There was nothing subtle about the powerful build-up between the two. Donovan could sense it easily, as well as the way both of them were trying to hold-off, trying to make sure the other 'lost it' first. It might have been a competition of sorts, but it was the kinda that Donovan was more than happy to 'lose', if it came down to it. What he wasn't willing to accept was complaints or claims that he hadn't bothered with attempting to pleasure her at all. That just wasn't his 'style'.<br/><br/>But... there was only so much a guy could take.<br/><br/>They set into a smooth, steady rhythm that allowed his mind to wander, to focus on each and every sensation, to feel Methuseld's body gripping and caressing his hardened length like a mix of silk and velvet. Her body was made for this, whether she realized it or not, and the way she tried to lift herself to meet his every thrust was quite intoxicating. She wanted it as much as he did, maybe even more on some level, and he was more than happy to oblige.<br/><br/>The grip on her neck was firm, but not enough to cut off breathing completely. His thumb even lightly caressed her skin, following the curve of her windpipe, her slender, elegant neck a contrast to the hardened warrior's body that she possessed. She was beautiful, even if the real Methuseld didn't really try to bother with such things, and for a brief flash of a moment Donovan wondered what it would be like to kiss the real 'her'.<br/><br/>Such thoughts disappeared as he felt the impending end coming. His finger swirled around her clit even faster in a faint show of urgency - if he had his druthers, he'd rather deposit his load into a clenching, spasming cunt that was going through the throes of her own climax, but he knew as well as anyone that he'd soon reach a point where none of that would matter. He clenched his teeth, he growled softly, he clenched his eyes tightly, he even thought of sitting through one of Father Mayhew's lectures: anything to stave off the inevitable. She felt so warm, so slick... her body clearly inviting him to do precisely what it was racing forward to do.<br/><br/>He was no aware that Dark Methuseld's enjoyment was already waning, nor was he aware of her distraction. His back to whatever it was that had caught her attention, Donovan rode out the waves of delight even as Dark Methuseld was focusing her attention elsewhere. His hands moved, pulling away from throat and clit alike, snapping down to grip her hips as he groaned loudly, throwing his head back when he finally crossed that deliriously beautiful line - and pulled her body sharply against him as he imploded inside her. The first pump of his seed inside her was strong, generous, accompanied by a deep, guttural groan, and then the next ones were accompanied by Methuseld's shouted complaint, ~<em>Fucking Hell!</em>~ indeed.<br/><br/>Maybe she was angry that he hadn't pulled out, or maybe she was dissatisfied that he had lost it before she could enjoy her own climax. But... sometimes the spider got the fly... and sometimes it didn't.<br/><br/>Only when Donovan's eyes blinked open, the last few jets of his warmth filling Methuseld's tight tract did he glance around and register the words of Methuseld, accusing Aza of being up to something. Quickly, reality came back into being, his focus returned. He withdrew his 'sword' from the woman's body, drawing a long line of cum dripping from her slick orifice as he moved to quickly redress himself, turning his head in the direction Methuseld's attention was drawn.<br/><br/>What the -fuck-? Donovan had been sure that they had left storms and chaos behind them, but instead, it seemed to be racing toward them. Whether it was more of the same madness that assaulted them on the water, or just a random, honest desert sandstorm remained to be seen.