May I fuck you?Wren could’ve strangled himself.
Yet neither Shrike nor Jack had looked askance at this. And Jack had countered with his own audacious offer.
If I can taste you first.
The fae realms had given Wren more than his fair share of experience in having his cock sucked, true enough, but he’d never yet received anything of the sort from the mouth of another mortal man.
The resulting act exceeded Wren’s imaginings. The thrill of Jack sinking to his knees before him. His teasing words and coy glances as he took Wren in hand. Then to slip between those wry lips and sink into the hot, wet, soft abyss of Jack’s mouth. To hear him ask for rough handling and to feel him moan through Wren’s own prick as Wren obliged him with fists clenched in his hair. All this flew far beyond what Wren had envisioned alone in his garret as he abused himself with thoughts of a fumbling anonymous encounter in Hyde Park.
Likewise, his fantasies had never accounted for his Shrike.
He’d never dared to dream of one he might call his very own. Nor ever even begun to imagine how it might feel to have his stalwart presence at his back, his strong embrace holding him whilst bruising kisses fell on his collar and a thrilling tongue paid tribute to his cock below.
To have two men lavish him with affection—one beloved and familiar, the other wild and unknown—it was all Wren could do to not shame himself and spend at once. Yet spend he did. And to not just imagine, but to see and feel another mortal man swallow his seed, would have sufficed to make him spend again.
All sense fled him as he lost himself in his ecstasy. Even as he fell, Shrike’s strong embrace caught him and bore him hence to their nest. There he lay in his delightful stupor, half-convincedhe’d dreamt the last hour of his life, save that Jack didn’t fade away alongside the mist of his mind but instead remained to kiss and fondle his Shrike. The sight of Jack’s rough affections devoured by his own ferocious lover proved more than enough to entice Wren’s cock to life again. Thus revived, he drew himself up on his elbows. This, at last, attracted his companions’ notice.
Jack cast his eyes down to give Wren’s stirring prick an appreciative glance. He met Wren’s gaze again with a raised brow. “You did promise me a good fucking, as I recall.”
“So I did,” Wren admitted, though he felt hardly equal to the task. The spirit was willing, of course—more than willing—but given Jack’s vast experience, he couldn’t imagine how his own paltry efforts could possibly measure up. Instinct led his gaze to Shrike, his lighthouse and anchor both on these unknown and untamed seas. Shrike, who’d fucked scores of men before Wren ever came along, and had fucked several alongside him afterward, for that matter. Surely he would know what to do whilst Wren flailed and drowned in his own overwhelming desires.
And indeed, as their eyes met, it seemed Shrike understood his difficulty at once.
Shrike bent to kiss him. His gentle and reassuring caress invigorated Wren, reawakening him like a fairy-tale prince. Then he fell to nipping along Wren’s jaw, trailing quite naturally up to his earlobe, where, after a few kisses more, his lips came to rest.
“How do you want him?” Shrike murmured into his ear.
Wren forced himself to reply with honesty, though he couldn’t even whisper it without hesitation. “I want to see his face.”
A gleam shot through Shrike’s dark gaze. He kissed Wren again, then withdrew. His lips returned to Jack’s ear and saidsomething too low for Wren to catch. Whatever it was, Jack replied with an enthusiastic grin.
Shrike began to strip. Jack followed suit. Both men seemed in a race to bare themselves, each pausing between garments just long enough to catch Wren’s eye with lascivious looks. Soon they were both gloriously naked, and if the events of the evening hadn’t already brought Wren to a full stand again, the sight of two handsome men—one mortal, one fae—nude before him and well ready to do as he wished would’ve done the trick. Shrike’s muscles rippled beneath a sea of scars; scars which Wren had traced with his tongue more times than he could count, and yet never enough. Jack himself proved just as brawny, years of equestrian training rendering him almost as strong as the horses under his rein, with a virile pelt of dark hair covering his chest and trailing down over his navel to meet the nest surrounding his magnificent prick. Together, Jack and Shrike looked like two warriors come to do battle over Wren’s body. The intoxicating scent of their mingling masculine musks overpowered Wren’s senses.
Then both men fell upon him.
Jack below and Shrike above at first, Shrike seizing his mouth in his own whilst Jack’s tongue lavished his cock again, each kissing his way up or down his body until their positions reversed, and Wren tasted himself on Jack’s tongue as Shrike left off sucking him just long enough to retrieve the bottle of oil from the chest at the foot of their bed.
Shrike anointed Wren’s prick with a firm yet tender hand. Jack broke off kissing him to straddle his hips, rather like Wren himself had done to Shrike just last Samhain. It felt auspicious to Wren that the fae holy day should once again entail an erotic rite. Unlike last Samhain, however, Jack reached back to align Wren’s cock with his hole and sat back upon it.
Wren seized Jack’s waist in a convulsive grip. Truly, he thought, Jack’s experience had granted him ample wisdom, for if he hadn’t sucked Wren off before now, and this instead had proved his first spend of the evening, it would’ve overcome him before he’d even breached his entrance.
Jack, heedless of Wren’s struggle, bore down. The cock-head slipped inside. The tight ring of muscle clenched around his sensitive ridge sent a shudder of pleasure through Wren’s whole body. Then he sank further, inch by torturous inch, sliding into that slick soft heat until, at last, with a sigh, Jack sat back altogether, and sheathed Wren in him to the hilt.
Shrike, meanwhile, had slipped behind Jack. Wren couldn’t see precisely what he did, but he could gather from how he braced his muscular thighs against the outside of Jack’s own strapping legs and drew himself up until his chest lay flush against Jack’s back that he had nestled his own cock between the globes of Jack’s arse—much as Drude had done to Wren on Mabon. And, as Shrike began to frot against Jack’s backside, he thrust Jack bodily forward, and drew him back with arms wrapped ‘round his chest and waist, so that with every roll of Shrike’s hips, Wren’s cock slipped out and delved back into Jack, as if he fucked both men at once.
Wren knew well, and loved well, how Shrike looked in the throes of fucking. Even now, as Wren glimpsed him over Jack’s shoulder, Shrike caught his lip between his teeth—an expression no less enticing for its familiarity. So too the way his eyes fluttered shut as his breath caught. When they opened again, their dark gaze fixed unerringly on Wren; hungry, possessive, devouring Wren’s pleasure in their stare. Wren knew not what contortions his own features underwent, but whatever they were, they met with Shrike’s evident approval.
Jack’s face, meanwhile, which had begun so cock-sure and composed, now came undone in wild abandon—though no lessjoyous for it. He had satisfaction writ in every knot of his brow and flash of his grin between gasps. His handsome jaw appeared all the sharper as he clenched it to drive Wren deep within him. His beard-shadowed throat looked still more enticing as he flung his head back over Shrike’s shoulder in ecstasy, and Shrike bent to kiss bruises on it to match those adorning Wren’s own collar.
To see another mortal man take pleasure from riding his cock—something Wren thought he’d never know—struck something to the very core of him. The sensations within Jack, the tight heat clenching ‘round him, left him deliciously overwhelmed. His ecstasy brought him to the brink of shameful tears. He couldn’t withhold himself, and so he dared to thrust up into him, bringing him down on his cock again and again with the grip he kept on the jutting crest of his hipbones.
“That’s the ticket,” Jack hissed. “Just like that—just there—harder—yes—bugger—fuck—!”
This last came as Wren wrapped his fist around Jack’s cock. The satisfying heft of it filled his palm. A few swift strokes sufficed to send him spilling over Wren’s fingers. Jack’s whole body went taut as a plucked bowstring, his back arching, his head thrown back, mouth agape as a strangled cry burst from his throat. He clenched ‘round Wren, and this, with a final thrust, drove Wren over the precipice of his own pleasure. He lost himself deep within Jack. Shrike’s low moan resounded somewhere above him. Then both men collapsed atop him, their reassuring weight pinning Wren to the nest.
They didn’t linger long. Shrike rolled off to his left; Jack to his right. Each curled around either side of Wren, all three men gasping to regain their breath, but nothing daunted in sharing their prize. Jack caught Wren’s lips in his own with rough kisses. Shrike caught Wren by the wrist and took his fingers into his mouth to suck Jack’s seed from them.
Wren, altogether wrung out by the culmination of his fantasy, could do no more than he wished, and surrendered to their affections. His heart filled to bursting. He didn’t say so aloud, but with every caress, every kiss, every lingering look, his soul spoke the words on the tip of his tongue.
