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So that’s it. Pleasure and pain.

All the way. All or nothing.

In a flash, Sorrow’s back where she started, flattened beneath him. And he’s back where he started, hovering above her, his hips spanning between her thighs, about to get himself into a heap of marvelous trouble.

“Good,” he purrs, bracing her arms above her head. “Now, stay down. You’re not done coming yet.”

***

His mouth brings her to orgasm a second time, then a third time, his tongue a riot, working her to a glorious chant.

His name, his name. Yes, his name.

Her moans are as sheer as mist. She tastes sublime, like a sour-sweet fusion of red wine and figs. Envy puts his whole body into sampling that dark budding place nestled within her, skimming and sucking on the shape and swells of her. Matter of fact, he won’t stop until he’s heard every type of tumultuous sound this archeress is capable of making.

Sorrow writhes and wrecks his hair, and Envy hums his approval. Their movements threaten to capsize the boat, water thrashes against its curvature, the prow’s pole tossing white flames across the lagoon.

By the time Sorrow spasms around his wet tongue, Envy learns a new kind of pain. To be succinct, he’s on the brink of releasing himself without the aid of friction.

To cope, he plants kisses on the exposed bits peeking from the robe, exploring the concavities and slopes of her form while introducing her to sensuality. She’s limp and trembling, massaging his back and sighing. Completely his.

However, she must notice his discomfort, because she attempts to touch him. Shaking his head, he drives himself back. There’s nothing more that he yearns for than the grip of her fingers around him, the stroke of her dewy mouth around him, but he wants to savor this decadence for what it is, not clutter it. Seduction should happen in batches. It must be had in pieces, because that’s the best part: the fragmented progression.

So instead, she rests in his arms, their legs slung together. They exhale while staring at the sky. Somewhere beyond this inlet, the great stargazer at Fortune’s Crest cranes its metallic neck.

War seems far away right now. For one more day.

This approaching day. The last day.

The dawn will rise, and then by nightfall, they’ll have to make haste. Until then, Envy bolsters himself on his elbow and sketches her navel with the tip of his pinky. “There’s one more place I want to take you.”

Sorrow plucks his digit, merely to hold it close. “Okay.”

He returns them to the cavern, then lugs the vessel with him, ignoring Sorrow’s protests about his ribs. At this point, the injury has rectified itself. For the most part, at least.

Making it to the waterfall enclave, they float through pools and waterfalls that flank them, throwing steam and fog their way. Prisms of color swirl with the motes, and the occasional infant dragonfly ventures from its cove. Envy and Sorrow travel past water trees and miniature peninsulas, where he directs them through a cascading curtain, drenching them both.

Sorrow cackles and slaps his calf in retaliation. But she hasn’t stopped gazing at the atmosphere, nor beaming at their surroundings.

Floating behind the waterfall, Envy points out a secret tunnel.

Upon first discovering it, his Guide, Siren, had verified it to be a shortcut to the Astral Sea. Not even the Court knows of it.

To this day, he hasn’t tried getting through, due to the slippery crevices and sharp rocks. Because it’s a perilous trek, he hadn’t led Sorrow that way during their escape. That, in addition to his ribs; those bones wouldn’t have fared well against the uneven foundations.

Until now, only Envy and Siren have known of this passage.

Sorrow reclines into him. Envy encircles her midriff and coos into her nape. “We’d better go back.”

“Ugh,” she grunts. “Noooo.”

“Ughhh, errrr, grrrr,” Envy imitates. “Grumble, grumble.”

“I don’t sound like that, you asshole!”

Minutes later, they dock the boat. Envy stalls at the shrouded footpath and offers his hand.

Sorrow takes it. When she hops onto the soil, he twirls her under his arm and sways her into a slow dance, balling their hands against his chest. “Well?” he teases. “Am I wooing you? Compliment me. Say that I’m irreplaceable.”