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Legacy of the Witch House (TheCorsair and Xanaphia)

“Me too,” Marta agreed, sliding her nose alongside his before taking one last lazy kiss. “You’ve stolen my mind and occupied my thoughts.” Fatigue and the satisfaction of two delightful orgasms weighed upon her, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. “And, as long as we can avoid accidentally fucking in our sleep again, I don’t mind dreaming about bringing another woman in bed with us.”

“At least…” A big yawn broke through her words, and she snuggled in closer to Pete. “At least it wasn’t as weird as… last night’s dream…” Marta trailed off, softly snoring by the last syllable.

~*~​

Over the next few days, Marta and Pete settled into something of a routine, scheduling lunch meetings or dinner dates around class schedules. When they couldn’t find time to meet, Marta occupied herself with the ancient tomes Goode Brown had used to develop her equations and theories. Evenings were spent alternating between her bed and his, and navigating condoms or figuring out ways to avoid them all together. Of course, between her schedule and the clinic’s available openings, she was looking at a three-week wait for a doctor’s appointment, but what could she do? At least they found creative ways to enjoy one another.

That Friday, Marta reveled in an opportunity to sleep in, and she’d insisted Peter join her. After all, he didn’t have any obligations until noon, and she didn’t have any until that evening, when she had a department fundraiser to attend. At least Peter agreed to join her, so it was almost like having fancy, formal date. A fancy, formal date where she had to schmooze with wealthy benefactors in hopes of getting them to open their wallets.

She’d picked a full-length wine-colored velvet dress, mostly modest, save the thigh-high slit on the left side. She was putting the finishing touches on her make up when knocking against the door announced Peter’s arrival. “Hey,” she greeted hey with a kiss. “Thanks again for joining me. And I certainly plan on making it up to you tonight.”

The party was set at the Arkham Hilton ballroom. It was fortunate they were leaving early, because they’d run into traffic on the way there. Right around Woodhaven Cemetery, one of the oldest Christian cemeteries in the country. “It was the second communal development of the Arkham colony,” Marta explained, filling the time spent waiting in traffic with trivia, “after the church, because so many died that first winter. Over a third of the colony perished in the first six months. Now, Massachusetts boasts the oldest cemetery, but I that’s the height of arrogance. They don’t count any of the native burial grounds, many of which had been disrupted by careless settlers, when not expressly desecrated and destroyed.”

Marta laughed at her own remark, before stopping abruptly as siren’s wailed past, and firetrucks flew past on the shoulder, before turning into the graveyard. After nearly a week of putting it out of her mind, Marta’s dream came back, of the fire burning in the graveyard, while her sister called upon her to open her hand and open her mind. Clearing her throat, she flashed Peter a nervous smile. “What do you think happened there?”
 
The next two days were spent in a delightful round of lectures and Marta and the new project they’d stumbled into. It was actually difficult to say what consumed his thoughts more, really - Marta, or the wormhole equations. In the end, the only thing he could say for certain was how absolutely lucky he had been to meet her, and to have her particular discipline dovetail with his for the research.

Not that her specialty helped with the math, of course. She understood enough calculus to follow his explanations, but not more. However, she was utterly amazing at teasing meaning out of ancient occult texts, translating the thought processes of a 26-century mathematician into something he could understand and work with.

She was equally magnificent at keeping him from obsessing with his new toy, both by steering the conversations away from math and onto current events or activities they’d like to do, and by being sexy as hell. Her experiments with condoms, and with ways to fuck without them, were exhausting in the best possible ways,.

-*-
He stared, dumbstruck, when Marta opened her door. How on earth, he wondered, could a dress that completely covered her make her look even hotter than when she was stark naked. “Hey,” she greeted hey with a kiss. “Thanks again for joining me.”

“No, no, it’s my..,” he began.

“And I certainly plan on making it up to you tonight,” she added with a wink, shifting to show a hip-length of bate keg as her dress parted.

“...pleasure,” he finished, swallowing hard as blood rushes from his brain and lower into his body. Hey tied to shake off the mental image of that dress bunched around her hips as he fucked her. “No, really, I’ve been looking forward to you all day. All evening, I mean. I mean, looking forward to this evening with you, and I’m babbling aren’t I? Let me start over.”

Stepping in, he slid an arm around her velvet-sheathed waist and pulled her close. “You,” he breathed after a lingering kiss, “look incredible.” A grin. “Sure we can’t skip the fundraiser?

Not that they really could, of course. So he checked his bow tie and the drape of his tuxedo jacket as she finished her preparations, then offered her his arm as he escorted her down to his car. She filled the interior with a pleasant scent and pleasant conversation, describing the bleak yet fascinating history of Wiodhaven Cemetary. “Now, Massachusetts boasts the oldest cemetery, but I that’s the height of arrogance,” she gripped, warming to her subject. “They don’t count any of the native burial grounds, many of which had been disrupted by careless settlers, when not expressly desecrated and destroyed.”

“Didn’t some people try to claim the mounds were built by Vikings, or the lost tribes of Israel?” he asked, digging deep for memories of ridiculous things he’d heard on the History channel. “Was that around the time the settlers were first coming into Massachusetts?”

Before she could answer, sirens and strobing lights screamed towards them in the rear view mirror, forcing him to fight to get over. With a chill he couldn’t explain, he watched the truck turn into the cemetary. “What do you think happened there?” Marta asked.

“Dunno,” Pete replied absently, pulling back out. “Some local neopagan thing getting out of hand? I’ve heard some of the staff say Arkham should be way more famous for witches than Salem, but the town doesn’t want to encourage it. Or, maybe...”. A flash of memory hit him, from the night he and Marta had met. His colleagues, and Marta’s family, standing in a circle around a bonfire. In a cemetery.

“Or,” he said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, “an electrical fire in the staff building? Vandalism, maybe?” Not witches. Not a circle of fire, spun by Dr. Freeman that opened a gate to a suggestively inhuman shape among the stars. “A frat getting an early start on Halloween?”

Suddenly, the brightly illuminated Arkham Hilton was a welcome sight. “We’re here.” He laughed a little, and shot her a grin. “Last chance to escape.”
 
Marta giggled, and nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Nah, we came all the way here, might as well make an appearance. But, if you want, we can book ourselves a room.” Drawing closer, she ran the tip of her tongue along the outside of his ear, before whispering, “Maybe we’ll even find someone to join us up there together.”

She was out of the car before he could respond, possibly enjoying teasing him a bit too much. But he cut a mean figure in that sharp suit. Maybe she could convince him to keep it on tonight, and they could roleplay the wealthy benefactor, and the desperate academic willing to do anything to get funding.

But she pushed the thought away as she saw her boss by champagne pyramid. She wasn’t exactly hiding her relationship with Peter (which would have been possible, as much time as they spent going between each other’s offices), but she also wasn’t ready to define it explicitly. Did they need labels yet, when it was all so new and exciting? Couldn’t they just enjoy one another without having to explain it to another person. All she mad to do now was make a quick appearance, exchange brief pleasantries, and then notice a donor from across the room as an excuse to bow out of the conversation early. “Thomas.”

“Ah, Marta. Glad you made it. Did you get suck in that traffic by Woodhaven? I swear Halloween starts earlier and earlier each year.”

“Perhaps they were just celebrating the Harvest moon with a bonfire,” Marta offered, shaking his hand, before positioning herself between Peter and Thomas. “This is Dr Peter Ahn, a rising star from the Physics Department,” she introduced, motioning toward each man, “And this the History Dean, Dr. Thomas Lancaster.”

Thomas shook Peter’s hand with gusto, “Welcome Dr. Ahn. Unless you’re here to poach our donors, in which I will have to escort you out right away.” They shared a laugh, and Thomas pointed toward an attractive couple, a little older than them. “Marta, the Delgados were asking after you.”

“Well, might as well get them out of the way early,” Marta agreed, helping herself to a glass of champagne, and passing Peter one as well.

“Ah, Dr. Marta, so good to see you again,” Luis greeted, arms open and raised. Marta accepted a half hug, that included a kiss on each cheek, before turning towards his wife and repeating the same. Then they both turned towards Peter, Mrs. Delgado not hiding the way she looked him up and down.

“And who is your companion tonight?”

“Dr. Peter Ahn, professor of Astrophysics as Miskatonic.”

She offered her hand, palm down, “Please, call me Selena.”

With a hand on Marta’s shoulder, Luis turned her slightly towards him. “I just acquired the most magnificent Aztec dagger, and I wanted to show you, specifically.” Digging his phone out of his jacket pocket, he turned it on and flipped through his photos. Finally, he found the picture, and Marta’s breath caught. It was the dagger from her dream, the one her sister held, offering to cut open Marta’s hand.

For several heartbeats, Marta said nothing, just stared at the dagger on the screen, trying to find some detail to disprove her fears. But the more she stared at it, the more her dream returned.

“So, what do you think?” Luis finally asked.

Marta cleared her throat. “This… This is the dagger?

“Yes,” Selena said, glancing over at the screen for just a moment. “Please tell us it was not used in human sacrifice.”

“For what I paid for it, I better have been a sacrificial dagger,” Luis quipped, deadpan. Tense moments stretched in the silence. Then he broke into a toothy smile, and scrolled a few more pictures that showed different angles. Angles that confirmed her dream memories. “There are symbols on the handle. Perhaps you can translate them?”

“Oh geez, my Nahuatl is quite rusty,” Marta insisted, shaking her head. She was remembering wrong, wasn’t she? This couldn’t be the same dagger. “They didn’t use a written language, but pictographs intended to be mnemonic devices for the oral history of storytelling and poetry. I might be able to decipher it for you.”

“Excellent, excellent. I’ll have my assistant reach out to you so we can make an appointment, sometime in late October. You should come too, Dr. Peter.” Luis suggested, motioning towards him with his glass, “We’ll all have dinner together.”
 
“Nah, we came all the way here, might as well make an appearance,” Marta answered with a playful giggle. “But, if you want, we can book ourselves a room.”

“To tell the truth?” Pete replied with a sly grin. “I might just have done that very thing last night. And dropped off a few things when I checked in.”

Drawing closer, she ran the tip of her tongue along the outside of his ear, before whispering, “Maybe we’ll even find someone to join us up there together.”

That sent a shiver down his spine. Not that he really expected anything to come if it, mind. Not unless Char happened to be at the party, or Marta’s ex. He couldn’t quite imagine anyone else involved. But still, the thought meant he had to take a minute and adjust his trousers before climbing out of the car and catching up to her.

The interior of the Arkham Hilton was all marble and polished wood and glass, sleek sophistication that spoke of understated wealth. The kind of place that he’d never felt entirely comfortable with, for all the relative wealth his own parents had possessed. The ballroom continued the pattern, a sumptuous room filled with a subdued light from the crystal chandelier that hung above the dance floor. Live music drifted through the air, courtesy of a jazz trio on the stage - a large ebon-skinned man playing a saxophone polished to burn like gold in the dim light, a gawky-looking ginger man playing base and guitar on a 10-stringed instrument made from wood so pale it looked like bleached bone, and a smoky-voiced woman with hair like fire and a singing range from contralto to soprano.

His attention was called back by Marta, who was making introductions. “This is Dr Peter Ahn, a rising star from the Physics Department,” she introduced, motioning toward each man, “And this the History Dean, Dr. Thomas Lancaster.”

“Welcome Dr. Ahn,” Dr. Lancaster said, shaking his hand.

“Thank you, Dr. Lancaster,” Pete replied.

“Unless you’re here to poach our donors,” the department head continued with a laugh, “in which I will have to escort you out right away.”

“Not at all,” laughed Pete. “I’m just here to look ornamental this evening.”

Applause drifted through the air as the song finished. “Shabba ranks everyone, you’re brilliant!” declared the ginger guitarist, raising his voice a little. “Now we’re gonna play a new number by the Ambassador of Jazz himself, Malachi Pant.” The black man waved slightly. “What’s this one called, Malachi?”

“Minkowski Variations,” rumbled the saxophonist. He tapped a quick complicated rhythm with his toe, and launched into a complicated series of nearly atonal notes. A moment later the guitarist was picking out a melody in the wildly varying time, and the singer filled in a wordless song.

“Marta, the Delgados were asking after you,” Dr. Lancaster said.

Marta responded by taking a glass of champagne, then offering him one as well. “Well,” she sighed, “might as well get them out of the way early,”

“Problem donors?” he asked, and her long suffering expression wordlessly confirmed his impression. So, once again he accompanied Marta through the crowd, distracted the whole time by the weird atonal jazz composition. The time and tempo changed wildly, fast then slow, in a naggingly familiar way. But every time he thought he had it, it slid away. And then they were face to face with the Delgados, and he had to get his game face on.

Both of the Delgados greeted Marta warmly. Extremely warmly, as if they had some ideas about a threesome themselves. Or even a foursome, based on the way Serena’s gaze and fingers lingered when he took her hand. “Please, call me Selena.”

“Only if you call me Peter,” he replied. “Dr. Ahn is much too formal.”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, stroking a finger over his palm as she withdrew her hand. “Much too formal. But whatever brings an astrophysicist to a fundraiser for the Department of History and Anthropology?”

“Marta,” he replied with a smile. “She was kind enough to invite me, and I couldn’t very well refuse.” Absently he tapped his foot, trying to find the rhythm in the song by.

Selena glanced sideways, her lips curving into a smile as she watched Marta looking at something on Luis’ phone. “Oh, no,” she agreed. “I certainly wouldn’t turndown her invitation, if she offered.”

“This…” the concern in Marta’s voice caught his attention. “This is the dagger?

“Yes,” Selena said, glancing over at the screen for just a moment. “Please tell us it was not used in human sacrifice.”

“Human... sacrifice?” Now Pete looked, curious. The image on the screen was a jade-handled knife with a triangular blade of glossy black stone. It looked... familiar, somehow.

“For what I paid for it, I better have been a sacrificial dagger,” Luis quipped, then grinned and swiped to show other images. As they went past, Pete had to stifle a gasp as recognition clicked in. The dream! It was the same damn knife he’d seen Narta’s sister holding in the dream! What? The? Fuck?

“There are symbols on the handle,” Luis pointed out. “Perhaps you can translate them?”

“Oh geez, my Nahuatl is quite rusty,” Marta insisted, shaking her head.

“I, Uhm,” Pete said, licking his lips.

Luis looked at him curiously. “You know Nahuatl?”

“No.” He shook his head vigorously, then chuckled. “I can just confirm they aren’t any quantum physics equations.”

Luis stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “Fair enough,” he chuckled. “But could you translate them, Marta?”

“They didn’t use a written language,” she explained, “but pictographs intended to be mnemonic devices for the oral history of storytelling and poetry. I might be able to decipher it for you.”

“Excellent, excellent. I’ll have my assistant reach out to you so we can make an appointment, sometime in late October. You should come too, Dr. Peter.” Luis suggested, motioning towards him with his glass, “We’ll all have dinner together.”

“That would be delightful,” Oete replied automatically. “Although we’re starting into midterms in late October, so scheduling might be tough.”

“Of course, of course,” Luis agreed, speaking with the air of a man who was rarely bothered by the little inconveniences of life. “I’ll send you these pictures as well, so you can get started.” He tapped at the screen. “And, ay your suggestion, I carefully confirmed the provenance of the dagger. So if it is something truly unique, you’ll be better able to place it.”

The song ended, and the trio launched into one of the standards. “It’s not the pale moon that excites me,” the smoky-voiced woman sang as she stepped behind her keyboard, “that thrills and delights me...”

Selena wrapped a familiar arm around Pete’s arm. “Dance with me,” she purred.

“It’s just the nearness of you.”
 
Marta hid her spike of jealousy in a neutral expression. No, why should she be the first woman this evening to dance with her… boyfriend? No, that felt juvenile. Lover? It felt too soon to call him that, it hasn’t even been a week. Her… date. All the confusion about Peter led Marta to one undeniable conclusion.

He’s not just a rebound, is he?

Peter escorted Selena onto the dance floor, and Marta took a conscious interest in her champagne. Maybe she was being ridiculous. After all, hadn’t she teased him with the offer of a threesome? She had little doubt that Selena and Luis won’t go for it. Mostly because they’d been trying to lure her into their bed since she’d begun attending these fundraisers. She’d resisted, but they never took it personally, nor did they relent, tempting her each time they met at events like this.

Truthfully, she didn’t even dislike the Delgados, and it wasn’t because they weren’t attractive. They were, sophisticated and cultured and charming. But it made her feel like such a conquest, as if she were another artifact they could possess, or a location they could visit. Folks like the Delgados act as if nothing were off limits.

Luis hovered over her, “The harvest moon arrives next week.” Marta cast a glance his way, seeking distraction from the sight of Selena wrapped around Peter.

“Is it?” The moon was out when they let for the party, not quite full, but still bright. Doing the math in her head, she nodded. “Tomorrow is the equinox, so the next full moon would indeed be the Harvest Moon.”

“It’s just lovely, bright in the early evening, as if the sun never went down. You really need to experience it, feel the moonlight on your bare skin, and really reconnect with nature.” He watched his wife, laughing as Peter twirled her out. “We’ve gotten too far away from our roots, from the nature that lives within us. Sometimes we just have to remember our place in the interconnected ecosystem.

“Perhaps I’ll brave it with a light sweater.” Marta joked, finishing off her drink. Then she turned towards Luis, and offered her hand. “I look forward to meeting with you soon.”

He took it, and brought it to his lips. “Until the next full moon, Marta.”
 
The dance felt awkward. Not because Selina was a bad dance partner, because she wasn’t. She was graceful and light on her feet, and had clearly spent time learning to dance. And not because he was a particularly bad dancer himself, not in his own humble opinion at least. He’d taken a few lessons and could find a rhythm, so he knew how to fake it.

It was awkward cause it was always awkward, dancing with a donor. Nobody wanted to feel like a prostitute, after all. And Selina made it even more awkward because she was sexy and knew it, and was clearly enjoying pressing herself against him and knowing that Marta was watching. Which made it even more awkward. “Have you been seeing her long?” she whispered.

“Hm? No. Not really,” he replied, turning his attention back to his dance partner. “About a week, really.”

Selina smiles at that. “She is a delight. Luis and I have known her for a few years now - she’s helped him identify a few of his treasures.” A glance at her husband, who was chatting with Marta. “Mostly genuine, fortunately. Do the two of you have any plans for Halloween?”

“I, Uhm, no?” He was nonplussed by the question. “Why?”

“Oh, we always have a costume party then,” she replied, stroking a hand up his spine as she leaned back. “You should come, both of you. It’s ever so liberating, being someone else for an evening.”

“I’ll talk to her about it.” Not that he was sure he wanted to. But why offend one of Marta’s departmental donors? Which is why he escorted Selina back to her husband rather than untangle and escape from her when the song ended. He had to admit to a small stab of jealousy as he saw the man kiss Marta’s hand, though.

“Until the next full moon, Marta,” he murmured.

“Shaba, shaba,” the guitarist called from the stage, grinning and waving. “Give it up for the lovely gooseberry of my dreams here, a real sophisticated lady!” The redhead smiled at that and began playing slowly on her keyboard. A moment later the saxophonist and guitarist joined in.

“Oh, yes,” Selina agreed, taking her husband’s hand. ‘I would love to see you there - both of you.”

“It sounds delightful,” Pete answered diplomatically, taking Marta’s hand. “We’ll have to check our calendars, though. But for the moment...” tugging gently, he led Marta towards the dance floor. “Would you care to dance?”

Drawing her into his arms, he slowly drifted them around the floor. “Are all of your donors like that?” he whispered. “I’m exhausted already.” Then, with a smile, he drew her body closer against his. “Not too exhausted, though.” The hand on her back slid lower, slightly more familiar than was called for in a dance. “Who else do we need to schmioze?”
 
“They are particularly… persistent,” Marta decided, arms wrapped around Peter’s neck as she moved in time with him, “and also particularly generous, so certain peculiarities are often overlooked.”

The rest of the party was perfunctory, uninspired conversation with people with egos as large as their bank accounts. The evening was saved only by Peter, and the small jokes they made in between schmoozing. But mid shelf alcohol flowed freely, and Marta had a delightful buzz going once she was finally relieved of her duties to her department.

Peter was delightful company, and by the time they retired to the rented room for the evening, Marta’s need coursed through her veins. He hardly closed the door before she was on him, fingers dug into his lapels to pull him even closer. The kiss was needy, wet, tongues and lips and moans and rasping breaths. Her body pressed his into the wall, velvet against wool, and she dragged his jacket off his shoulders. Then she dragged him into the bedroom, and towards the king-sized bed in the center.

“I would do anything –anything– to ensure your donation,” Marta purred, tipsy giggles spilling from her performance. She pushed Peter on the bed, harder than necessary, perhaps, but she was having too much fun to care. “Please, allow me to present my latest research, on pleasure and desire…”

On her knees before him, Marta worked his pants open, trying desperately to summon the patient not to rip them open. He looked so handsome in his suit, and she didn’t want to ruin it, but she needed him right now. Mischievous eyes met his, tempting him with hunger, while she unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock. “Such generous endowments,” Marta exhaled, breath ghosting over his length. Her tongue darted out, slickening his shaft with maddening attention.

“Can I count on a sizable donation?” Marta asked, tracing a moist ring over his bulbous head. “Or do you need more convincing?” She locked eyes with him then, holding his gaze as she swallowed inch by inch of thick cock.
 
Sucking up to departmental donors was tedious enough st the best of times. Sucking up to some other department’s donors was hell, though, because he wasn’t even getting any benefits out of it. Well, not directly, anyway. He was, after all, spending time wuth Marta. That was a benefit.

The open bar was a benefit as well. A light buzz made it easier to laugh at the jokes and flatter on cue.

Still, it was a relief when the clocks showed midnight and the fundraiser shut down. “It’s a good thing,” he told Marta, slurring just a little as he escorted her into the elevator, “that I reserved us a room.” He swayed a little as the elevator rose toward the eighth floor. “Dunno that I’d be up to driving.”

She responded by leaning into him, and it was all he could do not to hit the emergency stop and push her against the wall. He’d been hard for her most of the evening, what with the dress she was wearing and the flirting and the half-formed ideas he’d had when he made the reservation. But he wanted to take his time on her, and fucking in the elevator would be over too quick.

Plus, there were the condims. All of them were in the room.

Pent up desire erupted even as he closed the door. Marta all but tire his dinner jacket off, tossing it aside as she tried to devour him. He returned the gesture with equal hunger, fumbling with the zipper in her gown as they groomed their way into the bedroom. She pushed him back into the mattress, fumbling and tugging at his pants. “I would do anything –anything– to ensure your donation,” she purred.

She giggled at that, and he did as well. God, that sounded stupid. Except for the fact that it was also hit as fucking hell. “Your experiments have been loose and sloppy,” he said, trying to sound stern. “You’ll have to be very convincing.”

“Please, allow me to present my latest research, on pleasure and desire…” she replied, managing to get his pants open. Her hand was soft and warm in his aching cock as it escaped, and her breath ghosted over the sensitive flesh. “Such generous endowments.”

“Only... only if you...” he gasped as her tongue caressed his head. “You... need to take more, more time.” Fuck, she felt good on his duck. “Carefully... follow your... lines of evidence...”

“Can I count on a sizable donation?” Marta asked, tracing a moist ring over his bulbous head. “Or do you need more convincing?”

Pete gasped, watching her watch his reactions as she slowly swallowed his shaft. His hips rocked, sliding more of his length over her crimson lips - the same shade as her dress, he noted - until he felt his head touch the back of her throat. God damn, if the temptation to cum like this wasn’t strong, to full her mouth while she knelt there, sucking him off in her dress.

But he’d made a few plans, based on some of the books he’d noticed on her shelves.

“Not... good enough...” he sneered, dragging her off his cock and into the bed with him, gasping as he felt velvet slide over his saliva-slick meat. “If you want my endowment, you’ll have to work for it.”

The next few moments were a delicious confusion of rolling and groping, of hands and lips on skin. And then he had her flat on her stomach, fastening the Velcro handcuffs he’d left there earlier around her wrists. With the other ends attached to the headboard, they gave an illusion that he was holding her bound and captive.

“Now,” he said, sliding his hands up her thighs and under her dress, “I’m going to thoroughly examine your proposal.” His fingers hooked on the waist of her lace panties, slowly drawing them over the curve of her ass. “Explain to me exactly what it is you intend to accomplish, while I do.”
 
Marta gasped and groaned, struggling playfully against Peter. He’d caught her off guard, tearing her off his cock to pin her on the bed. And the cuffs were an unexpected surprise. She could have escaped them, if absolutely necessary, but instead delighted in the idea of playing along with Peter’s game. With her dress hitched up over her ass, and his hands on her thighs, anticipation burned in her depths. She wanted him, wanted this, and didn’t mind taking their time with it.

“I assure you I –ah!” Marta cried out as her panties were pulled away from her body, soaked in her musky desire. Squirming beneath his touch, unable to stop him or demand more, Marta whimpered, trying to remember what she was going to say. “My research is… valuable to you as well… I promise you’ll like it…”

His hands breezed over bare skin, tantalizing her with unspoken promises and threats. “Examine my… my claims deeply, probe… probe them completely.” Plump cheeks bounced as she grounded against him, entreating him with needy words and needier body language. I am quite sure you… you will be impressed by my findings, and, and, and I promise, I will go to any length to bring your satisfactory results.”
 
It took an enormous act of willpower not to just push into her right then and there. Sliding his aching cock against the cleft of her ass as she ground back against him just wasn’t enough. He wanted her tight around him, milking his dick as he fucked deep into her.

Instead, he slapped her firmly on the ass and pulled away. “The problem, Dr. Rebelo-Perez,” he declared, sliding off the bed and opening a drawer in the end table, “is that an audit of your expenditures has revealed some... irregularities.” Grinning, he produced the small, egg-shaped vibrator he’d found in her bedside table last night. “This was not listed in your original grant proposal, after all.”

There was a lie, audible buzz as he flicked it on, sending vibrations up his arm as he crawled up to kneel behind her once more. “It worries me when audits disclose irregularities,” he declared, rolling the toy against the dripping lips of her slit and then pressing it against her clit. “What defense can you offer?”
 
Geez, Peter found her toys? When did he sneak that from the bedside drawer? She hadn’t noticed, since she hadn’t needed them since they started hooking up. He turned it on, and it was an almost Pavlovian response to grow wet and tense at the soft buzz. “There is a good explanation for that.”

The vibrations were a delicious distraction, making words and thoughts challenging. Marta writhed, pressing herself against the toy until the sensation was too strong, and then pulling away. Chasing that lightning, and retreating before it could overwhelm her. “I have to… explore… explore all options… even ones… that arise… late…”

The game was lost to gasping moans and thrashing limbs, her body growing tight and tense as orgasm neared. “Oh fuck, Peter… Peter I’m close… Please… please don’t, don’t stop.”
 
In response, Pete stopped. Stopped, and drew a small bottle from his pocket. It clicked loudly as he opened it, and he watched hungrily as he dripped lubricant over the cleft of her ass. “All avenues?” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “Then you’ll see the need of opening up a second line of inquiry.”

The vibrator buzzed again as he turned it on, rubbing it against her folds before using two fingers to open her. Licking his lips, he pushed it into her cunt, watching her stretch as it entered her. “The first seems satisfactory,” he growled. “And now...”

Gripping his cock with one hand, he pressed the head against her ass and moved it, coating it with the lube. He pushed slowly, feeling the tight ring of muscle part around his head and then his shaft. “Fuck,” he groaned, enjoying the sensation. “Holy... fuck, you feel good.” He could feel her ass clench around him, feel the buzzing of the vibratory against his cock through her walls.

Buried completely in her he leaned forward, hands exploring the velvet-sheathed canvas of her body. Lips and teeth caressed the bare skin of her shoulder, marking a trail of kisses and little bites as he thrust into her with increasing speed and urgency. “Fuck,@ he moaned into her skin. “I’m so fucking close, Marta.”

His hands slid neath her, gripping a double handful of her velvet-covered breasts. “Tell me...” he groaned, the buttons of his shirt rough in her bare skin as his stomach slapped against her ass with each thrust. “Fuck, I... I’m close! Marta... are... are you...”. Then he cried out as he climaxed, lost in the ecstasy of feeling his hot seed empty into her colon.
 
Marta could hardly control her volume as Peter pushed the toy into her, before pushing his cock into her ass. Perhaps she merely didn’t care to contain her delight, relishing in the new setting to scream her pleasure aloud. Fuck, it was intense, taking Peter up her ass while the egg vibrated within her. The dual sensation of fullness, almost overwhelming as she gave into it.

The buzz of the toy inside her magnified her orgasm as it pulsed through her. Soon the headboard banging against the wall added to the chorus of her delighted cries, their fucking encompassing the entire room.

“Peter… fuck, you feel so… so good…” Marta rasped, her body molding to his, accepting and craving his inside her. She loved the way he felt in her cunt a little more, but at least they didn’t need condoms this way. And the heat of his cum felt glorious in her ass.

Marta slumped over in the bed, lazily freeing herself from the cuffs while fielding kisses and caresses from Peter. He felt so good, but she wanted to get out of her dress before she fell asleep, and between the good booze and the good sex, she knew she was close.

“You are amazing,” she giggled, unzipping herself and slipping out of her dress. She slid her nude body alongside his, longing for his warmth against her. Yep, he’s definitely more than just a rebound. “I can’t believe how lucky I am, to have such a sexy, smart, sweet… lover. I…” The words almost slipped out, words she’d used so freely Nkendi just a month before. It was too soon. Right? Don’t scare him away, not now. “I’m just so happy that we’re… well, whatever we are, now.”

Marta kissed him before she could embarrass herself more, snuggling up close to him. She was asleep by the time she closed her eyes.
 
Liquor and afterglow made him want to just curl around Marta and sleep, but a reasonable part of his brain knew that sleeping in his tux was a bad idea. So as she peeled off her gown he fumbled with his shirt and slacks, tossing them unceremoniously over a chair. “I brought...”. A yawn interrupted the words. “I brought clothes for us,” he finally managed, sliding back into the bed. “In the closet.”

“You are amazing,” she giggled, sliding into the bed and wrapping herself around him. “I can’t believe how lucky I am, to have such a sexy, smart, sweet… lover. I…”

That last word, lover, seemed to pool like molten gold in his veins. “I thought I was the liucky one,” he yawned, pulling her closer as she snuggled into him. “Never thought I’d meet anyone as wonderful as you.”

“I’m just so happy that we’re… well, whatever we are, now,” she sighed.

“Happy,” he agreed. “Happy... and together.” There was more he wanted to say, but the warmth of her lips on his silenced him. So he settled for kissing her back, and then sleep enfolded him.

There were dreams, of course.

He stood on a featureless black expanse etched with a neon grid. The grids distorted around his feet as he moved, resembling the sort of graphic he used with freshmen to illustrate the effect of mass on spacetime. No, not he. They. Marta was there as well, dressed in an old fashioned ball gown that matched the old tux and tails and top hat he realized he was wearing. “Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire?” he laughed.

A long, low note sounded from a saxophone, and she stepped into his arms. Overhead, the ebony sky seemed filled by the features of Malachi Pant as he played an odd atonal song. The Minkowski Varuatiins, he remembered. He moved with Marta, their feet tracing lines of fire through the ebon surface beneath them as they struggled to keep pace with the wildly changing rhythms of the song. As they did, the grid distorted deeply around them, twisting into new connections.

We got to keep it real, and what reality and what reality will keep it real with us...

He felt like he could almost see it. Like there was an underlying pattern to the rhythmless song.

I remember them good old days.

Almost...

Because see, that’s the child I was...

He was still half asleep when he twisted and wriggled, groping for the phone. Or was it the phone? Was the song art of the strange dream that still rugged at him, dragging him back towards sleep despite the morning sun peeking in the window.? “Hello?”

“PJ! Good morning!”

“Huh? Mom?” It had been her ringtone, after all. And it was hard to mistake her Southern accent, still there after decades of life in the Pacific Northwest. But it was surprising, particularly with a delightfully naked Marta peering at him in bleary-eyed confusion.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” She asked. “Usually you’re up by now.”

“I, Uhm, had a late night,” he managed. “Went to a fundraiser.”

“That must be why you didn’t return my call last night,” she replied, and he could hear the affectionate smile in her voice. “Well, I just wanted to find out if... what was that?”

The that in question was a muffled query. “That was Marta,” he said without thinking.

“Marta?” Comprehension seemed to dawn in the disembodied voice, transmuting quickly to a sound of delight. “Oh, my - I didn’t mean to interrupt, dear. I just wanted to know if you’d be able to make it home for Thanksgiving, but you have to tell me about her! Is she nice? How long have you been seeing her?”

“Mom...” he groaned.

“She’s welcome to come with you, if you can make it,” she continued. “You have to send me a picture!”

“Mom...” he tried again.

“No, no, don’t let me keep you!” She enthused. “I don’t want to interrupt! But call back once you’re decent, all right?”

“Mom!”

“What?” She laughed. “You’ve got three brothers and a sister, PJ. I kind of know how these things work.”

“Mom, please...”

She laughed again. “Have fun, you two! I love you, PJ.”

“Love you, mom.” He dropped his phone back in the end table, and clapped his hands over his face. “Oh. My. God.”
 
Parts of the party seeped into Marta’s dreams, becoming a bizarre, fantastical dance number between her and Peter. The 1930’s style clothing was a bit vintage, but the music defied era or classification. The rhythm was unnatural, not set to the steady beat of a heart, and Marta struggled to keep up. But as the dream progressed, and more passageways opened for her, the more Marta seemed to get it. Not just keeping up with the tempo changes, but anticapting them, and anticipating the expanse shifting around them. All of it was a pattern, a pattern that defied her understandings of patterns, but a pattern none the less. Everything was becoming clear, and clicking into place…

Peter’s voice, sleepy and hoarse, wake her from the dream, just a bit. If she closed her eyes again, she could go back, discovering the hidden meaning in freeform music and the solution to the changing maze. But the sun was bright on her eyes, and Peter’s voice kept returning, keeping her from sleep.

“What…” Marta murmured, before erupting into a yawn, “What time is it?”

It was then she realized he was on the phone. She couldn’t make out the words on the other end, just the jovial feminine voice with a southern twang. And from Pete’s responses, it was pretty easy to figure who he was talking to. What, on the other hand, was a complete mystery.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Oh, it didn’t sound so bad. Pretty sure my sister dropping in on us has you beat,” Marta teased, nudging him and shifting to hover over him. Her good moaning kiss started chaste, a simple peck on the lips, but quickly grew more interesting, as she began exploring Peter’s form, not grow more and more familiar. Comfortable. It would have been easy to get tangled up in his embrace this morning, if not for the gnawing hunger rumbling from within her.

“Breakfast first, then check out the bathroom? Or do we need to be getting ready for your basketball game?” Marta asked, before taking another lingering kiss. Then she pushed herself up, no shame in her nude figure as she looked for the room service menus. He liked how she looked, and she liked the way he looked at her. “Here we go. Think I want some scrambled eggs and a thick slab of ham. It seems I am quite famished, after last night.” Tossing the menu on the bed for him to look over, Marta explored the room.

“So, when did you have a chance to pick out some clothes for me?” she asked, walking over to the closet. The outfit hanging up was pretty cute, pairing a pink sweater with a grey skirt, and grey knee-high boots.

“Oh, am I playing cheerleader to your basketball star?” She teased holding the skirt up against her figure.
 
“The game’s at noon,” Pete replied, letting his eyes linger as Marta poked around the room. “So we’ve got time for breakfast and a long shower before then.” And fuck if that didn’t sound good. Although breakfast sounded better at this moment, he realized when his stomach grumbles as he picked up the menu. “And... hey. The Denver omelette looks good. Let me call it in.”

“So, when did you have a chance to pick out some clothes for me?” she asked as he spoke to room service.

“Huh?” Thumbing the phone off, he rolled over to watch her explore the closet. “Oh. Yesterday, while you were in the shower. I, Uhm...”. He chuckled. “It was an impulse, really, since I wanted to surprise you with this. So I checked your closet and wrote down your sizes.” Now he was feeling embarrassed. “I hope you like them.”

She held the skirt up against her waist, inspecting it. “Oh,” she asked, a teasing note in her voice, “am I playing cheerleader to your basketball star?”

“Well, there’s a thought,” he grinned back. “I don’t know if there’s enough room in my back seat to play that right, though...”. Although, to be honest, the idea of trying to fuck in the back seat of his car like a hornet teenager sounded pretty hot. Even if it was probably a terrible idea. “Although after the game we should probably put some work in on the project. I’ve got a few new ideas for cracking Brown’s code on the location equations. But, Uhm...”

He thought for a moment, trying to remember if he’d seen any DVDs at her place. He didn’t, and it was a surprise to realize there were things he didn’t know about her. They’d been together less than a week, but it seemed like he’d always known her. “Want to catch a movie tonight? The Esquire‘s got a double feature - the 2850’s The Thing From Anither Wirkd, and John Carpenter’s version.”
 
“Yeah, a movie sounds good. But isn’t a little early for cheesy horror flicks?” Marta laughed, hanging the shirt back up in the closet, and pulling out the robe. Ultra plush, it was warm against the cool morning air, and While she might have rather had Peter wrapped around her –and, perhaps, herself wrapped around Peter in turn– the food would be here soon. And she was still hungry.

The morning was a relaxed affair of sharing breakfast together, before sliding into a slippery, sensual bubble bath together. BY checkout, they were hand in hand in the lobby, So far as she could tell, Peter actually seemed to like her as much as she liked him, and that thought was electrifying.

They headed back to campus for the game, with Peter heading off to get changed in the locker rooms, and Marta staying behind at the court, to mingle with more colleagues she rarely had a chance to speak with, as well as spouses. Some of the players took to the court to get warmed up, and, while it looked like Peter was going to join them, he instead headed back in the locker room. Then, just a moment later, she got a text from him, asking her to meet in there. Smirking to herself, Marta excused herself from the crowd.

~*~​

Marta found Peter alone the row of lockers. “Hey Sexy,” she called, strutting over. Between the hem of her skirt and the tops of her boots, little windows of caramel thighs peeked out. He looked fucking good too, with her muscular arms on display in his jersey.

“Do you have a little time before the game? I can help you get warmed up,” she teased, pushing him back against the lockers. It was easy to slip her hand into his basketball shorts, and curl her hand over his cock. “We’re going to need to take care of this tension here, so you don’t get a cramp…”

~*~​

Marta stepped into the locker room, just about to call for Peter when a hand clamped over her mouth and another pulled her by her waist, and pressed her up against an unseen firm body. Terror filled those few second, an overactive mind filling in horrific details as her heart raced.

“It’s okay Marta, it’s me,” Peter whispered in her ear, easing his grip on her. Marta let herself relax just a touch, trusting her lover for the moment. “I didn’t want anyone to hear us.”

Marta peeked into the corridor, and while she didn’t see anything, she thought she heard echoed conversation “Maybe we should go somewhere else?”

“Nah, we’ll be okay. Just turn right up here, and we’ll head for the showers.” Peter pushed her along, his hand firm and warm on the small of her back.

“I would have thought you’d have enough of the shower, earlier.”
 
“It is never too early for cheesy horror flicks,” Pete replied earnestly. “And John Carpenter’s The Thing isn’t cheesy - it’s a masterpiece!”

The rest of the morning was a delight. Small talk and flirting over breakfast led to a sensual bath together, skin sliding against wet skin as they washed and teased and explored one another. And then a quick shower together to wash up from the cum he’d left on her skin after he’d brought her to orgasm with his fingers. But the best part, on so many levels, was walking hand in hand to the car with her after they’d checked out.

“Marta,” he started to say, looking at her as he put the key in the ignition. “I...”. Love you. But he hesitated. It had been less than a week. Would he scare her off? “Thank you. For... for inviting me. And for, well, being you.”

The whole way to the rev center, though, he wondered if he should have said it anyway.

-*-

“Peter!” Dr. Brown called, grinning and shaking his hand as he entered the locker room. “I was getting worried! Usually you’re here earlier for the game.”

“I had a late night,” Pete replied. “Went to a fundraiser with Dr. Revelo-Perez,and it didn’t wrap up until after midnight.”

“You’re an astronomer!” Dr. Brown laughed. “Late nights are a poor excuse.”

Pete laughed and displayed his large coffee. “I’m on it.”

“Great!” Dr. Brown laughed, clapping his shoulder. “The rest of us are going to warm up. Join us when you can.”

-*-

“Oh, we’re not showering,” Pete assured her. “But nobody’ll be using them, not until after the game. It’s perfect.”

The shower room was a single large room done in cream tile, with two rows of poles mounting shower heads rising like dull aluminum trees from the floor. His hands pushed her across the room and against the wall, his cock hard against her ass as he leaned against her. “Perfect place to fuck my sexy cheerleader hard before the game,” he added, his voice a hot whisper in her ear,

His hands slid under her sweater, sliding over her belly to squeeze her breasts as they teased into the tile. “Fuck,” he breathed, pinching her nipples. “I’m glad I couldn’t get you a bra. Are you an eager slut of a cheerleader drooling for thick jock dick?” He squeezed her breasts harder, grinding his dick against her. “Or some sexy, innocent cheerleader a cruel jock lured into the locker room so he could have his way with her?”

-*-

“Oh, fuck,” Pete breathed, eyes closing as Marta’s hand wrapped around his cock. “I don’t know if... this is the time...” he added, looking around. There wasn’t anyone else in the locker room, but he could swear he heard voices coming from the showers. “I mean... someone could walk in..,”

Marta’s response was to squeeze harder and stroke faster. The result not only felt even better, it also did delightful things to her chest. He hadn’t bought a bra - they turned out to be far more complicated than sweaters or skirts - and her breasts moved and swayed freely beneath the soft pink oil.

“Fuck,” he groaned, throwing his head back. His hands braced in the lockers, supporting himself. “If... you take care of me... like this... it’ll get... messy.”
 
Marta slammed Peter back against the lockers, “Let’s not make a mess then,” she cooed, licking a glistening sheen of saliva over her lips before dropping to her knees. “You didn’t let me finish this last night, but you won’t deny me now…”

Slick lips swallowed his cock, ravenous from the first moment her mouth wrapped around his head. One hand pressed him against the locker, refusing to let him up. The other groped at this delicious figure, blinding exploring him while she worked herself down his length.

~*~
Marta hissed, enjoying Peter’s aggressive streak even as it surprised her. Maybe it would have worried her a bit more if it didn’t feel so good, if his touch didn’t sap the rationality from her mind.

A loud metallic thud caught her attention, and she froze, half expecting to get caught. As if they were a pair of dumb horny teenagers, and not a pair of thirtysomething professionals who must certainly knew better.

“What was that?” she whispered, craning her neck to face Peter. He didn’t stop or even slow down from grinding on her

“Nothing,” he purred, before biting hard on the back of her neck. Maybe he was right, and it was nothing. Maybe he was too aroused to care, a thought that flattered her immensely. Still, she couldn’t shake the tension in her muscles.

“Maybe we should stop, before we get caught…”

“The risk makes it hotter,” he breathed into her ear One hand, that had been groping a breast, snake down her stomach and under her skirt, teasing her through her panties, “It’s certainly making you hotter.”

She couldn’t argue that point, biting her lip hard to keep herself from crying out. He was all over her, with one hand on her breast, and another between her thighs. His cock prodded her ass, reminding her of last night, and just how good it felt to take him, especially with the toy inside her as well.

His finger teased her opening, not entering her but stroking up and down. “You want me inside, don’t you?” She nodded vigorously, but still he taunted her. “No, you need to say it.”

“Please… I want you inside me,” she murmured, grinding herself against his throbbing erection.

“Louder,” he growled, just brushing his fingers over her clit. She writhed, trying to fuck herself on his fingers, but he resisted her.

“Please, I want it,” she moaned, as loud as she dared.

“Louder,” Peter demanded again, voice thick, almost as thick as his swollen shaft.

“Please!” she squealed, the word loud as it echoed in the shower.

~*~
Even as the feminine cry bounced along with thick concrete walls of the locker room, Marta didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. The sound, words indistinct, but clearly lustful, encouraged her, driving her faster and deeper on Peter’s cock. Slippery strings of spit clung to her lips and drooled down her chin, refusing to let up even as clear evidence they weren’t alone reverberated through the locker room. Nor did she let him up, forcing him to suffer the sultry oven of her mouth wrapped around his dick.

Maybe she could get him to scream too.
 
Pete pushed Marta hard into the wall, his hand sliding from her skirt to drag her hips out and away from the wall. The same hand grabbed a fistfull of her skirt, dragging it roughly up over her ass before sliding down between her legs once more. “Sounds like someone else is here,” he whispered, his ne hand sliding up her arm to pin her hand to the wall, the other tugging the crotch of her panties to one side. “If you scream like that, they might hear us.”

He shifted, dragging his basketball shorts down and allowing his hard cock to spring free. “They might come to see what’s going on,” he whispered, biting her earlobe as his head slipped against the wet lips of her cunt. “They might even see us fucking.”

He gasped as he pushed, groaning at the feel of her slick walls stretching around his dick. Now both hands gripped hers, restraining her as he moved within her. “Imagine that,” he whispered, rocking his hips to drive himself hard and deep into her. “Someone walking back here, catching us with my dick balls deep in you.” Teeth scraped ver her throat. “Someone watching, while I pound this thick cock into you.”

He thrust hard, forcing her up into her tiptoes, and squeezed her wrists. “Be a shame, wouldn’t it? For someone to see how hot you are when you’re getting fucked?”

-*-

The metal of the lockers was cool on his back, a shocking contrast to the soft warmth of Marta’s sweater and chest against his thighs and the heat of her mouth as she hungrily sucked his cock. He alternated between throwing his head back and moaning, and looking down to watch. Each time he did he found Marta staring up at him, , taking care to let him see his spit-slick cock disappearing between her lips.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, his head resting against the metal as his fingers tangled in her hai. “God... Marta...”. He glanced down and she smiled, running her tongue over his length before swallowing him again. “God... Matt... I... I’m close...”

The confession seemed to inspire her. A warm hand cupped his balls, gently squeezing by them as she slid her mouth over his shaft once more. Her other hand slid up under his shirt, nails taking white lines over his abdomen in a stinging counterpoint to the ecstatic torture of her mouth. “Marta... I...”. His fingers combed through her hair, gripping her scalp as he fucked her mouth. She moaned around his cock. “I...”

He couldn’t stop the hoarse shout of pleasure as he came. Marta’s greedy sounds of delight as she sucked harder, swallowing his cum as he emptied it into her in thick ropes just made it better.

-*-

A shout echoed through the locker room, bouncing from the walls of the shower. “Someone can hear us,” Pete whispered. “You’d better be quiet.” He released her wrist, covering her mouth with one hand before sliding two fingers between her lips.

“I’m.. getting... close...” he whispered, moving his fingers in the same rhythm as his cock. “I want you to cum on me.” He bit her ear. “If they catch us, I want them to see how much you love getting fucked with this thick dick.”

He slammed into her again and again, crushing her body into the wall. “Fuck... I’m close...” he breathed. “Should I... pull out? Should... should I cum.., all over... your ass..? Let... let everyone... see your... your skirt... wet with cum..?” He bit her neck now driving deep into her. “Or... do I... cum in... you? Do... do you want... want me... filling... you... with... cum?” His fingers slid from her mouth, leaving a wet trail along her cheek as his hand gripped her throat. “Tell... me...”
 
Cum dripped from Marta’s lips, opalescent drops sliding down her chin. She made a display of meeting peter’s gaze as she brushed her fingers through it, and then sucked his pleasure from her fingertips. “Hmmm,” she hummed, rubbing her body against as she stood, “You taste so fucking good.” Then she gripped his head, the same way he gripped hers just moments before, and pushed hungry lips against his.

The kiss was fierce, and entirely too brief. “I should get out of here,” she whispered, making no move to leave just yet, “before we get caught. Unless you want to brag to all your colleagues that I sucked you off like a whore.”

~*~

Fuck, Peter wasn’t wearing a condom, and worse, it felt too good to ask him to stop. Especially when she didn't want to make a scene, not with the vague sounds coming from the rest of the locker room. However hot peter's words were in theory, how could she possibly show her face at work if someone saw them fucking like this?

“Not… not inside…” she whimpered, moaned, not particularly convincing. Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, just this once. Fuck she wanted to feel it again, feel him again, feeling that connection and completion as their orgasms pulsed together and her body milked his.

“Peter!” she strained against the hand on her throat, lost in bliss of that moment. Shuddered ecstasy trembled along her core muscles, and Peter’s relentless strokes prolonged the sweet torment of her climax.
 
“Not… not inside…” Marta moaned, the clenching of velvet walls on his shaft giving the lie to her words.

In response, Pete drove into her again, pushing her up onto tiptoes and flattening her against the wall. “Cum for me,” he growled in her ear. “Cum on me.”

She screamed his name as she climaxed and he kept fucking her, driving into her slick heat as she clenched around him. He barely pulled out as he joined her, the warm air of the shower room shockingly cold on his cock after the heat of her body. He gasped as he pulled against her, cum splattering against her cunt and ass and dripping down her thighs. “Fuck,”he breathed, stumbling away.

There was a sound of runnng water, and then he returned. A wet cloth caressed her skin as he wiped her down. “Unless you want to walk out there,” he teased, rubbing his sticky cock against her as he caressed her skin with the washcloth, “dripping with cum so the world knows I fucked you like a whore.”

Smiling, he kissed the back of her neck. “You should head out,” he murmured. “Or I’m going to miss the game.”

-*-

The kiss was fierce, and entirely too brief. “I should get out of here,” she whispered, making no move to leave just yet, “before we get caught. Unless you want to brag to all your colleagues that I sucked you off like a whore.”

Despite having just cum, Pete’s cock twitched at the idea. “You... you’re probably right,” he agreed, hands sliding down her back to cup the curves of her behind. “I mean...”

In the distance, a familiar sounding voice called his name. He jumped, suddenly feeling guilty. “I’ll see you after the game,” he smiled, kissing her. He’d intended it as an affectionate parting gesture, but it rapidly turned into something hungry. “And I’ll have to repay the favor.”

-*-

Dr. Brown shook his head as Pete trotted out onto the court. “It’s about time,” he called. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send a search party!

“No, no, no worries!” Pete laughed. “I, Uhm, had a cramp. Had to, Uhm, rub it out.”

“Are you all right?” Irritation had transformed to concern in Dr. Brown’s expression. “Are you going to be able to play.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pete smiled, catching Marta’s eye as she settled down on a bleacher seat. “I feel great!”

-*-

Pete slipped his arm around Marta’s waist as she stood, watching the game from the upper observation window. Down below, he could see Marta watching Phil pass the ball to an associate professor with a good jump shot. “Did you hear us?” he whispered. “Because I certainly heard you.”

She made a pleased, throaty sound of agreement as she leaned back into his embrace. He bit his lip, stifling a gasp as she ground against his cock. “He promised to return the favor, after the game.”

A buzzer sounded, and the referee recovered the ball. “I’d like to watch that,” Pete told her. “But what do you think? About the mission?”

“Oh, I think they’ll join us.” Absently, she stroked a strangely-carved obsidian pendant that nestled between her breasts. “We did, after all.”
 
Marta had to walk carefully back to the court, to hide the fact that Peter had fucked her good and hard just moments before. She cleaned his seed from her skin, but couldn’t help but feel like his scent clung to her. That wasn’t so bad, however. Peter was hot, and he was hers. Geez, maybe she was just a dumb teenager around him.

Then he looked her way, smiling that satisfied smile, and she thought she might melt, blushing in the recent memory of their bodies fitting together. Yes, she was an idiot for him.

The game was fun to watch, and even more fun to cheer Peter on. Maybe a touch more enthusiastically than was necessary, but Peter was playing so well, and damn, he looked so good. Once the game was over, and he headed for the locker room, there was a temptation to follow him. But his whole team would be in there now, and she didn’t really want an audience of fellow professors watching her fuck Peter. But he didn’t take long, and soon they were headed back to his place.

They had a few hours to kill before the movie, and as tempting as it was to spent the time between Peter’s sheets, it really was a good idea to get back into some research. World-changing discoveries weren’t going to happen all on their own now!

Still, they managed to cuddle, while he worked out the equations and coordinate system, and she read through an ancient book and took notes. Latin was the driest of the romance languages, usually, and reading about math in Latin was even drier. But the Necronomicon was light on math, instead describing rituals and how to construct ceremonial circles and patterns. No equations, just suggestions to seek the numbers in nature. Which is probably how Goode Browne got some of her coordinates, but not all of them.


Jotting down some notes, Marta sighed, and turned the page. “Oh fuck,” she gasped, finding a disturbing, familiar picture on the next page. Her immediate instinct was to clamp the book shut, before the horror could escape its pages and claim her. Steeling herself, she shook off the fear. How ridiculous could she be, getting herself worked up over a picture in a book. Even if it did look like the being in her dream, it didn’t matter. Dreams weren’t real, and they couldn’t tell the future And they couldn’t hurt her.

Still, she stared at the image, the dream returning. Now that she thought about it, a lot of the people at the basketball game were in that dream. Peter’s fellow physics professors. It wasn’t so strange, was it? Most of them had been at MU longer than she had, and surely she’d seen them around in her time there. Of course, that didn’t explain the image before her, the terrible man whose features were as dark as the space between stars. She hadn’t seen this before, had she?

“Have…” She started, turning the book so Peter could get a look at the image, “Have you ever seen this before? I don’t think it’s related to the portals, just really creeped me out, because I feel like I’ve seen it before.”
 
At the end, the score was 67-66, in favor of the Mathematics, Physics, and Astronomy department. The Geology department team had been pretty good, and it was only Pete’s last second (and fairly lucky) half-court shit that edged out the win. Everyone cheered, and even the Geology team had applauded, but Pete heard Marta’s voice over the roar of the crowd.

Well, all right. Over the ‘roar’ of the thirty or so friends and family that had turned out to watch. But still, he could hear her cheering over the rest of them. Even the rest of the team clapping him on the back and congratulating him wasn’t as nice as that.

Begging off the offers of getting a couple of drinks after the game, he showered and tried not to think of Marta sucking him off on her knees as he changed - he had, after all, no interest un displaying his erection to the team. Then he joined Marta, hugging and kissing her before holding her hand as they walked to his car and headed for his apartment.

A little light making out in the elevator tapered off to a pleasant warmth of togetherness as they stepped into his kitchen, and he hung their formal clothes in his closet before joining Marta on his couch with his laptop. She had some massive old book, with a dark cover - a facsimile reproduction, she explained. The original stayed in the Rare Books collection in the Orne Library.

Marta leaned against him, reading as he worked and occasionally muttering out loud as she translated some more obscure part of the text under her breath. Her voice became something like background music as he studied the symbol from Goode Brown’s circles and tried to make sense of them. The odd music from his dreams, and from the party last night, returned as he worked. The ‘Minkowski Variations’, which was a goddamn strange name for a jazz composition. But... hm. The atonal pitch and rhythm changed seemed to match with the structure of the symbols...

He stared at the symbols again, a finger on the screen tracing their shapes as he hummed along to the memory of the Minkowski Varuatiins. After a moment, a mingled thrill of shock and excitement washed through him. They were a match! “How the hell...”

“Oh fuck,” Marta gasped.

“What?” he asked.

Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide as she shifted the book so he could look. “Have…” she said, tapping a picture of a humanoid shape. “Have you ever seen this before? I don’t think it’s related to the portals, just really creeped me out, because I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

Recognition flared “I... Yeah.” He swallowed. “In... in a dream. I saw, well, something like that in a dream I had, our first night together.” He shivered a little. “We were in a graveyard, and there was a bonfire, and, Uhm, Dr. Freeman of all people opened a gate. And... that thing. It was on the other side.” He chuckled, making it sound like he was whistling past a graveyard. “That’s when I woke up.”

Shuddering, he glanced at the black letter text beneath the image. “Et factum est in ultimis ex interiore Aegypti novis tenebris est usque ad unum quam ad fellahs vatium Silens et innitatur cryptically et superbia, et tamquam involuta textilia rubrum flamma solis occasum?” he read, certain he was butchering the pronunciation. “Catervatim conprimebant amens sua praecepta aevo nescire quod audierat; Per feras gentes donec fiant curant manus lambit sequebantur?”

Shaking his head, he met Marta’s stunned gaze. “What the hell did I just read?”
 
“Wait,” Marta started, hardly processing the Latin Peter read aloud. “You dreamt about this? This… thing?” She turned to Peter in hopes he’d mention some pop culture thing she’d seen in passing and hadn’t remembered. Some reason her mind inserted it into her dreams. His admittance that he’d seen it in his dream too was more disturbing than she could believe. He’d seen it, the same way she had.

“You had that dream the night we met? The night we open the portal?” Marta placed the book on the table, open to the dark figure, and turn to face Peter. “I had that dream, that same dream on the same night. How?” Her mind returned to the other dream they had that was nearly the same, where they had a threesome with their respective exes. Who happen to be rather similar. And, that song he was just humming…

“That song was from last night, right? Something the jazz band played? Did… did you dream about that as well? Dancing together in 40’s style, through a bizarre, shifting city?” She shifted away, just a little, bringing her knees up to her chest. “How is this possible? How can we dream about the same thing? How can I dream about your fellow professors, when I barely them before this week?”
 
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