Archive of Our Own

Simon

I skipped my final class of the day so I could catch Baz coming back to the room before tea. He has a free period right now, and I know for a fact he usually takes advantage of my absence from the room to get some studying done. Or plotting. Probably plotting.

I need to talk to him. I promised his mum that I’d pass on her message. And I’ve been trying to talk to him. But he’s been avoiding me since he returned to Watford, even though I’ve done everything but shout “your mum Visited me!” across the dining hall.

My bad luck continues, though. When I reach my room, not only is it empty, but I can see Baz’s unmistakable figure from the window, making for the treeline. Probably planning to suck down Bambi’s mum.

Maybe… if I can catch up with him before he gets too much of a head start, maybe I can kill two birds with one stone. (Penny tried to use that phrase as the basis of a new spell in fifth year.) (The results weren’t pretty.) (Rhys says, between me and Penny, he’s sworn off parakeets forever.) I can prove he’s a vampire, and I can get him to stay still long enough to listen to his mum’s message.

The thought no sooner crosses my mind than I’m spinning on my heel and dashing out the door, in too much of a hurry to even bother closing it behind me.

Baz

I’m fuming as I traipse deeper into the woods than I’d usually dare. Snow is driving me mental. It’s like fifth year, but worse. If he’s not following me into bathrooms or staring a hole in my back in the dining hall, he’s constantly trying to stop me in hallways or corner me in our bedroom. I’ve taken to staying out so late each night that he’s asleep when I come in. But I’m still in poor condition from my unplanned ‘holiday’ with the Numpties, and this isn’t helping.

I don’t know what he wants, but I know I can’t handle his demands or accusations right now. I’m existing on a hair trigger: my skin feels too tight all the time, and I’m exhausted and jumpy. This morning, some little fourth year tapped me on the shoulder, and my fangs dropped. It took every ounce of control I had to keep from spinning around and savaging the boy. I think he knew it, too. When I managed to get myself under control enough to face him, he squeaked out his message—some drivel about late fees from the librarian—and then turned and ran. (Late fees. Pfft. My family built that library. If I want to keep a book longer than two weeks, I will.) (Maybe I’ll cast a memory charm on the librarian later.)

I feel as thin and fragile as a piece of paper in a high wind. I need to be left alone. But I also need to be near Simon. I’m aware of how pathetic that sounds. But it’s our last year together. My last chance to absorb everything about him before the final battle where he thrusts his blade through my heart.

I just need him to leave me alone for a while. Is it too much to ask, to have some peace from harassment? Some quiet time to covertly watch every move he makes and dream that it’s me that he loves and not his perfect princess, Wellbelove?

Apparently Simon Snow thinks that’s too much to ask. Hence the dense inner forest I’m struggling through. I’ll hunt, drink my fill, and then spell some quiet copse of trees into a comfortable bower so I can actually rest tonight. Maybe, with a full night’s sleep under my belt, I can deal with Snow with a little more of my usual aplomb.

The thickness of the vegetation is getting ridiculous now. It’s almost as if the trees themselves are trying to keep me out. But that’s nonsense. Trees aren’t sentient.

I no sooner think this than I breach the last vegetal barrier and stumble into what it was hiding. I stand still for a moment, feeling wrong-footed. I’m in a little dell in the woods, empty of any vegetation taller than a grass blade, though the forest makes a secure wall around it. And I’m not alone.

In the centre of the dell is a kind of natural bowl formed from the forest floor. Perhaps a spot where a worseger burrow fell in and velvety new grass formed a soft blanket over it. Scurrying back and forth from the forest around me to the bowl is a myriad of fairy folk. Mostly fauns and nymphs, though I catch sight of odder creatures from time to time.

Though a few of them stopped to stare when I bumbled upon them, they’re mostly ignoring me now. They’re intent on the task I interrupted, filling the bowl with a vast pile of an oddly phallic-shaped fungus.They would look like the common stinkhorn mushroom if they were white and brown, rather than a vibrant sparkly purple, but, as they are, I’ve no idea what their taxonomy is. The fauns and dryads glance sidelong at me every once in a while, but they’ve apparently decided that I’m harmless, so they continue, engrossed in their unfathomable task. Most of them, that is.

Most of the fair folk are scurrying back and forth, delivering more sparkly mushrooms to the altar, but a few are sitting on their haunches, staring worshipfully at the pile of fungus. I wonder if I’ve interrupted some fairy religious ceremony. If I remember correctly, the fair folk worship nature gods, so these fungal penises could be some sort of offering. Maybe to the god of fertility, I think irreverently, and then hold back a snort.

I’m just thinking of trying to fight the trees to get back out of here, (and feeling weary at the amount of effort that will likely take), when something hard knocks into me. I whirl, snarling and raising my wand, only to see Simon fucking Snow blinking stupidly at me in the hazy afternoon light.

Fucking hell.

Simon

After chasing after Baz for what seems like forever, I stumble right into him and then pause to collect myself. Then I blink in astonishment.

In my defence, I’ve fallen into a very odd scene. Baz is standing just outside a ring of fair folk, encircling a pile of dick-shaped purple mushrooms. The fauns and nymphs are eyeing the bounty with hungry eyes. Is Baz attending a fairy feast? I wouldn’t have thought they’d invite a vampire.

When I finally turn to face Baz, I falter a little bit. Thunderclouds have nothing on Baz’s scowl right now. “What?” I say, defensively.

“Really, Snow? You couldn’t let me have one minute to myself? You have to follow me everywhere like a congenitally stupid dog?” he snarls at me, and I’m immediately suspicious.

“Nervous, Baz?” I taunt. “Afraid I’ll find out what you’ve been plotting for the last eight weeks, when you should have been at school?”

His eyes turn to flint, and my next words are the steel that lights them on fire. I lean in confidentially and say, “This is your plot, isn’t it, Baz? The Old families are conspiring with the fairies and the creatures. Would have thought you’d find that beneath you, but I guess you’re willing to do anything to beat me, aren’t you?”

I don’t know why that particular accusation is so inflammatory, but he gives a wordless howl of rage and leaps at me, fists first. I dodge with ease (Baz never has learnt how to fight with his body rather than his words) and push my luck. “What’s wrong, Baz?” I shout, as I duck under his next attack. “Strike a nerve, did I?”

With the tiny portion of my mind set aside for observation, I’ve noticed that all of the fauns and dryads have turned to watch us. It’s apparent that they’re not at all disturbed by the ruckus we’re causing. In fact, they seem to be enjoying it.

“You’re a fucking moron, Snow!” Baz shouts back at me. We’re circling each other. He’s watching my every move, searching for weaknesses, something to attack.

I find his weakness first. I notice that, as he circles me, even as graceful as he is, he’s letting his legs cross over, putting one behind the other before moving the front leg. . It’s a beginner’s mistake: it means he’s off balance while one foot is coming down and the other is preparing to lift.

I do what I was trained to do: I take advantage of his weakness.

I leap forward while he’s off-balance and shove him hard, right below his sternum. His eyes go wide, as, unable to resist my forward momentum, he pinwheels his arms frantically for balance. When he inevitably loses the battle, he topples backwards—right into the bowl of purple mushrooms. Which immediately explode into a cloud of sparkling purple dust.

I freeze.

Baz

All I can see is glowing purple glitter, and all I can smell is musk and a delicate floral perfume. I push myself up on my elbows and frantically blink my eyes. As my vision clears, I realise where I am.

I freeze.

I just defiled, or despoiled, or whatever term applies, an altar the fair folk had been avidly creating and worshipping at. I know people think of dryads and fauns as harmless and silly, but I know better. I’ve read every book in the Pitch library on the fairy peoples, and I know that those dryads can send vines and branches from their trees to whip or strangle us, and those fauns can use their horns and hooves (not to mention the wicked little knives they all seem to carry) to good effect.

Surely we’ve mortally offended the fair folk. Eyes wide with fear, I stare at Simon. He stares back, his own eyes round and shocked. Before I can decide how best to extract myself from this situation (and Simon too, though the git hardly deserves it) (not that I would ever leave him behind), there’s a raucous noise around us. I startle, and I see Simon flinch at the same time. Then we both scan the clearing for this new danger.

It’s no danger at all. The fauns and nymphs are… cheering? They’re laughing and applauding. The fauns caper joyously and the nymphs spin in place and giggle. Simon and I just goggle at them.

The cloud of purple dust from my fall has been steadily expanding, and, as it sweeps over each faun and nymph, something changes. Their eyes start to glitter. Their movements slow until they are swaying sensuously in the grass. They close their eyes and take huge gulps of the purple perfumed air. And when they open their eyes again, they turn them on each other with hunger in their gaze.

Oh no. Oh please, Crowley, Merlin, Morgana and all her sisters, please let this not be what I think it is. Please let those mushrooms not be what I think they are…

It seems that nobody is answering prayers these days. Each faun and nymph locks eyes with the nearest fairy, of whatever gender, and they fall together and begin furiously copulating.

Fuck.

It is that type of mushroom.

I’m curious about what Simon is thinking of this, so I sweep my eyes up to his face. He’s staring stupidly at the frantic sex happening many times over around us. His mouth is hanging open and his eyes look lost. Then I realise with horror that the mushroom cloud, having risen to above the lip of the bowl where the fairies and I are, is about to envelop his head. “Simon, watch out!” I shout, too frantic to even notice my slip.

I realise my mistake far, far too late.

Simon

When I knocked Baz into those mushroom thingies, I think I knocked the wind right out of him. He lay, stunned, not even breathing for a moment. And then we forgot all about our argument when we saw what the cloud of dust from those mushrooms was capable of. I was transfixed as every creature around me fell to enthusiastic fucking, so Baz’s warning is timely.

I swing around at the sound of his voice to see him sitting and clutching his throat, his eyes actually bulging. Fuck! Has he been poisoned? Was that mushroom dust deadly to humans? (Or to vampires?) (Or whatever?)

“Baz! Are you ok?” I shout, or at least I start to. The deep breath I draw in to prepare for shouting is thick with purple sparkly musk. The scent goes to my head immediately. Unconsciously, I start gasping (a symptom the fungus promotes, so that more of its essence is inhaled) even as I recoil in horror at realising exactly what kind of mushroom it is.

When I was thirteen and started going through puberty, the Mage warned me about this particular species. He was afraid I’d stumble into a patch of them on one of my quests and be forced into acts I was in no way ready for. So, he described it to me, and I’m mentally kicking myself for forgetting. The size, the shape, the colour, the sparkle—it all points to one conclusion. It’s phallus impudicus, the magickal variant. Its essence smells like sexual secretions, and its spores cause uncontrolled sexual desire for as long as it takes the dust to work its way out of your system. Which can take hours.

In the time it takes these thoughts to pass through my brain (which seems to be working much slower than usual), Baz is on me. He knocks me back and I end up sprawling in a soft bed of moss. Then he straddles me, snarling down at me. With all of his teeth.

I stare. I was right, I think dreamily. Baz is a vampire. Somehow the thought doesn’t seem particularly upsetting. I feel a sense of serene confidence that Baz won’t hurt me, that he would never hurt me. Even if he’s looking at me like he often does, like he wants to attack me. Then he rolls his hips, slowly and purposely against me, and, oh fuck, is that what that look actually means? That he wants me?

He’s hard and so am I and we’ve just inhaled the greatest sexual enhancer that nature has ever come up with and—oh, Merlin!

My eyes roll back in my head at the pleasure arcing through me from his cock rubbing against mine through our clothes. Baz is mumbling something, his voice tight and wild, even as he scrabbles at my flies.

This isn’t so bad, I think muzzily. I like this a whole lot better than fighting with Baz. But I freeze when I realise that those aren’t happy, excited noises Baz is making. In fact, he’s sobbing. Tears fly off of his cheeks with the violence of his motions, and he’s chanting, over and over, in a desperate chorus, “Stop me, Snow. Pull your sword, stab me through the heart. Don’t let me do this to you!”

I struggle to clear my head and think around the cloud of lust. Baz wants me to stop him. He doesn’t want to have sex with me against my will. I notice what he doesn’t say: he doesn’t say, stop, don’t do this to me. Does that mean Baz is ok with having sex with me?

I have to know, and I have to make this decision with a clear head. I start to mutter, over and over, “sober up, Simon. Snap out of it. Sober up!” Those last words are a spell, but I don’t have my wand with me. Somehow they come out with magic all the same. I can see Baz feeling the effects, too.

I rush to take advantage of the reprieve granted me from the spell. I know once I inhale the dust again, I’ll lose this clarity, and the same is true for Baz. Sober up clears your system of intoxicants, but doesn’t do anything to stop you from getting intoxicated again after using it. We’re cautioned, in Magickal Health class, against using it this way. Apparently some Mages have gotten so addicted to the high of drugs or alcohol that they’ve sobered themselves just so they can use and experience the same feelings again, thereby doubling the damage to their bodies.

Not that I have any choice about that. There’s no way I’d be able to hold my breath long enough to escape the mushroom cloud.

And I don’t think I really want to.

Swiftly, trying to push enough air into my words to be heard before I have to inhale again and start the whole process over, I say, “You can, Baz, it’s okay. I want you to.” And then I have to gasp for breath, and my mind fogs over.

Baz

Did he mean it? He managed to cast a sobering spell wandless on both of us while intoxicated and on his back about to be ravished by his vampire arch nemesis. And the only thing he thinks to say in that tenuous moment of clarity is “you can, Baz, it’s okay”?

This absolute moron. This glorious golden hero. He listened to my frantic raving and used the magic he struggles so much with simply to give me peace of mind.

I hate him. I love him. I never envisioned my first time like this, under compulsion from fairy mushroom dust, and with Simon Snow.

Clearly my imagination is lacking. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fantasise about anything but this ever again. I stare down at Simon. I’m furious at him, still. But I want him.

I let my mouth fall open, and I breathe in.

Simon

Through the dreamy haze, I watch as Baz manages to loosen my trousers and lower them and my pants enough to bare my cock to the cool autumn air. I shiver, but I’m not cold. Every sensation is heightened. Just the brush of my clothing over my dick makes me feel insane pleasure.

Baz still looks furious. But he also looks hungry. He eyes my swollen cock like a dog eyeing a particularly juicy bone. I don’t think he’d like that analogy much, but I’m too drunk on mushroom dust to try to be more creative.

Then, without any warning, he bends down and wraps his lips around me. I cry out in surprise and pleasure. His hair has fallen over his face, but I notice him eyeing me through that inky curtain, and I’m reminded forcibly that this is Baz. That Baz has his mouth around the tip of my cock and is now sinking down towards the base. Surprisingly, that realisation only makes the whole thing hotter. I whimper.

He doesn’t stay. He lifts his head slowly, running his wet tongue over my dick as he goes. Then he points his wand at my damp cock and says, with perfect enunciation despite being under the influence of a seriously powerful recreational drug (the twat), “Slippery When Wet.” I feel his hot magic lick over my groin like a second tongue made of flame, and suddenly, my cock is glistening.

Oh. A lube spell. But that means… My eyes shoot up to his, wide and shocked. He’s ignoring me now. He’s turned his attention to stripping off his shoes, trousers and pants with brutal efficiency. Then he turns his wand on himself and mutters some spells I can’t quite hear.

They must be effective. A whole body tremor passes through him, and he gasps and closes his eyes. His dick, which I can sort of see under his shirttails, grey-pink and long, jumps.

I don’t have time to try to figure out what he just did, because, a moment later, he’s on me. I mean, he’s literally on me. His knees are on either side of my hips, his bare arse is resting against my cock, and his own dick is brushing against my belly. I hold my breath, wondering what he’ll do next.

I don’t have to wonder for long. I choke on a cry when he reaches behind himself and grasps my cock in his cold hand. He holds me steady and hovers over me. A flash of uncertainty passes over his face for a moment. He meets my eyes, his gaze worried and questioning. I nod frantically, babbling, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”. I’m not sure what he’s going to do, but I know I’ll die if he doesn’t do it.

With a shuddering sigh, he lowers himself, inch by inch, feeding my cock into his arse. I want to writhe under him. I want to slam my hips up, impale him completely. But his grip is like iron and he won’t let me move. Finally, he’s fully seated in my lap. I’m panting, sucking more tainted air in with every breath.

Baz’s eyes had been closed while he took me into himself, but now his eyes pop open and he stares at me, his face unreadable. Then his mouth twists and his eyes glint with rage. I flinch back when his hand shoots towards my face—surely he wouldn’t hit me while he’s sitting on my cock, would he? Instead, he grabs the side of my face and shoves it down so that my cheek digs into the moss and dirt below us.

“This is your fault, Snow,” he says, coldly. “You don’t get to look at me.”

Baz

When I finally can feel the miracle that is Simon Snow’s cock deep in my arse, I open my eyes. He’s staring at me, his face enthralled, his eyes wide and wet. His lips are parted in awe. I could almost think he has feelings for me.

No. No, it’s not possible, and it’s not fair of him to make me think it is. The rage I was feeling earlier floods back in, laced with the desperation of the drug and the ache of knowing this will be the only time I ever get to feel Simon like this. I reach out and shove his face into the ground and hold it there. I tell him he can’t look at me, and I mean it. I can’t bear having him look at me like he might care about me. It hurts too much because it’s so obviously untrue.

I keep Simon’s face turned away from me as I start to move on him. The cleaning and relaxation spells I cast have done their work, but Simon is bigger than the toys I’m used to wanking with, and the stretch burns. I want to take it slow, let myself get used to this feeling. And then make it last forever. But the effect of the mushroom dust has me fucking down on him at a frantic pace within minutes.

Simon doesn’t fight my hold, though his expression, as far as I can read it with his face turned into the ground, looks annoyed. But the noises he makes… sex noises… heavy breathing, soft cries and whimpers and moans… I’ll never stop hearing them. I want the tape recorder back so I can steal his voice right now and play his pleasured sounds every time I wank. And I’d have the added bonus that nobody else would ever get to hear them.

It’s over too quickly. I don’t know for sure about Snow, but I, at least, was a virgin, and we’ve both been hard and aching since the moment we breathed in the purple intoxicant. Simon comes first. He suddenly gasps and bucks his hips up powerfully into me and then holds there, shaking. I feel the heat of his spend filling me up. As he lets his arse fall back into the moss with a content sigh, I rise up on my knees and rail myself on his still-stiff cock, releasing his face to pull at my cock until it releases a burst of white fluid to spatter over his uniform shirt. I think I even see some drops on his purple-and-green-striped tie.

I let myself sink down on him one final time, splaying my knees wide to take the pressure off of them. They’re a little sore from digging into the hard ground as I fucked myself on him. I close my eyes and enjoy the flood of endorphins the orgasm set off in my brain.

Simon and I pant quietly together. I wait for words of shame or anger from him. I wait for my heart to be broken.

Instead, I suddenly feel big, warm hands over the small of my back, warming me through my Watford uniform shirt. He presses me down until I’m lying on his chest.Then he holds me there, stroking my back and just breathing under me.

Is this—are we—cuddling? Why? My brain is trying to race, but the chemical fog is like a soft wall I have to push through to think anything of substance. Finally, I give up trying to figure this out, and let myself drift, lying chest-to-chest with Simon Snow. (well, shirt-to-shirt.) (Why didn’t I take off the rest of our clothes?)

Simon

He’s so lovely.

I can’t think very well right now, so that’s all that comes out of my brain for some minutes. But, since I can successfully produce that thought, I produce it over and over again, repeating my ode to Baz’s beauty until it suddenly breaks free from my lips.

“You’re so lovely, Baz,” I whisper into his hair.

He startles and lifts his chin to peer up at me. “Why are you saying that?” he whispers back.

I think about that for a while. Baz doesn’t seem much interested in pushing for an answer either; he just watches me passively. Finally, I manage to squeeze out an answer: “Because it’s true.”

Baz thinks that over. As he does, I can’t help but notice that the knot of need is twisting tight in my belly again. That mushroom drug is good stuff, I think vaguely. I’ve never been able to get a stiffy again so fast after coming.

The fair folk all around us haven’t ceased their carnal celebrations, though as I watch them, I notice them occasionally switch partners. No monogamy in fairydom, I think.

On the tail end of that thought, a pair of dryads near us have panted and licked their way to completion and now are laying and holding hands on the moss. They notice me looking, and look back in interest. Then, one of them stands and drifts over to me. She reaches out and runs a hand softer than moss along my bicep. She smiles and raises a suggestive eyebrow at me.

Baz must have given up on thinking of a response to my comment, because he looks up and, I swear to Merlin, hisses at the dryad. With all of his teeth. I stare.

I was right, the thought trickles up from my drug soaked brain. Baz is a vampire. And then I wonder, did I think that before?

It doesn’t seem very important at the moment, though I file it away for later. What does seem important is my stiffening cock. Baz is hard too, and he’s started unconsciously grinding on me even as he sends the poor dryad running and screeching into the wood.

He’s still wearing his shirt. I’m still wearing mine too, and my tie, and my trousers are bunched around my knees. That won’t do. I shuffle my trousers and pants down the rest of the way and kick them off into the bushes around us. Then I attack the buttons of my shirt, fumbling in my hurry to feel Baz’s bare skin against mine.

Baz watches me in a daze, but I see the moment when everything clicks in his head. His eyes widen suddenly, and then he’s clawing at his shirt buttons. I think I see at least one button fly off into the moss before he shrugs the fabric off of his shoulders and flings it as far as he can.

And there he is, all grey and smooth and beautiful as Eros. I’m torn between pulling him against me, and leaning down to touch and taste his glorious dick.

Baz acts before I can decide what to do. He knee-walks over to me and and throws one leg over my legs. Then he takes me in hand and smoothly guides me into his hole again. I close my eyes and groan at the perfection of our joining. Nothing in the entire World of Mages could ever be as good as this.

He’s not trying to keep me from seeing him this time, so I take advantage and watch his face greedily as he fucks himself on me. It’s an experience to see Baz with so much expression on his face. He normally has only three expressions: angry, bored, and disgusted. Or four, if plotting counts as an expression. Now, though, I watch lust and need and anguish and exhilaration and despair chase themselves across his face.

I’m gasping and grunting at the sweet clutch of his slick walls around me (slick with my come), but he’s silent, folding his lips shut tight around any sounds he might make. That won’t do.

I wait for the ideal moment, when he’s rising and is slightly off balance, and I lift my knee and press my foot hard into the ground, rolling us over. We come apart in the motion, but I swiftly thrust into him again, as soon as I’ve got him pinned under me. If I push his thighs up around my hips, I can fuck him and have access to his face, the face he wouldn’t let me look at last time.

I take advantage of that. He looks surprised at first, and then his eyes flutter shut as he sighs his pleasure at the new position. I admire his unusually flushed skin (he must have fed on the way here), the sooty length of his lashes fanning over his cheeks, the way I can see one (non-vampire) tooth biting down lightly on his plush looking lips.

My gaze halts there, and I stare for a long time at his mouth. My hips seem to know quite well what to do without me, so I’m free to think about Baz’s lips. They look soft, and shiny. He must use chapstick, or something posher. The tiny gleam of the single tooth stands out against the greyish-pink of his skin there. It dents the lip where it rests.

Baz’s mouth. It entices me. I want it. I want it under mine. With a needy growl, I jam my face forward and press my lips against his.

Baz gasps and his eyes fly open. But the pleasure from our fucking and his own need to be kissed must overwhelm whatever protests he would have made, because instead of rejecting my gesture, he opens his mouth under me and invites me in. And I accept the invitation with enthusiasm.

Baz

He’s kissing me. Simon Snow is kissing me. That’s all I can think for some minutes.

In my defence, being kissed by Simon Snow is an all-encompassing experience. He kisses with his whole body, I think. His tongue thrusts into my mouth in a mirror of how his cock thrusts into my hole. He clutches and grasps my arse against him with one hand and clutches and holds my face steady with the other. He explores the insides of my mouth at his leisure as he picks me apart unhurriedly below. It’s like being fucked from both ends at once, and it overwhelms my senses.

I know I’ll be humiliated later to remember how I moaned and gasped into his mouth like some wanton. But that’s a problem for later, so for now I keen my pleasure into Simon Snow’s mouth, and he groans his own back into mine.

Through the fog of lust in my brain, I’m dimly aware of movement all around us. It doesn’t seem important enough to stop kissing Simon, or even to open my eyes. Simon must think differently, though, because he pulls back slightly, breaking the seal of our lips and whispering, “Holy fuck, Baz, we’ve got an audience!”

I open my eyes and glance to the side. We do. While most of the fairy people are still in various stages of sexual congress, a small gathering of satyrs and dryads are sitting in a circle around us. They’re watching us greedily, and, oddly, swaying in place. That looks familiar, I think.

In spite of Simon’s clear embarrassment (he’s gone red from his ears to his nipples), his hips never falter. He keeps drilling me into the ground, but now he’s biting his lip and trying to look anywhere but at the fairies watching us.

I’m not sure why we’re such a spectacle for them. Haven’t they ever seen humans fuck before? I scowl at them, but the urgency building in my belly doesn’t allow me to be distracted for long. Simon too is struggling for control; his gasps are louder and his thrusts are more frantic, even if the red hasn’t faded from his skin. He suddenly reaches down and hauls my right leg over his shoulder. Then he repeats that action with the left and strains forward, folding me in half.

I cry out. The new position puts the head of his cock in direct contact with my prostate, and white lightning is sizzling through my body with every thrust. I hear the murmur of our audience getting louder, and I look over to see them leaning forward, faces tense and eager. Each time Simon or I lose control enough to gasp or groan, an approving sigh ripples through the cluster of fairies.

“Baaaaz…,” Simon breathes. My attention snaps back to the man who’s doing such marvellous things to my body.

“What?” I whisper, mindful of our audience.

“I—I think I’m gonna go off,” he pants, and he really does look worried. I’m not. Though his skin is glowing, it’s with embarrassment, not magic. I don’t smell the green woodsmoke of his magic at all.

“You’re not,” I reassure him. “You’re going to come.”

He groans, and I do too when he gives a particularly powerful snap of his hips. “Are you sure?”

He’s got me all wrapped up, but my arms are free. “I’m sure,” I hiss into his ear, and then reach up and pull him into a fierce kiss.

To his credit, he tries to comply with the kiss, but his ecstasy is building and he can’t help but grunt into my mouth. He pulls away. “You too,” he grits, through clenched teeth.

Me too, what? Then I realize. He’s fighting back his orgasm with everything he has because he wants me to come, too. I try to avoid watching the fairies around us because they are making encouraging (and completely lewd) gestures now.

Instead, I squeeze my hand between my thighs and belly, and grab hold of myself. A few tight strokes and it’s over. I convulse, letting out an embarrassing mewl as hot pleasure rushes through me.

That must have been what Snow was waiting for, because he gives one last sloppy thrust, and I feel him release inside me once more. His hips keep moving just slightly as he comes, pumping his semen into me as deep as he’s able. Each little rock of his hips sends another throb of pleasure through me.

Finally, he shudders and stills. He lets my legs drop down to the moss and collapses over me, breathing hard. The fauns and dryads in our audience burst into applause.

What the fuck?

Simon

The fairy people are clapping. Why are they clapping?

My face is so hot, I think the sweat dripping from my hair must be sizzling on its way down. I don’t want to know what the fuck is going on with our unwitting hosts. And, at the same time, I really want to know. I lift my face from Baz’s chest just enough to peek out. The fairies around us are still clapping lightly, like the crowd at a croquet match. They’re smiling, one and all. Actually, they look completely thrilled.

I don’t realise Baz is watching and speculating too until he speaks. “I think,” he whispers, his words coming out slow and lethargic and completely un-Baz-like, “what we stumbled into was their bacchanalia. Their celebration of the season’s change and fertility.” I don’t know how he has enough brain space to devote to decoding fairy reactions. My mind is swiftly clouding over with lust, and I’m hardening again, still inside of Baz.

He winces slightly, and, startled, I pull out. He gasps at the sensation of my cock pulling free from his hole, but then he sighs. “How do you figure, Baz?” I mumble, resting my forehead on his and struggling to ignore the pulse of arousal in my dick.

“It’s a fairy ritual,” he explains, his voice sounding dreamy. “Marked by fornicating through one whole day and night. Aided by the mind and body altering powers of the phallic mushrooms they gather. The sexual energy invoked gives them enough power to promote the growth of new trees, meaning the birth of new dryads.”

I choke. I lost the thread of what he was saying after his first sentence. “A night and day? That’s how long it’ll take this to wear off?”

Baz is fully hard again and I can’t help but stare. I’m swiftly losing track of this entire conversation. Baz too appears to be struggling for coherence. “Don’t know,” he gasps. “Might be different with human phys—-physiology.”

I’m losing my battle. “I need you, Baz,” I moan, and I realise I’m grinding helplessly against his leg.

“‘M sore,” he whimpers, and fuck! Why didn’t I think of that? I think Baz was a virgin before this, and we’ve just had some extremely vigorous sex. Twice! His arse has got to be sore.

“I’ll suck you,” I promise, and his eyes pop open. He’s still staring at me in disbelief when I curl up at his side and wrap my lips around his cock.

Baz

So hot.

That’s literally all my brain has room for. Simon Snow’s mouth around me is scorchingly hot, in every possible way.

It’s clear he’s a complete neophyte at this. He’s sloppy, drooling all over me, and he can’t seem to decide between slurping at me and sucking my brains out through my dick.

It’s also clear that he’s extremely naturally gifted at sucking cock. Who would have thought?

Our audience hasn’t departed, though they’re no longer applauding. They still watch greedily, their eyes flicking up and down with the motion of Simon’s head bobbing on me. It’s like watching spectators at the world's weirdest tennis match.

It still bothers me. Of course it does. But it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it, not when my grey matter is diminishing with each wet pull of his lips around me. With one last jaundiced glare at the fauns and nymphs that are leering at us, I have to give myself over to the sensation. It doesn’t take long for Simon to have me whimpering again.

Then he pulls away for a moment and folds over on his side, laying his head on my belly. In this new position, he takes my cock back into his mouth, alternating sucking at its head with licking it from root to crown. He’s not sped up his attentions, still pleasuring me slowly and thoroughly, so I lift my head to find out why he felt the need to change positions.

Oh. Laying on his side freed his hands up, and he’s steadily pumping his own dick in time with the motions of his mouth on mine. I’m still not used to seeing Simon in his naked glory, so I just stare for a moment. Then he makes an odd gargling noise, and I look back towards his face.

Oh again.

My reaction to watching him suck me off and wank himself made my cock jump and thicken inside his mouth, and his eyes are wide with surprise and something else I can’t read. I give an involuntary shudder in response to the way he’s looking at me, and my cock jumps in his mouth again.

Simon Snow moans.

Oh fuck. He likes that! He likes me moving around inside of him, being outside of his control.

That’s so fucking hot.

Just realising that Simon is enjoying sucking me off has me right on the edge, but I’ve still got enough time to test this. Watching him carefully, I thrust up into his mouth, just a tiny bit.

He moans again and squeezes himself, hard. His cock is bulging and red and leaking everywhere. He’s about to fucking come just because I gave a little hip wiggle.

I repeat my test (evidence isn’t scientific without multiple trials, after all), pushing my cock between his lips until I’m touching the back of his throat, and then pulling back a little. He gazes at me, only one blue eye visible (the other is pressed against my belly) and nods slightly. The one eye I can see is filmed over with lust.

Watching Simon like this is… really, really doing it for me. I can feel the intensity building rapidly in my balls as I pump into his mouth. He takes me in passively, his one visible eye fluttering shut with pleasure. His own hand has stopped moving, but his hips are now taking up the work, pushing his cock through the tight ring of his cupped hand, over and over.

I’m on the precipice so suddenly that I don’t see it coming. I give a startled cry before thrusting myself into Simon’s throat with finality, releasing inside it. I cry out again as he swallows what I’ve given him. He swallows around my cock, and between that, and his helpless moaning, his silken throat massages me, prolonging my orgasm.

He whimpers then, giving me one last convulsive suck that makes me cry out and push my still-hard cock deep in his throat again, and then he’s spurting over his own fingers, sending a shower of semen over my thigh and the ground below us. I watch in a daze as single drops catch on the moss and sparkle like diamonds.

Then exhaustion catches up with me and I let my head fall back again, with a soft sigh.

Simon

Why have I never noticed how lovely Baz is? I’m spent and exhausted, lying with my head pillowed on his belly, and I can’t stop looking at him. His eyes have fallen shut and he’s breathing evenly—I think he fell asleep. I want to sleep too, but I also want to look upon his beauty for the rest of my life. I’m greedy that way.

His hair, usually so ordered and neat, is a mess. The silky strands are tousled and laying across his cheek and neck. His lips are swollen from our kisses and almost pink. I’ve always wanted to see him less than put together. I never thought I’d get my wish like this.

He’s so damn fit, and the more I look at him, the more I see it. His flawless skin, his taut abdominal muscles, his firm arms and legs and arse…

Wait… I have thought about these things before. These thoughts aren’t new. I’ve just always thought I was angry about his beauty, that I was jealous. I s’pose I was jealous. Jealous of anyone else who got to look at him and touch him. Anyone else who wasn’t me.

Oh Merlin. How long have I wanted Baz? I remember scowling over his strength and speed on the pitch as early as third year. I remember wanting to touch his hair, see if it was as smooth as it looks (it is), as early as second year.

Have I always wanted Baz? And what the fuck does that mean, for me, for us? Does he want me? Is that even possible?

I fret until sleep finally pulls me under, Baz’s lovely face following me into my dreams.

Baz

When I wake up, I’m aroused again. I’m pleased to note that the frantic urgency of earlier is gone, but I definitely am still under the influence. Still. I could probably control myself enough to get Snow and I out of range of the mushroom dust. Would that change anything? Would the aphrodisiac still need to work its way out of our systems, even back in our room? Or would simple distance be enough to dispel its impact?

Snow is still asleep, drooling on my bare stomach. Despite the slowly growing need I’m feeling in my gut, I’m content to lay still and watch him for a while. Even covered in dust and forest matter, hair tangled and eyelids purpled with exhaustion, he’s still so lovely. I could be content doing nothing but looking on his loveliness for the rest of my days if he’d let me.

When he doesn’t appear to be at risk of waking any time soon, I chance a look around. The frenzy of the fairy bacchanalia has eased somewhat. Oh, there’s definitely still plenty of fornication going on, all around us, but it’s mostly slower, gentler, more sensual. And there’s also quite a few piles of fairies simply sleeping or running wondering hands over their lovers.

Our audience (thank Crowley!) has dispersed, probably bored by our lack of activity. Now that my mind is somewhat clearer, I decide to try to interpret the behaviour of the forest fauns and nymphs towards us. First, they cheered wildly when I fell into the mushrooms. Then, they encircled us as we fucked, even made movements to join in, until I scared one of them off.

Is it that they see us as one of their own, now that we’ve joined their festivities? But no, no other fairy couple had a leering audience to their coupling.

So what, then?

I’m forced to reluctantly conclude that either the participation of Simon and I in their festivities was extremely important to them, and therefore they watched to see that the sexual imperative of the celebration was met, or our participation was such a novelty to them that they watched us like animals in a zoo.

I don’t think I care much for either option.

I’ve made up my mind: . As soon as Simon wakes, I’m going to do my best to get us out of these woods and back to Watford. What happens there, well. I guess it depends on how angry Simon is over what he’s been compelled to do today. I mean, I know he told me he consented, in no uncertain terms, but he still didn’t have much choice either way. He may hate me all the more for it, once he’s back to himself.

Simon

I’m lying on my belly and I’m hard when I wake up, but I think I’m getting used to that. I don’t feel Baz, so I immediately flip over to figure out where he’s gone. He hasn’t gone. He’s laying on his side next to me, staring at me. The look on his face is one of puzzled realisation.

“What is it?” I mumble.

“I—I don’t understand,” he says, his brow furrowed.

“What don’t you understand?” I say. My cock is demanding my attention, so I run one hand casually from my base to my tip, trying to ease the ache. Baz’s eyes follow my movement and he swallows hard. I’m still under the influence, I can tell. There’s a haze of lust over my mind when I look at Baz. But I’m a little clearer than I’ve been. And Baz is confusing me right now.

“You—you gave me a blowjob,” Baz mutters, looking away. I think he’s embarrassed, even though he can’t blush. His body language is tense. He’s aroused too, he can’t hide that, but his eyes are clear.

I frown. “Yeah? So?”

“The fairy mushroom,” Baz says, looking anywhere but at me. His hips are starting to rock slightly. I notice with a rush of arousal that his hips are moving in time with my hand on my dick. He’s mirroring me. I sigh. That’s so fucking hot.

He swallows and then manages to gather the wherewithal to continue. “It causes an imperative for procreation.”

Okay, what? I have no idea what he’s talking about. “What?” I say aloud.

Baz sighs and rolls his eyes. “This is the faerie fertility ritual. We’ve read about it in Magickal Creatures class, Snow.”

I bite my lip. I missed a lot of that class while searching for the Seventh Oak. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I don’t know anything about faerie fertility rituals. “Wouldn’t that sort of thing tend to happen in spring?” I attempt.

He sighs again and rolls his eyes. “The fertility festival of the woods would be in autumn, Snow. That’s when the trees let loose their seeds, to wait under the snow until spring. Like the trees, the dryads prefer to wait out their gravid periods over the winter, so their young can be born into their trees when they sprout in the spring. It’s their natural cycle.” He must see that that doesn’t clear things up for me at all, because he continues, “They’ve got a far shorter gestation than humans, Snow.”

I snort. “Given the amount of gay sex going on here, making babies can’t be too much of a concern for them, Baz.” I’m eyeing his cock now. I want to suck it again. I loved the feel of it in my mouth, filling me up, before.

Baz moans, and then catches himself. He grits his teeth. “That may be so, Simon. But the mushroom’s dust should drive us both to seek penetration. But you didn’t.”

Ohhhh. I get it now. He wonders why I sucked him off when the dust wasn’t going to make me do that. I shrug. Baz snarls at me, and then reaches out and pulls me to him. He begins rolling his hips against me and I gasp at the feel of his cock rubbing against mine. “Why?” he demands. “Why did you do that?”

I can’t resist his lips, they’re so pink, bitten pink by my teeth, and so close. I dive in and suck his lower lip into my mouth. Baz cries out. Then I pull back, pulling it with me until it’s stretched as far as it can go before letting it snap back. I rest my face alongside his. “I blew you because I wanted to, Baz,” I whisper hotly into his ear. “Because you’ve got a fucking beautiful cock, and I wanted to taste it.” Baz shudders against me and moans.

The momentary clarity I woke with is swiftly diminishing with each roll of Baz’s hips against mine, but his realisation has prompted one of my own. “You could’ve fucked a dryad,” I grunt into his neck.

“Wha—?” he mumbles. I look up and his eyes are glazed. The dust is taking over his system. But I’m suddenly desperate to know, so I roll away from him. He whines in protest, and I’m incandescently furious with myself, too. But I need to know. “You could’ve tumbled a dryad, Baz. So, why me?”

He glares at me. He’s magnificent in his ire, but he does answer me, even if it’s through gritted teeth. “I’m gay, Snow! I have zero interest in female bodies.”

Baz is gay? Baz is gay! I don’t know why, but that thought reverberating through my skull makes the ache of need in my gut grow tenfold. I want him so fucking bad right now. But there’s still something I don’t understand. “Then… you could have fucked a faun, then! They’ve got a reputation for being down for anything. Why didn’t you get with one of them instead of me?”

Baz snarls, and before I can even react, he’s on me, thrusting wildly against me. As he rolls and rolls and rolls his hips, like an undulating wave, he grits out, “Because, you fucking numpty, you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to fuck!”

Before I can even react to that astonishing statement, my orgasm hits and my hips are stuttering against his, jetting my come over his cock and balls. Seconds later, he cries out and shudders, and then he’s painting my cock and belly white with his own.

Baz

I collapse against Simon’s chest and just lie there, breathing raggedly. Outwardly, I’m relaxed. Several orgasms in, how could my body be feeling anything but relaxed? But inwardly? Well, I’m a fucking disaster.

I just told Simon that he’s the only person I’ve ever wanted.

This is poetic, really. I finally get everything I ever thought I wanted, and I have to fuck it up. That’s just like me.

I search my mind for a way to extract myself from this situation with some dignity. I come up empty.

Simon

I’m the only person he’s ever wanted to have sex with? How is that possible? Baz is—he’s—well, look at him! He’s freaking sex on legs, that’s what he is. He could have anyone!

But he’s only ever wanted me.

Baz is very still and soft against me, but I know him better than I know anyone (and maybe that fact should have clued me in to my feelings earlier, but I’m a bit thick). I know he’s panicking, trying to figure out a way to unsay what he said. Any moment now, he’ll spout something cruel and ruin this.

Well, I won’t let him.

Baz

Snow recovers faster than I do. I’m still running through every worst case possibility my imagination can dream up (and I’ve got a very good imagination) when he speaks up.

“I could have too, you know,” he says quietly.

I lift my head and peer at him. “Could have what?” I say, trying to put some of my old bite back in my voice. It comes out sounding soft and drugged though. Crowley be damned mushroom dust!

“I could have fucked a dryad. Or a faun, I suppose.” He looks at me, and his eyes are speaking to me, but I can’t understand what they’re saying.

Now he’s got my attention, though. “Why didn’t you?” I ask, equally quiet.

He looks at me for a long moment and then sighs. With a rueful grin, he admits, “I never even considered anyone else. No dryad or faun could hold a candle to you, Baz.”

Simon

Baz looks overwhelmed, and I’m glad. Not that I want him to be uncomfortable or confused, but Baz has always been a pro at keeping what he’s thinking off of his face. Now he’s as easy to read as I usually am, and I’m loving it. I can trust what he’s saying because he’s not throwing up walls between us.

He finally looks away, and the moment is broken. I think something fundamental has shifted between us. Shyly looking down at my chest, he says, “We’re not out of the woods yet, Simon.”

Then he looks at me, and his gaze sharpens. “But maybe we should be? Maybe we should be trying to get back to Mummer’s house before the dust sucks us in again?”

I consider that. He thinks we should get up, get our clothes back on, and force our reluctant bodies back to Watford. I try to think clearly, to think of why we should go back, leave this idyllic place.

I give up after a minute or two. I can’t think of a single reason why we should do that.

Baz

Simon looks thoughtful for a moment, and my heart sinks in my chest. He’s going to say we should go back, and we will. We’ll go back to our room, we’ll get cleaned up (separately, of course), and we’ll likely never speak of this again.

But Simon’s not done surprising me today.

“No,” Simon says firmly, shaking his head. “You said up to a full day? It’s not been nearly that long. We’ve got to give the fairies their due.”

He meets my eyes. While I can still see the desire in them, I can also see lucidity. He’s aware of what he’s saying. But what the fuck is he saying?

He chuckles softly at the flabbergasted look on my face. “That’s not my only reason,” he assures me softly. “This is the best sexual experience I’ve ever had, bar none, and I’d like to see it through. If that’s alright with you?”

He says the last politely, as if he’s asking me for some small favour, something meaningless in the grand scheme of things. This is not meaningless. On the contrary. This means everything.

Simon’s offering me himself, for at least the next several hours. Who am I to deny him?

Simon

Baz looks… I don’t know how he looks. There’s too many emotions flashing across his face, too quickly. Finally, he closes his eyes and lets out a deep shuddering breath. “It’s alright with me,” he whispers.

Emboldened by this permission, I reach for him. He reaches back. When I cup his face between my two hands, he wraps his around the back of my skull.

“I want you,” I whisper.

He searches my eyes and bites his lip at whatever he finds there. “I want you, too. But I’m… sore…”

I don’t point out that he could just heal himself with a spell. If he hasn’t thought of it, I’d rather he didn’t. At least not yet. I like the thought of Baz sore from my cock pushing inside him. Maybe that’s deranged, but it feels like I’ve left my mark on him, branded him as mine. The very thought makes my cock thicken.

“You can fuck me,” I whisper back.

Well, that got a reaction. Baz looks electrified and his hands clutch at my skull. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice unsteady.

“Completely,” I reply.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re dark with intent. And when he takes my mouth, his ferocity steals my breath.

Baz

This stupidly glorious man. Does he know how he sets me alight with just the magic of his lips? Simon Snow doesn’t need the power of the sun in his chest: he’s got me in his orbit just with the blue of his eyes, the taste of his skin.

When our lips softly, reluctantly part, Simon eases himself back down on the moss, pulling me down with him. I kneel over him, running the palms of my hands firmly over his powerful chest and softer stomach. He’s thin. Too thin for November. But I can’t focus on that worry, not when I can feel his thighs between mine, his cock brushing mine.

He’s offering himself to me freely, but doubt can’t stop nagging at me. It was one thing for him to fuck me; he could have closed his eyes and pretended I was a woman, easily enough. But giving me a blowjob? And now, offering to let me fuck him? There’s really no way he could pretend away either of those things.

I don’t want to say it, but my inhibitions are lowered in more than one way it seems, because when I open my mouth, the question comes tumbling out. “I thought you were straight, Snow?”

He shrugs. Of course he does, he’s Simon Snow. His favoured mode of communication is two-thirds shrugs and grunts. But when I scowl at him, he grins back up at me and actually speaks.

“I dunno what I am, Baz. I’ve not really been interested in many people in my life. There was Agatha. Now there’s you. I think that’s too small a sample size to draw conclusions from.”

I stare at him in shock. “Wait… you’re attracted to me? Since when?” It’s Simon’s turn to scowl. I get it, he’s hard as a rock and now probably isn’t really the time for deep conversations. But I need to understand.

“I dunno, Baz. A long time. I’ve noticed how fit you are at least since we were fifteen. I don’t know when it became more than just admiration. Sometime in sixth year, I think?”

I sputter. “Y-you… sixth year? But you were dating Agatha!”

His scowl grows fiercer. “I was dating her, not married. And even if I were married, I still have eyes. You’re incredibly fit, Baz. I just figured it was normal to fantasise about fit people.”

“You fantasised about me?” I shout, outraged and aroused beyond belief. I want to know more, but Simon lets me know, in no uncertain terms, that the conversation is over, by yanking me down to press me against his chest.

When our lips are so close our breaths are mingling, he whispers, “I’ve fantasised about you fucking me for two years, Baz. Are you ever going to actually do it?”

I moan, and then kiss him, hard. I can never resist a challenge.

Simon

Baz’s kisses may not be expert, but he’s a genius, so of course he learns faster than anyone else. He snogs me until I’m panting and rocking up into him, but when I start grinding my cock into his hip, he pulls away. “None of that, Snow,” he chuckles. Then he reaches over to where he dropped his wand and aims it at my crotch. I don’t even have a second to worry about what he might be plotting before he’s reeling off the same cleaning and relaxation spells he did on himself earlier.

I gasp. His magic licks over my skin and inside my arse, hot and slick. I feel it working. I feel myself opening, becoming ready for him. Then he looks down at me, eyes glittering. Baz has never looked so deranged before. His hair is tangled and tossed in every direction, his lips are puffy and nearly red, and his eyes are wild.

I expect him to shove my knees up to my chin and fuck into me like I did to him. But that’s not what he does. Instead, with careful, gentle hands, he turns me on my side and guides me into a half sprawled position, one knee bent forward in front of the other.

“You’ve never done this before,” he says. “So this way will be easier for you.”

I’m startled. As he settles his body behind mine, wrapping me up in him, I turn to look at him and say, “Have you done this before?”

Baz blushes. I stare. I didn’t think he could do that. But there it is, an unmistakable pink tinge to his cheekbones. “I—I’ve practised. With toys.” My breath catches. He means dildos, right? Now I can’t help but imagine Baz, nude on his bed in our room, fucking himself leisurely with a big plastic dick. Fuuuuuck. That’s so hot. My hips jerk and I moan.

He’s settling into position behind me now, and I can feel his cock rubbing against the crease of my arse. I swallow, hard. It’s one thing to fantasise about being buggered by your fit roommate. It’s quite another to have the reality of it staring you in the face while you wonder how on earth that will fit inside you. He doesn’t let me wonder long.

He nudges my top leg forward and I roll enough so that my top knee is resting in the moss. That spread me open enough that now I can feel him up against my hole. He keeps one arm wrapped around me and withdraws the other, reaching down to guide himself forward.

I whimper as he presses me open. He feels a million times bigger than he did in my mouth. I’m tensing up, and it’s starting to hurt. Baz pauses, and then lowers his head to press his check against mine. “‘Relax, Simon. It’s all right, love. I’ve got you.”

I do my best to let my muscles slacken. Baz helps by latching onto the place where my neck meets my shoulder and sucking a hickie into my skin there. I’m so distracted by the intense pleasure-pain spreading out from my neck that I almost don’t notice when Baz slips inside me.

Almost. But feeling that invasion, feeling both trapped and embraced in his octopus hold, I’m frozen, trying to manage the flood of sensation. Baz stills, considerately, but has to let go of my neck to pant in my ear. “Fuck, Simon, you’re so tight. So hot. Oh Crowley, you’re perfect. You’re so perfect for me.”

The stream of babbled praises does for me what I couldn’t do for myself. I finally relax back into his hold. I give myself up to him. And he takes over my body and takes it where he wills.

At some point, when he’s rocking into me and sobbing his pleasure into my neck, I open my eyes and stare at our surroundings. I realize dimly that our audience is back. There’s more of them, this time. They’re watching us, their faces avid, and also somehow euphoric. It’s as if they’re getting off when we’re the ones fucking.

The way Baz’s prick is caressing my insides pulls me back again. I resolve to forget about the faeries, let them do what they will. I just need Baz, fucking into me, dragging his cock against my inner walls, over and over again for the rest of my life.

I don’t know how long we rock together on the forest floor. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. Baz’s control is spectacular, he’s got to be ready to explode by now, but he’s still pushing into me slowly, filling me up completely, and dragging himself out even more slowly, as if reluctant to leave the warmth of my body.

I’m growing warmer though, my need rising each time his hips meet my arse. He’s not touched my cock this entire time. He’s just rested his hand on my hip, holding me steady for him as he breaches me, over and over. So I don’t understand why I’m feeling so wild, so limitless. I feel like I’m about to explode.

Baz

Each time I push into Simon, I feel like dying. Not in any sort of self-destructive way. No, I feel like each thrust is a culmination, an ending. But then I pull out and I’m brought back to life. Simon, so noisy in our previous encounters, has gone quiet. He rests against me, and other than the slightest motion of his hips against mine, he's still. His eyes are closed tightly, and he’s breathing in short, sharp pants.

I notice our audience too, but I don’t care anymore. I don’t even care when Simon’s skin starts to glow and the fauns and dryads start hooting and cheering. Some of them are even on their feet, hugging and shouting. I think muzzily that they actually want Simon to go off.

I’m not afraid. Maybe I should be since it definitely looks like Simon is going off, but I feel a dreamy sense of unreality. I’m making love to the man of my dreams. With each thrust, I tell him how beautiful, how perfect he is, how amazing he’s making me feel. The muscles in my legs and arse bunch and release, and it feels like tiny sparks are spreading across me, under my skin.

The tension in my gut grows as Simon’s glow brightens. I need to be closer to him. I need to crawl under his skin and pull him under mine. I need to bind us together, muscle, bone and sinew. I push forward, tangling my bottom leg between his and throwing my top leg over his hip.

His skin is nearly blinding now, so hot it burns, and I’m nearly there. I give a last few powerful thrusts, and then my veins are flooded with fire. The world around us turns inside out. Distantly, I hear Simon's screams of ecstasy and my own sobs.

I think I must have blacked out for a while, because when I open my eyes next, the world has changed. Simon’s still there, nude and half beneath me. My softening cock is still inside him. His semen has darkened the moss in front of him in wide streaks. But the rest of the clearing…

First of all, the faeries are gone. Only moments ago, they were celebrating our union with wild enthusiasm. Now, there’s no sign of them.

Second, the clearing we’d entered some hours ago had been typical fall foliage. The trees clad in green and yellow, the moss the only living thing beneath our feet. Not anymore. We’re now lying in the centre of a veritable bower. The trees are green and vibrant, and bursting with white and pink and lavender blooms. The moss has become an enchanted carpet of tiny white flowers shaped like stars. Flowers of every colour bloom out of every nook and cranny.

I pull out of Simon, sit up, and stare. Simon groans softly and mutters, “come back”. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet.

“Simon,” I breathe. “I think we brought the spring!”

Simon

I don’t know how long it takes before my nerve endings calm enough that I can sense anything outside my own body. I think I went off when I orgasmed. I can’t think of how else to explain it.

The first thing I hear when my senses return is Baz’s voice, soft and filled with awe. “Simon,” he whispers, “I think we brought the spring!”

My eyes pop open, and I manage to orient myself back into my body enough to sit up. I see what Baz means immediately. The moon has risen in the hours since we left Watford, and by its light, I can see that everything around us, as far as the eye can see, is covered in flowers. It’s a riot of colour and fragrance and life.

I stare. “We did this?” I say, my voice trembling.

“I think so.” Baz looks lost. “When you went off…,” he says, and then pauses to collect his thoughts. “It’s like you went off and your magic, instead of going out, went in. Into you and into me. You filled me up with magic until we both overflowed. I think this,” and he gestures around at the floral bounty around us, “happened when we poured that excess magic into the Earth.”

I look around, as if I’ll find an answer in the forest. I suppose that could be what happened. But is that what the faeries wanted? Is that why they watched us, why they celebrated? Are they even still alive? That last thought sends me searching the forest frantically. So far as I know, I’ve never killed any innocent creature when I went off, or at least not anything sentient. Please let this not be the first time, I pray as I scan the trees.

To my relief, as I stare hard at each tree in turn, the tree’s dryad peeks out. Then I see fauns on the ground, peering around from behind the trees. I think they’re frightened at first, but they’re not. When they meet my eyes, each of them smiles and bows, making complicated gestures with their hands that somehow look like gratitude.

“Simon,” Baz says, and I start. In my preoccupation, I’d almost forgotten him. I turn back to him. He looks worried for some reason. There’s a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Simon,” he says again, once he knows he’s got my attention. “The dust, I don’t feel it anymore. I think it’s worn off.”

My eyes widen, and then I look down at myself. For the first time in hours, my dick is lying soft against my thigh, looking as contented as I feel. I no longer desire sex with every fiber of my being. Instead, I feel a vast sense of peace and satisfaction. I stand up and stretch my arms and body, working out the knots I’ve developed from hours of unaccustomed exercise. I feel… light. Unburdened. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.

I turn back to Baz. He’s standing now too, watching me. His eyes are wary, and I can almost see the thoughts running through his head. He thinks I’m going to denounce what happened tonight. That I’m going to push him away.

Fuck that.

I reach out and take his hands. I give a gentle tug, and he comes into my arms with just the slightest hesitation. I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him to me, and then tilt my chin up to look at him. “You’re amazing,” I whisper.

He flushes again. Twice in one night. That must be a record. He glances away and mutters, “that’s just the endorphins talking, Snow. You’re high on orgasms.” I laugh, and he glares at me, though the ferocity of his expression is severely undercut by the way his hair is flopping over one eye.

I don’t try to argue with him though. I know Baz better than I know myself, and he won’t believe me right now. But I can wait. He’ll come around. I touch my lips softly to his and then let him go.

We pull on our clothes, though they’re somewhat worse for wear, riddled with grass stains and missing buttons. Then I take Baz’s hand and lead him out of the woods. He watches me like a startled fawn the whole time.

When we arrive back at our room, we are too exhausted to do more than collapse on our individual beds and pass out. I’ve got plans for Baz, I think, as my eyes close, but morning is soon enough.

Baz

I don’t know what time it is when I wake, but we’ve slept long enough for the sun to be high in the sky. The first thing I feel is a brush against my cheek, like the caress of a flower petal or a feather. I let my eyes blink open.

I can only see a blur of red and green at first. Then the object in front of me resolves itself into a red rose. Its velvety petals are brushing over my cheeks, my forehead, against my lips.

I look beyond the petals to see Simon Snow standing in the space between our beds. He’s holding the rose out to me. It’s fresh and young and I blink at it stupidly. Roses aren’t in bloom anywhere this time of year. I look back up at Simon, confused.

Simon bites his lip. He’s blushing, the rosy colour lovely on his golden skin. “I went back to the clearing this morning to find a flower for you, Baz,” he says, and I startle slightly when the silence is broken.

I gather my composure about me and try my best to lock down my expression. Simon is still standing in front of me, holding out a red rose. “What do you mean, Snow?” I ask, and I wince internally when my voice comes out more thready than composed.

Simon swallows, and I can’t help it, my eyes follow the bob of his Adam’s apple greedily. “Baz,” he tries again, “I know we’ve never really got on, and I know you don’t like me, but…” He pauses as if gathering strength and then hurries on as if he’s got to get the words out before his time expires. “I like you, Baz. I like you a lot. I want to take you out on a date, if you’ll let me.”

I stare up at him, too shocked to speak. He looks so hopeful, and the flower is so red, and Simon Snow likes me! He wants to take me on a date! Then my mind replays what he said, and I frown.

His expression tightens in worry, and I hasten to reassure him. “No! No, Simon, I do want to date you. But you’re wrong.”

“I am?” he says, trying to arch one eyebrow, but only managing one, so he just looks surprised.

I take the rose from his hand and bring it up to my nose. It smells erotic. It smells like lust and sex and… maybe love? “Thank you for the flower,” I whisper, and bring the bud to my lips to kiss it before setting it down on my nightstand. Then I stand and reach out one hand, cupping Simon’s jaw. “You’re wrong, Simon. I don’t hate you. I never have. I’ve wanted you for half my life, love.”

Simon’s jaw literally drops, sagging against my hand. “You mean it?” he breathes. I nod. He searches my eyes, and I do my best to radiate sincerity.

He must believe what he sees, because suddenly he’s sweeping me against him and kissing me. He kisses me until I can’t breathe or see, I can only feel. When he pulls away at last, he’s smiling.

“I think we owe the faeries another tribute,” he says, his eyes twinkling. I feel my grin widening to take over my face.

“Then let’s give them their due, Simon,” I try to say, but he’s swallowing my words and pressing me back down on my bed. I give up. The faeries don’t want our words, anyways.