Harsh, feral sounds broke out of them in time with the splatters of cum their jerking, twitching cocks spat. They came together, loins contracting in unison. Elior moaned into his ear, each of those depraved sounds coaxing another spurt from Wren. His hole squeezed Elior’s spasming cock, every convulsion worshiping him.
Panting, Wren collapsed, taking Elior with him. Elior held him close, nuzzling his neck, his cock still twitching deliciously inside him. Fucked out, they fell asleep in a heap of limbs, Wren’s dreams a cocoon of pulsing love.
When they woke up in the afternoon, they stayed in bed, cuddling and kissing. When they finally got up, they packed a basket with food and drink for a picnic at the shingle beach down the hill.
As they descended, Toby raced ahead to where the sunlight reflected off the smooth, wet cobbles. He jumped into the waves lapping at the shore, tail wagging.
Wren and Elior sat down at the bottom of the hill and shared the food they’d brought—bread and goat cheese flavored with herbs. The cheese was deliciously salty, and Wren took big bites, the rich flavor pleasuring his tongue.
When they finished their food, he wiped his hands on his breeches and picked up a handful of stones. They were rounded from the tides and came in different shades from light blues to muted greens and reds. He picked one of the heavier ones and threw it into the ocean. Elior regarded him, then chose a dark shingle and threw it. It traveled just as far as Wren’s.
As they sat side by side, throwing cobbles, Elior said, “By the way, I had a chat with the market woman who sold me the faerie oil. I asked her if she had any news from Vale. She didn’t know what I was talking about, but after some probing, she mentioned that the traveling merchant had shared gossip he’d heard in the capital.”
“And…?”
“Well, apparently there are rumors about the Winter King…”
A cold shiver raced down Wren’s back. “Is he…”
“He’s no threat to us. On the contrary, if we are to believe the stories, he has married.”
“What? Married whom?”
A sly smile crept across Elior’s lips. “King William of Vale.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You know I’m not.”
That was the moment Toby decided he’d had enough of the waves. He ran over and happily shook off the seawater, spraying them. Elior laughed and jumped to his feet. He ran along the beach with Toby and picked up a piece of driftwood to play fetch.
So William of Vale and the Winter King… Wren imagined them to be quite the couple. Whose idea had this marriage been? Wren didn’t know much about politics, but this was an advantageous union for both kings.
Farther down the beach, Elior threw the driftwood for Toby before running back to Wren. He sat down by his side and took his hand, watching Toby snatch the stick and race back to their picnic spot. Wren interlaced their fingers. The bond hummed joyously.
THE END