Work Text:
Colors of the Wind
“When I say ‘uncivilized,’ what I mean is… is…”
“What you mean is not like you.”
She began to sing; her beautiful, full lips the exit for which her soul found to inform him on how he could learn to accept her differences. The wind blew, the green leaves flowing alongside him as if pulled by a river. John followed Pocahontas to the edge of a cliff. She continued to sing; her voice was lilting and as angelic as any choir in mass back in London. It was better; wild and untamed, undomesticated and uncivilized.
He had to expand his thinking, step outside the circle.
She mocked him with a stick, showed him what no one could ever truly claim to own. She claimed the earth had life; it was her family, her friend. She stopped him from killing a bear and they played with her cubs. He’d never thought about animals and they’re habits before.
They leapt from a small cliff, frolicked in the plain, ran through the forest, rolled amid the sun-blessed sunflowers, swam in a serene pond.
Butterflies, deer, otters, eagles.
Trees, cliffs, the sunset.
The leaves, the wind, and her voice.
Him and her.
John and Pocahontas.
Dirt.
Their hands, light and dark, contrasting but complimentary.
If he believed in it, he might have called it magical.
She arrived at the end of her song, their hands dropped slowly of their own accord, and she began to turn.
He’d stopped himself earlier, but now it was his turn to teach her. John’s light hands tightened around her dark ones and she turned back to him, curious and surprised. Pulling forward with his toes and pushing with his heels, his mouth met hers.
Taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth…
Pocahontas stood still for a moment as her new friend’s lips tasted hers. She was sure they both felt the moon’s pull, the river’s push. She had not allowed any sign to escape her being that she felt drawn towards him. Oh, he had almost exited that tent, performed the actions. She had seen his eyes. But she, Powhatan’s offspring, chief’s daughter, traditional future wife to the strongest warrior – it was not what was meant to be.
She kissed him back. It was what she wanted, after all.
John was a little surprised when she kissed him back. He’d expected her to turn and run away, or maybe even slap him – but that wasn’t in her nature. Kiss him back? Well, he’d take it. He slid his hands up her arms, drawing her closer to him as his hands traveled up her strong limbs. They reached her shoulders and he pulled her against him.
Her hands moved as well, wrapping themselves around his waist.
His tongue licked her lips, asking for entrance, before poking in. Her response was to give a little gasp of surprise and open. John’s tongue ran the length of her mouth and back, stroking her tongue. Pocahontas shivered, relishing the new contact.
A thought crossed his mind and he whispered it in her ear, lips brushing against the dark, soft curve. “Let me show you the colors of the wind.”
She responded with a nod.
Their lips met again, swift and heated. One kiss led to another until neither could keep count. John’s hands roamed about her back and shoulders, her fingers dancing hesitantly across his back. His lower body pressed against her and she gave a little gasp at the contact of their bodies.
“Pocahontas, you do… know… what a man and a woman do together, correct?”
The Indian shot him a glare.
“Right, ok, good.”
He knew; he’d been with a handful of women in his thirty-some years; when the coin was good and he felt he really needed it. John, unlike most of their clients, always made sure the woman was satisfied as well.
The Englishman slowly drew his hands around her upper torso to cup her breasts, earning a moan in his ear. His fingers toyed with her nipples through her deerskin blouse, causing her breath to hitch with ever flick of his digits. Her hands were now clutching at his shoulders, her body sagging into his for support.
Slowly, carefully, John lowered them to the ground, placing his body half on top of Pocahontas’. On hand stayed on her breast, the other stretched down to trail an invisible pattern on her thigh in the slit of her skirt.
Roll in all the riches all around you…
Pocahontas arched her body against him, on hand in his hair and the other clutching his shoulder to her. Her breathy moans alternated between incoherent and sounding something alike his name. Her hips twitched inconsistently and she threw her head back as his mouth touched her breast through her top covering.
With a firm nip, John dragged himself from her body to remove his armor. She watched, seated on the ground, fascinated as he undid the buckles for the gray armor. He’d long ago lost his helmet, but he still had his military-issue boots.
Eyeing his lean, artistic body, Pocahontas joined him on her feet and assisted in the removal of his clothes, all but his drawers. Her hands explored the valleys and mountains of his torso, trailing heat as they went. One finger swirled around his nipple, and it was his turn to throw his head back. She repeated the motion on the other side, earning the same response. John captured her mouth with his and with one movement, pulled her dress up and over her head.
Gorgeous sun-blessed skin smiled at him, as did the wearer, though shyly. Hooking his hands around her ass, he pulled her to him, kissing her heatedly. After shedding his drawers, he again carefully lowered them to the ground, this time completely aligning their bodies.
“John…!” Issued from her lips as he squeezed both her breasts.
“Poca-hontas...” passed his lips as she nipped his ear.
His pillock, unattended to for the past several months, had been at attention for some time. He could feel her wetness mere inches from him and he eagerly sought. Something nipped at his mind and he stopped, asking, “Pocahontas…” Unsure how to ask, he let her name hang between him.
She hesitantly bucked up to meet him. “I understand; it is alright.”
Needing no further permission, John thrust hard into her. Her hands clenched, nails digging into his shoulders as he penetrated her barrier. Pocahontas bit her lip, forcing herself beyond the deep needle-pain. She blew out a breath as the worst of it passed, nodding for him to continue.
Experimentally, he pulled out and thrust in a few times. Slowly, the pain eased from her face, her lovely black eyes closing in pleasure. He quickened his pace, throwing himself into her, thrusting deeper. Her hands wandered his back, nails scrapping, sending shivers along his spine. One hand supported his weight while his other teased her breasts, one after the other and back.
A kiss on the mouth, tongues, nips at the ears…
Paint with all the colors of the wind…
“Oh – John - !”
He gave an extra-tight grasp at her breast, nipping at the hollow of her neck. She arched off the ground against him, her walls tightening around him. She let out a long, low moan as she came, her wet spilling to the ground beneath them.
Every color she had ever seen flashed before her eyes and Pocahontas saw the stars at night against the radiant rays of dawn.
John rolled them over, away from the mess, and held her close while she recovered. A few minutes later, he took one of her breasts in his mouth, tongue flicking over the nipple. Pressing herself into him, her hands wrapped around his waist. Letting go, John again positioned herself above Pocahontas and ploughed right in. Harder, deeper, faster…!
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind…
Almost…!
So close – !
With one last thrust and a loud groan, “Poca-hon-tas!,” he went over the edge; pulling himself from her and spilling his seed on the ground.
They moved away again, holding each other for several minutes.
Something began to tug on his mind and his body tried to translate the pounding of the earth
Her black head cocked to the side, listening.
“Drums. They mean trouble. I shouldn’t be here.” She stood, searched for her dress, and covered herself.
He stood as well and collected his clothes. “I want to see you again,” he requested while dressing.
Pocahontas was already covered and edging away. Not from him, but to the drums.
“I can’t.”
“Please, don’t leave.” Fully clothed, he reached for her.
“I’m sorry, I must go.”
The Indian turned, swift as a deer, crafty as a fox, and disappeared into the forest.
The Englishman sighed and made his way back to the settlement.