Wandering Thoughts

CODE: H (set in the Horus/Kemet storyline)

TAKES PLACE DURING (specific story): Kingdom Of The Hawk (unwritten)

PAIRING: Set/Astarte (M/F)

EXPLANATION: Potential spoilers. This one's a little complex in that I'm not sure whether it happened or not. I THINK it did, but the results vary. *cough* Here goes. In the unwritten sequel to Horus, Kingdom Of The Hawk, Set joins Horus in a fight against an evil sea god, and they free the imprisoned foreign goddess Astarte in the process. She and Set have a one-time encounter (that would be this scene, I believe) before he heads back to Egypt and to his abandoned wife, Nephthys. (See "Brotherly Love" for that!) Set had been banished to the desert for years, and even before then he had given up on Nephthys out of spite and jealousy (she...sorta had a kid by his brother, Osiris >_< ); being with Astarte reminds him of how much he actually misses her. Aw. Anyway. In an alternate version of events (out of continuity), Astarte becomes pregnant and gives birth to a...daughter, I think...who she then brings to Nephthys to raise. (Nephthys is not upset by any of this. She is VERY forgiving. And LOVES children.) See the non-erotic short story "She Is Yours" for the details on that; I have yet to write a sequel story. Remember that's the out-of-continuity version of events. In the actual timeline I don't think Set really has a child. Here, I simply wanted to tell this bit of the story from Astarte's point of view...in the other piece you can find Set's and Nephthys's.

DISCLAIMERS: Remember there was probably no daughter after all, despite how this scene ends.

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Wandering Thoughts

Astarte thought silently as the boat brought her across to Kemet. She stared out at the water, pondered the incidents that had brought her into contact with this strange distant country.

She thought of the time that she and Baal had first been together, before their royal marriage. Of how she had borne him a child, which he'd angrily disowned--and ordered her to do the same. They had not been wed yet, and for any of the others to find out about the baby could not be risked. That child, her son, she had spirited away to Kemet rather than kill, and left him in the swamps...she'd heard of the kindly swamp goddess, who was known to take in foundling children, and had hoped that she would appear. Her son had grown up in a faraway land without her...but he had grown up. Upuat hadn't recognized her when they'd last met, but she'd seen the small, faint wolf tattoo upon his arm, and knew it was he.

She had not told him.

She thought of the second time she had come to meet him, and the other Kemeti gods, or neteru, as they called themselves. Their king, Horus, and his uncle, the once-king, Set...she had heard that he was married, but had left his wife behind long ago. What had caused him to do thus? She didn't know all of the details. She knew that as soon as she first saw him she sensed the anger and bitterness in his heart. She had also sensed the loneliness, the cold barrier that had been built up over time, but that even now bore harsh cracks from years of solitude.

The other neteru did not know. On an occasion when she had the chance to be alone with him, she had approached the sullen god and offered herself silently. Not directly, though. But she had touched his arm--which he suddenly drew away--and met his eyes with a questioning look. She had removed the protective wall that most deities wore about themselves, to keep their thoughts safe from others; so he had seen what lay beneath, and had seemed startled by it. By her.

She had touched his hand, and felt his fingers start to draw away before she took hold of them. They'd stared at one another now and she could tell that he was searching her. His own thoughts, only shoddily disguised, seemed to be probing her for a weak point. She'd let him, without protest. He hadn't found one. She'd sensed his surprise on finding this.

She had merely moved closer to him, so close that their bodies almost touched, but not quite. She could feel the heat emanating from his skin, and knew that he felt hers. She'd heard his breath, coming softly but a bit more quickly above her; she had let her own breath fan over his neck and breast, her fingers now trailing, just barely, across his skin. His muscles tensed, almost a flinch; her fingers traced his collarbone, and then her lips, just barely. She moved. Her breasts lightly pressed to him.

He had grasped her head then, the side of her face in his hand, and forced her face up to his own, fingers tangling in her hair and tugging almost violently. His lips crushed against hers and his teeth scored at them, tearing the tender skin. His other hand seized her waist possessively. She'd gone limp against him, head falling back, to let him do as he wished. He had pulled down the top of her dress so her breast peeked out freely; then his fingers closed around it with a painful squeeze.

She allowed it all without saying a word.

She'd allowed also what he'd done next, grinding his hips against her so she could feel his hardness. He was excited already, very much so...she raised one hand to slip the other strap of her dress down, and let it fall, baring her body for him. His eyes had narrowed and his teeth glinted like those of some feral animal inspecting its prey. The glowing red spheres traveled down Astarte's body, taking in her slender neck, her full round breasts, the gentle yet womanly curve of her waist, her ample hips, the dark inviting garden that lay between them...

She had wished to see him naked as well--with his broad chest and powerful grip, she couldn't help but want to see him--and had tried to remove his clothing even as he kissed and bit at her. It had been difficult, but he'd finally allowed it. He pulled her to him again in a crushing embrace, mouth roaming her neck. One of his hands reached beneath her buttock and squeezed. He let out a gruff noise and she could smell his desire, reeking around her.

He had taken her arm, forced her down to her knees. Once there he had gotten down over her, his hips straddling her own. She knew what he wanted. She'd spread her knees wide and arched her back to accommodate him, vulva spreading open and wet and ready. His hands on her buttocks, parting her further, had not caused her to move away. It had been a very long time for her as well.

She remembered gasping, throwing back her head as his thick fleshy rod entered her, spearing her in two. He had bowed himself over her with a hiss, his fingers raking at her skin, and begun to move.

She did not know how long they spent next, rocking upon the ground with their hips pumping. She remained on her hands and knees while he knelt upright behind her, and she could hear his thick panting. Inside he quivered hot and hard. She knew that he shut his eyes as he moved and tossed back his head in lustful rapture. Her own body trembled, nipples hard and tight, their juices slick upon each other; she locked her ankle over his own and arched her back with each push to allow him deeper entry. She sensed his chaotic thoughts swirling as they madly coupled, yet refrained from reading them...until he began to groan, soft and hoarse. The sound was so desperate to her, with a pained edge to it. Was he in agony? She sensed that he was...only it was not physical, not even purely sexual. She gritted her teeth, accepting his growingly violent thrusts, probing his mind for what agonized him so.

She saw...a woman. Kneeling upon the ground, on hands and knees. Submitting to his eager thrusting, tossing her head back with a gasp of desire, as Astarte herself had. Only...it was not Astarte.

She viewed the goddess in her mind with some curiosity. She could tell that the woman was familiar, well known to him; for it was almost as if she could feel the woman's thoughts as well, and could sense the familiarity between them, that they had made love before. Long ago. This must be his wife, she whom he had left behind. As he mated with Astarte, his thoughts were for her.

Very curious, and interesting. Astarte did not mind his wandering thoughts; rather, she wondered why he was with her, when it was all too obvious that he still cared for his wife.

As if to illustrate this, he bent down over her body again, teeth nipping at her ear. "Nephthys," he whispered huskily, breath thick and heavy. The name sent shivers tumbling down Astarte's spine--not the word, but the way in which it was spoken, so laden with love and lust and need and want. His tongue traced along the edge of her ear and two more words joined the first: "Dear Sister."

Astarte had let out a short, sudden noise--"Uh--!"--and jerked, body going rigid and freezing in place. The result, when his hips bumped at hers again, was his own climax, an abrupt harsh groan and a sharp seizing of flesh, after which he emptied his seed within her. He pressed against her, buttocks trembling, back arched, until the last of his fluid had drained from his rod, after which he let out his breath and sank over her. His hands still cupped her breasts like soft offerings; she felt an ache inside her when he let them go, and slowly pulled himself out. He collapsed on his back upon the sand, panting hard and not looking at her.

She had not bothered him, afterwards. She could tell what he most wanted and needed, and that was to be left to himself. As he lay there she gathered her clothing, slipping it back on without assistance. She did not look at him directly. He placed an arm across his eyes and his breathing eventually slowed; she longed to lean down to kiss him and touch him one last time, but knew that this was not what he wanted. He had his pride, and she would not shatter it, no matter what she wanted.

She had the feeling that he would be returning to his home now...to his wife. The raging emotions that had coursed through him during their brief lovemaking could not have been resolved so easily. As long as there was love there, she knew he would return to her.

She felt some bit of happiness for his wife.

She had left him, by himself, knowing that this was what he had wished. She had returned to her own kingdom. And now...now that the ordeal was all over...she glanced down at the small bundle that she held in her arms as she sailed, pulling aside one corner to see the tiny, newborn face of Lord Set's only child.

Her eyes were tender. She spoke to the baby softly.

"You are going home now, little one."

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This item is not looking for critique. It was written solely for entertainment's sake. Although a scene from a possibly longer story, it is complete in itself and unless otherwise stated there is not going to be any more of it written. Additional unrelated SCENES may be written, but single scenes themselves are complete as they are. So please do not expect more. If you are interested in reading the series which INSPIRED the scene, just look elsewhere in my portfolio and you should find something. (Use the "story codes" given in the scene headers. For example, "MI" = "Manitou Island" series.)

I am not looking for critique on grammar, spelling, style, sentence structure, flow, or the mechanics of writing. What I AM interested in is commentary on such things as characterization, plot, symbolism, theme, etc.--the deeper aspects of the story. I like to know if a scene is believable, if the characters are interesting, what you thought of how they interacted, if the writing evoked any emotions, things such as that.

Feel free to criticize, but just keep in mind that I'm working on more important projects and shared this just for fun and/or to illustrate character interactions, so I don't plan to revise it any time soon. Comments on the characters, theme, etc. are more than welcome.