marina's cock. The smell of her, clearly recently washed but not recently enough that it isn't too musky and heady. Maybe she found some lavender soap, maybe she found some perfume, who knows, gods she wished she knew, but that's there too.
The hair is kept neat, and she wants to touch it, but maybe that's too fast. She should- she should take her in her mouth first, right? That's the order or something?
Samarie kisses her cock again, head and then to the side. It twitches, warm and hot and she watches it jump just a little. Still soft but- but interested. Interested in her. And know there are black kiss marks on it and-
“Samarie, stop moaning and put it in your mouth.”
“R-right- s-sorry!”
A hand pats her head through the skirt and she takes another big whiff of her, trying to punch it into her memory as strongly as the image of- a page flip. R-right. In her mouth. She has to put it in her mouth.
It's heavy, on her tongue. Tastes of skin and sweat.
Heaven.
She licks and sucks as best she knows how, kissing it every time she pulls away to breath. The cock in front of her slowly fills out, gets harder, a little heavier, a little saltier. Samarie has never been paid a higher compliment.
Marina hums, content, and that feels like an unparalleled reward.
It feels almost too much, when she starts to bob her head, up and down the divine length of it, tongue tracing along a vein on the underside. Maybe not elegantly, but gods is she trying. That's what matters right- effort? Technique is nice but it can hardly compare to effort. Marina's body goes a little slack under her attention, a little relaxed.
She did that!
Samarie and her effort did that!
Unspeakable euphoria as she tastes more pre on her tongue, and she takes more and more of Marina into her mouth, smells more of her, tastes more of her, feels more of her, more more more more more more more-
“Oh- good. Good job.”
Electricity down her spine, blinding pleasure. Samarie moans, something Marina clearly likes when she echos a moan back.
This is the most aroused she's ever been in her life.
She knows arousal, she's intimately familiar with, in her worship of Sylvian and in her obsession, countless hours of fantasies about this very thing paling in comparison. She wants to touch herself so desperately, wet enough to soak through her own underwear, fuck maybe wet enough to soak through her dress, with the way she's kneeling.
But this isn't about her.
It never has been.
If the angle was different (fuck fuck fuck if she does a good enough job maybe this will happen again( maybe this could even be a regular thing( oh please oh please oh please))) she would pay equal reverence to Marina's sack, but it's too far away.
She can touch, though.
She does.
Another pleased sigh, as she holds them gently, barely rolling.
There's never been a better sound in the whole wide world.
Samarie pulls off, because she wants too look at it, smeared in her lipstick. Commit it to memory and catch her breath at the same time, great big lung fulls of her smell. A divine reward for her atrocious behavior.
But she's being good. She's being so good- Marina even said so. That's how it's for sure true.
“You okay?”
“M-mmhm.” Even the hum makes her sound just a little raspy. Altered. She left a mark on Samarie as much as Samarie left a mark on her. Neither long lasting (only another reason to do this again, clearly) but there. Undoubtedly there. “I-I'm going again. Is- is that okay?”
“Oh, be my guest.” She can't see it, but is... is Marina smiling? Did she make her smile- did she make her happy?
She swallows her down to the root in one go, cockhead brushing against the back of her throat. Marina lurches forward, bends over her, practically cradling her head, really. Samarie's noise is pressed right into the coarse hair at the base of her cock. It's almost impossible to do, with her mouth full, but she does nuzzle it, just a little bit. Scratchy, pale, perfect. She could die right now and she would be so so soooo happy.
Her cunt clenches on nothing, Samarie so caught up in the euphoria of the act she almost missed her own orgasm. A close thing, almost missing it. It feels inconsequential as she sits there, keeping Marina's cock comfortable. It does make her moan again, though, which Marina likes because Samarie can feel it twitch on her tongue.
Has a more perfect thing ever been created?
She sighs through her nose.
Bliss.
And then she starts moving her head again, up and down, sucking and humming on occasion, to create as perfect an experience as Marina deserved. The skirt lifts, gets tucked into it's own waistband, and Samarie glances up to see Marina staring down at her, hands tangling into her hair.
She almost comes a second time, just from that.
It's a close thing.
Marina moves her, Samarie more than happy to give up control while Marina fucks her mouth, fucks her face, even, hips jolting forward, faster and faster until Samarie feels her sack draw up closer to her body and she's blessed with a breathy-
“Close-!”
Eyes glued to Marina's face, no matter how awkward the angle, no matter how close her eyes are to rolling back into her skull. Her eyes flutter close as she tugs Samarie as close as she can get her, coming down the back of her throat with shuddering gasps of breath.
Ambrosia.
She tastes so fucking good!
Marina slumps back.
Samarie doesn't go anywhere.
Her cock grows soft in her mouth, and still she doesn't want to fucking move because why would she ever leave if she wasn't asked too. A hand in her hair petting, soft and sweet and perfect. A moment passes. Then a minute. Then five.
“Are you... just going to sit there?”
Begrudgingly, she pulls off.
But she's well behaved. And she won't ruin this. Not at this point. She'd just die if she did.
“C-can I? Unless- Unless you have to g-go-”
“I... I can burn another hour in here, I guess.” Casually. Yeah. They're casual. As if this wasn't the biggest deal in her entire life.
“Um. Can I... keep it in my- in my mouth for... for the hour?”
Greedy?
Extremely.
But gods does she fucking want too.
“Really?” Marina asks and when Samarie nods too quickly she shrugs. “Sure, okay. Keep being helpful.” Samarie all but lunges for it, settling only when it was back in her mouth, on her tongue, already familiar weight so comforting. Like it belonged there. Like this was what was missing her entire life. “Rest your head against my-” A hand at her temple, until she tilts, head against her thigh. “Yeah, there you go.”
The skirt covers her head again, a scared holy shroud.
She stumbles out a muffled thank you- more of a hum than actual words.
It makes Marina laugh.
Nothing could ever be better.