Nearly dead from thirst and the sun, a man fled through the desert. Just when he believed he could no longer go on, he stumbled upon a deep pool in a jungle at the edge of the wasteland. The water soothed his parched throat and gave comfort to his burnt skin. Then, that which lived in the pool gave him a stranger and altogether more intimate kind of comfort. (F/M)
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At the edge, the pool was shallow, so he settled down with his arms resting on the edge and the water up to his chest. It cooled the scars and rashes on his skin. A gentle current drifted around his toes, and he felt his groin quiver and tingle as his cock and balls rested in the water. It was comforting, not arousing. He smirked, and wondered if he would ever feel that sensation again.
Then he sighed. At last the vast expanse of sand and dirt, with its looming white-blue sky and incandescent sun, was behind him. As was his village, the place that had ceased to be his home when the army came, when the echoes of rifles and cannons had scattered everyone, when small planes had dipped so close to their huts and dropped firebombs to the huts and houses, when he’d grabbed what he could and ran into the wilderness that had turned into gaping, dry space.
This new land was quite different from his own. Would he be welcomed here? Would the people have heard of what had happened to his home? There had been no border markers, but he had never had any official papers. Would they send him straight back to face the army who was supposed to protect him?
The gentle lap of the water, and the cool breeze drifting over the pool, overcame him, encouraged him to succumb to the weariness which wafted over him. His worries were soon replaced with gratitude for his life, and soon, he closed his eyes, leaned back and slept.
And all the while, the water watched him.
She delighted in his joy at finding her; he gave her all his attention. His hurried grasping at her, the drinking to satiation, was thrilling, for it had been a long time since anyone had taken their fill of her. His hands—his long, trembling fingers—reawakened her to her purpose.
She knew the desert could break a person’s spirit, and his had been on the edge when he’d crashed through the bushes. But the water had brought a look other than desperation back to his eyes, a look that spoke of a resolute will to live.
The water was glad the desert had not deadened him. Her plans would not work if his mind was gone.