Chapter 8: -8- “A Strong Drink”

Deacon lost track of how long they sat at the bar, but the drinks continued to roll in as he and Damaris drank on to forget. Being stuck in a new world while war nuked his old one was what Deacon drank to forget. Her horrible history with Garold is what Damaris drank to forget. Eventually, the patrons that had left to avoid a possible confrontation returned, with new ones coming and going as the day went on. At one point, a pretty elf woman with tan skin and silver hair came to bring them both food. Damaris explained to Deacon that she was Lilia, Den’Jay’s wife. 

The two ate a good meal of spiced sausage with eggs and onions, complete with vegetable soup. While eating, the alcohol was beginning to set in for Deacon as he noticeably started to sway a bit in his seat. Moreover, he felt much more relaxed, and his body wasn’t tense. The same could be said for Damaris, except she was likely drunker. But, even if she was, she certainly wasn’t letting it get in the way of sating her appetite. 

“Damaris? Do you…even have money to pay for this?” Deacon asks, his words slightly slurred as he eats another forkful of sausage. 

“I have a tab here; it should still be open.” She simply replies, focusing on her food. 

The proprietor of the Black Cat would come by and drop off two keys, letting them know that their rooms were ready. Damaris didn’t even acknowledge him, instead continuing to eat and drink. The elf turns to Deacon, who waves and silently lets him know he’ll look after her. Once more, they are left alone, eating their meals. 

Eventually, the drink ran dry, Damaris sighing as she set down the second empty bottle of booze. She had finished the first with Deacon at one point, but the second was all her. She was going to ask for a third, but Deacon gently grabbed her hand to stop her. 

“What the fuck you doing, Deacon?” She turns to him, a pout on her face as her cheeks blush with intoxication. He shook his head, holding her wrist firm as she tried to jerk it away. “Let a girl drink, will ya? I need it….” 

“No, you don’t, that’s enough for one day, and I need you sober for later. Come on, let’s go get some rest.” Standing up from his seat, the feeling in his legs returned after sitting for so long, almost making him fall over. Gloved hands grab his sides and hold him upright, looking to see that Damaris is begrudgingly following along. She, however, was a lot more drunk than him. Because of it, she couldn’t even step off her stool before nearly eating the floor. Thankfully the other two of Deacon’s squad were there to catch her, putting her arms on their shoulders. “To the rooms, and don’t forget our guns.” 

With the assistance of the undead, they ascend the steps up to the second floor. The entire time, Deacon’s mind was muddled and swam through the bliss that alcohol provided. Finally, he manages to take them inside their room, being mindful enough to unlock the door. 

Their bags are removed from them and set aside on the desk of the plain room. The room is set up with a double bed, equipped with simple white sheets and pillows for them as the skeletons set them down on the bed. Deacon’s head continued to swim; half focused and half distorted by his intoxication. Damaris still wasn’t faring any better, falling backward on the bed. 

Knowing she likely wants privacy, Deacon hands the other room key to his squad. “Go to the next room over and stay inside…I’ll call for you if I need you.” 

One of them takes the key, the four saluting him. He barely returns it, but they nonetheless leave the two in peace, closing the door behind them and leaving them in silence. There was a desk with a chair on the wall opposite him, so he removed his jacket and doughboy kit, setting them on the back. Damaris does the same to her coat, placing it on her lap. Wordlessly, he would take it from her and put it with his belongings, along with her bag. 

Her eyes are closed when he faces her again as she covers them with an arm. He gets an eyeful of her cleavage, the top buttons of her blouse undone. Her breasts were perky from what he saw, not too small nor big. Her body, in general, was well-rounded with curves; despite how agile she was as a fighter, it was hard to believe in his eyes that she could maintain such a figure. Yet even through her clothing, he could make out musculature on her arms and thighs. For a lot of people, she was the ideal woman. 

Wait, what is he doing? Why is he checking out his drunken companion?! Abruptly he turns away from her, noticing a window at the end of the wall opposite the door. Moving to it, he opens it up to let air in from outside. It was midday, judging by the placement of the suns, as cool air flowed into the room and filled his lungs. 

What the hell was that? Why was he eyeing her up like she was candy waiting to be unwrapped? This wasn’t him; it can’t be. He’s just drunk, and from all those stories he read online back home, getting drunk can hinder your ability to rationally think. Yeah…that’s what it was; he was just impaired by the alcohol! Something inside of Deacon, though, deep within his chest, tugged at him. Whatever it was, was telling him that he shouldn’t ignore what he desired, to just go for it and allow himself to indulge. 

Was this even normal, though, to feel like this? Nearly all those times back home…all the times he’s had sex were with Adrienne. Yet with her, he always felt so damn nervous, embarrassed to be vulnerable with her, that he was always such a crying sap even after they finished. So maybe…maybe the situation has turned around. Perhaps Damaris is the vulnerable one in this scenario, and he is meant to comfort her. 

One of his hands grips the window sill while the other angrily fusses through his hair. The sheets rustle behind him, boot steps moving along the floorboards. Under his armpits, arms snake under and wrap around his chest while a softness presses into his back. 

“I…seriously cannot thank you enough, Deacon. For everything. I just…wish I could do more.” Her words are still slurred, even in a hushed whisper, as her head is pressed into his left shoulder. 

His cheeks warmed as he remembered how she had kissed him on the cheek; hell, she had done so again while they were drinking, but he never thought more of it. “You’ve already done plenty, Damaris. My skeletons did the work; I simply gave them the commands.” 

“No, that’s…not true,” Damaris takes several breaths, her fingers curling into his shirt. Without her gloves on, he could feel her nails under the cloth. “You really have no idea, do you, how hard it is to find a genuinely selfless and humble soul in this fucking world. I’ve been wandering for over seven years and have rarely encountered anyone like you.” 

Her body presses into him more, “I’ve met all sorts of scumbags, cheats, cutthroats, and schemers. Yet you’re better than so many of the other men I’ve ever had the displeasure of speaking to….” 

Her words trail off, but her hold on him doesn’t falter. He’s frozen stiff, not moving an inch as the heat from her body radiates and transfers into him. “I’m…curious, Damaris. How did you come to wander.”

“There’s something I’m curious about too….” She says as she sniffles; he can feel her face lightly rub against his shoulder. Was she wiping her tears against his shirt..? Well, he can’t be too mad at that. “I lost my family when I was young, all killed by bandits. I was taken by them and held captive for years. So many girls came and went, but I bided my time and survived as best I could. Then one day, I found that freedom. Guess that’s not really something you can relate to.” 

“You’d be surprised.” He tells her as he faces her. She is facing his front now, her hands still on his chest. Telling her the truth was a terrible idea, but she was opening up to him despite knowing him for less than two days. She was taking a significant risk, so he would return it. “I’m…not from this world at all. Literally hours before I met you, I rode a machine across a bridge before weapons of mass destruction obliterated the entire area. I died, I’m sure of it. But the next thing I knew, I was here.” 

“You…you died? But, you feel and look real to me.” Damaris frowns, staring into his blue eyes with her brown. “Doesn’t make sense, though; if you’re from another world, how is it you’re a human?” 

“I don’t know. I have just as many questions as you do regarding my situation. But, unfortunately, where I am from, technology is leagues ahead of what is here now. Even the clothing and weapons myself and my squad have are outdated.” He tugs on the collar of his shirt, “Right now, I’m just trying to wander around to find something to do. But to have a general direction on what to do, I needed someone to help guide me around.” 

“Heh…I wonder who was the poor sap stuck with that responsibility.” 

“I’m staring at her.” 

The two of them laugh, remaining close to each other. The next few moments are a blur as they find themselves lying down on a bed, still holding onto each other. Damaris’ tears have cleared by then, but she still holds onto Deacon. Turning onto their sides, the two adventurers stare at each other while still talking. 

“I never was one with a pension for magic, then there’s you who commands undead like a natural-born leader.” Damaris quips, a small smile curling her lips. 

“Perks of dying and being revived, I guess.” Deacon responds, laughing lightly. “Truth be told, I would rather have something more practical like flight or invisibility.” 

“Well, if you have necromancy, I’m sure you could probably learn magic like that. One of my clients was a witch who liked to just float around in the air with her magic book.” 

“Hmm. Gonna have to look into that, among other things.” Deacon rubs the stubble on his chin, also realizing he’s gonna have to probably shave old school in this world. 

The idle conversation dies out slowly, leaving the two in silence as they quietly look at each other. Despite their empty and still-drunk expressions, they were both admiring each other. Damaris’ heart thumped in her ears, loudly even as the moments blacked out in her mind. One second she is staring at Deacon’s handsome features; the next, she is kissing them. 

<———>

Deacon is very, and he means very, surprised when Damaris presses her soft lips to his. He can taste the alcohol they were drinking together as her hand comes up to stroke his cheek. He reciprocates, the two moving closer as the tender smooching continues. 

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Pulling away, an almost hungry look is in Damaris’ eyes as she whispers to Deacon. “How do you feel?” 

Deacon smiles, timidly pecking her lips. “I…don’t know. But, I did like it.” 

Damaris returns it, pushing herself back entirely onto the bed as she reaches for her neckerchief. Deacon snaps out of his stupor for a moment and reaches out with a hand, grabbing her wrist. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Just hear me out, please?” She asks him softly. Gulping, he releases her wrist and listens. “I know, we haven’t been together long…or rather at all, Deacon. I was always under the impression that a relationship takes time, time for the two people forming it to explore.” 

“Maybe a little bit of intimacy too?” He plays along, diluted liquid courage pushing away the clarity he had. 

“Yeah…that too. But in my time living day and day out, wondering when it will be my last, I realize I probably won’t make it to be old. So, mind indulging me just for tonight?” She slips her neckerchief and blouse off, revealing tight cloth wrappings around her breasts. Deacon can now see her toned stomach, as scars lined her torso and shoulders. She removes the cloth covering her chest, her hand replacing it as a coy glint comes to her stare. “Keep them closed for me.” 

Deacon was already so far in it would be incredibly awkward to stop now. But, as Damaris says, he feels her tug on his collar to remove his shirt. 

“No peeking,” she says before pushing him onto his back. Her hands hold his shoulders, moving down his chest, ribs, and sides. Then, slipping under, she pushes it up across his torso. He gasps softly at her touch, lifting his arms to allow her to remove his shirt and toss it aside. 

Her hands, despite being calloused, felt warm and soothing to him as they moved back down his body. Her fingers tug at the hem of his pants, undoing the buttons. His anxiety turns to anticipation as she pulls them down. A noise close to a squeak comes from Damaris, watching as his cock flops free. The cool air tickles his skin, tightening his muscles and senses. 

Damaris touches some of her fingers to his cock, wrapping them around his length and lifting it up. Slowly she starts to stroke, the warmth of her hand sending shivers up Deacon’s spine. But before she moves on further, she needs to be fair to him. He hears the rustle of cloth as she removes the rest of her clothing, leaving her bare to the elements. 

She hovers over him, hands against his cheeks as she kisses hard. Her legs straddle his hips, feeling his cock brush against her thigh as it started to rise to life. Pulling her lips away, she presses them along his neck as her teeth graze his skin. She sucks on it hard, leaving a hickey as he writhes beneath her and opens his eyes. Her head pulls back with a smile, her hair undone and down her back while her perky chest heaves with excitement. 

“Not a scar on your body, yet a necromancer with military garb and weapons. Maybe you really are from another world.” Damaris breathily whispers. 

Deacon’s body relaxes as he takes a deep breath. She senses the shift, her hands removing to press her fingernails against his skin and running them down. It makes him arch his back, which hurts, but it also feels so good. In the sunlight, he could see his skin reddening from her fingers, like fresh scars going down his pectorals to his stomach. 

She lies against him, her breasts pressing into his chest. Propping herself up on her elbows, her warm breath touches his face before she presses her lips to his in another heated kiss. Deacon, despite his apprehension, was enjoying what was going on between them. With Adrienne, it was never slow; that wasn’t who she was. It was always fast and intense, like going ninety down a freeway with their motorcycles. 

Pulling back, Deacon stares into her face as the light of the suns accentuates her features: her cheeks, eyes, those pretty lips, and badass facial scars. He’s said it to himself multiple times, and he’ll continue to do so: with how she carries herself, he never would’ve expected to see this side of Damaris. Yet, it’s a side she is willing to share with him, likely one she hasn’t in a long time. 

She pulls from the kiss, her forehead to his as she locks eyes. “Can I confess something to you?” 

Deacon nods, and she continues, “It has been a long time, Deacon, that I have been like this with anyone. Even then, they always took pleasure in it, never myself.” She pauses for a moment with a sigh. “I’m sorry. Here we bare to each other, and I’m stalling with words. I just…want this to feel special, for some reason.” 

It took him a moment to think of what to say since this was kinda new to him. But, again, good thing he took a drama class. “Why don’t you tell me what you like, Damaris? Let us both explore a bit like you said.” 

Damaris nods with a chuckle. “I like the sound of that.” 

The kissing resumes, her hands pinning his wrists down against the headboard. Her body may have been tempered by conflict, but it still retained sexiness that Deacon could enjoy. His cock rubbed between her legs, feeling how aroused she was getting. One of his hands frees itself from her grip, and she closes her eyes while rubbing herself against him. Then, sliding a hand down her back and around her thigh, he moves between her legs. 

Deacon’s fingers find her pussy, already soaked, as two of his fingers enter her. Damaris moans at his touch, falling against him while her body squirms against his fingers. Her teeth find his shoulder, and she bites hard, making him hiss from the pleasurable pain. Then, pulling his hand away, he holds her hip to guide himself in. She quivers, arching her back as she braces herself on her hands. 

His cock presses right up against her waiting pussy, pulling her down slowly onto it. The two companions gasp together as they move their bodies in almost complete sync. She managed to push herself all the way down to the base of his cock; the whole time, her body quivered under the sensations sent up her spine. Her pussy grips him tight, squeezing at Deacon’s cock as she rolls her hips and moans. Her fingers dig into the sheets below as her folds caress and pull him in. 

“More…right there! Yes!” Each of Damaris’ gasps turns into a moan, which then turns into cries as Deacon gyrates and bucks his hips up into her. He starts to get dizzy from how fast he moves, his body on autopilot as his nails dig into her hips while he continues to fuck her senselessly. 

She seems to have the time of her life as her nails dig into his shoulders hard. So hard, in fact, that through the haze, Deacon is sure she’s drawn blood. But the adrenaline and pure pleasure flooding his system swamped the pain, letting him enjoy the satisfaction of the flesh. 

Damaris' entire body shakes, an orgasm coursing through her as she clenches him tight. Her juices spurt from their connected sex while she grips him for dear life. Ragged breaths cone from her mouth as she rides her high, but it doesn't last long as Deacon turns them over. 

Both of them are clearly tired, but Deacon hasn’t finished yet; this she knew. Her fingers lace around his neck, pecking his lips and nodding for him to keep going. Her head falls back on a pillow, legs wrapping around his thighs as he resumes thrusting into her. This time it’s a much slower pace, but every movement still has them both gasping from the sensations. 

Her lips find his, muffling a groan as he approaches climax. His cock swells inside her, expanding until his cum bursts forth in a tide of white as he fills her up. She practically screams in his mouth, but it’s muffled by their lip-locking. Warmth runs through Deacon’s body as he expells all he has into Damaris, tightening up and holding each other as she climaxes again.  

<———>

Once it is all over, he falls beside her in a panting and sweaty mess. They turn to each other, a satisfied look in their eyes as they bring fresh air into their lungs. Wordlessly, she moves over and wraps her arms around his chest, hugging him while nestling her head into the crook of his neck. He pulled a duvet over them; the sex, combined with the alcohol, was draining him fast. His head droops, moments passing by as Damaris relaxes against him. 

Soft snores come from her while he stares up at the ceiling. Then, his thoughts drift to Adrienne as his eyes grow heavy. Finally, sleep overtakes him, eyes closing. 

What should he even ask her when he wakes up in her apartment?

———

Sometimes at the end of chapters, I will present a choice for you in bold, dear readers. Simply comment what you think the next course of action should be taken and I will write accordingly. 

Choose wisely. 

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