Try as he might, the amusement would not abate. He chuckled through pressed lips, making odd grunting sounds as he tried to keep quiet.
Pitch huddled against him, verdant eyes doing very well in the teal light. ‘Who is here to hear us? Oh, listen to that…here to hear us….have you ever noticed how alike some words are?’ His giggle came again.
Silas’s smile made his lips ache. ‘You are beautiful, and smart too. Here and hear. Astonishing observation, my darling, I am quite gobsmacked.’
He wrapped his arm about Pitch’s shoulders, and the daemon sank into him, moulding in quite perfectly against his side. Silas toyed with the clasp of the cloak.
Would it really matter if they devoured one another here? No, no, not here. Out in the meadow, where he could lay Pitch down and take his sweet time with disrobing the prince.
Silas tensed, struck by how utterly nonsensical that thought was. He looked down at the daemon, taking in the dreadful state of Pitch’s hair, the cuts upon his face, the dried blood, the hint of a bruise beneath his left eye.
The injuries brought Silas back to his senses…a little.
‘I feel quite odd, rather distracted.’ Silas breathed in the slightly honeyed air. He was absolutely sure there had been no such pleasant odour a few seconds ago. ‘Is there something strange about the air?’
Pitch peeled himself away, though his hand did not leave its place on Silas’s belly, where he’d been wriggling his fingers beneath the coat. ‘Oh gods, yes. And I’ve let myself get carried away with it.’ He stroked Silas’s stomach. ‘You are the clever one, my oaf. I think this is a Drifting Meadow. A peculiarity of the Seelie Spring Court.’
‘Drifting Meadow?’ Silas squeezed his eyes shut briefly, trying to levy some clear-headness, but his mind was determined to steep itself elsewhere. Namely in the daemon prince.
‘Yes, do you recall the bluecaps? How alluring their den was, how magickal the dancing, until it was not?’
‘Hard to forget.’ But Silas wasn’t thinking much on the bluecaps at all. His thoughts were sordid, and all to do with pleasure.
‘Well, it is something of the same here.’ The object of Silas’s desires surveyed the surrounds, oblivious to how the very movement of his plump lips was making life so very difficult. ‘The meadow is a fae opium den, if you will. But here the drug is not the poppy, but rather spring itself. The Drifting Meadow concentrates spring’s pleasures, the sunshine, the banishment of winter, the shedding of clothes, bare feet in the soil, dancing, flirting, and, of course, fucking.’ Pitch was hoarse, his eyes shining. No less effected than he, Silas saw. ‘Desires are heightened, and not just those of the loins, might I add. There is a sense of possibility with spring. Winter has been survived, summer may be fruitful. There is hope. All are made animals in the Drifting Meadow, driven by basic instinct, shameless with their hungers.’
‘Shameless? I’m not sure I like the idea of that.’ Silas exhaled, trying to breathe out the lust that choked him.
Pitch gave him a sly glance and brushed light fingers between Silas’s legs. ‘No? So you are not imagining all the ways you’d make me moan beneath that waterfall over there? Because it’s all I can think about.’
Silas took in a sharp breath, ruining his attempt to keep his lungs clear. His head was indeed rife with sordid details, but not of the watery kind. ‘What waterfall?’
Pitch pointed to where a crag of pale pink rocks, formed in a rough archway, sat amongst the violet blooms. Spilling from its top was water the colour of honey. In fact, Silas wondered if it wasactuallyhoney with the languid way it fell into a small pool of more pink rock.
How could he not have noticed it earlier?
And good god, there were so many, many ways he could make Pitch moan there.
‘Yes. Yes.’ He took Pitch’s hand, and they stepped into the meadow. Silas had intended to make his way to the waterfall, but the distance seemed far too great, the wait too long.
He drew the daemon to him, slinging an arm about his waist, Silas’s fingertips finding the space between shirt buttons so he might caress Pitch’s skin.
Christ, he wanted to be standing there, in that pool. It would be warm, Silas was certain of it, warm and safe and utterly perfect. He could barely breathe for imagining them beneath the slow cascade. The daemon would wrap his legs around Silas’s hips as he was impaled. Slowly. Silas would not rush this time. He’d fill Pitch at a pace that would have the daemon begging him to hurry, to plough him like a….
‘Bloody hell.’ Silas pulled away. All of Pitch’s shirt buttons were undone and Silas recalled undoing not a one. ‘What is this? I am quite…well, I’m quite…’
‘Hard? Yes, I can see that.’ Pitch tugged at his own trousers, wincing. ‘Fuck, Silas…we are surrounded.’
Silas grimaced, mostly at how damned uncomfortable it was to have a rigid tentpole beneath dirty trousers, but also because he saw what Pitch meant. They were no longer at the very edge of the meadow, but well into it, surrounded on all sides by, what he saw now, were hyacinth blooms. The flowers were as they should be, a deep shade of purple, but the leaves beneath were mottled white and pink in-line with the curious nature of the Faelands.
‘Damn it, I don’t recall walking here.’Think straight, man. Think straight. Get your thoughts out of Pitch’s damned drawers.Or lack of drawers….the prince was prone to letting things hang freely.
Silas growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Shit, Pitch, have we been discovered? Is this a trap they are holding us in?’
‘Perhaps? I wouldn’t put it past Lokke to enjoy watching us fuck before Gabriel arrives to smite us. Come on, Mr Mercer. We need to stop thinking with our cocks.’ Pitch’s lips tightened, like he’d sucked on a lemon. ‘Fuck, there is a sentence I never thought to come out of my mouth. What a day this is.’
‘You don’t bloody say.’Do not look at the daemon, do not look at the daemon.Silas begged himself. He fought the urge to put Pitch on his hands and knees, to tear his trousers from him, to slide into his warmth, and listen to him moan. ‘Oh…we need to leave this meadow…now. Quickly.’
Pitch dragged his gaze from where it had been snagged upon Silas’s crotch. ‘Are you sure we don’t have time for just a little fuck?’
