Page 80 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

Silas made a play at being stern, but truly who had a hope when faced with the likes of the daemon? ‘Answer my question.’

‘What shall I get as a reward if I do so?’ Pitch kissed the tip of Silas’s nose, his breath rich with the mead, his customary bittersweetness hinted at beneath.

‘My thanks.’ Silas swallowed, his mind a merry-go-round of other ideas.

‘Lovely, but I think you have better prizes to offer.’ Another kiss, this one to the top of Silas’s cheeks, Pitch’s face so close that their lashes grazed.

Silas’s moan had a life of its own. ‘Stop, we are not alone enough for this.’

‘I’ll darn well say.’ The oak downed a few leaves over them in place of an icy-cold bucket of water. ‘There are young-uns here too, you know. Bit too early for them to lay eyes on such things.’

Pitch scoffed. ‘As though they have not seen the animals rutting in the woods. We would be far lovelier to watch.’

Silas was not so horrified by the idea as he would have been were he sober.

There was a chuckle from the burr. ‘As all creatures who fornicate seem to think, but it’s not pretty to see, no matter how lovely you are.’

And with his gentle insult delivered, the Major took himself away, the burr slinking along the trunk like an enormous squirrel beneath the bark, disappearing into the foliage higher up.

Pitch planted his hands on Silas’s raised knees and used them to lever himself to his feet.

‘Where are you going?’

The prince held out his hand. ‘Showing you how much better I feel. Dance with me.’

Silas’s mood lightened. He took Pitch’s hand but mostly used the tree to pull himself to standing. ‘You do recall how terrible I am?’

‘My toes shall never forget.’

The brownies went a little mad with excitement at seeing them move into the centre of the clearing. The hairy folk were not much bigger than the peri they danced with, which meant most of the naturals on the makeshift dance floor barely came halfway up Silas’s shin. The peri tinkled like silver bells as everyone shifted to accommodate the new arrivals. Robin stood off to one side, the dryad moving to a tune known only to them, slightly out of step with what was played. A contentment hung about the creature that was contagious.

‘I hope I don’t tread on someone.’

‘I shall be able to help with that.’ Pitch removed his remaining boot, the sock too, and promptly stepped one foot onto each of Silas’s.

‘What is this?’

‘That gnome is glaring daggers at me. He thinks it too soon for my ankle, so this shall appease him. I will be a passenger only.’

The nymphs must have recognised Silas’s hesitancy, for they adjusted their tune to a much slower waltz style. Silas settled one hand across Pitch’s back, offered the other to the prince, who promptly took it, and they began to sway. He carried Pitch’s weight, keeping watch for sign of any upset, but the daemon was, so far as he could be, at peace. The gentle to and fro continued, no fancy steps or twirls, a simplicity Silas thought would garner rebuke. Instead, Pitch rested his head against Silas’s shoulder, humming along softly to the music. At times he raised his chin to seek out Silas’s lips, and over the course of a dance or two, his hand found its way down to rest upon Silas’s arse.

Later, much later, when the nymphs laid down their harps and the brownies and peri bade their adieus and tinkled off into the forest, Robin led them to the edge of the clearing where a patch of the dewberries grew. They touched their hand to the shrub, and the foliage parted low and wide, revealing a hidden alcove inside. Large enough for a daemon and ankou to lie.

They had to crawl on hands and knees through the parting, but not a single thorn scratched them nor prickle bothered as Pitch went ahead first to find his place. Silas soon settled beside him upon a layering of moss that would rival the most sublime mattress. The opening in the brambles closed over, giving them privacy.

There was not much space to be had, which was fine because they did not wish for distance. With the late hour, night now well and truly fallen, darkness should have been heavy in their cocoon, but the toadstools outside threw just enough light to bathe them in a grass-green haze. They grinned at each other, Pitch’s knees against the ankou’s thighs and his hands already beneath his shirt. Hidden and alone, their veins humming with mead, and their cocks twin swords of want, they sucked on stifled laughter and one another. Silas did not take Pitch fully, they were enjoying fumbling about with each other too much in the cramped space, and remained mostly clothed. Fingers tunnelling beneath trousers and drawers, flirting with the lace on Pitch’s corset and teasing at the hooks, undoing just one at the bottom, searching for hidden delights.

To outsiders it must have appeared as if wild pheasants were caught in the shrub, with Silas too broad to be remotely clandestine in the space. His hair snagged in the spindly fingers of the brambles when he sat up to shift himself so he could sink between Pitch’s legs and take the daemon in his mouth. His shoulder nudged at the shelter again when Pitch had Silas roll onto his back so he could return the favour. And what a return it was. To watch the prince’s lips stretch around his shaft, to feel its tip strike the back of Pitch’s throat and hear his fervour as he sucked and teased, made a man’s eyes roll and his breath stutter. Much to Silas’s chagrin, he was powerless to hold out too long, and Pitch was soon raising his head, wiping at his lips.

They both needed time to catch their breath after that, but the daemon needed far less.

‘Do the Crimson Bow, will you?’ It was what Pitch had taken to calling it when Silas held them both in his grasp at once, his broad hand uniting their pricks as though they were one engorged member.

Silas still panted, and his skin was sensitive to the touch, but he did not wait too long to oblige the prince his fancy. He sat up, his head just shy of the overhead canopy. Pitch spread his legs, settling them either side of Silas’s hips, shuffling in so he was close enough for Silas to hold their cocks together. There was a certain awkwardness to the position, but the moment Silas began to slip his fingers up and down their differing lengths, rubbing them in unison, neither of them cared a damn about much else at all.

Pitch dug his forehead into Silas’s shoulder, moaning his pleasure there. The rhythm took up speed, and as their tips dampened, the prince sat up, spine stiffening as though the corset covered him from neck to arse.

‘I’m close,’ he gasped. He threw up his hand, grabbing at the tangle of branches overhead. Loosening a shower of dewberries, and laughing so hard Silas nearly lost his grip. ‘Don’t stop…don’t stop.’ The laughter morphed into a cry. ‘Oh, fuck..gods. I’m coming. The moss…’