THEM WILD-EYED BOYS THAT ARE REALLY FAE
The dawn of the new millennium came and went while Bo Fairchilde and Chance Lapensée came and then came some more. The Y2K bug proved no more substantial than a dream, and no prophesied destruction rained down from above. Well, with the fucking in of the new year, the pair did destroy one thing: the third bedframe that Fairchilde had purchased since their safe return from Faerie.
Fairchilde gave Chance's thick, magically-enhanced ass a playful spank as he fucked his Fae-marked friend further into the mattress, which was now sitting atop a spare box spring on the floor. Chance moaned, pushing himself back onto Fairchilde's dick. The Fae-marked university student was blissed out, his cock leaking prodigious amounts of precum onto Fairchilde's sheets.
Fairchilde pulled out momentarily. He collected some of Chance’s precum straight from the source, taking the opportunity to jack Chance off a little as he did so, and slathered it onto his dick before plunging back into Chance's rosebud hole. It felt perfect, and he sprayed his cum all over Chance's inner walls with a cry, his body seizing with the force of the orgasm. Chance continued to milk him, drawing a few more shudders and spasms from Fairchilde.
Suddenly, as though the cum granted him some temporary clarity, Chance's eyes flew open and he gave a moan of despair. "Shit, I've got a paper due for my stats seminar in like ten minutes...Damn it."
Fairchilde's eyes widened and he pulled himself off of Chance. "Uh...Let me find you a washcloth, some clothes, and your school ID..."
The pair rushed around the room, clearly practiced at this arrangement. Ever since Chance had returned from Faerie, rescued by Fairchilde's clever wordplay and some quick thinking, the man had been insatiable. His grades had gone to hell, but with his disappearance all over the news last Fall, the pair had managed to negotiate some accommodations so Chance could try and complete his Masters' degree. Having rescued Chance, Fairchilde felt responsible for him — he had taken on that responsibility in pulling his friend back from Faerie and towards a mortal realm ill-equipped for satisfying his lusts. But Chance, as good a time as they were having, was not doing well, and mundane remedies had no effect on his magical libido.
That made everything hard, and not just their dicks.
So, the pair of them — mostly Fairchilde, while Chance did his best not to squirm and be a distraction — had decided to research more esoteric and magical solutions to the problem.
That was in January.
It was early May when the Boys drove into town on their thundering hogs like they did every year at about that time. There were three of them, always the same three, though sometimes they were accompanied by hangers-on or boon companions met along the road. They were rowdy Boys, playful Boys, the kind of Boys who had their own table and got away with more than they should.
That table of theirs, at least in the sleepy university town of Lynottsville, was at the Seventy-Seven on Denault Street, one of the few places favoured by both the university crowd and the townies. The Boys always arrived just as the weather was warming. Their arrival heralded the coming summer, and they would be gone again come September, back on the road. But until then, for some reason of their own, they would call Lynottsville home.
That was what the smiling bartender told Fairchilde, anyhow, as the older man looked at them from an admiring distance, then stepped out from behind the bar to bring them another round. The Boys greeted him with a cheer, raising their glasses to him. One of them touched the bartender's shoulder and spoke to him. The bartender, smiling and nodding, passed by the jukebox on the way back to his post and played a song that would soon become familiar to Fairchilde, an anthem, their own personal theme song. The Thin Lizzy tune was almost too on-the-nose, but such was the Boys' audacity.
Fairchilde didn't usually stay in town for the summer months, so it made sense that he hadn't seen the trio before, he supposed, but there was something both about the way that the bartender spoke of them and their own...stage presence. There was no other word for it. Fairchilde watched them laugh raucously, pulling pranks and jokingly teasing each other. They pulled those around them into their orbit, a captive audience, eager for whatever crumbs the trio threw their way. There just seemed to be a magic to them.
And not in a metaphorical way.
By now, Fairchilde was used to trusting his gut when it came to things that seemed magical. Like so many others, he felt drawn to them and returned to the bar to watch them until he could be certain that they weren't a threat (or so he told himself). He was afraid that if he brought Chance along, the bikers might not let his horny friend leave again, so he didn't. At that point, he wasn't expecting to find a solution to Chance's dick-lemma in the bottom of his pint, but he thought it didn't hurt to investigate. After all, they had been coming up short for months.
So. Night after night, the drink flowed and nobody ever seemed to pick up the tab. And the bar didn't seem to mind. When Fairchilde asked about it, the Bartender shrugged and said that the Boys drew a crowd, and were well worth the extra liquor. Night after night, the Boys took over the Seventy-Seven, and when the rowdiness sometimes turned to blows later on in the evening, nobody ever seemed to mind. It was equally likely to turn into wild, ecstatic dancing next to the bar's low, boxy bandstand, a press of bodies moving together, limbs moving fluidly to the throbbing music.
At first, the three Boys were indistinguishable to him. They were of a kind: three young-ish men in leather jackets, jeans and white tees, all roughly the same height, looking halfway between James Dean and Sid Vicious. But then, as he got to know them, night by night, he began to see where they differed.
One of them was just a little taller, his face a long and narrow oval, his reddish hair just a little longer, swept straight back and curling a little behind his ears. One of them was just a little shorter, his dark hair never perfectly in place, his face a little younger with a bit of baby fat and softness, his laugh a little louder, a little more out of control. And then there was the one who looked just right to Fairchilde, not too hot and not too cold. He had a perfect dark blond greaser pompadour and an understated squaring to his jaw. There was a slight widening of the bridge of his nose in one particular spot that suggested that it had been broken before.
He seemed to be the leader. It was subtle, but if you watched them as often as Fairchilde did in those first few weeks, you learned to see it. He often seemed to have the last word, not in a macho way, but in a quiet, self-assured way. He seemed to smooth things over between the others and whatever humans were on-hand, too, when they got to fighting. Not that he never threw a punch, but he seemed...deliberate about it. Fairchilde spent a lot of time wondering about him.
Then, one evening, it happened. One of the Boys — not his James Dean— waved Fairchilde down from his barstool, hooking his finger toward him. And Fairchilde went, eagerly even. He tried to play it cool, sticking his hands in his pocket and pretending at nonchalance, but the Boys did it better in their leathers, seeming at ease with their place in the world, cool and satisfied, top of the heap at this tiny little bar in the middle of nowhere.
"You're becoming a regular here, but you never stop by our table to say hi. Starting to feel kind of hurt," said the taller one with the long face and longish hair, his grin so wide Fairchilde felt like he was about to be swallowed. "I go by Amaranthus or Rant."
"They call me Fairchilde," said Bo Fairchilde, ever-cautious since last summer.
"Fairchilde! Fairchilde, yet," laughed Amaranthus, poking one of the others in the rib. "Did you hear that, Larkspur? This fella's name is Fairchilde."
Larkspur. Larkspur was the leader, the one that Fairchilde wondered about when he was sitting at the bar, or even afterwards, late at night, when his hand “wondered” with his cock as he was getting ready to fill Chance.
"Well met, Fairchilde. Haven't seen you around before this summer. Are you new to these parts?"
"No, just not usually around this time of year."
"Most know me as Foxglove, but you can call me Fox, if you think of me that way," said the third one, the young-looking one with the mussed hair, with a wink. He offered Fairchilde a long-fingered hand. Fairchilde shook it. The three were so obviously Fae that he wondered that they hadn't drawn more attention. That must be part of their power. Three heralds of summer, bringing the renewal of life and good cheer wherever they went.
"You know, you smell really good, Fairchilde. You got a smell to ya that reminds me of home," said Larkspur, that square jaw jutting forward as he nodded to him. "I hope that's not too untoward."
"It's fine," said Fairchilde, careful not to say thank you. Chance's scent might be on him, he supposed. "You can compliment me any time that you like."
Three sets of eyebrows raised in delight, three sets of lips pulled into pleased smiles.
"So, I heard tell that the three of you often spend your summers around here. What's a place like Lynottsville got to offer three travellers such as yourselves?" said Fairchilde carefully.
"It's close to our destination. We like that the wilderness isn't too far off, no matter where you are in town," said Amaranthus, standing just a little too close in Fairchilde’s bubble so that he had to look up to meet his gaze.
Fairchilde wasn’t short, but Amaranthus had at least two inches on him, which was strange because Fairchilde had judged that they were about the same height when he had first approached. In contrast, Foxglove seemed a little shorter than he remembered, and Larkspur looked to be the same height as Fairchilde.
"And of course, the company can't be beat," said Larkspur, making unsubtle eyes at Fairchilde, but giving him his space. "Plenty of people ready to welcome the summer with us after a long, hard semester. Sit with us?"
Fairchilde felt a tug in his chest that could have been attraction to the handsome creature, or could have been supernatural manipulation. With Chance's problem as the excuse he gave himself, he found himself sitting down closer to Larkspur than he had intended. Amaranthus and Foxglove sat nearby, Fox leaning his head against Rant’s shoulder.
Amaranthus leaned in toward Foxglove and whispered something just beneath Fairchilde's perception. They both laughed, Amaranthus almost a little cruelly, and Foxglove almost sounding a little mad. Meanwhile, Larkspur's eyes stayed on Fairchilde's face. "I'm glad you decided to join us, Fairchilde. We like to have fun and you seem like fun."
Fairchilde nodded. "I've seen you, these past few weeks. You're quite wild when you want to be."
"And what about you, Fairchilde? You ever get wild? Want to see what it's like to party with us?" said Larkspur.
"I can stay for a time," said Fairchilde, settling into his chair.
But sitting around wasn't what these wild-eyed boys had in mind. Amaranthus glanced over at the jukebox and, mid-tune, it began to play a song that Fairchilde felt sure wasn't on one of the discs inside. Rant pulled Fox to his feet and over to the scuzzy, beer-soaked dance floor.
The song started off slow, and the pair circled each other in time with the slowly increasing rhythm, their eyes locked on each other with such intensity that Fairchilde wondered whether they were there to dance, fuck, or fight. The longer that the music played, the more certain Fairchilde felt that the song wasn't from around here. There was something in its melody and rhythm that roused Fairchilde's blood, something in the instrumentation that did not sound like any human instrument he had ever heard.
Fairchilde didn't remember making any conscious decision, but soon he was dancing opposite Larkspur, the pair of them whirling around each other at high speeds while Fairchilde's feet took him along for the ride through complex steps that he had never even seen before, let alone performed. At some point, the dance changed, and Fairchilde began to feel hands slipping underneath his clothing, running over his body, touching him everywhere, everywhere...Larkspur pulled him in close and spun him around before catching Fairchilde again and wrapping his arms around his torso. Fairchilde felt an unexpected flair of arousal at being encased in Larkspur's arms.
Larkspur pressed his hips against Fairchilde's back, letting him feel his firm erection through the leather pants he wore in place of his jeans today. Rant and Fox pressed their bodies in close around him, too, and he was surrounded by the scent of leather and the warm flesh of the Fae boys. He let out a gasp. He wasn't sure what they were doing now could strictly be called dancing, but it felt good to move his body against theirs. Larkspur cupped his face and Fairchilde thought he was going to kiss him when the Fae biker spoke.
"Join us tonight, Fairchilde? We four can make music of a different sort together."
Fairchilde gave a nod, and Larkspur pulled him off the dance floor and out into the night, Rant and Fox not far behind. Beneath them, Larkspur's motorcycle felt alive as they thundered down the road. Their motel room (their bower, whispered a voice from the back of Fairchilde's mind) wasn't far.
On the back of Larkspur's motorcycle, it felt as though the machine moved and rumbled beneath him like a living beast. For a moment, he was convinced that it actually was, could feel short bristles even through the legs of his jeans, strong but yielding muscle and sinew...But that soon passed, and the cool metal beneath him reasserted itself.
When they reached the motel, Fairchilde hesitated before crossing the threshold. He wasn't expecting much in the way of niceties and cleanliness from three wild-eyed boys like these. But, when he entered, their strangeness was once again readily apparent. There were no belongings in the room except three sets of motorcycle side satchels. It was neat and orderly, with a single California King bed taking up most of the real estate. There was a cupboard that acted as a closet, and an armchair next to a small round table. There was no television that Fairchilde could see, and in place of the usual black plastic motel coffee maker, there was a gleaming stainless copper kettle — electric, maybe.
He continued to look for signs of their Fae nature for another few seconds until Amaranthus touched his shoulder and nodded toward the bed, his grin wide and knowing. "Trust me, there's a much more interesting view to be had from on the mattress."
Curious, his mind still on magic, Fairchilde went and sat on the edge of the coverlet. Having definitely been waiting for their cue, the three Fae began to strip each other languidly. Amaranthus flicked open a small switchblade and deftly cut the plain white tee on Foxglove's chest down the middle, causing it to spring open and hang there while Larkspur pulled the leather jacket from Foxglove's shoulders, trailing it across his lover's smooth, soft body.
Foxglove shivered in delight, and Fairchilde felt an answering shudder run up his spine, as though he could feel the caress himself. He could feel the touches, he realized, as Amaranthus licked a trail down Foxglove's chest. The flame-haired Fae got down on his knees, pulling Fox's jeans down as he went. He hadn't even realized that they had used any magicks, but not all Fae had to rhyme and riddle to use the power that lived in their blood.
Rant pulled Fox's — no, Fairchilde's — no — pulled their balls into his mouth, sucking them delicately, laving them with his tongue. Fox fixed his gaze on Fairchilde's, holding it, his long pink tongue working around his lips as his cheeks reddened with need and he let out small, delicate gasps for both of them.
As though trying to turn the volume up on his fuck-friend, Larkspur cupped Fox's pecs from behind and pinched his nipples between two knuckles as he massaged his chest. It had the desired effect. Fox lost control of his quiet little gasps and started to moan with every pulsing pinch. Fairchilde writhed on the bed, pulses of heat and pleasure rolling through his chest from the borrowed senses of his hosts.
Having divested Foxglove of his clothing, the pair pushed the smaller Fae toward Fairchilde. He landed in Fairchilde's lap and wound his arms around Fairchilde's neck, pulling his body in close. Fox nuzzled Fairchilde's ear, licking at the sensitive rim. The little hairs on the cup of Fairchilde’s ear, some dampened by Fox’s tongue, some standing on end, felt every breath. Fairchilde’s dick jumped, and he felt a pulse of arousal deep in his belly. Then, whispering buzzily into it, setting the nerves alight, Foxglove said, "Touch me. Use me as a conduit to pleasure yourself while you watch them."
Fairchilde did so, touching Foxglove and feeling the touches reflected on his own body, as he watched Rant and Lark turn their attention on each other. When Foxglove touched Fairchilde, it was clear that the sensation went both ways for him, too, and Fairchilde fancied that what he was feeling was amplified twice as much from being bounced back through Fox. He ran his hands down Fox's stomach and felt a tingle in his hands and on his abdomen alike. Little bumps raised along the surface of Fox’s flesh, the hairs all standing on end, and Fairchilde’s body answered.
Rant and Lark's movements were fluid, dance-like, as they simultaneously undressed each other. Soon, they were on the bed, too. They leaned into each other and kissed, pulling each other in so close that their edges seemed to blur together. Maybe Fairchilde was still a little drunk. Without really knowing how it happened, a moment later he was lying down on his stomach, with three pairs of hands roaming up and down his body, sensitizing him, scratching lightly at his scalp, at his spine, his inner thighs. He tried not to thrash, tried to keep his vulnerable parts on display as his arousal spiked within an instant.
"So glad you decided to join us," murmured Larkspur in his ear. "You're our sort. You shouldn't have to hide meekly. With us, you'll never have to hide."
Was Larkspur saying that he thought Fairchilde was Fae or that he was gay? Chance's scent must truly be on him if Larkspur thought he was the magical kind of fairy. Though Oberon had suggested he might be a Changeling, Fairchilde hadn’t shown any signs of Fae magicks since he managed to send that stick flying up Puck’s derriere. He was confident that it had been the Rowan wood staff, and not him, that was magical.
But that was too many words to explain to Larkspur now. Fairchilde let out an incoherent moan in response instead as Amaranthus scratched a long line down his spine with his nails. Foxglove, meanwhile, was using that long wet tongue between his asscheeks, licking the sensitive skin of his taint and hole, driving into him just a little bit.
"Looking forward to opening up that hole, Fairchilde," said Rant fiercely. "I want to share it with someone I love. Going to fill you up so good that you'll yearn for it forever. And we'll be right there to give it to you."
Fairchilde’s hole chose that moment to open up to Foxglove’s tongue, and his eyes shot wide open as it penetrated him in time to Rant’s declaration. He felt the words burn through him. He wanted what Amaranthus did.
But Fairchilde was also starting to get confused about what Larkspur and Amaranthus had been saying all night. They seemed to think that he would be spending more time with them than just tonight. It was a sweet sentiment, but it didn't fit the modus operandi that they had shown so far. From what he knew, they weren't the long-term commitment sort. They were a Summer fling, there and then gone, back again to break more hearts the following year.
"What you smell on me...that's not me...It's Chance..." he breathed out half-coherently. He tried to form the words to explain some more but then Larkspur's tongue was probing him again and all he could do was moan.
"It's a happy chance for us that we've met," agreed Larkspur, running his fingers across Fairchilde's scalp, tickling his ears and neck. "And while your cologne does smell like a dryad in rut, that's not what drew us to you...or you to us, Fairchilde. But now is the time for fucking. Explanations can wait. You're going to love what we have planned for you."
Larkspur was right. What happened over the next few hours was a whole-body experience. It overtook Fairchilde's entire being, erasing his sense of time, his sense of self.
It started with simple touches. As his skin was set aflame by fondling hands, he felt the warmth of it on his own fingertips. The six hands never seemed to stop probing and poking, teasing and touching, exploring and enervating...Those hands became his thoughts, each pass of a hand drawing his conscious mind to the place on his body that it touched in an erratic path. One set of hands traversed his ass in circular motions. Another stroked at the side of his neck before grabbing it roughly so that he could feel the pressure. The last set buried themselves in his hair, tickling his scalp and pulling his head down into a submissive posture. Then, the hands switched places. This happened again and again until Fairchilde could no longer keep track of what was happening, an overwhelming sensation of confusion and arousal overtaking him, stealing all thought.
As he came back to himself an unknown amount of time later, the surface of his skin was all raised goosebumps as they ran their hands over every part of him. They were paying special attention to ass and back, which meant that that was where Fairchilde’s focus was centred, too. Piling pillows beneath his abdomen so that he would not have to even hold himself up through these overwhelming feelings, Larkspur and Amaranthus took up position behind him, while Foxglove moved in underneath him, pushing aside a few of the pillows. They patiently stretched his hole so wide that Larkspur and Amaranthus then entered him side by side, rubbing their dicks against each other and against the rim of Fairchilde's hole. Foxglove, meanwhile, engulfed his dick, swallowing it steadily down, down, down and never stopping, never seeming to need to breathe.
Bo Fairchilde had never felt so full. His entire consciousness now seemed to live in his ass and dick while they fucked him, his thoughts fading away, replaced entirely with fullness. Mostly, Fairchilde felt pleasure, the ridges of the cocks pushing up inside of him and across each other stimulating the warm, silky channel inside of him as he felt it from three simultaneous perspectives. But he was also a little fearful — would his ass ever be the same? Would Fairchilde? Fae or not, there were two strange cocks sharing his hole right now and he was buried to the hilt in the warmest, wettest mouth he had ever felt, all while feeling his own cock down his own throat. It was overwhelming, made his feet warm and his toes curl, almost like being tickled. He wanted it to stop almost as much as he wanted it to continue, feeling oversensitized, like something was on the verge of happening, that if they kept going, he would lose control, let loose something that he felt the need to hold onto. He couldn't say why, and he didn’t know what it might be.
They edged him like that for hours, days, years. They whispered into his ear, telling him how glad they were to meet him, how rare it was to find someone with the potential to be with them for more than just a season. They wanted him to stay with them, and he said yes, a hundred times and more. They said other things, too, things that Fairchilde could not remember, except that he had said yes to all of it, yes to pleasure, yes to whatever they asked so long as they kept giving him those sensations. He felt safe with them. They told him that he was, and he believed them. He wanted what they wanted. Letting go of the heavy worries about what would happen when he finished grad school, or if he couldn't find a way to fix Chance...He focused entirely on his body's satisfaction, because that was what the Wild-Eyed Boys asked of him, and it was easy to give them something that he wanted so badly to do.
When Fairchilde woke with the sun in his eyes, his eyes roamed to his clothing, which had miraculously survived and was neatly hung on the open door of the closet. He heard a familiar soft insistent beep and rose from the tangle of bodies to investigate. His beeper had five messages, all from Chance's number, and it was almost noon. 'Probably wanted a booty call at first but got worried when I didn't get back to him all night...' reflected Fairchilde. He had left his sense of responsibility back at the bar.
A caressing hand on his calf made Fairchilde turn back to the bed. It was Foxglove, bleary-eyed and pouting cutely. "You're coming back to bed, right, Fairchilde?"
Fairchilde glanced at the beeper in his hand, then decided that Chance could wait a while longer. "Yes, Fox, I am."
When Fairchilde climbed back into bed and settled down into the warm covers, Foxglove nestled his head into Fairchilde's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here with us," Fox murmured. Soon, Fairchilde was dozing again. He didn't know how long it had been, when, through that pleasant fog, he heard a sound that it took him a moment to recognize: someone knocking at the door insistently.
Rant was on his feet and out of bed by the time that Fairchilde opened his eyes. Before the door opened, Bo Fairchilde knew with certainty who was on the other side. He gave a soft groan and lifted Foxglove's head from his shoulder before raising himself up on his elbows to listen to the voices at the door.
"...Aren't you a bold little creature?" said Rant.
"...bartender said...would be here..." said Chance's half-heard voice through the doorway.
"And he was right. Why don't you come inside?" said Rant, gesturing into the room.
Fairchilde blushed as Chance entered the motel room and their eyes met. No doubt he would be able to see and smell the evidence of what Bo and the others had been up to. He didn't know why he was feeling embarrassed, except that he was usually the one in control of his urges. Chance was the one who needed regular...maintenance.
Foxglove rolled over and put his fists under his chin to support his head. "Hello! Say, do you know someone who goes by the name of Puck? You look exactly his type..."
Ignoring Foxglove, Chance drew nearer to the bed, his eyes still on Fairchilde. "...I was worried, man. You never came home and you didn't answer your beeper."
'Horny, more like,' Fairchilde thought, but he lowered his head in admonishment. "Sorry, I got caught up in something. I was planning on calling you."
Chance opened his mouth to speak again, but three strange pairs of eyes were on them, so he made a small noise of frustration and closed it again. He paused. "It's...it's all right."
Larkspur and Amaranthus were staring at Chance with open hunger. Meanwhile, Foxglove had risen from the bed to come near to Chance and was smiling at him toothily.
"So, this is where you get your cologne, Fairchilde," said Larkspur. It was clear from his expression that he had heard of their adventures in the Fae Court.
Fairchilde gave a little sigh. He had been hoping to learn something from the Wild-Eyed Boys, as he had come to think of them, that would help Chance. But he hadn't thought that things would shake out this way, with his ass still full of their cum and Chance showing up at the door. "Yes, well, Chance is...Chance has a lot of needs that have to be filled, ever since we last visited the Fae Realm. We're searching for a solution."
There. Now that was out in the open.
Chance crossed his arms, shifting uncomfortably at the discussion of his needs, which had clearly gone unmet for some time now. Rant was circling him subtly. "Oh, there's no doubt of that. Our Robin Goodfellow has a type. Everyone takes to his magicks a little differently, but Foxglove is right — you have the look of someone who has been moulded by him."
"I like you," said Foxglove to Chance before turning to the other two. "I like him. I want to help him."
Larkspur examined Fairchilde carefully. Fairchilde felt unsure of the meaning of that. But finally, Larkspur gave a gentle smile. "You both deserve to be free of such a burden. I think I know of something that might help."
Fairchilde's eyes widened with surprise. He hadn't expected them to just offer up a solution. He thought he might glean something through careful listening, over time. By striking up a friendship. "Oh! Will you tell us about it?"
"It's called the Ring of Restraint. It's an artefact that we heard about some decades ago. It's in Faerie, of course," said Larkspur openly enough. "We'll help you get it. After all, you're our sort, Fairchilde, and we intend to support you, just like we said last night."
Fairchilde vaguely remembered such talk, but couldn't have provided any more detail than that. He thought he might have agreed to something that he might come to regret, but maybe it had all been good fun after all. From everything that he had heard, these three weren't supposed to be malicious. They were Seelie for sure. But that didn't mean that they weren't dangerous. He reminded himself to take care. "That would be excellent. Right, Chance?"
Chance nodded, biting his lower lip and tugging at the loose button-up shirt he was wearing so that any fabric rubbing across his skin wouldn’t sensitize him too much. It was clear that the sex smells that still hung heavily in the room were affecting him. "It's been a hell of a year."
Four pairs of eyes were on Chance now, who was flush and had started to subconsciously rub at his package through his pocket. It was clear to all of them what Chance needed. Foxglove in particular seemed to be practically vibrating with the knowledge. The question was who would bring it up first, and how would they take it from there? Fairchilde knew that he ought to be the one to say something, but he didn't know what to say.
"Filling!" blurted Foxglove at Chance before Fairchilde could speak. "You need filling...Uh...no...I mean...your needs...have to be fulfilled? Whatever it was that Fairchilde said."
The room dissolved in laughter.
Chance had not studied Fae lore the way that Fairchilde had. However, Robin Goodfellow had not wanted his servant to make any egregious missteps when it came to etiquette, and some knowledge had been magically planted in his brain when he had been transformed almost a year ago. More still had come from being Fae-marked by Oberon, the two cum-white wing marks on his back invisible to most eyes, but acting as a beacon to those with Fae blood. All his knowledge had all been geared toward living amongst the Fae and anticipating their needs in order to please them.
That meant that he was not totally ignorant to the subtle signals that passed between the three Wild-Eyed Boys. There was something unspoken — something that they wanted from Fairchilde that they seemed confident that they would get. His eyes narrowed at the sight, though nobody seemed to notice his suspicious expression, not even Bo. They were all making eyes at each other.
Then, one of the Fae began to talk about an artefact that might be able to help Chance, and Chance could feel his throbbing need returning now that he knew that Fairchilde was safe. It didn't help that they were drawing attention to it. Chance tried to hold back. While the others laughed, he bit the inside of his cheek, trying to get hold of himself. But it had been too long. He had expected Bo back last night, and what he really needed was to be filled. Jerking off had barely taken the edge off long enough for him to get dressed and go find Bo.
"I need my hole filled," Chance admitted when the laughter had stopped, feeling his ass pulsate in time with his words.
Bo nodded and reached for his clothing in the closet. "I'll take you home, then."
"And deprive us of the pleasure of your company?" said Larkspur. "There's no need to be embarrassed. Stay with us and fill him here, so that we might get to know both of you better. After all, we'll be travelling together soon enough to get the Ring of Restraint, won't we?"
Chance watched Bo consider this, his hole continuing to pulsate. He knew that Bo's answer would change a dynamic here that he didn't yet understand. What did these Fae want? It was too hard to focus on anything except getting fucked. "Bo..." he moaned breathily, wanting to give a warning but also wanting to give in. He realized too late that he had used a part of Bo's name that he had avoided giving in Faerie. Three sets of eyes lit up silently.
But it got Bo's attention. He strode toward Chance, stroking himself to full hardness. "All right. On the bed."
And then Chance wasn't thinking of anything to do with Fae trickery but the magicks that had shaped him into a wet, horny mess. He barely managed to strip, fingers trembling with need. Then the Fae-marked man knelt on the bed, ass-up, and spread his cheeks open, his face and chest pressed into a pillow. His slick poured out of his ass like honey, filling the room with the sweet smell of the love-in-idleness potion that had made him this way and Chance's own unique scent.
Bo rubbed his cock between Chance's cheeks, gathering the spilled slick and spreading it down his shaft in a few easy motions. Then, he slid inside Chance's ass in one smooth motion. No matter how often they did this, and they did so very often indeed because Chance needed it, the Fae-marked mortal's passage was always equal parts tight and yielding, enveloping Bo and squeezing him with every bit of muscle that lined the way. Bo hissed in Chance's ear and gripped his hips. "You like it when everyone is watching you, huh? Knowing that you needed it so bad you're fucking in a strange motel room?"
Chance moaned and pushed back against Bo's dick. "Yes! Fuck, yes! Fill me up for everyone to see!"
Novelty had become an especially important part of Chance's desires, but usually, he had to make do with a quick fuck before running to his lectures. They had run out of new things to do in a small university town like Lynottsville. This, though, this felt new. A part of Chance still wanted to return to Faerie, to Puck and all the exciting and creative ways that they found to fuck. When he was really pent up like this, Chance failed to see how being a Fae's sexual plaything was a bad thing. But Fairchilde had rescued him for a reason: so that Chance would have a choice about who he shared his ass with. That was a good thing, right? Maybe these Fae didn't want anything more nefarious than to fuck them both. That would be nice.
Bo plunged in and out of Chance's ass with steady, practiced strokes, knowing exactly which angle to hit his most sensitive spots with — not that it was hard with there being so many. Chance's ass and cock continued to leak onto the sheets as the three Fae watched them.
Soon, Foxglove was lying down on the bed to get a better look. He looked askance at Chance. "Can I have a taste of your milk?"
Chance nodded, raising his hips up more to give Fox access. "Y-yes...suck it..."
Fox slid into the tight space beneath Chance's abdomen and began to suckle on the large mushroom-shaped tip of his dick, making small noises of delight. Meanwhile, Amaranthus was standing behind Larkspur, his head leaning against Larkspur's shoulder, his arms wrapped around his lover's front as he squeezed both his pecs and nipples teasingly. He was whispering in Larkspur's ear, and Chance could almost make it out, except that Foxglove was moaning ecstatically now and Bo was matching him note for note. Chance lost himself in the feeling, and soon came down Foxglove's throat. With that orgasm came a clarity, but his need would not retreat until his insides were coated in Bo's seed.
So, for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, Chance relished the ability to think clearly.
Chance thought he heard Amaranthus say the words, "...a perfect match..." but it was hard to say whether there was anything wicked or dastardly about that without context. Because after all, Chance and Bo were a perfect match, as far as Chance was concerned.
Bo had told him the story because Chance had been fucked-out and sleeping: before he left Faerie with Chance, Oberon himself had blessed their match, and that Fae blessing had further transformed Chance, made it so that most mortals couldn't see his pale green skin or other enhancements, made it so that Chance was his own person again...But there was always a trick, wasn't there? Chance would have bet anything that Oberon had made a few further changes to make sure that Chance would be pleasing to Bo.
Chance barely remembered how he used to be: a bit oblivious to his own desires, a bit careless with anything that wasn't numbers, focused mainly on his Masters' degree except when his friend Fairchilde dragged him out for a bit of fun now and then. He had wanted to do...something with it. Data science? Maybe Aerospace engineering? It didn't matter now. Already, his need was returning and with it, the mental fog of arousal, a new orgasm building inside his cock, which had hardly softened at all. He would have said it was Foxglove's doing if it wasn't a regular occurrence for him to build from peak to peak like this already.
Bo squeezed Chance's hips again. "You with me, Chance? I want you to feel every spurt when I paint your guts, you needy slut. Coming to find me, desperate to get fucked...I bet if you hadn't managed to get to me, there'd be a stranger inside you right now."
Bo was normally fair-spoken and such phrases didn't come naturally to him. Fairchilde had learned to be raunchy and filthy-minded in their search for novelty, and Chance was grateful. It made his cock spurt down Foxglove's throat. Bo knew just how hot it made Chance to be degraded, to have those creative, nasty words aimed in his direction. In that way, Chance being transformed into a Fae plaything had eventually transformed Bo as well. It was a whole different kind of mental transformation, slow and insidious, done in the name of helping a friend. These were not words that Fairchilde truly believed or would say if it didn't help Chance...Chance felt hot shame as he came down Foxglove's throat once again at the thought of being Oberon's instrument, slowly corrupting his friend.
Fairchilde grinned as Chance came for the second time down Foxglove's throat. This new context must really be getting Chance hot. He knew this was basically a therapeutic fuck, but it made him feel good to know his friend was enjoying himself. Now came the real medicine: Fairchilde's balls drew up and his shaft firmed up a final time.
He could feel the pleasure running all the way up his spine, wrapping around into his pecs. His hips seized and bucked as he came, his mind blanking out, focused entirely on his hips, ass, cock, stomach...His spine lit up as he forced himself to keep thrusting. He fell forward onto Chance, who kept his hips up admirably so as not to crush Foxglove beneath him, but it did drive Chance's cock deeper down Fox's throat, and Fairchilde felt the reverberations as his friend came for the third time.
Smiling, Fairchilde flipped onto the bed beside Chance, who extricated himself from Foxglove. Foxglove looked well-pleased, a wide grin across his face. "Three times! That's a lot for a mortal," he said.
Although it cut their summer revelry short, the Wild-Eyed Boys agreed to take Fairchilde and Chance into Faerie to find the Ring of Restraint as soon as they were ready to go. Over the next few days, Fairchilde packed his same old school backpack full of mortal food and gifts for the Fae that they would encounter. He realized that he had forgotten to take out his audio recorder, which he used to keep up lecture notes, and his beeper, which he used to keep up with Chance, when he and Chance were halfway to the Seventy-Seven bar, where they had all agreed to meet. So, he stuffed both into one of the side pockets and hoped he would manage to return with his bag intact.
He found himself eager to be with the Wild-Eyed Boys once again, eager to ride behind Larkspur, his body pressed up against the Fae's. That night in their motel room had filled his dreams in the past few days. When he and Chance were alone again, Chance had said something about not being able to fully read the Boys' intentions for Fairchilde, but Fairchilde knew that they were Fae creatures and it was pretty well par for the course. He would be careful. After all, he told himself, he had already survived one trip to Faerie.
The Wild-Eyed Boys were, of course, leaning up against a red brick wall, their black leather jackets open, their motorcycle boots fairly gleaming, their jeans buttoned tight. They had no helmets to speak of. Amaranthus gave Chance a nod. Meanwhile, Foxglove enveloped Chance in a backwards hug, seeming to appear out of nowhere. Larkspur left the wall to greet Fairchilde with an arm slung around his back.
"Hey, boys," said Larkspur, gripping Fairchilde's shoulder and pulling his body gently toward his own. He nodded toward their backpacks and hiking boots. "I dig the mountain climber looks."
With no further words spoken, the boys mounted their hogs. Fairchilde climbed onto the back of Larkspur's, and Chance rode with Amaranthus. Fairchilde wondered where and how they would pierce the veil into Faerie until he saw what looked like a stormfront in the road, all mist and cloud and crackling electrical energies, and realized that they were racing toward it at high speeds. Once again, he was struck by how alive the machines beneath them felt. As the thought passed through his mind, he became aware of a sort of grunting, snuffling sound, felt bristling fur through his clothing. A steady rhythm like the thunder of hooves filled his ears, and when Fairchilde blinked, he found himself on an ancient forest path, seated upon a wild boar, Larkspur's hands sitting atop its curved tusks, guiding the beast with all gentleness.
The others were also riding atop boars. Amaranthus's had broken a horn, retipped with a gleaming silver cap, intricately carved with runes that caught Fairchilde's eye and fascinated him until a bump in the road dislodged his attention. Chance seemed to be doing fine, arms wrapped tightly around Rant's waist. Foxglove was laughing with delight, apparently pleased to be able to do tricks on the back of his mount, riding it through the densest of the brush as he did handstands on its back. Their appearances were not much different: their leather jackets were now brown leather jerkins, buttoned up the middle with stiff fabric ties and gleaming metal buttons, their boots ending below their knees, their eyes a lovely, unearthly shade of green. They looked more wild-eyed than ever.
Even Chance's human form fell away, revealing the transformations that Puck had made to him. His skin turned a pale, almost white shade of green, and his ears became pointed. Certain darker green patterns, freckles and the like, dusted his skin. There were other changes, too, but those would only become visible when Chance disrobed.
The paths that they took wound up and down, ancient tree roots providing both footholds and obstacles to their mounts as they made their way toward Spurling's Folly, where Larkspur said that the Ring of Restraint was kept inside the castle treasury. As they crested a last hill and saw Spurling's Folly in the valley below, Fairchilde was struck by how almost modern and...human it looked. It looked like a proper castle instead of moss-covered ruins. Even Oberon's court had not been anything like this. It looked odd against the wild landscape.
"Don't be alarmed," said Larkspur. "They call it Spurling's Folly because a mortal by that name decided he was going to build a homestead in Faerie. Can you imagine?"
Rant let out a laugh. "We Fae let him build his home. Little by little, we offered him our help. Moving stones, laying the foundations, you know, that sort of stuff. He came to rely on us. Day by day, he became indebted to us. On the day that he moved in with his household servants and the other foolish homesteaders, so did we."
Chance loosened his grip on Amaranthus's waist a little. "You speak as though you were there."
"How do you think I knew about the Ring of Restraint?"
Faerie was as cheery and full of life as the last time Chance had been there when they made their way through the sculpture garden. The statues were eerie — lifelike and strangely positioned. Rant pointed to one of them, a male figure bent over with its ass in the air, his head and shoulders twisted almost one hundred and eighty degrees and concealed beneath another statue, which seemed to be riding his face. "That one there is Spurling himself. They switch out the servants now and again so as to keep what sanity they've got left. Guess it's his turn to play the horse's ass."
Chance shivered at the realization that these were the mortals who had dared to try and build a home in Faerie. Rant seemed at home here, and Chance found himself wondering why he had left this place. They entered the building, Chance interlacing his fingers with Bo’s as they passed into the vestibule.
The room was dominated by a grand staircase, at the top of which sat a dais with a single ornate chair. Instead of a large hanging portrait, there was a window to the outside. Nobody sat in the chair. Nobody seemed to be in the large room at all.
All had been quiet outside, except for the sounds of the Fae wilds. Inside, low, sensuous string music joined with cries of pain and delight coming from behind closed doors at the edges of the room. Bo let go of Chance’s hand and took a step or two toward the staircase, staring up at the architecture. Chance shivered and drew closer to the nearest person, which happened to be Rant. Foxglove ran off almost immediately, possibly to join in the revels. They were just a few steps beyond the threshold when a rich, honeyed voice carried over the sounds, the speaker unseen.
"Ah, Amaranthus. You've returned, and you've brought guests."
As the voice spoke, Chance felt a sensuous tingle on the nape of his neck, as though someone had blown air across his skin. He had the sense of being watched.
"So I have, Daldin. Fox and Lark, you know. These others are Fairchilde and Chance," said Amaranthus, gesturing toward the newcomers.
"Ah, so your triad has become a tetrad, and you've acquired a new mortal pet. Say, this one is...different..." said Daldin, appearing suddenly at Chance's side, staring at him. They were short but broad, their legs covered in blond fur which trailed up their chest, their one article of clothing more of a bolero than a shirt. Two horns jutted from their blond head. "Already Fae-marked and transformed. Not your usual style, Rant."
As Daldin spoke, the scent of sweet cum filled Chance’s nose, redolent and warm. He felt his hole twitch. His attention was drawn to the sounds from those side rooms, mysterious and alluring. Who would be inside? What would they be doing to themselves and each other? He longed to see. He barely registered Daldin’s presence next to him until the satyr was literally leaning over and staring at him.
Larkspur stepped neatly between Daldin and Chance. "Not a tetrad yet. We're here because we heard tell of something we want to use on the marked mortal. He belongs to Fairchilde."
Chance opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. He might as well belong to Bo, and it was certainly safer for the Fae to think so. Bo seemed to think the same, and that was actually kind of hot. Maybe Bo would let him suck his cock soon.
Watching Daldin peer around Larkspur hungrily at Chance, Fairchilde cleared his throat and spoke. There was a strange, erotic energy in the room that he could tell was affecting Chance strongly already. Fairchilde felt it ghost across his skin, electric. "Rant has told us that you have an object in your treasury called the Ring of Restraint. Name a fair exchange for it."
"A fair exchange for the Ring of Restraint," repeated Daldin. They seemed to consider this carefully, scratching at one of their large nipples. "All right. Show me something that I've never seen before. That would be a fair exchange. You definitely showed us all something we'd never seen when you bested Puck. Can you top it like that stick of yours topped Puck, Fairchilde?"
Fairchilde recognized a riddle when he heard one. The Fae often asked for what appeared impossible at first, but they ultimately delighted in games. At least, the Seelie ones usually did. And a game with no chance of the other party winning wasn't very good sport at all. So, he nodded to Daldin and told him, "I will do as you ask."
Foxglove briefly made a reappearance to drag Amaranthus and Larkspur into the fray, but Larkspur hung back with Chance and Fairchilde, giving a subtle shake of his head. The pair disappeared into one of the rooms at the edge of the chamber, the volume of the sex noises briefly swelling before they latched it closed behind them. Fairchilde could see that the sounds, scents and sensations were distracting Chance terribly. Chance was sitting on a low step, his fingers interlaced as he stared down, trying to focus his attention elsewhere...but glancing around, Fairchilde didn't think there was very much he could safely do about that.
Seeing his looks, Larkspur put a now-familiar hand on his shoulder and spoke quietly, out of earshot of the horny graduate student. "I promise to you that Amaranthus and Foxglove will not allow Chance to come to any harm in this place. Let yourself focus on the challenge at hand, and let me help you."
Fairchilde was taken aback. A Fae promise, freely given, was...He didn't have a frame of reference for measuring its value. Kingdoms had been won or lost for less. He furrowed his brow. "Are you certain?"
"Do I mean what I say?" said Larkspur, eyebrows arching up in surprise, bordering on anger. "That's dangerous ground, even for you, Fairchilde."
"Even for me?" said Fairchilde.
Larkspur quirked his head to one side, the tilt making him look more like the unhinged Fae that indulged in frequent bar fights along with his lovemaking that Fairchilde knew him to be. "We asked you to stay with us through the seasons..."
So, Larkspur hadn't corrected Daldin's assumption about them being a tetrad because he believed it to be true. Fairchilde remained silent, all the erotic charge of the space sitting heavily atop the exchange. He remembered how good it felt to have the full attention of the three Wild-Eyed Boys. He remembered saying yes to staying with them. If this was why they were helping Chance, he had to tread carefully. More, a part of him that had woken up the first time that he visited Faerie wanted to stay with them. It would scarcely be a sacrifice.
"Of course," said Fairchilde carefully, biting his lip. "I have to honour my agreement with Chance first. I cannot stay with you until I see Chance safely through his ordeals and in control of his urges again, able to live a life that he chooses."
Larkspur clapped Fairchilde's shoulder. "Of course, lover. We will see it done. Now then, let's show Daldin what we can do."
Fairchilde nodded and walked over to Chance. "Hey, man. Larkspur says..." He paused. He had been about to say that it was safe, but that wasn't exactly what Larkspur had said, was it? "Larkspur says you can join in the fuckfest if you stay near Fox and Rant. They'll make sure you don't come to any harm."
Chance, who had been running his fingers across his lips pensively, looked up at Fairchilde trustingly. "And who will make sure you don't come to any harm?"
Fairchilde smiled. "I'm a child of the Fair Folk and a pedant who loves two things: fairy tales and wordplay. This is my jam, man. Go get what you need."
Chance rose to his feet. He hesitated, then threw his arms around Fairchilde's neck. "I hope you're right."
Larkspur took Fairchilde to a small, empty chamber. It was quieter here, intimate, but Fairchilde could still hear the thwack of whips and other toys from the other rooms, along with the cries of pain and pleasure they caused.
The first thing that Fairchilde did was empty the contents of his backpack. He did a quick inventory: meal replacement bars, meals-ready-to-eat in their little foil packs, condensed milk, a couple of rolls of shiny new pennies, fishing line, a steel knife, parachute cord, a roll of condoms, spare clothing, rain gear, several tubes of lube, a first-aid kit, a bar of biodegradable soap, photocopies of some key fairy tale sources (Breton lais, Middle English poems, Scottish and Celtic lore, the lyrics to Fairport Convention's version of Tam Lin) and the like, his beeper, and his voice recorder.
"Something Daldin has never seen before..." Fairchilde murmured. "But how do I know what he's seen? It has to be something that nobody can ever have seen before..."
Larkspur shrugged. "I doubt you'll find it there in your pack, then. Even very rare items have been seen by someone, and Daldin gets around."
"I don't imagine he'll want me to just start showing him object after object..." said Fairchilde. "And obviously it wouldn't count to show him an individual chair, since he'll have seen others like, sort of the Platonic ideal thereof, that's not in the spirit of the riddle...But then, everything is like something else, isn't it? Hmmm..."
Fairchilde packed up his backpack again. "The answer has got to be elegant. All riddles contain the seeds of their answer."
"I think you might be giving that old goat too much credit," said Larkspur.
"No, there are rules to these things. And you know, despite pretending at wildness, you Fae are governed by an awful specific set of rules, when you get down to it. They might not always be the same rules for each of you, but..."
"We Fae, Fairchilde. You don't have to hide what you are with me," said Larkspur. "But all right, point taken. What looks chaotic is more ordered than it first appears. That's our nature. That's all nature, really."
Fairchilde nodded and put his backpack aside. "Right. So, Daldin said, 'Show me something I've never seen before.' Let's take it word by word..."
People always seemed to get awfully messy around Chance. He knew to strip down and pack up his clothing before joining an orgy, especially when he had only brought a few sets along and expected to lose some to a walk in a bog or similar at some point. He turned to leave his backpack with Fairchilde, but he had already gone off with Larkspur. So, Chance carried the bag with him, promising himself that he would keep an eye on it.
He smelled the Fae and the mortals before he saw them. The rooms were smaller and more intimate than he had imagined. Rather than one large mass of bodies, the orgiastic revellers were gathered together in small pockets, engaged in all sorts of different pursuits. It took him some time to find Amaranthus and Foxglove, walking across the living tableaus of bodies one by one, his own body naked and yearning. He took each in appreciatively.
There, a dryad's strong vines and roots bound their partner (a human, some distant part of Chance thought with alarm) with their arms and legs spread into an X, with one thorny vine scratching almost gently across the abdomen, leaving mystic patterns in raised welts. The human seemed delirious, their pupils large and dark, a pink tongue peeking out to moisten their lips between needy cries. Kneeling in front of them was a large, glistening Fae with moist-looking skin and an ornate, pearlescent carapace that covered their skull like a helm. Their wide mouth dominated their face, and they seemed intent on enveloping as much of the human's crotch as they could. The dryad looked on, continuing to stroke the human’s skin with their thorns and smiling.
Beside them was a nigh-Grecian wrestling match, a heated battle for dominance, with two smaller creatures working to pin a larger third. All three were growling low and shining with sweat. Chance could smell their musk on the air, and it made his hole start leaking its thick slick. The largest creature’s outer arms, back and head were covered in soft-looking copper fur that Chance longed to bury his face in, understanding without really knowing why that it would be the softest thing his skin ever touched. Maybe he had Puck and Oberon’s influence to thank for the insight. The smaller creatures had glistening muscular forms, their spines terminating in fuzzy, prehensile tails that they used like extra limbs, trying to tickle the large one into submission. There was something primal about the scene that made it hard for Chance to pull his eyes away. But Bo had told him to find Amaranthus and Foxglove before he joined the orgy, and he badly wanted to do that. His eyes slid onward to the next recess in the wall.
Watching the wrestlers was a Fae twice Chance's height, with a plaited braid so long that it wrapped around their entire body, reclining on a chaise lounge. Chance’s eyes were drawn to the small flashes of red light that as a human fed them jewelled seeds, which sprayed red juice when the giant bit into them. The human was covered in the opaque, blood-red juices. They sluiced down the human’s face, dripping down from their chin and falling into the divide between their large, firm pectorals, cutting a red line down their body. Chance’s eyes were drawn down by the motion of the liquid. The pair soon paused, and the giant Fae opened their mouth to reveal a long, dexterous tongue. They licked their human servant with long, wide swipes of that tongue, leaving stained swaths of skin in streaks through the sticky juice. The leftover juice began to vibrate and move together. The liquid reversed its track up the human’s body and formed a ruby-red collar at their neck, which seemed to be tightening. They gave a delighted little gasp and moved in to kiss the Fae, who continued to eat the seeds one-handed, occasionally feeding the human one or two. Chance wondered what it would be like to suck down the juices of that fruit, or to have it stain his skin and caress his body.
He almost stepped forward to join them, forgetting about his promise to Bo that he would join their two Fae companions in here, but plain sexual curiosity made him look toward the next alcove. Together, beside him, were Amaranthus and Foxglove. Amaranthus looked wilder than ever, his formerly orderly human greaser guise in disarray, his body marked with what were either strangely coherent birthmarks or arcane symbols, his hair surprisingly long and swept back behind his ears, tied with a messy knot. He seemed to have grown taller still, and his spine arched at a strange, curved angle. Foxglove's appearance had not changed much, except for an increase in the upturn of his nose and two long canines, fang-like, that pressed into the lower lip of his wide mouth as he gritted his teeth in pleasure — that, and the cluster of little bell-like flowers (foxglove, naturally), that seemed to be growing out from behind his ears, woven into his hair.
The two were sharing one hole, their firm dicks rubbing up against each other as they plunged in and out of a kneeling Fae with a large, expanded belly. Watching it slosh around, and watching each stroke milk out a splash of familiar, thick cream, Chance's own hole began to flutter and pulse with arousal. The Fae’s belly was swollen with cum. The creature had so many loads pumped into it that it looked pregnant. The Fae, with their little antlers and large, dreamy eyes, looked drowsy but pleased with themself, clutching at their soft little pectoral muscles, which also seemed to be leaking, with one hand and supporting themself with the other, letting their tongue loll out as they knelt there.
Suddenly, Amaranthus pulled out with a messy spray that coated the back of the Fae’s antlers. He stuck his dick in a basin of water on a nearby table, then wiped it off a neatly folded towel. Amaranthus knelt down, canting his torso backwards and pointing his cock upwards. Then, Foxglove lifted the short antlered creature up from their knees and onto Amaranthus’s shaft. Amaranthus plunged into a hole that had been hidden behind the creature’s balls and cute little cocklet, and Foxglove pressed back into their ass. Chance licked his lips and stood there, fascinated and thirsty for that unexpected hole. He found himself wishing for a new hole of his own and wondered if, in time, Oberon and his former master Robin Goodfellow would have granted him a nice, juicy one just like this.
When he saw Chance standing there, backpack slung over one shoulder, Amaranthus grunted and pulled out again, a fresh spray of cum splashing across both his lovers. Foxglove let loose a surprised laugh before returning to breeding their cum-drunk partner. Taking a step toward Chance, Amaranthus seemed to be trying to get hold of himself, nostrils flaring fiercely. Chance found himself wondering with sensual excitement about what would happen if they didn't succeed in curing his Fae addictions — if they failed here and he was lost to lust forever. He pictured Rant holding him down and plunging that cum-soaked cock into Chance's fuckhole, lifting his body up and down as he thrust his hips. His hips twitched eagerly with the memory of Oberon’s cock splitting him open and filling him.
But Amaranthus seemed to judge himself safe and closed the distance between them. "Chance."
"Larkspur promised that you and Foxglove wouldn't let me come to any harm...but that you might be able to help me cum," said Chance, feeling a little awkward but hoping that his explanation came across as endearing.
Amaranthus nodded coolly, but Chance could see the burning embers of lust in his eyes. "All right then."
"So...you said you were from here?" said Chance, unsure how to initiate sex in the middle of a Faerie orgy of his own will, unsure whether he should be letting Amaranthus and Foxglove guide him to new partners or whether the three of them should just fuck to themselves.
Amaranthus shook his head. "No, but I lived here for a time before Larkspur domesticated me and made me fit for mortal company. But you're not here for that tale. I can smell your need."
Chance quirked an eyebrow. Had Amaranthus been Unseelie, once? Subconscious knowledge of the Unseelie Court flitted through his awareness from deep within his transformed body. He knew, somehow, that Unseelie were often wild and dangerous, playing by different rules than the Seelie Fae, who were more known for granting mortals boons. He resolved to try to learn more...later. For Bo’s sake. He nodded to Amaranthus's comment and looked around. "Anything you'd like to introduce me to?"
"Yes," said Amaranthus with a soft growl, his hand stroking down Chance’s abdomen. "The length of my shaft."
Fairchilde fell back onto the floor, throwing his arm up over his eyes to block out the light. His brain felt like jello. They had tried to wring every clue that they could out of every word of the challenge but found nothing. Larkspur was silent, allowing Fairchilde his dramatic moment, savouring the earnest performance only a mortal — or mortal-kin — could deliver. He sighed and took a deep breath, letting the appreciation of the scene draw itself into his chest. For a Fae, it was sweet as sex.
In the silence, Fairchilde's ear latched onto a persistent little sound: the ticking of his watch on his wrist, which was thrown dramatically over his forehead. He groaned at the annoying sound, but then, his overwrought brain started to focus on the meaning of that ticking. Each tick was a movement in time, a moment lived through once and then only in memory. A movement from before to after, from coming to here to gone. Even if you could foresee exactly what was coming, you couldn't say that you had experienced a moment before it happened. Each moment had others very much like it, but no two could be the same, not even in the same way that two chairs could be said to be the same. There would never be another moment exactly like the last, because they built on each other, growing greater in number ad infinitum, because that was the very nature of time.
Fairchilde sat up and stared at his watch. "I've got the answer."
"The present moment."
Daldin raised an eyebrow, looking a bit bored. "That fast, eh? Oh, 'tis a good enough answer, Fairchilde, especially since it's the right one. I just expected you to bring me some unicorn testicles or narwhal tears — something in the meanwhile while you were sorting it out. That would have been fun. Instead, the two of you go off together and jerk each other in a room somewhere for a few hours and come back with the answer."
Larkspur stood proudly beside Fairchilde, arms crossed. "Fair's fair, you faerie. Now, give us the goods."
"Oh, that's the best part, isn't it? You asked me to name a fair exchange for the Ring of Restraint, and I did. But I don't have it," said Daldin, clearly very satisfied with himself, his little goat's tail waggling back and forth. "But, I'll tell you something else instead. I granted it to a Fae who had been hit with a most dire curse. I believe he lives inside Kjellgren's Grotto, behind the Giant Step Falls."
"How is he cursed?" asked Larkspur. "Fairchilde's answer has earned that."
"Well, it seems that every time he causes someone to have an orgasm, they scream his true name, whether they already knew it or not," said Daldin, chuckling. "And he's a horny fucker, see? So he uses the ring to restrain his lovers from shouting."
'A similar problem to Chance's, in its way,' thought Fairchilde, a little more hopeful than before.
Entering the side rooms to peel their companions away from the revels was an education. Fairchilde had never seen such a variety of bodies and genitals, and they were all pointed at Chance. There were abandoned...activity stations?...all around the room. In the center, there was a writhing mass of limbs and flesh. Chance's mouth was plugged by a long tentacle and his ass was stuffed by Amaranthus's cock. Foxglove was joyfully riding Chance's flared mushroom dick. Meanwhile, the other Fae were licking and kissing and touching and stroking and scratching and teasing Chance's body, and at each other's if they couldn't reach Chance's. Fairchilde felt a puckish urge to join in and abandon their quest. This looked like so much fun, and he was trying to find an object that would stop it?
Then, Fairchilde looked at Chance again. His pale green skin and pointed ears were on full display and it seemed that he had gained some dark green spots on his ass cheeks — a further transformation from exposure to Faerie, maybe? With a forlorn sigh, he resolved to go get Chance. It wouldn’t be right to make that decision for him — Chance had asked for his help to control his urges.
Larkspur's eyes widened and his pupils began to dilate. "I — I had no idea...He smelled good before but...Fairchilde, that scent..."
Taking a deeper whiff that he had planned on when he had first walked into the room, Fairchilde smelled it. It was stronger than usual, but it was the familiar aroma of Chance's arousal, the musk that he seemed to slowly secrete at all times, more so when he was ready to be dicked down. Larkspur had started to paw at his leather pants and was stroking himself through the leather, eyes closed in pleasure, clearly trying to keep himself from jumping into the pile — a struggle he was obviously going to lose in short order. That meant that what came next was up to Fairchilde.
Wading into the press of bodies, Fairchilde tapped Foxglove on the shoulder. Reluctantly, Fox lifted himself off of Chance, and then Fairchilde, wrapping his arm around Chance's torso and under his legs, lifted Chance off of everyone else, telling him it was time to go. The tentacle had clearly been buried deep, and Chance took a deep hungry breath when it left his throat. Amaranthus followed, stumbling a little over the bodies, his cock standing stiff and proud.
Chance gave a little mewl and reached out for Amaranthus. Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Fairchilde passed Chance off to Amaranthus. Chance wrapped his arms around Amaranthus's neck and Amaranthus gripped him under the thighs. Then, the Fae-marked mortal athletically lowered himself back onto Amaranthus's ready erection and gave a satisfied little sigh. It had taken a good moment for the rutting, writhing bodies to realize that they had lost the anomalous hole that they had all been orbiting around, but now all eyes were on them. A short little antlered fae with milky pecs raised its head and stared with wide, round eyes as Chance was carried away.
Amaranthus, to his credit, kept walking as he fucked Chance. It was an impressive show of his inhuman strength, the way he lifted Chance's six-foot frame up and down, thrusting all the while. Fairchilde also noted the change in Amaranthus's appearance — less human, more...wild. Monstrous, almost. Rust-red markings that looked like little triangular slits showed on his cheekbones, about an inch beneath his eyes.
"So, did you get the ring?" said Rant, grunting softly as he thrust into Chance with every step. The cursed mortal wrapped around him and moaned hungrily, but Rant seemed able to carry a conversation all the same. Somehow.
"No," said Fairchilde, distracted from the changes in Amaranthus by the mention of their quest. "We're going to Kjellgren's Grotto."
Chance had managed to lose his backpack sometime during the orgy, and Fairchilde was keenly aware of how even the most even-tempered of the Wild-Eyed Boys, Larkspur, had been strongly entranced by Chance's musk in that room. He decided that it was better not to attempt a return to find a replaceable bag full of mortal goods. When Chance told him that he preferred to be naked anyway, Fairchilde shrugged. He knew he should probably have had a reason to be more concerned about Chance prancing around naked, and that made him feel like he was turning strange, but he couldn’t really think of one. The weather was mild enough and the Fae wouldn't care. He looked like one of them.
He looked like one of them even more so now that Amaranthus had further shed his human guise. Chance was almost mint-green in places, whereas Amaranthus's hair and markings were rust-red. His hair was also much longer, his features more animalistic, but the two of them looked of a kind. Fairchilde found himself wondering if Larkspur and Foxglove looked similar when they were in their true forms. And what form was that? He could not name a particular type of Fae creature that looked like Amaranthus in his myths and legends. Maybe his sort didn't often have much contact with humans, or maybe few humans came back to tell of them.
Kjellgren's Grotto wasn't far, according to Larkspur, but they would still have to spend one night on the open road. Riding on the Boys' hogs, they passed through old-growth forest, full of wide, twisting trees, many of them covered in soft moss.
All too soon, it grew too dark to travel. The only light came from the plastic green headlamp that Fairchilde wore on a wide band of elastic, the triangular lamp with its three bulbs making it seem as though he had extra eyes, and from the stars above, shining down serenely. They came upon a large, dark lake. The surface was a mirror, and the night went still and silent.
As they set up camp, Larkspur placed a hand on Fairchilde's shoulder and pointed off into the distance. "The Giant Step Falls are over yonder. We'll start to hear them as we make our way around the edge of the lake tomorrow."
"Hear that, Chance? The Ring of Restraint isn't too far away..." Fairchilde trailed off as he realized that Chance wasn't in view. He spun around, trying to find him, before he realized that Chance and Amaranthus were walking along the water's edge, arm in arm, with Amaranthus's hand reaching down to grip Chance's ass proprietarily.
Fairchilde felt a quick flare of jealousy, his fists closing. But then, he took a deep breath. Just a few days ago, he had a foursome with these Fae. He had Chance every night of the week and most mornings besides — Chance was probably just looking for a little bit of variety while he could get it, desperate as he was for novelty when it came to sex. Fairchilde knew from first-hand experience that these Fae fucked well. Now, after the orgy in the castle halls, Chance knew too. This was completely fine, Fairchilde told himself.
Larkspur seemed to notice Fairchilde's shift in mood. "Amaranthus may be a wild thing, but he won't harm your...friend. He's probably just trying to give the two of us a bit of space. I wanted to talk to you, to make sure that there was no confusion."
"Confusion?" said Fairchilde, pulling away from Larkspur under the guise of building a small fire to heat some MREs for a late supper. He arranged some rocks in a circle and added just enough wood to make coals to cook on. Passing by with a large fish from the bottom of the lake and Fairchilde’s fishing kit, Foxglove paused and wrinkled his nose at the sight of the foil packets, as though anticipating a bad taste. Fairchilde couldn’t help but agree.
Larkspur pressed on once Foxglove had left earshot.
"Yes. Seems like you were feeling more overwhelmed than we expected when the boys and I asked you to stay with us through the seasons. We are tricksters, yes, but you are our equal, Fairchilde, and such tricks are not the basis of a strong, trusting relationship," said Larkspur calmly. "I admit, my judgment at the time may have been a bit lacking, asking you like we did, so soon after meeting, while you were clearly enjoying yourself so well...A bit of hero-worship on my part."
"Hero worship?" said Fairchilde incredulously. He once again found himself worrying that if whatever pact he had made in his arousal came undone, that the Wild-Eyed Boys would stop providing their help, maybe even become hostile.
"You bested Puck with just your words and an old wooden stick," said Larkspur with sincere admiration dripping from his words. "It's a rare Fae who can say that. Your power is impressive, even if you hide your light under a bushel."
Fairchilde smiled, reminding himself to take care with his words and thanks. "Ah...well...I'm glad you think so."
"Anyway, I do want you to join us. I like you, Fairchilde. But I want you to join us freely," said Larkspur. "You've already seen how good it can be."
Fairchilde remembered the fractal trance of sensations, the sex so good that he had lost all sense of where he ended and the others began. He remembered the way that Larkspur and the others seemed to understand him in a way that Chance could not. That no human ever had. "Is my joining a condition for helping Chance and I with the Ring of Restraint?"
Larkspur's expression darkened. "I said you would be free to choose. I meant it. Yes, we might have started helping you thinking that you were one of us, but we won't leave you now if you refuse us. And even if you don't join up with us, you're still a Fae in need of guidance."
Fairchilde breathed a sigh of relief. He thought he could take Larkspur's word for that. This time, he had to bite back his thanks. "...I understand. I don't have an answer for you yet, but I will think about it."
Larkspur nodded warmly. "Sure. Think about it, Fairchilde."
Fairchilde awoke with his head on Larkspur's shoulder, Foxglove's arms wrapped around his waist, and Chance's head resting against his crotch, which accounted for why he needed to pee so badly. Foxglove nuzzled into his stomach with a happy little noise. Looking for Amaranthus, Fairchilde realized that Larkspur's head was resting on the tall Fae’s stomach, obscured from his view by Larkspur’s body between them. He didn't know by what magicks they had been kept safe, but nothing seemed to be missing from the campsite and they all seemed alive and intact.
Extricating himself, Fairchilde went off to find a place to piss where he wouldn't piss anyone off. When he returned, the others were awake. After Fairchilde and Chance ate, they were off on the road again. This time, though, Chance hung back near Fairchilde. He seemed antsy, which was normal when he needed sex, but Fairchilde knew for a fact that Amaranthus was keeping him well-satisfied.
Eventually, Chance and Fairchilde found themselves momentarily alone except for Foxglove, who was climbing a tree nearby to gather some fruit. Amaranthus and Larkspur were scouting ahead. Tapping Fairchilde on the shoulder, Chance picked up a stick and began to write in the soil in a silent, messy scrawl. He seemed to be doing his best to appear casual.
Fairchilde wondered what Chance wanted to tell him that he could not say aloud.
RANT UNSEELIE. LARKSPUR TAMED RANT. TRANSFORMED HIM.
Fairchilde had suspected as much, but wasn't sure why Chance felt the need to hide his knowledge. He nodded, and Chance scratched out the words.
YOU'RE NEXT. TAME YOU. TAME YOUR POWER.
Fairchilde looked at Chance in confusion. "I know that they want me to join them, Chance, it's not a secret. They don't want to tame me, they just want me to join them."
At this, Chance's mouth opened in surprise. "But — you can't..."
"I haven't decided yet. I'm...happy you want to look out for me," said Fairchilde. It was amazing how quickly the way he normally would have spoken had changed.
Chance scuffed out the remaining words sulkily. "I think there's more to this."
Fairchilde smiled. "So we'll look out for each other."
Foxglove dropped from the tree then, his shirt drawn up to his pecs and filled with fruit. He offered Chance and Fairchilde each a strange, orangey-red fruit with large divots in it . It smelled like a blood orange crossed with a strawberry. Foxglove then seemed to realize what he was doing and recoiled. "Oops. I didn't mean anything by it."
"Nearly there!" came Amaranth's voice from down the path, his hog snorting. "Come on!"
Chance didn't understand why Bo couldn't see it. These Fae were planning something. Chance knew — he had been kidnapped by the Fae. Hell, he would still have had Puck's dick down his throat, with Oberon fucking him from the other end until their dicks met in the middle, if it weren't for Bo. Damn it. Chance grew harder at that thought and had to hold back from touching himself.
It was that way that they shared knowing little glances with each other as if they were sharing a private joke that excluded Fairchilde. It was the way that Larkspur had taken to having these long conversations with Bo, with Bo nodding along, hanging onto Larkspur's every word even though he didn’t remember doing so afterward. It was how Foxglove so casually acted as if Bo was already one of them, touching him and offering him Fae food, then acting like he had made a mistake. Amaranthus seemed into Bo, too, but he spent more time with Chance. Maybe he had been ordered to run interference so that Chance couldn't help Bo as he fell under their thrall.
But Chance liked Amaranthus. Couldn't help it. He smelled good, and he knew exactly how to touch Chance. When Rant moved, it was like watching moonlight break from behind a cloud to scatter across the surface of a frozen lake. He moved with such grace and speed that it was like he was reading Chance's mind — or more likely the scents and subtle signs of arousal that Chance gave off. So, Chance laughed and stayed near him, let his body's urges guide him, tried to get to know him, drink deep of the Fae’s mysteries, and hoped that Amaranthus would reveal more of their plans for Bo without noticing.
The Giant Step Falls lived up to their names. It was as though a staircase for a truly enormous person had been carved into the side of a cliff. In one direction, the water coursing down the steps fed a river that became the placid lake they had just walked around. In the other, small streams and groundwater fed a vast, low-lying swampland.
At the side of the falls, as though deliberately carved beneath them like some sort of crawlspace, was the entrance to Kjellgren's Grotto. As they waded into the water, there was an audible clatter from within and a sharp gasp. Grinning, Amaranthus lowered himself into the water, his clothing and other belongings wrapped in an oilskin that floated at his side. With a perfect breaststroke on the surface, he hastened his way to the entrance. He then rose back onto his haunches and poked his head into the dark space before stepping through the threshold. Distorted voices issued from inside, incomprehensible.
Not wanting to wet his backpack and the spare clothes inside, Fairchilde had to content himself with wading while the others all eventually decided to swim. So, he entered last, his backpack safely carried above his head. Chance met him at the door, water dripping down his naked chest and another clear substance that may or may not have been water dribbling off the tip of his cock. The others were crowded in a semi-circle around a short Fae with thick thighs and a soft, wide stomach. They had gills on their neck and a spiny fin down their back. They narrowed a bit at the shoulders, giving the impression the Fae was rounder than they really were.
Foxglove was curiously running a gentle finger down that spine, which caused the Fae to shudder and the fin to fan out before it collapsed again after a few breaths. Amaranthus was drawn up to his full height and was staring down his nose at the creature. Larkspur was leaning casually back against a rock next to a shallow pool, looking every inch like he was trying to play at being James Dean, even in his leather jerkin. He raised his square jaw to Fairchilde in greeting, a half-nod.
"Hello," said Fairchilde. "Is this the Fae we seek?"
"Think so," said Amaranthus. "But he doesn't seem to feel much like helping. He said he won't tell us where he keeps the ring."
Larkspur ran a hand through his luscious hair in a manner that was far more distracting for Fairchilde than it should have been. "It's a shame, really. We're all just so exhausted and we thought he might be able to help us satiate Chance. But we all know about his curse, so without the ring, how would we be able to prevent Chance from crying out his true name when he comes?"
The Fae creature crossed his thick arms and eyed Chance with clear interest. "You didn't say anything about that! You just came in here demanding I give over the ring. A-anyway, I'm not going to get it while you're all watching. You'd find out where I hide it and steal it from me later. Or maybe you would just rob me right now."
Clueing into what Larkspur was proposing, Chance stepped forward. It was easy for him to act horny. "Oh, but if you give me a moment or two outside, I'm sure we can find something to stop up our ears so that we can't hear your name. I wouldn't want to stop up my pretty mouth when it has so many...uses."
Fairchilde remembered then that Chance was pretty smart, even if he couldn't always show it when he was desperate with lust. Right now, he was pretty sure Chance still had an ass full of Amaranthus's cum to keep him going. But what good would having Chance fuck this Fae do, other than maybe making them more helpful, especially if they were proposing that he not go get the ring? He didn't get it.
Turning to him with a broad wink, Larkspur said. "Yes, I'm sure Fairchilde has something in his bag that will do the trick. The rest of us can take a walk. With the rush of the waterfall outside, you'll have good sound coverage."
"That's one reason I've adopted this little grotto as my home," admitted the aquatic Fae. His spinal crest flared in what Fairchilde interpreted as arousal. "I do want to do you a favour. Your friend does look rather desperate."
"How's this? Let us go figure this out and if you're satisfied with our solution, then we all get what we want. Most of all, Chance," said Larkspur with a smile.
"F-fine," said the unknown Fae, and slipped into the water of the pool. "I'll wait here."
Once they had formed earplugs out of a piece of one of the emergency beeswax candles in his backpack, Fairchilde asked what the play was.
"Trust us," said Larkspur. "Chance has got this handled."
"Have I?" asked Chance from a few feet away, lounging in the shallow water, gently rubbing at himself. The prospect of getting fucked by something new was, it seemed, as usual, an enticing one.
"Yes, you have," replied Amaranthus, dunking him.
Fairchilde did trust Larkspur, against his better judgment. "Why don't you want me to know?"
"I want to see the look on your face when you see that we can be just as clever as you, Fairchilde," said Larkspur. "Call it a gift."
"My lore books tell me that I shouldn't accept those from strange Fae," said Fairchilde, only half-joking.
"Why, we're not strangers at all, are we?" said Larkspur, throwing an arm around Fairchilde and kissing him on the cheek.
Fairchilde leaned into Larkspur's chest, smiling a little foolishly. "I guess not."
They returned to the cave and promised that they would not return until Chance and the aquatic Fae emerged from the grotto again. Or, Fairchilde insisted, unless they suspected that Chance was in danger. With that, they left Chance to his slutty work. As expected, the waterfall made it impossible to hear what was going on inside. Larkspur, Amaranthus and Foxglove did not seem as perturbed about making promises as Fairchilde was. He supposed it was because they didn't feel as though they were any danger in Faerie, and said so.
"That must be a nice feeling," he observed.
"You'll get there," said Larkspur.
Chance was alone now with the round aquatic creature, his ears stuffed up with wax. Amaranthus had explained that his name would give them leverage, and that was what Chance was here to get. Amaranthus seemed confident that he could do it, so Chance tried to be, too. That was when he realized that even if he couldn't hear himself say it, he could recognize what shapes his mouth would make, and get the name that way. His partner seemed shy at first, as though he was suspicious of this...opportunity that had landed at his doorstep. Chance would have been too, in the Fae’s position. Although his ears were filled with wax, he was able to read the Fae's lips well enough.
'It's been some time since I've indulged, and let me tell you, I used to get it twice a day. Practically had to beat off the merfolk with a stick. Er...not that kind of beating-off.'
Chance smiled at that. He ran his hands down the creature's soft round sides, enjoying the texture, until he reached the fold between their legs and paused, looking up to meet his partner's eyes. The Fae nodded for him to continue, and Chance probed a little. He soon encountered a phallus in a sheath that had already begun to peek out. He stroked it a little and it hardened further.
By now, it was clear that his partner was feeling desperate. He was rubbing his whole body against Chance's. It seemed to stretch and bend around him, enveloping him in soft, delightful flesh. Guiding Chance to his knees, the Fae creature pushed his mouth onto Chance's cock and began to suckle urgently.
The creature's wet, warm mouth was soft and welcoming, with no sharp teeth or firm palate to hit. When he sucked, it was with more force than Chance had ever experienced, and he had to tap the Fae's shoulder to get him to ease up a bit. The gills at the Fae's throat pulsated subtly as he breathed through them instead of his throat. Chance didn't think that his partner would have to come up for air for some time.
Then, Chance felt a curious sensation at his ass — a probing, even though the creature's hands were in view. Twisting to look behind him, he realized that this creature was incredibly flexible, his body folding so that he could suck Chance off and penetrate him at the same time! No wonder he normally had no lack of partners. Fuck!
As the phallus penetrated Chance, it seemed to expand to fill his hole almost like an inflatable plug, if an inflatable plug could be fleshlike, supple, and warm. It never became painful, seeming to adjust to Chance's limits along with him. It was all Chance could do to keep on his knees. The only way to add to the perfection of having his cock sucked and his ass fucked in perfect tandem like this would be if his mouth were filled, too. The rhythm was perfectly synchronized, a push-pull that was already driving him wild.
He gave himself up to it, letting the Fae take control. In no time at all, he screamed out his first orgasm and the creature's name with it, pumping his load down the creature's throat, ass pulsating. His mouth formed the words, but without hearing it aloud, he had no idea what it sounded like. It was as though he could no longer recall it as soon as the sounds left his mouth. Fuck!
But his partner wasn't done with him. He had stamina, and after easing up through that oversensitized period right after an orgasm, he began again, fucking and sucking Chance to a second orgasm. Again, Chance moaned his name, but again he lost it immediately. He told himself that if there had been a second opportunity, there might be a third. Chance begged the creature to keep going. This time, he would manage to catch the name.
The next orgasm was much slower to build. His Fae lover tenderly expanded and contracted inside Chance's ass. His soft mouth gently caressed and enfolded Chance's cock, swirling the tongue around in a corkscrew that moved in ebbs and flows, curling up around his shaft and then slithering back away. The Fae's arms found Chance's nipples and pinched them. Everything happened in a perfect, gentle harmony, like being carried on waves in the water. It was pleasurable, but Chance began to think that he didn't have anything left to give.
That was when the Fae's phallus began to expand even larger, pushing up against every ridge and curve inside of him. The creature continued to undulate, but his movements sped up. Chance suspected he was approaching his own orgasm. That mouth sucked with renewed vigour, just a little bit too hard. Then Chance felt it — a bloom of heat and pressure inside of him, pushing up deeper into him. That was when he felt firm little spheres inside of him, and that was when he realized that this Fae had just laid its eggs in his ass.
It was the unexpectedly taboo and novel thought of carrying the aquatic Fae's clutch that pushed Chance over the edge that third time. He felt it come on suddenly, and his body shuddered with it as he called out his lover's name one last time. He held onto the shapes that formed in his mouth for as long as he could, but it wasn't enough. He lost it again.
The creature pulled out and helped Chance clean up in the pool, smiling at him all the while.
Then, Chance went back outside and waved his friends over. He shook his head as he removed the ear wax. "Sorry, I wasn't able to get anything useful."
Amaranthus shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Let's go back to the grotto and say goodbye to your new friend."
Bo looked as puzzled as Chance felt about that, but the other Fae also seemed unperturbed.
As they entered the grotto, Amaranthus leaned over and pulled out a small grey rectangle with a glowing red light from behind a rock. He pressed a button and the light went off. Fairchilde recognized it immediately as his lecture recorder, which they had obviously stolen from his bag at some point. "Hey!"
Amaranthus shrugged and tossed it to him. "Here's your leverage."
Larkspur looked very self-satisfied and Foxglove looked about ready to have a laughing fit. Fox settled for putting his arms around Chance's waist and leaning his chin against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of sex.
"You smell good," Fox told Chance, closing his eyes.
Meanwhile, the aquatic Fae looked warily at them. "Come to say your goodbyes then? What was that little square thing you picked up?"
Fairchilde felt bad, but it wouldn't be wise to waste a gift given to him freely by a Fae. And it would get him what he had come for. He hit the 'play' button and fast-forwarded the audio until he heard the very familiar (if high-pitched at the moment) sound of Chance fast approaching orgasm. Then, he hit 'play' again. In the recording, Chance screamed out an unpronounceable name, and Fairchilde hit 'stop'.
Chance's new lover looked devastated. "That's not fair!"
"Forget it, Jake, it's the Faerie Realm," said Larkspur, winking at Chance.
"Was that...was that a 'Chinatown' reference?" sputtered Chance.
"Anyway," said Fairchilde. "Where's the Ring of Restraint?"
The Fae crossed its arms. "You're vicious. You're the one that bested Puck, aren't you?"
Fairchilde played the last few seconds of the recording again. "I might be."
"I don't have the Ring! That's the whole problem," said the Fae petulantly, sinking into the pool of water. "I lost it to the Hydra in the Serpentine Marshes. I've been hiding out here ever since! The merfolk are insatiable."
"Of course," said Fairchilde with a sigh. "Of fucking course."
"Well, we can't just stop now!" said Larkspur as Fairchilde lay splayed across a rock at the edge of the waterfall pool, arm once again thrown over his face to block out the sun.
"But how are we going to defeat a fucking Hydra?" Fairchilde asked hopelessly.
"Dehydrate them," said Foxglove cheerfully.
"What?! That's not how you beat a Hydra! What do you think a Hydra is?" said Fairchilde.
"Well, don't tell the Hydra that. And water is an essential ingredient for life. Everyone gets grumpy and dumb when they're dehydrated. Even Fae," said Foxglove as though it were the most reasonable thing in the world.
"It lives in a marsh surrounded by water," pointed out Fairchilde.
"We'll have to really distract it then," said Foxglove thoughtfully. "Which heads does it have more than one of, do you think?"
Everyone but Fairchilde seemed to find that statement highly amusing.
They rode the hogs through the marshes. They were able to swim through the worst of it when it got very swampy, and did not seem to mind the muck. As usual, Amaranthus was racing ahead with Chance behind him and Foxglove was wandering at his own pace within shouting distance.
"Once we've got the Ring of Restraint, then the real fun will begin," said Larkspur.
Fairchilde's arms were loosely slung about Larkspur's waist as the hogs picked their way through the mud, occasionally rooting out something tasty and chowing down. It was slow progress, which gave them time to talk. Fairchilde had resolved to ask Larkspur about what Chance had said, just to put them both at ease, but he hadn't yet found the right time. This might be it.
"Say, how did the three of you become a...biker gang?" said Fairchilde, trying to sound casual. "You're all different kinds of Fae, right? Amaranthus looks especially different compared to you and Foxglove, unless you're still in human disguises?"
Larkspur made a thoughtful humming sound. "Well, summer is the best season in the mortal realm, because the humans are always more ready to relax, less focused on survival and more focused on living. I love that energy."
Fairchilde stayed silent, hoping for more.
"But that isn't what you asked, is it? You're curious about what we are," said Larkspur, still thoughtfully.
"I am," admitted Fairchilde. "And about what I'm getting myself into."
Larkspur seemed pleased at that comment, looking back at Fairchilde with a surprised, sunny grin. A splash of mud hit the Fae's cheek and Fairchilde reached up to wipe it. Larkspur let him.
"The three of us, we're bound together in fellowship by our seasonal ritual. But...it's Amaranthus that worries you and Chance, right? Fox told me," said Larkspur. "It's all right. He used to worry me, too."
"He's Unseelie, isn't he?" said Fairchilde.
"Used to be, yes," said Larkspur. "But these days, he's learned to control his impulses. Chance is safe."
"And you helped him learn?"
"And I helped him learn," agreed Larkspur. "I have a way with difficult cases."
Fairchilde wanted to ask more about the Wild-Eyed Boys and their status as Heralds of Summer, but decided there would be time for that later. "What are you, a Faerie social worker?"
"No, just a friend," said Larkspur. "A horny, horny friend."
When they came in sight of the Hydra, Fairchilde was shocked to discover that Foxglove's joke had been on the mark. The creature was serpent-like, but with leaf-like crests on its head and ferns growing off its back. It also had no less than five phalluses, each sort of long and tentacular, arranged in a row on its lower body.
They left the hogs at the edge of the clearing and then began to approach on foot.
"Five dicks, five of us," said Foxglove. "We'll have to keep going until the Hydra has nothing left. That's sure to dehydrate it. Remember to spit, not swallow. Who knows what kind of poisons might be in its cum!"
Since everyone else nodded along with Foxglove, Fairchilde supposed they were really attempting this.
It was difficult to approach the Hydra. When it saw them, it nearly fled, but once the first of them — Chance, of course — knelt in front of it, all five of its tentacular dicks pushed toward his mouth at rapid speeds. Foxglove was next, grabbing one of the dicks shooting toward Chance and shoving it into his mouth instead. Amaranthus and Larkspur followed suit, leaving a hesitant Fairchilde to take to his knees.
Other than applying gentle suction, Fairchilde had to do very little at first. His tentacle took control of the situation, setting the pace. It thrust in and out, pushing further and further down Fairchilde's throat. He pulled back, intimidated, but glancing around him, he knew that he couldn't leave the others to face this alone. He grasped the tentacle in both hands and guided it back into his mouth. He let it resume but held it back from sliding too far down his esophagus.
Once he let the tentacle take charge, aside from that depth control, Fairchilde found that he could let his thoughts drift and just suck. An almost sap-like sweet substance had begun to coat the tentacle, and Fairchilde hoped that meant that the Hydra would cum soon. He closed his eyes, the soothing rhythm of the tentacle going pushing in and pulling out lulling him. It was meditative, except for the fact that he was kneeling in a swamp.
Suddenly, a hand shook his shoulder and he opened his eyes. It was full dark now, even though they had arrived in the afternoon, and the Hydra hadn't even cum once that Fairchilde could remember, unless he had accidentally fallen asleep and swallowed its load. He glanced over to his side, where the hand had come from. It was Foxglove, staring at him.
"This Hydra hasn't even cum once yet," Foxglove said, sounding annoyed. "What's wrong? It definitely isn't my technique!"
Fairchilde let the phallus keep fucking his mouth while he examined the Hydra. He pulled it out momentarily to speak to Foxglove and the others. "Maybe we need to stay in synch? Defeat all five heads at once?"
"As good an idea as any," said Amaranthus. "I'll carry the beat. Suck on the beat, tongue between beats."
And that was what they did. All five of them knelt there, sucking down the Hydra's cocks in perfect harmony, all lined up in a row. After twenty minutes of this, Amaranthus stopped keeping time against his leg. "Fuck this."
Chance pulled the dick from his mouth and coughed a little. "Uh...uhng...Maybe it's wearing the Ring of Restraint?"
"It's too dark to see much of anything," muttered Fairchilde, spitting on the moss beside him. "Couldn't this marsh have glowing moss?"
As if in response to his words, the moss began to glow, and there was a low grinding sound in the earth that soon abated and that Fairchilde took no notice of, distracted as he was by what came next. The dim light glinted off of a piece of metal hidden beneath the five shafts: the Hydra was wearing the Ring around the base of its balls to keep it from cumming!
"There it is!" said Fairchilde, pointing. The Hydra paid Fairchilde no mind — it was too busy getting its dicks sucked. "How do we get it?"
Foxglove's fangs also glinted in the soft glow of the moss. "Allow me."
Handing off his Hydra dick to Chance, who happily sucked it down beside his first, Foxglove crawled forward and began to lick and tongue the Hydra's bulb-like balls. Then, he bit the ring and slid it partway down like it was a zipper he was undoing. He kept massaging those balls as he did so. There was a bulge that they would need to be forced through in order to free the ring. As if counting down, Foxglove waited for three breaths before suddenly punching the balls through the ring with what looked like all his might. The Ring of Restraint pulled free with such force from the bulging balls that it went careening into the marsh.
"Ah, fuck," said Foxglove.
But then the Hydra was coming, spraying its seed down four throats, with a double-dose for Chance. They all spit up as much as they could, coating the mossy ground with the stuff, but Fairchilde felt the soporific effects all the same. Judging from what had happened before, the rhythm of the cocks and the poison cum would hypnotize them all into submissive sucking if they weren't careful.
"Well, the Ring is free, can't we just stop?" asked Amaranthus, clearly annoyed.
"No," said Larkspur. "The Hydra will attack while we're searching for it, and the effects of this cum are far more benevolent than most of its poisons. We have to defeat it first."
"Then we continue," said Fairchilde. "Can't give up now, right?"
Foxglove gave a mad laugh and yanked the spare dick away from Chance, who looked a little forlorn at its loss. The Fae swallowed it down and immediately got back to work.
Five times five loads later, the Hydra sank down to the ground, exhausted, all the liquid drained from its balls. Five cum-drunk cocksuckers sank down beside it, various fluids flowing down their chins. Larkspur dragged himself over to Fairchilde and pulled him into his arms. "Just...just a few minutes, and then we'll go get the Ring..."
But it was full daylight when Fairchilde opened his eyes again. The Hydra was still lying there droopily, its ferns looking wilted. 'Huh. Foxglove was right. You can dehydrate a Hydra.'
Extricating himself from Larkspur, Fairchilde went looking for the ring alone. He didn't want to risk waking the Hydra and he didn't know how much time he would have before it woke on its own.
He looked for around an hour, but found nothing. It was a long hour, sticking his hand into cold, muddy puddles, feeling around the slimy greenery, the scent of the marshes beginning to cling to his skin. He was grateful when Chance joined him.
"No luck? Well, at least now there's Chance," his friend said playfully.
Fairchilde smiled and felt a little less tired. "Hi, Chance."
Joining the search, Chance reached down into a pool. His eyes widened in surprise and he pulled his hand out, the ring glinting between his fingers. "Holy shit. Just my luck, eh?"
"You're aptly named," said a voice from behind Fairchilde — Amaranthus's voice. "Well...are you going to try it on?"
Fairchilde stared at the ring in Chance's fingers. He hadn't gotten a good look at it earlier. It was gleaming silver, with a black band through the middle. "Yeah...you should give it a try. This is what we've been working toward. You'll be able to lead a life that you choose for yourself."
"All right," said Chance cheerfully. "Here goes."
Chance put the ring on his left hand. Fairchilde waited with bated breath for Chance's reaction, but there was nothing. It took him just a fraction of a second to understand that it wasn't that Chance hadn't reacted.
He was frozen that way. Chance's limbs were in exactly the same position as they had been when he'd put on the ring. His eyes were the only things that moved.
"Oh good," said Amaranthus. "It's working!"
Fairchilde's worry for Chance was immediately replaced by anger at Amaranthus. "It's working?! What is happening?"
"He's restrained. He can't touch himself now," said Amaranthus, as though this was all very obvious.
Fairchilde snatched the ring off of Chance's finger, and Chance began to move again. "What the fuck? The Hydra wasn't frozen!"
"Whoa now, Fairchilde," said Amaranthus, seeming actually worried for once.
Chance's eyes were also wide with fear. "Bo..."
"It's a magical artefact designed for bipedal, humanoid creatures," said Amaranthus. "Makes sense that the magicks would work differently on a creature the size and shape of the hydra. Fairchilde, take a fucking breath before you do something we all regret."
"Did you know this is what the Ring of Restraint would do?" asked Fairchilde, livid. He heard a strange grinding sound from behind him but was totally fixated on the ring and Amaranthus.
Larkspur and Foxglove arrived then. Fairchilde knew so because Larkspur answered him.
"Yes, we did," said Larkspur, placing a hand on Fairchilde's shoulder. "We can talk about that, but first you need to stop what you're doing. Look behind you, Fairchilde."
Fairchilde's brow stayed furrowed, his anger bubbling up inside of him at the injustice of going through this whole quest only to acquire an entirely useless piece of bondage gear. But, he turned.
Behind him, a stone golem with a craggy little patch of moss atop its head was mimicking his every move. He vaguely recognized that he had spat in a very similar patch of moss last night and that it had started to glow. His eyes widened.
"We just wanted to prove that we could pull a trick worthy of what you did to Puck," said Foxglove, contrite. "And also, we weren't entirely sure that it wasn't what you wanted. It does solve Chance's problem, sorta. He can't touch himself when he wears it, or go out looking for tail."
"I trusted you," said Fairchilde, mostly to Larkspur. The stone golem raised a fist and took a heavy step forward. "You fucked us over. Made us hope."
"Fairchilde, we only realized that you don't know who and what you truly are once we got to know you," said Larkspur. "And that's when we decided we'd help you like I helped Rant. You had defeated Puck, and you seemed to know so much. But when I saw your books in your bag, I realized we were mistaken..."
That caught Fairchilde's attention.
"You're Unseelie, Fairchilde. By nature and by blood, if not in fact, yet. But being here will continue to transform you. You have powerful fluid magic — magic that uses your bodily fluids as a conduit —and you can bring things to life with it. That walking stick you used on Puck, for example, or this creature you've just raised on the strength of your emotions alone..." Larkspur's voice was calm and soothing. "I liked you before I knew, but now I think you really could use our help."
"I knew you wanted something from him!" said Chance as he pumped his fist in the air before realizing that he had gravely failed to read the room. "Er...sorr—I mean. Uh. That was a mistake."
Fairchilde looked at the intimidated expression on Chance's face. It matched the body language of the Wild-Eyed Boys. Like he was a bomb they needed to defuse. Really, he was just tired. He didn't enjoy making people afraid. He made the stone golem sit down, which led to many grinding noises for a good thirty seconds as it did so.
"Well, what the fuck are we supposed to do now?" said Fairchilde tiredly.
Chance stepped forward then and pulled Fairchilde into a hug. "Hey. You tried really hard to help me. But...it's not so bad, you know? I like sex at least as much as I like math."
Larkspur seemed to decide that it was safe to speak again. "If you do learn to control your magicks, you may well be able to help Chance yourself. I don't want to see you or Chance get hurt. I don't like to see anyone hurt. I could help guide you."
Fairchilde still held the Ring of Restraint in his clenched fist. He unclenched the fingers one by one, the ring having left a temporary indent in the skin. "I guess...I guess it would have been funny. If it had been at Spurling's fucking Folly where it was supposed to be."
"We, uh, dug ourselves a bit of a hole," said Foxglove, his posture hang-dog and contrite. "It was too hard to tell. And we knew it would be over soon."
"It's another miracle, really, seeing Fae be sorry for pulling a prank," said Fairchilde thoughtfully.
"We must be spending too much time around humans," mused Rant.
"Are you sure about that?" asked Chance, nudging Rant in the ribs.
"Oh, you don't count," said Rant, catching Chance's wrist and spinning him into an embrace.
With the rest of the summer ahead of them, the Wild-Eyed Boys, Fairchilde and Chance included, had decided to return to the mortal realm. There, Fairchilde's changes would be slower, and his powers easier to learn to control. True to his word, Larkspur was less "caseworker" and more "horny friend".
It would be unfair to say that this particular Faerie Tale ends all that close to where it began. Sure, Chance's problem wasn't resolved. But a new world of possibilities had opened up, least of which was the combined number of positions that five people could put themselves into for a good fuck. And Bo's growing power gave Chance hope that one day, he would once again be able to see the numbers six and nine together in a math equation and not fall into a drooling daydream.
As for Bo Fairchilde, his transformation was almost a kind of second puberty. With it came feelings that he had to learn to deal with, such as a deep well of anger at any kind of sense of unfairness, for example, or a deep lust that the Boys and Chance helped to keep satisfied. He was eager to learn how to control his powers. The fear in the eyes of his friends in the Serpentine Marshes had not been to his taste at all.
And then, there were the Wild-Eyed Boys, the Heralds of Summer. Though mortals and mythmakers might perceive them as mutable as the seasons, renewed with the end of spring, living a life of no responsibility and merry-making through the summer months, that wasn't the whole picture. They were responsible to each other, and the world that they made in each other's arms. That wouldn't be changing any time soon.