The Night Song Plays, a secret garden fanfic

-- The Night Song Plays --

Prologue

He walked towards her slowly with that same wondering gaze that she had seen so often when they were children. He brushed back a lock of her hair, letting his fingers linger slightly on her scalp and neck. The feeling it gave her was something like fire, something like water, and someting like wind. A rush. A raging. It was the strongest feeling she had ever felt in her life. It permeated thoroughly through her soundlessly, wordlessly, shivering. Her heart pounded in her chest with uneven beats. She raised her hand to his chest and felt the thunder erupting there. "Miss Mary..." he whispered.

Mary woke with a start. The thunder had awoken her. She had heard the voice. His voice. His whispering voice. Calling her name into the night, into the wild.

She stood up and splashed her face with water from her basin. She thought only for a second before deciding. She had to go out. She had to be in the garden. In their garden. Their secret nest. She didn't bother to change her night clothes before sneaking outside. As she stepped out she looked up at the clear sky. No thunder. Just magic.

Chapter One

Mary pulled the key to the secret garden door out of her pocket as she treaded the pathway to the door behind the ivy. Normally she would not have the key with her, but tonight was different. She knew there was only one key in existence, so if anything happened, they would be safe. She would be safe. She silently cursed herself for hoping against hope that he would happen to be in the garden tonight of all nights. As she pushed the creaking door open, she noted that it was slightly ajar. She closed the door behind her as she entered, locking it and setting the key down on a rock next to the wall. Safe and sound.

The full moon cast a dream-like shimmer on every flower and leaf and surface in sight. Light breezes dipped down from on high, teasing the life that is plants and growth and scurrying things as their twigs and boughs, leaves and petals danced and weaved in what seemed like a magical song that was destined to be played by the instruments of Earth on this night.

Mary wound her way through the wild rosevines and the overgrown paths until she saw what her insides, what every part of her knew she had come for. She stopped at the sight and drew in a breath. That tall, full figure, standing in the moonlight amongst the wildness, his back to her, his gaze probing the skies. Dickon. Sweet, sweet Dickon.

He turned when he heard her breath. He had dreamed that she would come. But as he layed his eyes upon her, he questioned whether or not she was real. She looked at him. He swallowed. "Miss Mary...", he whispered.

"I heard you...", she said quixotically as she stepped closer to him, "I heard your voice calling me."

"Thee know, there 're so many lots o' differun beautoful things on th' world," Dickon said softly, looking up into the sky again as if he hadn't heard her, "first in daylight there's th' garden, an' when lookin' at it I can't seem to believe there could be anythin' more beautoful. Then th' night comes, an' I look into th' sky, I look at the moon an' stars, an' they're differun from th' garden, but somehow evens more beautoful. An' then thee walks in, with tha's hair wild and blowin' in th' wind, an' I canno' ... I canno' figur' how thee could exis', how jealous th' stars an' flowers mus' be."

And then he looked at her. His eyes said things. They said that he knew she heard him. That he had called her. They showed his hope, his love, his dreams. She couldn't look away. "It's th' magic, Miss Mary. I summoned it, an' it called tha 'ere for me."

"Oh, Dickon," she whispered as she closed her eyes and turned her back to him, willing the tears away. She couldn't bear to let him see her worries and fears, her dread and pain. It would only hurt him.

She felt his footsteps on the ground when he closed the distance between them, each one sending a jolt of sheeting thrill through her, shaking the earth, or just her. She felt his warm arms wrap around her middle and shivered. She hadn't noticed that she was cold, only vibrant and alive. Now she laved in the heat of his body, pushing herself back against him. Her hands went up without thought to touch his arms. He pulled her closer, burying his face in the nape of her neck. His breath against her neck made her arch involuntarily. She clenched her hands on his arms. He couldn't take it, feeling her heart quicken and hearing her breaths come faster, feeling the force and purpose of her body as it clenched in imitation and anticipation of what he could do to her. Of what he would do to her, he thought. He solidified against her, slightly afraid to move, making an effort to hold still. But then her hand found his thigh, clenching to his pants and pulling at them feverishly as her body arched against him again, pushing and rubbing against him in precisely all the right places. His breath came in torrents now as he roughly moved his hands all over her, feeling her entirety, one cupping naturally to her breast, the other travelling further south as he let his lips graze over her jaw and her ear. Mary threw her head back and gasped. His hand pushed down her beddress, exposing her breast. He clasped to it tenderly and pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing her to cry out and arch even more. His other hand, trembling violently rubbed her hot, wet beauty through the fabric of her nightgown, up and down, up and down. His swelling lips never left her skin. His breath never left her body.

She arched and arched until she couldn't take it. She turned around in his arms, his hands slid gracefully around her back and pulled her as close as possible as his lips travelled up her neck and chin, finally covering her mouth. She felt her lips swell as his kiss engulfed her. She let her hands go wild in his hair, her arms holding him close. His kiss was at first very soft and clipping, as if he meant to hold her with his lips, and then it grew firm and tense as she reciprocated his dominance. Firm and tense just like their beings, longing for more, needing completion. After a few minutes of this torturous behavior, Mary noticed that she was pressed up against a wall, that her legs were spread wide open to Dickon and clinging to him like he was life itself, and that his hands were clenching to her hips as his motions bumped and grinded into her, and she felt as if they were already making love, her whole body clenched, her center feeling ecstaticly stimulated, the deep need for him itself being the greatest pleasure imaginable. They both pulled back, finally looking into each other's eyes.

Dickon detected what he had before, her fears, her worries, dread and pain. He didn't want her to know that he detected them, she wouldn't want him to know about those feelings, she would not want him to hurt, and he didn't want her to hurt, but he had to make her feel sure, by showing her just how sure he was.

"I can take care o' thee, Miss Mary. And I will", his eyes widened in assuranceas he breathed heavily, "all I want is thee, all I need is thee. I love thee, fore'er" He kept her up against the wall with his body as he clasped her hand and pulled it up in the tiny space between them. He removed a small item from his pants pocket, drawing it towards her finger. Her eyes locked on the small item. It was a ring. It was a ring carved from wood. "I made it m' sel' ", said Dickon.

Mary was beyond speech, her breath coming in short gasps. Her heart was soaring. Her mind was reeling. Her body buzzed with longing. Where Dickon's hand still held hers she felt waves of sweetness spreading from his touch. She felt waves of sweetness spreading from his touch everywhere, just as if he were making love to her. "You will, indeed", she got out with exuberance. She arched her back and pushed into him with an intake of breath. He felt her hot, wet opening move on his hardness through his pants and gasped. He smiled through gritted teeth and hazy eyes, shoving the ring onto her finger as he bucked against her causing her to cry out as he muffled her cry with a sweet kiss that filled her up to the brim.

His hands moved quickly back and forth from face to legs as each time he pulled her dress up her thigh a little farther. She responded by deepening the kiss and yanking at the buttons on his shirt. Frustrated, she grabbed his shirt on both sides and ripped. The buttons flew off somewhere in the garden, and his shirt was off within the second. He now moved his hands up her thigh, gathering the cloth up and up and up until he reached her hips, stopping for a moment to rub her bare clit eliciting a moan, and then proceeding to lift the dress over her head. His mouth found her nipples and drove her mad, ravishing her, his tongue marvelously circling and lapping and his mouth creating an eventually nearly painful suction that she absolutely loved. She began to undo his pants and he couldn't help but feel a new thrill wash through him, that this was actually happening. She felt her wetness on his pants as she began to slide them down, he finished removing where she left off. And now she looked at him, all of him, head to foot, foot to head, her eyes lingering somewhere in the middle when the sheet of thrill went through her walls, clenching in need of him, anticipating him. She visualized his stomach muscles clenching as he thrusted himself into her over and over and over again and about buckled over with burning pulsating need.

"Dickon!" she cried out, grabbing his shoulders, arching her body up and pulling back enough to accomodate him. He grabbed his dick and her rump, feeling the side of her opening, and he pushed himself into her. She bit down on his shoulder, a harsh pain, like he had reached a wall and couldn't go farther but kept pushing. She began to wonder if that was all she could take, but she knew it wasn't. It didn't only hurt, at the same time it felt amazingly wonderful to have him inside of her. She could feel the beginnings of endless pleasures arising in sporadic nerve endings throughout her inside. They were completely separate from the pain, they anticipated without dread, while the pain was a comletely separate part of her. Dickon was overcome with her tight, wet, encompassing beauty. The hugging, tugging, running sensations surrounding him drove him mad. He was so far gone he thought he'd lose it right there but he held it in. He wanted more. Mary needed more. "Dickon, don't stop!" Mary all but screamedat him, "go all the way, I need you! Go!!"

Dickon pulled out a small distance, and then drove hard all the way inside of her. He couldn't believe how good she felt. His breathing showed that along with his expression. Her body stiffened and she cried out in pain. He'd never felt so horrible and so good and so good with his horribleness and so horrible about how good it was in his whole life. He kissed her brow heavily again and again and smoothed her hair, holding still, waiting for her to tell him to move. It was torture, he literally was in pain for movement, but it felt so damn good at the same time. She felt so damn good.

"Dickon, move...", she finally whispered as she moved a little herself. He pulled out and thrust back in as he silenced her with his tongue in her mouth, exploring the roof, and her tongue in turn. This seemed to help her since she started to cling to him again instead of push at him, her breath ragged instead of holding back, her back, her legs, everything beginning to move with him. She broke the kiss. "Oohhhh!" It was a moan this time. It was approval. Dickon almost came right there, but restrained himself. He couldn't take this anymore. Their position up against the wall with her current condition was impeding him. He lifted her up and lowered her onto her nightclothes in the soft grass where he began pounding in and out of her as every part of her body filled his hands and mouth and she moaned and gasped and panted his name. Everywhere their skin touched was like magnets, everywhere their skin touched they had to keep touching so as not to go mad. And it felt so damn good. Mary pulled at him now, she made sounds of pure desperation, nearing something explosively sweet. All she heard now were the sounds of internal breathing, and pounding heart. The heart pounded harder and louder every time he thrusted into her. Dickon pushed and thrusted and pounded and buried and yanked up grass until there was no possible earthly way that he could hold it back any longer when at last, the moment of peaked tension, his hands dug into her hips, unknowingly bruising, his rupturing, tingling, sweetness exploding and filling her insides, one, two, three, four spurts of pure, swelling, melting, love as the heart in Mary's ears reached a peak and stopped, then pounded as hard as ever twice in a row like a flash then with a pause, one, two, three, four, five, who knows how many times growing ever quicker with each one until gyrating so fast that finally it stopped in even more permeating sensations of splendor, milking Dickon dry. Dickon collapsed onto her and she welcomed his searing weight. Still inside her, he never wanted to leave, breathing against her soft, supple skin. He wanted to stay like this forever in this exact moment of pure love and pure Mary.

"Ohhhh, Dickon," Mary whispered, still breathing heavily to recover herself, "I love you so much, my sweet, sweet Dickon."

"Mary", Dickon whispered softly against her skin, "My Mary. Fore'er." And then he bit her. And she loved it.

The music of the garden at night slowly filled their ears while their breathing slowed to the normal ins and outs of lovers peacefully sleeping in their very own missel thrush nest.