The words alone almost sent Wren over the edge. Then Hull bent forward and took him between his lips again.
Wren wrapped his hands around his horns and held tight just to keep himself together. The relentless ministrations of Hull’s tongue and hollow cheeks, matched by the low moans of pleasure from Hull at both his own self-abuse and Wren’s grip on his horns vibrating up through Wren’s prick, sufficed to send him to the brink again.
Then Shrike turned his head and caught Wren in a kiss again and flung him over the precipice. With an obscene groan into Shrike’s mouth, Wren poured torrents down Hull’s throat. Hullfollowed him but a moment after, his hips and arm stuttering with a final moan to wring the last of Wren’s seed from him.
Wren’s knees buckled. Shrike held him upright but barely. Then a rough groan announced Shrike’s own spend—the familiar sound sending a thrill through Wren’s heart and his prick twitching to life again—and together they descended to the pile of furs beneath.
No sooner had they settled than Shrike seized him in his embrace for another all-devouring kiss. Wren felt more than content to sit back and become a feast for him. Yet he didn’t want to leave the other fae out. Hull certainly deserved more for his service. As the kiss ceased, Wren looked ‘round, expecting to see him still kneeling before him. But Hull had vanished, and after another bewildered whirl, Wren found him standing before Shrike and holding out his hands to him to draw him up and lead him elsewhere.
Shrike shot Wren an enquiring glance.
Wren granted him an encouraging nod.
Shrike returned to Hull with a grin and clasped his forearms to haul himself upright. They didn’t go a great distance away; just far enough for Shrike to have room to lie back against the furs whilst Hull slipped his arms beneath his knees in preparation for something which Shrike seemed to find a very exciting prospect. Rikke soon joined them.
In their absence, Drude approached Wren.
“Shall we?” he enquired, his deep rumbling voice nonetheless gentle.
The voice alone would’ve sufficed to send Wren spilling into his hand. He nodded.
The soft furs beneath them both provided welcome relief as Drude’s not-inconsiderable weight settled astride him. Thighs thick as another man’s waist slid over Wren’s own and pinned his hips between them. The embrace of Drude’s enormous armskept him upright, the corded muscles like tree-branches coaxed into the shape of a king’s throne, as Drude bent his head to meet Wren’s lips in a kiss. Hair like curtains of black rain tinged red with blood fell on either side of Wren’s face. The very hair which had drawn Wren’s notice in the first place, as long and dark as Shrike’s, though lacking his bolts of quicksilver. The kiss itself, from lips unexpectedly soft and with a tenderness that belied the fanged mouth, deepening into a slow hunger as his tongue drew out Wren’s own, sufficed to stiffen Wren’s prick again, much to his own astonishment.
It was Drude who broke away to breathe; Wren felt as if he’d forgotten how. He glimpsed Drude’s face, his strong jaw off-set by his soft smile, and dropped his gaze between them both to see Drude’s interest had grown as much or more than his own.
All other gentlemen of Wren’s intimate acquaintance fell into one of two categories; those who showed their true length whilst flaccid and those who grew into their full length when aroused. He had assumed Drude, already enormous at rest, fell into the former category. To his astonishment, however, he now beheld a rod which had grown full inches as it drew itself upright.
Something no less astonishing lay beneath the proud pole. Where most other gentlemen—Wren himself included—had a sack, Drude instead had nestling petals, two within two, like a delicate scarlet rose.
Whilst Wren stared, Drude’s hand slipped down beneath the pole to the petals. His fingers gently parted them to reveal a hollow, as crimson as the rest of him, and gleaming wet. Something which Wren had oft heard his fellow university students declaim the virtues of, but which he’d never encountered first-hand.
“Is this all right?” Drude asked, his voice a low rumbling murmur.
Wren, bewildered but no less intrigued, nodded.
Drude kissed him again. A roll of his hips crossed his blade against Wren’s. The petals followed in its wake, gliding up the length from hilt to point. With a final forward shift, Wren’s cock slipped inside the—well, the cunt, Wren supposed, for he didn’t know a better word for it. It felt both like and unlike what he’d experienced before. Not so unyielding an entrance, perhaps, but just as blazing hot and slick and tight. Drude sat back with a groan, sheathing Wren within him to the hilt in a single smooth thrust.
A gasp escaped Wren. His hands clenched against Drude’s broad back, his nails digging furrows into the skin. As before, he felt the core of his very being consumed by the narrow strait, and while Drude moved, rolling his hips in wave after ceaseless wave, Wren sliding in and out of him again and again, ever-returning to that steadfast hold, it was all Wren could do to hold back his spend before Drude could satisfy himself. His hips moved of their own accord, thrusting up into him, delving deeper and deeper.
Drude’s own cock slid between their bellies. Its tip stood well past Wren’s navel and left a trail of seed in its wake. Wren dropped a hand to it, his curiosity still insatiable. He wrapped his palm around it; his fingertips met around its girth, but barely. He gave it an upward stroke, exploring its considerable length—the velvet-soft skin, the vein pulsing beneath, the flesh rigid as iron. A low groan rolled up from deep within Drude’s chest and resounded through Wren’s own ribs. Wren clenched his fist around the blade and was rewarded with the sight of doubled fangs biting Drude’s lower lip. Then Drude darted forward—far faster than Wren would’ve expected a man of his size to move—and seized Wren’s mouth in a kiss.
Long dark hair, like and unlike Shrike’s, enfolded, hid, and shielded him as Drude’s cunt consumed him and the enormous brawn of the incubus’s massive frame encircled him in the ironhold of mighty arms as they embraced and Drude’s ravenous mouth devoured him. Drude’s hips ground down, his thighs clenching around Wren’s waist. The monster prick trapped between them throbbed. A hollow groan resounded through Wren’s throat from Drude’s lips, and with a few quick thrusts, the crimson cock erupted in a geyser of hot seed, splashing against Wren’s chest like molten silver. In the same instant muscles deep within Drude clamped down on Wren’s cock as if to wring his spend from him. So utterly consumed within and claimed without, Wren could do no more than succumb to ecstasy. He collapsed in Drude’s embrace.
The sheer brawn of Drude’s frame supported him with ease, even as the incubus shifted his weight and Wren’s soft prick slipped out of him as he settled down beside rather than atop him. Wren, whose vision had spun away to darkness in a sea of stars, knew only the soft touch of lips against his own; then they trailed down, gently marking his throat and collar until he felt the hot wet tongue licking Drude’s seed from his chest. The mouth returned to meet his afterword in a kiss of salt and something more.
Wren had felt so wrecked from his own spend he could hardly move. To taste the seed on Drude’s tongue, however, revived him. And as Drude continued kissing him—long, slow, languorous kisses, almost heartbreaking in their tenderness, each one breathing renewed life into Wren—something else revived as well, much to Wren’s continued astonishment. He’d thought himself done for in that last spend, and yet, under Drude’s influence, his cock stirred again.
A familiar hand caressed his cheek. Wren lolled his head towards it and forced his eyes to open.
Shrike sat beside him; his silver-shot raven locks tumbling over his shoulders and across his brow in dozens of fairy-knots, beads of sweat sparkling against his dashing scars, bruises borneof kisses beginning to bloom along his collar, gloriously naked and softly smiling. He ran his hand through Wren’s hair and trailed his fingertips along the curve of his ear.
“Enjoying yourself?” Shrike murmured.
Words could hardly suffice. Wren nodded.
Shrike chuckled. “One more, d’you think?”
“Yes.” The sound burst from Wren with all his remaining strength. “Please.”
