Ever closed the space between their lips again, kissing with gentle intensity. Bo kissed his kelpie back as much as the vines and his addled brain would allow. One of Ever’s hands anchored in the soft moss, the other tracing along that scar again until he reached the vines.
Ivy trembled under his touch the same way Bo did.
Lips on his neck, his collarbone, the tendrils of green shivering aside to give Ever room for each kiss, every caress after that first brush at his scar. A broken, meandering path over Bo’s body, leaves stroking sensitive skin as they withdrew enough for Ever to touch. Each flick of Ever’s tongue and hot brush of his lips pulling more shuddering, low groans from Bo, wordless affirmation and asking.
Snowmelt and swift water, grass frozen and silver kissed. Winter on the Summer King.
Holly King.A thought that thrummed as the vines did, sang like cries of ecstasy in fields of grain. Bo knew what he’d see before he looked and looked anyway. Ever’s dark hair crowned with glossy green leaves and blood-red berries. Winter, with his head bowed and his hand–
“Fuck, Ever!“ The ragged word ripped from Bo’s throat, half caught on his tongue. His entire body shuddered in an attempt to rock closer. Ever’s hand curled around his cock, burning through the thin fabric. The ivy held fast while Bo struggled against it, the sight of Ever’s mouth trailing downward too fucking good not totry.“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Vines that’d shifted away from Ever’s lips and touch moved back into place, anchoring Bo to the soft cushion of moss. All he could do was whimper and shake and breathe in magic with every gasp. Vines toyed over the curve of his panting lips, kept his mouth from closing when Bo might have tried to muffle his sounds. Ever’s tongue was almost too much, over the gossamer-thin fabric and the head of Bo’s cock.
“My hands are yours,” Ever murmured. His words nearly sent Bo off the moss. Would have if not for Faerie holding him down with its eager, trembling ivy. “My mouth made to worship you.”
“Ever, please, fuck. More.Fuck.”
More, and Faerie wasdefinitelylistening because the fucking spider-silk pants turned to summer mist. Ever’s hand still wrapped loosely around Bo’s cock. Skin to skin.
“You’re so much more than I would ever dare dream of.” Ever’s voice shook. His lips parted again, and his head bent.
Thick summer air full of the drowsy drone of bees. Chill water on Bo’s tongue and plush moss under his back. Reverence in gray eyes and gentle fingers and soft lips. Words followed by wet heat.
Green and red on black, tan on pale. Fucking poetry, and Bo no poet. Held, allowed only to take, and the only offering he could give in turn his words.
Shaking. Rough. Hungry.
“–beautiful goddamn mouth,fuck, Ever, my Ever.” Praise and pleading and low, broken sounds, as he shuddered against the vines. Said, “fucking gorgeous” and “fuck,fuck, your greedy fucking throat“ and “please, just like,yes, fuck–”
Lost, like he’d not been lost before. Bo took and keened and breathed, fuckingwanted. Ever’s mouth sank down and down and down, swallowing, taking all of Bo’s cock with helpless, begging whimpers of his own. Like this was a gift Bo was giving him.
The drag of the kelpie’s tongue and hollowing of his cheeks was enough to drive anyone out of their fucking mind.
Again.
Again.
Fuckingagain, and Bo would’ve come, shaken apart then and there, even as the thrummingnot voicewhispered that it could only happen on Ever’s cock, not down his throat. Mustn’t be wasted. Would’ve come, but a thin vine curled around the base of his cock, tightening.
“Fuck,” Bo heard himself gasp.
Ever prayed,worshiped, the drag of his mouth and mutual need as strong as the tide of power that filled Bo with every wet slide.
Crown of oak. Crown of holly. Summer and winter.
A frisson of heat shuddered through Bo with the first press of Ever’s slick finger,in. Bo made a sound between a whine and a whimper, sharp and urgent, unable to get even the barest twitch closer. Magic whispered against hypersensitive skin, a murmur ofyesandthis, eager as the cant of his hips with a shift of moss and ivy.
“More,” Bo whispered. Begged. Needed. The words fell from his mouth without thought, his voice skating the line between trembling pleading and thrumming power. “My Holly King. My Ever. More of you. Taken and spent. I want to come with you inside me.”
It had to be that way. It had always been that way.
And Ever, Ever moaned around his cock, throat working as he worked a second finger in. Another greedy fucking swallow before pulling off, placing a wet kiss to Bo’s stomach, breathless.
“Soon, sweet Bo,” Ever promised. “Summer King. Bide, just a little more.”
A third finger,slow, while Bo groaned, head back in pleasure, the trees rustling above him, buds swelling to vibrant flowers under his lust-glazed attentions. Heavy fruit, orange and yellow, and Ever promisingsoon. From anyone else, a fucking tease, would’ve sent Bo laughing or cursing.
Not Ever. Not for him, not from him. That hungry press of fingers, in and in, fucking agonizing with the lack of speed. Bound by ivy, Bo couldn’t reach for more, could onlyfeel. Ever’s fingers deep, then deeper. Their magic, intertwined with Faerie’s, sliding down his parched throat like ice water.
