xi.

FIFER WATCHED HOLLIS play his songs and then she played her songs, and they watched a few of the other musicians play, and then they ended up sitting at a table in the garden at the Meck, shoulder to shoulder, nursing their drinks, talking about brands of amplifiers.

When she finished her beer, she looked up at him. "Let's get out of here?"

He eyed her. "I thought we were taking it slow for now, until you got a chance to understand my character."

"Are we doing that for me or for you?" she asked. "Because if it's for me, I don't want it slow."

"It's for both of us, because it's the right thing," he said.

"Well, I'm going to leave," she said. "Are you staying here?"

"No, I'll leave, too," he said.

They paid their tabs and ambled out of the bar.

To get to his house, they'd need to turn left. To get to hers, they'd need to turn right. She grinned up at him. "I'll walk you home."

He laughed softly. "Will you."

"Mmm," she said. "Just to make sure you get there safely."

He slid an arm over her shoulders and pulled her flush against his body. "Let's go, then."

When they got to his place, they both went in together. He took her up the stairs and they went to his bedroom.

She climbed onto his bed, stretching her arms above her head, rolling over and putting her face in the pillows. He climbed in next to her, and she rolled her way into his arms. He held her against his chest, one skeletal hand sliding into her hair, one splayed out on the small of her back, urging her close.

She felt herself begin to wake up as he touched her. He moved into her in that way of his, the way he inhabited her mind and body. She sighed. Good. So good.

His voice was a deep rumble. "How many times since we were together have you come, Fifer?"

She moaned. "Oh, I have no idea about that. Probably once a day or so? Sometimes I don't masturbate, but usually I do."

"What did you think about the last time you touched yourself?"

"Um…" She should lie. It had been strange, very strange, something she'd never done before. She was almost never present in her fantasies, but sometimes, there was a character who was sort of a version of her. Not exactly her, but like her. And this time, it had been a bit more than that, a woman who looked just like her with a skeletal man, stuffed full—first, of his fingers and then, of his whole bony fist and wrist.

She must have transmitted it to him because he let out a stunned gasp and rolled her over, underneath him, like the way they'd been before.

Now, there was an image in her head of him kissing her again, that strange and big tongue of his in his spread jaw, and she was under him, naked, and she flickered in and out of feeling as if it was an image and feeling as if it were real. It was intense and she panicked.

"Shit," he said, feeling the panic, pulling back. He was off her immediately, not touching her at all, whispering apologies. "Should have known better. I don't know why I did that. So, so sorry."

She breathed heavily, looking him over. "You wouldn't do anything I didn't want." His retreat was proof of it.

"Of course not." He looked her over. "We said slow, and I—" He grimaced. " So sorry. Would you like to go now? Should I walk you back to your place, or would you feel better alone?"

She shook her head. "You're overreacting. I don't want to go."

"I got carried away," he said. "You're under-reacting."

"That's not a thing."

"I'll ask before I do anything again. I'll get consent. I should have done that from the beginning."

"It's not awful that you found me so appealing you got carried away," she said, giving him a little smile.

"No?" he said.

"No."

Then they just gazed at each other.

She lifted a shoulder. "I don't know why I fantasized about that."

"You don't?" He laughed. "I mean, am I crazy to think it has something to do with me?"

"Obviously, it does. But just because I fantasized about it, I don't know if I want it to happen. Or… not yet, anyway."

"Right," he said. "I knew that. I really did. I should have kept that in mind."

"Well, you've never been with someone like me," she said.

"I certainly haven't."

"I guess most women want you to make them think you're fucking them."

"You know, I don't know if I bothered to give women what they really wanted," he said. "I don't know if, with any of them, I cared quite to the extent that I care with you."

She wasn't sure how to take that. How many women were they talking about? Over how many generations? He had to be exaggerating. There was no way she was that special to this man, not in all his vast and varied experiences.

"And the fact that you wanted me—my body—inside your body, that it aroused you and you got pleasure from that fantasy, Fifer, you can't know what that does to me."

She smiled. "Should we do that together? Only as a fantasy, no actual insertion of anything into my body."

"Oh, could we?" He was reverent and eager.

She lay back and patted the spot next to her.

He lay down, taking her hand in his. "Touch yourself? Please?"

"Oh, I like it when you beg me," she said, amused, happy. She eased her hand down into her pants, under her underwear, and she found herself. She was wet—she seemed to get wet just being near this man.

As she touched herself, they sighed together.

"Fifer, you're incredibly wet."

"Because of you," she sighed. She shut her eyes and rubbed her clitoris, letting pleasure ease its way into her. "Being near you, it makes me so bothered and excited."

"Good," he said in a deep voice. "Now, tell me about this fantasy of yours."

"It wasn't us," she said softly. "Not exactly. Do you want me to pretend it's us?"

"I want you to pretend whatever you want to pretend."

"Well, he was, um, he was pressuring her, which I don't think you'd actually do." She sucked in a breath. "But it's hot, to feel wanted like that, to feel wanted in a way where a man can't control himself because he wants you so much."

"Is that the way the man was in the fantasy?"

"He was telling her, like, that she couldn't hold out on him forever, and that he just wanted a little peek at her pussy, and that she needed to let him see it."

"I see." Hollis's voice was very deep as he pulled her close. "And she was resisting him?"

"She was just shy," whispered Fifer, rubbing herself all the while, shots of goodness going through her, her pleasure mounting. "She didn't know what to tell him. She clamped her legs together and she giggled and blushed. And he just kept insisting."

"Did he?" Hollis let out a breath. "May I touch your breast again?"

Fifer thought about it. "Okay."

His skeletal hand closed over her flesh, sending a jolt to the sensitive tip. Now, she was simply imagining the words of the man in her fantasy, not actually saying anything out loud.

Come on, baby, you can't expect me to wait forever, can you? I'm only a man, after all, and I need to see that sweet pussy of yours. Just to look, I swear. Just slide your clothes out of the way and let me get one look. Please? Pretty please? I promise not to touch.

Hollis teased her nipple stiff. "But he breaks that promise."

She gasped, her pleasure heightening around them both. "Yeah, he does. She just pushes down her clothes and gives him a little glimpse, but he tells her she looks so pretty and so hot, and he needs a longer look, and then he tugs her pants all the way off and makes her spread her legs for him."

"Makes her? Like, he pushes her legs apart while she fights him or he asks her to do it?"

The pushing image was so arousing, she crested. All the while, in her imagination, as the man was forcing her legs open, his voice was soft and soothing, It's all right, baby, just having a little look, that's all, just a quick little look at this pretty pussy. Shh, sweet girl, let me open your legs, don't fight me, that's right. Relax, let it happen. Good girl.

She thought that was fucked up, the gentleness of his words and the violence of his actions, and it roused something within her that made her riotous with goodness, spikes of hot pleasure going out from her clitoris like beams of starlight.

"Fuck," whispered Hollis in a raw voice.

"Mmm," she agreed.

There it is, the skeletal man in her fantasy was saying. There's that pretty pussy, so open and ready for me. Does this pussy want fucked?

No, said the girl in the fantasy. No, please.

I think it does, countered the skeletal man. Maybe I need to show this pussy how good it would feel to have something shoved deep, deep inside it.

But you said you wouldn't touch it , protested the girl.

Tell me you're not a little curious. Come on, it'll feel good to me.

"It feels good to his fingers?" said Hollis, breathless.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, he has very sensitive skeletal fingers."

Hollis teased her nipple.

She moaned.

"Is she going to let him?" said Hollis.

"He's just going to do it," said Fifer, panting, picturing the skeletal man pinning the girl's thigh down and penetrating her with one finger. She cried out at the sight of it and the sensation, because suddenly, Hollis had flickered in a moment of her own body being penetrated.

"Shit." Hollis pealed that away. "I said I was going to ask consent, and then I—"

"Again," she ordered.

"Sure?"

"Please, Hollis, I'm so close," she groaned.

He could feel that, and he overtook her senses, and there it was, something hard and smooth slipping right inside her slippery opening. She'd obviously inserted things inside herself before, and this felt like that, but there was some other element to it, something intense in a strange way.

She touched her clitoris—in reality, and also in the fake reality Hollis was creating, and her inner walls clenched on the finger inside her. She moaned.

He let out a harsh breath. "Fifer—"

"I'm going to come," she breathed.

"You…" The finger was pressing into her, and then out, and then in… and it seemed to deepen every sensation that she was making with her fingers, deepen it in some ancient way, some way that forged an invisible connection to Hollis, binding them.

She cried out, cresting, pleasure flooding her, but this feeling of connection flooding her too, forming an undercurrent to the pleasure, sweet and lovely behind it all. "Fuck," she whimpered.

He pinched her nipple—it didn't feel good—she didn't care.

He let out this odd, hoarse cry, strangled.

She was coming and coming and it was good, tangles and briars, it was good . She rode the aftershocks, her body clenching on that invading finger that wasn't even there, and then the finger flickered out, as if Hollis was unable to keep the illusion going. She pressed herself into him, face into his hoodie, moaning his name again and again.

He held onto her, fingers in her hair, breathing noisily against her.

She scrabbled at the bottom of his hoodie, wanting to touch him, really touch him. "Drop it," she ordered. She meant his illusory body. She wanted the real him, wanted to touch him.

Suddenly, she had her hands on—nothing.

Nothing, nothing and then… his spine? She wrapped her hand around it.

He grunted, tilting his head back.

She opened her eyes to see what she'd done, what she'd uncovered. His hoodie was pushed up; it fell around him, lots of fabric, because most of his bulk was not really there. She was looking at the bottom of his rib cage, at his spine, at the top of his pelvic bones. She ran her fingers over the bones, reverent, letting out little gasps as she did.

It was so intimate, seeing him.

He held her gaze. He shivered. "Fifer…" His voice wasn't strong.

Her lips parted. "You. This is you ." She lowered her mouth to kiss the edge of his bone, the smoothness of his bottom rib.

He let out a rasping breath.

And then the illusion was back, and he was pulling the hoodie down, fumbling to cover himself.

She backed away, biting down on her bottom lip, and it was like that bond between them, that tie—it had been abruptly snapped.

He sat up on the bed, looked at her, and then scrambled off the bed.

She hugged her knees to her chest.

"I…" He lifted a finger. "Just a minute."

"It's not fair," she blurted. "I told you to let me see you, the real you, and I won't let you see me ."

"That's not…" He shook his head. He shook it and shook it. Then he stopped, sighed, and sat back down on the bed. He reached out his arm for her.

Wary, she crawled over and let him pull her tightly against him.

He nuzzled the top of her head. "Things with us, Fifer, they just go so fast sometimes."

"Mmm," she said. "It freaks me out, too."

"It… the fantasy, it was just sexy, and then it changed into something else."

"Yeah," she whispered, burrowing into him. "But I liked what it changed into. I didn't know things could change into that."

"They can," he said.

Oh, of course he knew it. Of course, he'd felt it before. Of course, he'd had this kind of a bond with a woman before. She tensed into him.

"Shit," he said, tightening his grip. "I didn't mean it that way. This is different for me, too, you understand that? I've never felt anything like this."

She looked up at him, as if she could search his blank skull face for answers. But there was no expression there, no way to confirm it.

"It's the truth, Fifer," he breathed. "I don't let people… women… touch me like that." His voice was choked. "You kissed my bones," he said in a very tiny voice.

"Of course I did," she said. "Because…" Why? Why had she done that? It had just seemed like the right thing to do. It had been part of that bond between them, and it had made her feel closer to him, and she very much liked that close feeling.

"I know you don't find that sexy," he said. "No one would. I'm a dead man, a bag of nothing, just held together by magic and endless, pointless desire."

"I find you sexy," she said. "I find you… everything ."

He sucked in a sharp breath, and then suddenly—she was on the bed, he was on her—except she had just a flicker to know it wasn't real, that it was just his overtaking her senses. He was kissing her. He had a mouth, lips, a regular tongue, and it was sloppy and too much, like the real kisses she'd had, and she felt panic, but the panic entwined into the bond, which wasn't snapped at all, since she felt it fire to life in this moment, and she clung to him and kissed back—

He pulled away, entirely away, getting off the bed, letting out a string of curses. "Consent, for fuck's sake, how hard is it to ask? "

"I want to show you my pussy for real," she said, and her heart started pounding.

"No," he said. "No, I could feel how much what I just did freaked you out."

"I want to, though," she said, fumbling at the button of her pants with trembling fingers. "I mean, I don't… I know people do things with it, like grooming, but I've never done that, and I didn't really plan on ever showing it to anyone, and—"

"You do not have to do this for me."

"It's for me."

He sat back down on the bed. "It's confusing."

"What is?"

"Your fantasies, you're turned on by a lack of control, but you want me to be in control of myself."

"Well, I'm turned on by being desired," she said, "but not by being hurt. If you hurt me by accident while you're trying to please me, though, it's sort of different than if you hurt me by accident trying to please yourself or to use me like I don't matter or—"

"That turns you on, too," he said. "The whole fantasy, that man in your fantasy, he was ignoring what she wanted."

"Well, you're not like that."

"What if I am?"

"You're not," she insisted and unzipped her pants.

He let out a hissing breath, his gaze narrowed in on her crotch.

"This doesn't do anything for you," she said. "You don't get—"

"I have a fucking ridiculous phantom erection at the moment, and I can't think, so this is doing something for me." He spat the words out.

She lay back, lifting up her ass, and then she pushed her pants and underwear down together, in one swift movement, her heart pounding like a brass band in her chest. She kicked everything off, lowering her ass to the bed, squeezing both her eyes and her thighs shut and letting out a little mewling noise. "Oh, I just did that."

He didn't say anything. He only breathed, staring at her.

She drew in several sharp breaths and her heart was pounding so fast, and then she abruptly let her legs fall apart. There. She swallowed.

"Fifer," he said in a gravelly voice.

"Well?" she said.

"You're beautiful."

"I mean, okay." She let out a breath. "I mean, you'd say something like that, but when I saw your bones, it wasn't like that, it was just about… about the vulnerability, about the way you trusted me, and about how honored I felt by that, and how it made me feel this swell of emotion for you—"

"Yeah," he broke in, his voice grating. "Yeah, that."

"You want to touch it?"

"Do you want me to?"

She nodded.

"I'm going to need more than that," he said. "You want me to do it, I'm going to need a vocal confirmation."

"Right," she said, letting out a nervous laugh. The feeling of the air on her dampened, freshly climaxed pussy wasn't unpleasant, but she mostly felt exposed at this moment. The exposed feeling was sort of nerve-wracking but also nice, because it was him and she trusted him. "Okay, yes, please, I want you to touch me."

He let out a little noise at that.

She waited.

He scooted closer to her.

She widened the spread of her thighs, bending her knees, making room for him.

His hands settled on her knees.

She sucked in breath. That felt… well, he was touching her bare skin.

"Any time you want it to stop…"

"I know," she said, but her voice sounded tiny.

His skeletal fingers slid—barely there, brushing her skin—down her inner thighs.

She broke out in goosebumps, all over, her nipples tightening. She gasped.

"You all right?"

"Uh huh," she whispered.

As his fingers got closer and closer, her skin was more and more sensitive.

Her pussy clenched in anticipation. She giggled about that. She wasn't sure why. Was it funny? Would he not like that she was giggling?

He paused when he was just at the edges there. "Any time you want me to stop, say something."

"Don't stop," she whispered.

One finger, one gentle bony finger, began to trace the crease outside her vulva, and then drifted over her outer labia, on the left side.

She clenched again, giggled again.

He pulled his finger off.

"Don't stop!" she cried out.

He put his finger back. He touched her clitoris.

She let out a noise. It was too much. He was pushing on her— "Ouch."

"Sorry." He adjusted, and then it was fine, nice even. He began to barely touch the hood of her there—her clitoris was pretty swollen after having come earlier—relatively prominent. He rubbed his finger barely over it, hardly touching her.

She sighed. It was nice.

He sighed. "Fifer, this… you…"

"Inside me," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"Now."

He pulled away, not touching her at all. "I don't know if we should—"

" Now. "

The tip of his bony finger slid in easy.

She gasped.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so tight and wet and—" All the way in, suddenly, all the way in.

She opened her eyes. "Oh."

He laughed. "Well, I mean, I probably should have warned you—"

"That feels like… nothing."

Another laugh. "You want more fingers?"

She shrugged. "You want to give them to me?" She lifted up her head, trying to bend in half, trying to see it. The image was gratifying. Seeing it made her clench. "Well, it looks very sexy, doesn't it?"

"You want me to stop?"

"More fingers," she decided. "Two more fingers."

"You sure?"

"Positive. It's not as if I've never put something in there, you know. I have toys."

"Yeah," he said. "But I remember what you were saying in the sex shop."

"Usually, it is ultimately unsatisfying, I have to admit, but—" She broke off as she was breached by two more skeletal fingers.

"Doesn't hurt, right?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "No, it's, um, it's better. You wanna… move them?"

He chuckled and started to move his fingers in and out of her.

She lay back, shutting her eyes, trying to lean into the sensation. It felt… well, it felt basically the same as any time she'd ever tried a dildo in there. There was some pleasant pressure in a few places, mostly toward her opening, and then there was another sensation all the way inside, less pleasant, but not exactly unpleasant. Otherwise, it was sort of… like she couldn't really feel anything at all .

"Should let me touch your clit," he said in a deep voice, his thumb finding her there. His thumb was too rough, though, too rough while he was finger fucking her.

"I'll do it," she said, pushing his thumb out of the way. She put her finger on her clit. Rubbed it for several seconds. Then, moved it. "Okay, we did this. Let's, um, yeah."

He pulled his fingers out of her, laughing to himself.

"Sorry!" she said, sitting up. "I just… what's the point of that? It's doing nothing for you and nothing for me, so… like, the idea of it is hot, but the reality of it is… Let's just stick with ideas, Hollis."

He reached out and touched her with the fingers that had been inside her.

Her eyes widened.

He painted her lip with her own juices.

She let out a little moan. That should be gross, but it… wasn't.

"The idea of you giving this to me means something," he growled in her ear.

She shuddered. "I want to give you…"

"Give yourself to me, Fifer," he urged.

"Yes," she whimpered.

"Yes," he said, nuzzling her neck, pushing his sloppy finger in between her lips. "Touch yourself? I want you to come again."

She touched herself.

There were more orgasms that night. Quite a few more.