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buried in my dripping arse, stroking me—my stomach, my chest, my back, my shoulders, along my neck, the planes of my jaw, my quivering thighs.
    I began to squirm, my prick hard and unsatisfied and my body set to blazing by his touch. His cock were still mostly hard inside me, and that made me tremble and squirm. He laughed softly as I started to shake and grunted “no” when I tried to take my own cock in hand.
    “Mine,” he growled.
    “I’ll beat it myself,” I threatened on a whine, needing release so badly I almost wept with it.
    “Mine!” he snapped. His fingers came up to my nipples and pinched. Not hard enough to bruise, just hard enough to make my whole body tremble with the fire of want and need.
    “Ohhhh… gods… Hammer… bring me… please… I need… I need you… I need to come….”
    He reached down under our bodies and pulled out a little, enough to let his spend trickle into his palm, and enough to make me wild with him all over again. I were practically sobbing by the time he brought that hand to my front and engulfed my jutting cock with it. His other arm went around my chest, keeping my back flush against him, and his hips started to move again, his prick staying hard enough to make me shiver as he moved inside me.
    That slippery, rough hand on my cock were enough, but the fact that he were still hard and moving… oh… oh gods….
    I screamed like a mountain cat and snarled like a bear. My skin exploded, and I were remade, there in his arms as he clenched me to him and held me, sobbing in climax, weak with my come.
    It took me long moments to breathe again, and the shudders that racked my body didn’t seem to want to stop. Finally, I relaxed enough to lean my head back against his shoulder, and his harsh breath rang in my ear with his words.
    “It were a promise,” he grated. “I sealed it.”
    There will always be us.
    I swallowed and nodded weakly. Yes. There would always be us. I’d promised. I may have thought of myself as a coward, as the weak one, but I vowed to have enough strength to keep that.
    Hammer pulled the blankets up around us and collapsed on me, still inside me, with my spend drying on his hand and my cock. I grunted, surprised, and he hauled me sideways—still in my body. Usually he spent some time cleaning us—it were part of our ritual of fucking, and it seemed a sweet thing, out of character with my gruff, visceral Hammer. Not tonight. Tonight, like any other howling, raw-boned animal, Hammer wanted me marked with his come and his sweat. I understood in a way that went under my skin, but that I couldn’t put words to, not the words in my science books, anyway.
    His arms anchored me to him, and I felt his breathing even out, and sometime before he slept, I muttered, “Hammer, we’re going to have to find other words for this.”
    “Mine,” he muttered, hauling me tighter. His cock were spent and flaccid, though, and it flopped limply out of me, leaving me stretched and sore.
    I guess that were what he had. He had me. Maybe he were right. Words would bollix the whole works up.
     
     
    The next day the wind picked up. The trees around us were mostly cedars and redwoods, but I could smell the metallic zing of snow. Autumn were nearly over. The underbrush were turning brown with the cold, and the deer were fat and sleepy with the reserves they’d eaten during the wild harvest.
    The mountain lions were feasting well, also.
    Hammer were a smith. We’d both lived our lives in the town. We’d eaten slaughtered animals and vegetables harvested from gardens. He were proud of the conies and partridges he caught in his snares, and he weren’t stupid, but he weren’t a woodsman either. I were proud of the wild tubers and greens I recognized, and the herbs and medicines I gathered for just-in-case. I’d read as much as I could about the way the world worked, but I knew no more than Hammer.
    We stumbled along, walking as far as we could through the woods in a day,