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rahuratna · 11 days ago

Text

Synopsis: A herb which gives you greater awareness of your animal forms leads to a memorable night with Halsin. [Fem Reader x Halsin Silverbough]

Contents: Romance, pre-relationship, explicit sexual content, consensual substance use, shape shifting, vaginal sex, unprotected sex.

WC: 7220

Written as a gift fic for the lovely @tsukimefuku for her birthday. Here's a little something from me!

Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

"I crave you mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me,

all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the colour of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond."

~ Love Sonnet XI (Pablo Neruda)

In Faerûn, the winds are changeable. The shift of seasons is as delicate as the colour spreading from the bruised flesh of a summer fruit, marring beneath scrutiny that delves too deep, beneath fingers that probe too hard.

You had always been one who preferred to let nature bloom along its natural course.

You'll always have one hand on the wheel of your destiny, but you'll also let the land take you where it needs you most.

You supposed that this was what drew you to him in the first place.

He was the first of your companions who didn't look directly at you to set the path, to plot the lines that would lead to the emancipation of the vale that had fallen beneath Ketheric's shadow.

In the denouement, he'd leaned on you in the way only he could, leaving you with the task of watching his broad back fade into a realm where you could not follow. He had gone to fetch Thaniel, and you had believed faithfully in his return, holding off your enemies until the dawn.

Afterwards, there had been signs.

Like the faint embroidery of green in winter-brown branches, he'd looked to you with greater frequency, and certainty. You no longer felt that your paths had merely coincided, more as if there was a great guardian that stalked the woods and hedges beside you, partaking of your kill.

Silverbough was his name, and you grew to fancy that his tongue was molded from a similar vein, because you could listen to him speak endlessly.

On days when journeying consumed the largest part of your time, he would stride along at your side, or just slightly ahead, nose raised to the wind. You'd find yourself watching the way the soft, brown braids would stir in the breeze, the way the faint crows' feet at the corners of his eyes would deepen in direct sunlight, the way shadow played across the bulge and dip of his bicep when he raised an arm to shield you from the worst of the midday heat.

You could brush off Shadowheart's knowing smile, or the way Gale's eyes seemed to follow you with greater intensity, even Astarion's snide quips about 'receiving the many gifts of nature.'

That was not your way, and, you were coming to learn, it was not Halsin's way either.

He was attractive as all Hells, that was for certain, but there was a different kind of dance that played out between you two that went beyond the call of man to woman, and vice versa.

He was a zephyr who led you gaily from one reckless spar on a cliff edge to another. He was a stone sentinel that stood bare-faced to each scoring wind of challenge. He was tooth and claw and sinew, encased in the rare flesh of the changeling. You could follow, and you could also lead, and the destination was never marked down on any map known to you or him.

To know Halsin was to let go of yourself, as you came to learn, soon enough.

"What are you looking for?"

Your curiosity leads you to the banks of the river you have camped beside, one summer evening.

Halsin is standing before you, feet braced on the riverbed, the water lapping midway up his thighs. He must have been submerged a short while before, and you pause to take in the sight of water dripping from the ends of his braids, across the scarred flesh of his brow, darkening the coarse hair that fans across his chest. Your hand comes up to your throat and you lower it again, hastily.

He regards you over his shoulder, eyes lambent in the dark, and you watch the slow curve of his mouth.

"These. Have you seen them before?"

He holds out one hand. Within the large cupping surface of his palm, you make out what seems to be an aquatic plant, the roots still clumped together with dark alluviual mud.

Hands braced on knees, you shake your head.

"Some kind of healing herb?"

"Something like that."

You catch his eye and cannot help the small twitch of your lips.

"Should I be concerned?"

"Don't you trust me?"

"Humour me. What does it do?"

He clambers up the bank with that easy, powerful stride, shaking off his body as he approaches you. Small flecks of damp speckle your jerkin and you straighten as he places the herbs carefully on a rack that he'd set up nearby.

"These will dry in the sun, but they need to be harvested at low light. The compounds within them are quite volatile."

"So once they're dry, I can put them in a pipe and smoke them?"

He pauses, shoulders shaking silently, before turning to you.

"A pipe isn't required, but that's the idea, yes. This is Fidoram, a herb we druids are fond of using when we want to ... gain greater affinity with our wild shapes."

Halsin picks up a pouch from beside the drying rack containing what you presume to be the same herb which he'd harvested and dried earlier. He crushes the roots slightly between his fingers, holding them out for you to sniff. Leaning forward, you close your eyes, inhaling deeply.

Some barrier has broken down, between his skin and the torn flesh of the root. What was herbal before now seems muddied in essence, a warm animal musk, the sweetness of new sweat on skin, the mingling of smoke and breath from between parted lips on an evening beneath the trees.

Your eyes slide open and he is watching you, a gleam of clouded grey beneath lowered lids.

Halsin's gaze is always a contradiction to you; on the one hand, clear and piercing, parting the veil between worlds, and on the other, misted over at times with a strange quality, as if human nature were optional, a skin he wore to pass time amongst beings such as yourself.

It intrigued you to no end. It made you wish to part that curtain with tentative fingers, to drink from that forbidden lake yourself.

"It smells ... "

"Intense?"

You nod, throat suddenly feeling a trifle tight, saliva thicker as you swallow. Halsin places the herb carefully back in the bag, and you feel his attention wander over you, from your bare feet on the grass, to your slightly bruised knees from the scuffle you'd had with bandits a few days prior, to the front of your jerkin, slightly unlaced.

He breathes out heavily and the air suddenly feels warmer, as if he's savouring your unique scent, the feather-light fingers of restraint dancing over his large form.

"Would you like to join me?"

You tilt your head, questioning.

"Join you?"

"I'm partaking of this joining ceremony. These Fidoram herbs are to replace the dried ones I'll be using presently. Would you like to be part of it?"

Your eager nodding causes him some evident amusement before you hesitate.

"You called it a joining ceremony?"

"When we druids transform our bodies, a deeper connection with the wild shape ensures a smoother transition."

"So you ... join your conscience with that of the beast?"

He stirs and straightens, holding out his hand.

"Here."

You place your hand within his, trying not to dwell too much on how the size of his palm dwarfs your own. His grasp is warm, roughened across the knuckles and the pads just below the fingers.

"Close your eyes again," he commands gently, and you comply, shifting a little closer to get comfortable.

"Now, follow the sensations on your arm."

Keeping your arm outstretched, he begins a slow exploration, digits tracing over skin. It begins with the feel of his touch radiating up, from the center of your palm to the soft area at the inside of your wrist. Halsin's voice rolls across your senses like muted thunder, close, humid, heated.

"You can feel me here. Now, you sense man, and now... "

Something shifts, and there is a charge in the air that causes the hair on your arms to stand upright. Halsin's tracing now feels ... different. There is a heaviness there that wasn't present before, coarse hair brushing over the inside of your arm, large, cushioned pads passing over you ... as if he'd switched to his bear form, which you'd witnessed many times before.

And then, another change, the heaviness giving way to something sharper; a living dagger being drawn down the centre of your arm ... not one, but two, three, four. The claws of a larger beast.

Hot breath blasts across your face, that scent of wet pelt in the rain stronger than ever. You keep your eyes firmly shut.

And as the raking reaches your wrist once more, there is another shift, much lighter, no less bestial. The swift shake and fluff of feathers, the click of a beak, sharp and staccato in the growing darkness.

A series of sharp prods, never breaking the skin, and suddenly Halsin's fingers are back, stroking to firm completion the motion he had started.

You still kept your eyes closed tight, a sharp exhale escaping you as you felt him raise your hand and place his lips against the juncture of thumb and finger. His mouth was hot, wide, lips slightly chapped and softer beneath in a way that defied all the sensations he'd just given you.

"Look at me."

It is no longer a command, yet you still obey. Maybe it was that you trusted him so completely, that you allowed him these ventures where no other had dared before.

He is smiling at you, soft and knowing, and the angle of the light through the trees plants a verdancy in that penetrating gaze that some part of your mind recognizes as both familiar and not.

His mouth doesn't leave your palm, and now he speaks against it.

"I've never changed my form, in all the time we were sitting here."

"But - "

You take the initiative, leaning forward and crawling toward him, inching by on your knees. He watches as the laces on your front fall further open, as you keep your eyes on him in a way that exposes your throat a little more, hair coming loose across your forehead.

" ... but, I felt it. I felt ... the bear, and the displacer beast, and a crow, and - "

"And I've never changed my form. You felt ... what I wanted you to feel. A great portion of our transformations are sensory, and the rest rely on our own awareness of our bodies. I can become a bear more easily because I spent the most time in that form. My body remembers it."

You're seated much closer to him now, where he seems to want you. Some physical boundary has been crossed, your space overlapping easily with his.

"So what would I experience in all this? Would I also contact some inner beast?"

He leans back on his palms, body stretching out to its full length, almost an invitation. Chin tilting, his glance passes from you to the stars that are now revealing themselves from behind pastel-painted clouds, dimming to the greater darkness of nightfall.

"Perhaps. Or possibly ... you'll just become better acquainted with mine."

Your laughter echoes between the trees, and somehow, this reminds you of the distance between your current position and the main camp. Beyond here, your companions may be milling around the fire, helping themselves to the pot roast Gale had prepared for supper.

It was your arrow that had stilled that boar's heart.

Emboldened, you nod, sitting upright.

"Is there anything you'd like me to do to prepare?"

Halsin is silent, and for a moment, you think he might deny you, that he might ask you in that warm, firm manner of his not to join him after all.

He doesn't do anything of the kind. It seems that he is aware of some willingness on your part, some desire to tear down the shifting, rustling wall between you two even further.

When he speaks, his voice is lower, but no less clear, the last thread of restraint stretching against the swell of long-present desire.

"Take off your clothes."

"And?"

"Allow me to perform a small cleansing ceremony. In the river."

"All right."

It isn't that you're more compliant. You're testing the limits of his control, in the way you feel you must.

Standing, you catch his gaze and hold it as you finally and fully unfasten the laces that are, at present, barely holding the leather garment together over your shirt. You peel it away from your body, arms stretching outward, a shadow like the wings of a larger bird spreading over his reclining form for a moment.

You take one step back, then another.

The hem of your shirt is lifted slightly, a teasing glimpse of the skin of your stomach visible. You turn away, keeping your profile facing over one shoulder, and lift the garment fully, chest and shoulders exposed to the mellow chill of the evening air.

You hands drop to your belt and you unfasten the buckle with a quick motion, tossing it aside. You're not quite bothered about finding it later.

Still facing away from him, your fingers hook into the top of your trousers, sliding them down to your ankles. You lift one leg, the sleek material still entangled and pull it free of your foot.

Underwear follows next, removed and discarded with swift movements.

Halsin has been watching patiently from somewhere behind you. You're fully aware that nakedness means little to him, that he is as comfortable in his own skin as he is with witnessing the reveal of yours.

Something about the act of standing nude before him now feels ... different, though. As if you've shed one skin for another, as if you're taking one step further into a closeness that breathes an stealthy, sensual vitality into your form.

When he stands and joins you, and you realise that he has also shed all of his clothes, it becomes even more evident.

Every hair on your body seems attuned to his, lifting, sensing, prickling with intent. A beast moves in the shadows of faint outer consciousness, one in the shadows you have yet to breach.

Halsin is looking at you as if you are a distant light on the water, focused, intent, the gleam of his eyes parting the gloom. He takes your hand, touch light and steady, and leads you to the river bank.

The temperature of the water is a slight shock at first. You didn't expect it to be quite so cold, but your body grows accustomed within minutes. Gooseflesh spreads from your extremities, across your upper chest, but you refrain from shivering outright.

Halsin wades into a position opposite you, before reaching down with cupped hands to collect water within. He steps forward and a light cascade runs down one shoulder, then the other. He takes his time, placing two fingers under your chin and tilting your head back.

River water dampens your hair, running in rivulets down your back and neck, tracing soft, cool lines down your breasts, the curve of your ribcage and down, down, to the slight dip above your buttocks.

"Prepare yourself."

You nod, the slick gravel beneath and between your toes digging into your flesh.

Halsin places a finger on your brow, tracing lightly down over the bridge of your nose, and suddenly the world shifts around you.

Inhaling sharply, you grasp his wrist.

"Easy. Easy. It's a sense enhancement. It will help you perceive ... everything a little better."

That was something of an understatement, perhaps because, unlike him, this was the first time you'd experienced such a phenomenon. It took a few minutes before you processed everything in a meaningful fashion again, his grip steady and warm at your waist, supporting you.

You realised now why he'd taken you into the water.

The cool pressure of the river against your thighs, the dampness on your skin, all grounded you, held your consciousness prisoner by a shifting tether. It was almost overwhelming, and then it wasn't.

Now, the world flitted against your senses in the way he'd intended, each sensation vibrant, fleeting, processed by the heightened awareness of your mind before another took its place.

There was a tug on your hand as Halsin indicated the grassy bank ahead. Nodding slowly, gearing your body for movement, you accompanied him as he led you back to the sheltered space between the trees.

He had you sit on a rolled out hide, covering you with a cloth that felt shockingly warm against your skin. You shivered as he dried the water off your arms, then your shoulders and back. He draped the rest of the fabric over your legs and squatted, opening up his pack.

"You don't have to take this journey with me, you know. I can always help you back to camp."

His voice is as gentle as the rustle of the leaves overhead. You shake your head and smile as your hair seems to sway around your ears with a similar sound, restless, tired of playing a soft cradle.

You want more.

Jerking your chin at the small brazier he'd produced from within the pack, you sniff and drop the blanket slightly. It pools around your shoulders, settling softly under your breasts.

Somehow, in Halsin's presence, nothing about the human form seemed shameful, or required concealment.

"Is that what you'll use to burn it?"

"Not directly on the flames, no."

Another small earthenware pot, blackened and singed, is pulled from the depths of the pack and Halsin is now packing the dried herb tightly within, until all the space within the vessel seems occupied.

"This is reinforced clay. Whatever's in here will heat up very slowly. That's what we're after."

He builds a small blaze, placing the brazier over and on top of that, the pot carefully balanced over a few well-placed river stones. He'd evidently had long practice with this.

You bring your knees down, sitting cross-legged. Before long, pale tendrils of smoke begin to emerge from the clay vessel, threading through the evening air. Halsin makes no move to direct the fumes, simply keeping his warm, watchful gaze fixed on you.

Tilting your head back, you inhale deeply. The scent is heady, fragrant, tinged with a low-lying heaviness that steals gradually across the back of the tongue.

Pleasant.

The world shifts around you again, but this time, your awareness holds firm. Something stirs within you, deep and primal, powerful. You can scent it on the wind, and now you can even discern Halsin's soft exhalation from across the small blaze.

Unconsciously, your breathing syncs with his. A tingling warmth spreads through your limbs, the kind that signals the start of a fever. You straighten, alert, eyelids fluttering open.

Halsin seems to have been waiting for this.

He stands, and you inhale softly as you take him in, the coil and release of muscle under tawny skin, the stretch and lift of old scars, the dark hair that spreads across his chest, tapers, then spreads again to form a dense thatch over the apex of his thighs.

He lets you look, arms spreading out slightly as he rolls one shoulder, then the other.

The air around him changes, as it does when he transforms. The transition is one you have seen many times now, so it comes as no surprise when you're confronted with the hulking form of the bear, towering over you, the flickering of the small fire still in between.

You rise slowly, the blanket falling away, and pace in a slow circle until you come to his side. Even on all fours, he is substantial, shoulder almost reaching yours.

His fur is thick, slightly coarse and you're suddenly struck with a desire to take handfuls of it, carding it in between your fingers. His flank is hot, pressed against your bare stomach, and he feels indescribably powerful, vital, present in a manner that you'd never quite understood the weight of before.

This is the bear, and this is Halsin.

Before you can think it over further, he turns, body lowering slightly and with a sharp gasp, you're being gently maneuvered onto his back.

You let out an incredulous laugh, echoed by a soft snort from his muzzle as it passes, breath hot and wet against your calf. The prickle of his fur sets off a dangerous dance of pain and pleasure along your sensitized breasts, your stomach and inner thighs.

And here you are, beneath the stars, your breath now steaming out of your lungs into the summer night, the shift of ancient strength beneath your body.

Halsin carries you through the woods on a throne of bone, flesh and fur, heading deeper into the embrace of the trees.

Above your head, the night fires wheel and the silent swooping shadow of an owl passes, cutting through the night sky with a deeper darkness. Something inside you purrs in answer, preens at the thought of seeing all.

Nothing escapes you, not even the flick of a here's ears as it traces your passage with wide, cold eyes.

Halsin takes you through the fruit trees, and you arch your back, ready to drink the sweet riot of their nectar, the rot of their fallen flesh trampled further into the soil as you pass. You can reach up and pluck them, rubies that echo with distant heat, and bite hard as their juice runs down your chin.

You feast, naked, on a bear's back, half queen, half animal.

When he reaches the larger clearing, the standing stones forming a ring in the grass-covered dip in the land, you slide from his back, wiping off your lips.

You have realized that the enchantment and, perhaps, some effect of the herb has made your vision in the dark clearer, less muddied around the edges. Shadows don't blend into each other as they do, a hard, jewel-like quality to stone, soil and the earth beneath, transposed over the softness of the living.

Turning in a slow circle, arms outstretched, you spin in exultation. The bear follows you, bellowing softly as his large head presses against your hip; an invitation.

Indeed, you feel like joining Halsin in a different form, as carefree as if you were on stage at the theater, discarding one costume for another.

Some part of your spine stretches, then contracts violently, your face elongating. Your shoulder blades are suddenly pressing outwards, against the skin of your back, two bulges writhing beneath the surface before breaking free in long, spear-tipped appendages. Your drop to all fours, the pain keen and exquisite, nails drawing scores across the ground, body wracked with the convulsions of sudden, shocking change, until ...

Sleek and black, your fur gleams in the darkness. Halsin is still beside you, and you see yourself, reflected in the large, placid eyes, amusement stealing into their depths.

Displacer beast it is then. Who knew that this would be your natural inclination?

The dark tendrils that sprout from your shoulders join your elongated tail in a soft, experimental movement, tracing along the bear's back, shifting between his legs, along his snout. You span the shape of him, as he snorts and nudges you.

You think you have some level of command of the whip-like extremities, and you test it now, tickling across his ribs and binding his jaws together playfully.

He gives a loud, indignant cough, twisting to free himself. You slap him across the backside with your tail and leap out of the reach of his paw, claws out, skittering across the ground.

Let it never be said that dignity had a part to play in this shift.

The bear's eyes narrow. He sways lightly from side to side, as if to deceive your eye as to which direction he'll approach from next. Your tail flicks in anticipation.

Halsin feints left and comes in from the right, aiming to push you over. Your innate ability comes to the fore, almost by instinct. Dodging away from him, you leave afterimages on the air, blue-black and humming with faint energy, taunting.

He lunges for you, head-on, and he's too slow and ... ah!

Mid-stride, his form changes to match your own, brown streaking away to sleek darkness. His momentum carries him forward, bounding off the pillar of stone that partially conceals your form, and he lands heavily on top of you, dragging you snarling into the dirt.

So he plays dirty, too.

The twin tendrils that snake from his shoulders twine with your own, tugging you closer. You squirm in his grasp, using your smaller size to slip beneath his body and tip him over. He lands on his back, tail lashing through the air to wrap around your hind leg, but now that you've had a taste of change, it coils around empty air, because you are -

A raven, darting and fleet of wing, claws curving to talons, fur extending to feathers, nose hardening to a snapping beak. Flesh warps in on itself, defying space, and your form shrinks rapidly as you streak between the trees.

Halsin is an old hand at this though, and he is always close behind. His transition between forms is far more seamless than yours, giving him more time to catch up.

Greater wings sweep close to yours, encroaching, feet tucked up close to his body to give him more speed.

You weave between tree trunks, branches and out of the occasional path of another nocturnal creature, leaves whipping past you with stinging exhilaration.

Where every shift for you is pure instinct, Halsin's grace is unmatched, each movement measured, powerful, weighted with intention. He knows each of his forms as well as he seems to know yours.

But you're not out of tricks yet.

In a final burst of speed, you break through the trees, each flap of your wings taking you further. You're about to turn sharply in mid-air, to dive for the low lying brush, when his talons slot between yours and you find yourself drawn into a dizzying spiral.

You change direction, pull at his grip, but you realise that you'd only destabilize the formation he has wrapped you in.

Giving in to his relentless, teasing pull, you allow yourself to be dragged down, down, as if a whirlpool of air is forcing you down its centre.

In this moment, you are weightless, free, abandonment of your human sensibilities dangerously close. You know only the stars that form streaks across the night sky, the warmth of Halsin's feathers, the slow blink of your inky eyes as you prepare for another shift.

Infiltrating all of these sensations is the overwhelming feeling of trust, that you can place yourself so easily in his hands (paws, talons, the minutiae don't really matter) and he'll always land, feet to the ground, bearing you with him.

And indeed, he does.

Right before the grass of the clearing comes rushing up to meet your falling forms, his wings expand to many times their regular size, dwarfing your body. The sudden air resistance gusts upward, catching in the feathers, and as he slows your landing, you realise that your temporary flight through the forest had not taken you as far as you'd thought.

You are back to being ... yourself, you suppose, although that was now a transient term. Arms wrapping tight around Halsin, you feel when he returns to himself as well.

His torso elongates within your grasp, the coarse brush of hair against your chest, the bunch and slide of hard muscle pressing into your back as he holds you against him.

You both land in the grass with a heavy thump, Halsin cushioning your fall, and something inside you is not quite ready to relinquish victory rights for this unofficial battle. You roll, end over end, warm body over his, a breathless, endless laugh rising in your throat as Halsin seems equally determined to win.

You come to a stop, him on top of you, skin covered in grass and earth, lips still stained with overripe fruit and dark feathers tangled in your hair. He is looking at you as if the Oak Father himself had just spawned you from the wild, lightning-hewn trunk of an ancient tree, reverence, desire, an all-encompassing tenderness that seems to pervade all of his interactions with you.

When his lips come down on yours, it is as natural as leaves falling to earth, the weight of his body on yours as welcome as soft summer rain. His arms hold him slightly aloft, caging you in as his head angles first this way, then that, each wet press and slide of his mouth more hungry than the last.

You body comes apart for him, arms rising past his into the grass above your head, back curving, the angle between your legs widening as he dips down, the entirety of his skin on yours almost too much to bear in your current sensitized state.

You are aware of your hair sliding through the grass with every movement of your head, of scrape of short, coarse hair across your nipples, the shift of his tightening abdominal muscles against your stomach, the way those muscular thighs stretch your legs further apart. He is already at half mast, the tip of him stroking a slow, wet trail of fire upwards, along your inner thigh.

You gasp, arching a little further off the ground, evening dew moistening the skin of your buttocks as you raise your leg slightly, stroking against him. All this time, you've witnessed him in the nude and it was not until now that the urgency of your want became vital, a lust-filled haze that only grew as you took in the size and weight of him against you.

Halsin seems to have decided that he is not simply satisfied with winning the tussle of changing forms.

He pauses above you, eyes drinking in your damp, parted lips before he descends again, lower, lower, and lower still. Hot breath eases over your extended throat, followed by tongue, the heated promise of that single lapping stroke sending you into delirium.

Your head is tilted almost all the way back, the ripe curve of your breasts presented to him with as much generosity as the fruit trees that had lowered their harvest to you earlier.

An explosive moan exits you as he lavishes your nipple with soft, hot licks, suckling the flesh slowly to the left and then to the right, drawing it in with the tightening suction of his cheeks. He takes his time, only coming back to the white hot centre of your areola when he is satisfied that the entirety of the rounded expanse has been tasted.

You jerk under him, fingers scrabbling at his immovable arm as he applies the same attention to the other neglected breast, tugging you gently between his teeth until you're crying out at the gentle but thorough stimulation.

A soft, ticklish sensation alerts you to his next move, as the ends of the beaded braids fall forward over the pointed ends of his ears, painting your ribcage with the swirling ripples of an unseen image of growing lust.

You raise your head slightly, hooded eyes watching him, his breath passing over your mound like a hot wind that comes sailing down from the mountains to collect in the humid harbour of your widening thighs.

Your knees bend, anticipation drawing your abdomen taut as he bites down into the softness of one thigh, then the other. Halsin preserves symmetry, in all that he does.

When he tastes you, a hummingbird pushing slowly, exquisitely, into the sweet burst of a flower's trembling centre, you cannot help the low, desperate keening that escapes you. One hand slams into the grass beside you, fingers threading through and grasping at the cool foliage, trying to anchor your mind that seems to want to abandon all rational thought.

Halsin takes you, with surety, confidence, peeling you apart with large, roughened fingers, plundering your soft heat with the same assiduous attention he'd shown the rest of your body. He grows more intense, his own lust taking the reigns, thrusting his tongue as deep as it will go, pushing the edges apart, suckling the tiny, glistening pearl at the apex of your folds as if it is the finest delicacy he's ever feasted upon.

The slickness that coats his mouth, cheeks, hands and your thighs is a ceaseless font. You writhe beneath him, begging, gasping, shrinking away from and then surrendering to every blissful feeling he bestows.

Just when the taut string of heat that stretches all the way from down there to the base of your throat threatens to snap, he lifts off you, smiling at your outraged gasp, one hand holding down your hip as you furiously buck upward at the loss of sensation.

You slap at his arm, scowling as he laughs, soothing strokes sliding down your stomach and legs as he brings you reluctantly down from the peak you have been teetering on seconds before.

Oh, but he isn't done with you, not yet.

He has been saving the true banquet for this time, when your body has recovered some measure of equilibrium, but not quite. Now, when your sensitized skin burns with unquenched flame, when you moan so wantonly and reach for him, scratching lightly down his chest, when he raises himself once more, looming over you and crawls forward, every move lithe and sinuous as the displacer beast who's form he had borrowed a short while before, now you prepare yourself for what he truly has in store.

Your arms extend, almost looping around his neck, when he grasps your hip firmly and turns you over onto your front.

Oh.

So this was what he intended.

Not that you didn't adjust to the circumstances almost instantly. You were not without your wiles.

Stretching in a distinctly feline manner, you raise your hips, back curving in a perfect, quivering arc, letting out small sounds of encouragement as you feel the supple flesh of your buttocks brush the waving length of his erection. He hisses, but makes no move to stop you, allowing you to have your way with him, albeit, briefly.

And my, do you take advantage of the temporary freedom he's granted you.

Your spine undulates, the folds between your legs long since slicked and wet with his preparation. You enfold him from the sides, dragging your sweet nectar along his length, the heavy tip catching slightly and making you dig your fingers deeper into the soil.

There is some connection here, more expansive than just the two of you. The earth beneath your hands and knees hums with latent energy, the kind that remains undetected when you are not here, with him, in this sacred space that flowers between the sky, the trees, the stones and your body beneath his.

You open your mind to it, kindling some deep spark within that Halsin detects. He hums with approval, leaning further forward.

Like a dull clap of thunder, an electric hum on the air, he rolls his hips forward, taking the initiative. The rounded head breaches you, forcing a full-throated cry as you're rapidly reminded of the sheer size of him.

It's not just the silky iron length that presses forward, inch by inch, displacing the dewy arousal that coats him. It's the feel of his weight sinking further down into your back, an echo of stigma and stamen, the slow spread of your fingers as his lodge between them, the resumed stroke of his braids at the nape of your neck.

Your mouth opens in a silent continuation of your ecstasy, tendons standing out in your neck with the supreme effort of acceptance. The invasive stretch eases as he rocks back and forth, whispering soft praises, obeisances, worshipping the way you engulf him whole.

Lightning now follows the deepening roar in your veins, sweat coating your skin in a luminous sheen as you slowly back onto him, feeling the probe at the edges of your ability to take, jerking away with a hiss, moving back again with intent.

Halsin allows you to set the pace, low grunts of effort sounding against the shell of your ear, hot breath mingling with yours.

You drag your awareness away from the pleasure that builds steadily as you tilt forward, until only the tip remains, then repeat the slow reversal that impales you. You want this to take forever, to last until the final frayed threads of your control slip between your fingers and you surrender to the storm that threatens to crash over your senses with each fluid movement.

When you feel that you're ready, you raise your hips slightly, and he almost slips from your tight heat. His fingers sink into the flesh just above your hip, followed by a low exhale of agreement, a sign to ready yourself.

His forward thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, and you cry out and sink down to your elbows almost immediately. The new angle allows him to penetrate even deeper, tearing hoarse cries of pleasure from your throat.

Halsin sets a steady, powerful rhythm, the impact of each slam of his hips rippling the flesh of your buttocks, the folds of your waist deepening as you drop further down. The blades of grass beneath you graze your nipples, snapping past with increasing intensity as he picks up his pace.

Hands fisting once again, you tear up clods of earth, howling, moaning, begging as the slaps of his body against yours matches the pace of his breathing, quickening like the blood in your veins, the heady sap that seeps into your mouth as you press your face into the grass and take it between your teeth.

Tears of pleasure gather at the corners of your eyes, roll down to your entwined fingers and he presses down on you further, lapping at them as they stream down the side of your face.

He is a veritable force of nature, sweeping you up into a maelstrom of unmatched, terrifying sensation. You turn your head to him slightly, sobbing breaths spelling out that you are close, so close, almost, to keep fucking you, to go harder, to -

The staccato encouragement only serves to slow his pace, and now, in spite of the protesting smack of your hand against his abdomen, your nails dragging on his flank, your cursing, he starts a new rhythm, one even more devastating in its undoing of you.

Two deep strokes, followed by a tender, shallower thrust that lodges somewhere different, somewhere that sparks a renewed series of deep, throaty moans, pitched higher and higher as a crescendo builds.

He fills you, stretches you, paints your inner thighs with the soaked traces of your joining, merciless in his assault on the tight ring of muscle at your entrance.

You're no longer aware of where the connection between your bodies ends, so immersed are you in each collision of your hips.

Halsin places a hand firmly in the small of your back, and you're now aware that he has also grown louder in his appreciation of you, almost incoherent in his litany of praises.

Under other circumstances (perhaps later, when you find the time to indulge in each other at a more leisurely pace) you would have taken the time to sling your leg over his, to twist until you managed to lever his body beneath yours, to ride him until that tell-tale ache in your lower back and thighs made itself known.

For now, you can only think of your immediate pleasure, the magnificent sweep of a cyclone that comes crashing across the coastline and catches you when you least expect it.

When it does eventually find you, when your back arches, your muscles convulsing, your body shuddering with an intensity that near rattles your teeth, you allow it to carry you away, hardly aware of your reactions in that moment.

Halsin's reaches beneath you, hand caressing your stomach with soft, grounding fervour, even as you become aware that he has not allowed himself the same abandonment of release. He is harder than ever inside you, the twitch that makes itself known now that he has stilled his pace causing you to gasp and stiffen.

There is still a certain tension coiled there, one that makes itself known as he slowly eases himself in and out, building to steady rocking against you. He throws back his head and growls, body now fully spread across yours, and you raise your legs, tucking your feet behind his knees to pull him further towards the newly set line of completion.

Your second orgasm is less intense, but reverberates through you in a manner that makes him pause again. The wringing contractions around his length seem to finally push him over the edge, and he lets out a gutteral roar as a searing warmth floods within you, the irregular spasmodic slide of him coming to a gradual stop.

You reach back, hand placed flat on his abdomen for some modicum of control as he eases out, the cool night air a shocking contrast to the overwhelming heat of him. Consciousness of your own breathing returns, ragged, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Something slips down your leg, pools on the ground behind you. You keep your rear raised, glancing back over your shoulder, a dazed smile spreading as you note the glazed, shattered stare that Halsin directs at you, at the banner of your union that drapes in a pearlescent string between your once-joined parts.

He sits back on his haunches and runs those large hands through his hair, attempting to bring himself back under control.

Under the circumstances, your expression should not be so self-satisfied, considering that he has all but taken you in the most base, animalistic manner possible. You are aware of how you must look, with your hair draped in sweaty tangles over your forehead, the gleam of perspiration that now covers you from head to toe, the marks of earth on your buttocks, knees and elbows.

Halsin catches your eye and strokes down your back before raising you with that delightfully easy strength, bringing you closer to him.

You seat yourself on his lap, legs parted as if you've assumed your natural throne once again. The soft shake of his shoulders builds to a laugh that you feel all the way down to your bones.

"I take it you've made the acquaintance of your inner beast?"

"And a fine one at that."

"I wasn't expecting such a chase."

"Was it worth it?"

His fingers find their way beneath your chin, tilt your head until he is able to gaze upon your face once again.

There it is, that infinite tenderness, the kind he always reserves just for you. When he speaks, you shudder slightly at the weight of passionate promise there, the rumble that begins somewhere deep in his chest, that let's you lean against him in the lassitude of well-earned submission.

"Well worth it. I'd even go so far as to ask for a re-match."

"Oh? And which form will you choose for our next bout?"

His voice is muffled slightly, from where he presses his mouth to your shoulder, but you hear him nonetheless, and your teeth gleam in the faint light of the clearing.

"The bear. Definitely the bear."

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ominis-g · 8 months ago

Text

Henry Winter x Reader pt 2

This is a continuation of part one which you can read here. Prompt from an ask from @beauty-is-terrror,

This is written in first person POV. The narrator is female. Her name is not used.

Summary so far: After a mix-up at the administrative offices with Bunny, you let him stay in your dorm room in lieu of Henry's guest room. A snow storm approaches, and you and Henry begin talking of an entirely hypothetical situation where you would be his roommate. But talking in hypotheticals is often a metaphor, and after the snow storm knocks out the power and with both of you worried about the heat going as well, the truth comes out: both you and Henry don't want to leave each other, and would rather like it to be roommates and sharing a bed... not just for practicality's sake, but indeed for romance.

Summary for part two: Smut. Henry "in Paradise."

Warnings: 18+, M/F.

Wordcount: 3,271

A/N: I was hedging on using more vulgar language, but if you prefer that for next time, I certainly can.

Was this the change that I had been waiting for? Many things still remained the same, but there was certainly a shift in how I saw them. The snow persisted, at least the wind whistling outside of the walls and through the windows did, and the house remained dark, but it was not as unwelcome as it had seemed the night before. I was elated at not having to spend another night on that uncomfortable bed, and it might have coloured my perceptions, but not as much as seeing Henry lounging on his bed with a book. Casual, a glass of liquor half-drunk in his hand that he swirled idly as he read, his glasses reflecting the lantern’s light only when his head moved.

I paused there in the doorway, and despite my eagerness to join him, there was still hesitation. We had barely touched, and now we were just going to share a bed? He drank the remainder in his glass, and when he went to set it down, he noticed me. The glass made a noise as it landed on the wood, and his book dropped so he could see the full view.

“Don’t you usually wear long pajamas?”

I looked down at my nightdress, suddenly with a pang of doubt at the choice. “I was worried it might be too warm, since we are sharing. I can go change if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“There’s no need for that,” he assured me. “I didn’t even know you owned one of… those.”

“I do not wear it at the country house, but sometimes during the summer in my dorm.”

I was still standing there, and when I looked up at him from the flowing dress, he was smiling. “Do you? I prefer the nude.” I stared at him. “For the heat,” he clarified. He set down his book and invited me in with a hand. I walked to his side of the bed, and he did not oppose this. His fingers caught the fabric curiously. “Cotton?”

“Yes; nice and breathable.” He made a noise of appreciation. “I can get you one, if you want–”

He chuckled. “I don’t think I could pull it off–”

“You could!” His fingers went from the fabric to press to the warmth of my leg, and I swallowed. “Do you want to try it on?”

He shook his head, but his good humour stayed. “I shall just admire it on you.” His hand retreated, but he was smiling as he relaxed back to the bed. “And you smell good, too.”

“Well, I thought since we would be close…” I trailed off the thought. His eyebrow was raised. “Is it too strong–”

“No.” He held out his hand to me, palm up, so I placed mine there at the invitation. He pulled me onto the bed, in that little space between him and the edge of the bed. I pressed closer to him, legs very aware of the warmth of his through his pajamas, and attempted to get comfortable. He scooted over, but his arm stayed around me to keep me close. He retrieved his book, tilting it for the lantern light so he could continue reading. He adjusted so I could lay my head fully onto his chest, fingers flattening the fabric the buttons had disturbed.

I took in a deep breath of him, and his scent had not changed, but it was still intoxicating. I trailed my fingers down the fabric, and I felt him tense under the touch. I twirled my fingers back up, hitting every button along the way, but when I did finally look up at him, he was focusing wholly on his reading. His fingers had tensed to hold the fabric of my nightdress, but when I paused, they loosened, back to running it through his forefinger and thumb idly.

“Am I distracting you?”

“It’s early still; we could read together before tucking in.” I stayed looking at him, and he finally noticed. He met my eyes. He closed the book and set it off to the side. “We can tuck in now, and to answer your question: yes, you are distracting.”

“In a bad way?”

He shook his head, his fingers tensing on my back to invite me up towards him. What was I going to do? Refuse? A hand on his chest, I rose, following those fingers that were so insistent, and I pressed my lips to his. He took in a breath through his nose, but then he was leaning up to meet the kiss fully. His other hand clutched at my hair, making sure I stayed, and the nervousness that I had been battling eased. It was a big step– for us– but it was still just a kiss until those fingers at my back dropped down to find my skin. They clutched to my thigh, and then the other, pushing so I was more over him than not.

My knee found the bed on the other side of him, and his heat fully below me, leaking through the thin cloth that annoyingly separated us. His hand left my hair, trailing down to catch at my side instead, scrunching up the cotton, mirrored on the other side; our kiss was suddenly distracted, and he broke it to remove his glasses. I ran my fingers through his hair as he was returning to the pillow, and his eyes were direct onto mine. Deep, and usually sombre, but not in this moment: they were instead bright and alert, even as they trailed down my features, down to all of me he could see perched on top of him. I sat up to give him the full view, taking the opportunity to press my hands down onto his chest, and then, when he still did not move, to begin unbuttoning his pajama shirt.

Henry let me, and he waited until I was just finishing the last button before lifting on the nightdress. I took it from his fingers to pull it off over my head, letting it fall to the floor and far out of the way. His fingers returned to my skin, trailing now up my bare sides and sending little happy sensations from those warm touches all the way through me. They continued up, but only when he reached my breasts did his palms join in; the warmth allowed a pleased noise from deep in my throat to leave my lips, and he hitched a smile. I leaned over to reinstate the kiss, and he met it with the same kind of noise to match, hands squeezing softly at first, fingers adjusting for a good feel, and then harder. My hands clutched at his arms, breath to his lips, and he murmured something very softly in Greek. Something I did not know.

“Ethereal worship: a statue that has come to life for my touch, and mine alone,” he whispered instead, perhaps realising that. My lips brushed against his, feeling the sentiment repeated in the ancient form, and he was the one that reinstated our kiss. His hands released me, allowing me to press our bare skin together, and his warm touch was possessively down my back to encourage it.

I tugged at the cloth of his shirt to reveal more of his skin, and then his lips parted from mine. He sat up under me, his breath to my neck as he took off the top, and my hands following the revealing skin from his shoulders, his back, each touch sending a fresh thrill through the entirety of me. He abandoned the cloth as soon as he was free, rather for my hips, his thumbs digging into flesh, hitting bone, adjusting me to be closer still. I let out a breath to his neck as I felt him through cloth, whole and hot; my arms tightened around him, fingers mussing his hair and clutching to not lose the feeling. He adjusted his legs, spreading my thighs further to be sure that neither of us lost the sensation, and forced my hips to move enough so that I got the breadth of the throbbing cock. I shuddered in pleasure, forgetting the snow that was keeping us inside, the chill of the rest of the house, any trepidations that had coloured the entire past two days with unease and being so unsure. They disappeared now, dismantling themselves into a breath of smoke and the moans between us. Just those sweet noises that I craved more than anything other.

Those moments there sitting on top of him, our bare torsos together, his hands manipulating my hips for our combined pleasure did more to break down the walls and barriers between us that had been holding us both back more than anything else could have. It did not last, but the other side was so much better, I could not complain, and there was no going back.

Breath laboured, Henry turned me over so my back was to his bed, and his touch and weight suddenly left me. I watched him retreat, hands sliding over skin to fall back to myself and legs relaxing. He moved his things first to the side table– the book and his glasses– before he stripped off his pajama trousers and returned as bare as I was. He caught my arms when they reached out to get a feel of him, keeping me there vulnerable on the bed and ultimately at his whim.

He hovered over me, his hair a mess and shading his eyes, and when I tilted my head up for him, he gladly met me for a deep kiss. His lips open over mine, his tongue offering the hit of whiskey and lingering tobacco that remained even when his attentions turned to my neck. Even there, his tongue did not stay; his breath was between my breasts when his hands released my arms, though I did not move them just then. His touch and lips descended lower, taking in as much of my skin as he could along the way, and when his strong hands pushed apart my thighs so he could take in a deep breath of between my legs, my hands went instinctively to his hair, hips rising at the sensation.

“There is the lavender oil,” he murmured, “but it is mingling with your scent; stronger and stronger while we were pressed together, and driving me into delirium and madness.” His arms came under me, wrapping and lifting my hips and lower back off of the blankets; most of his face was lost to my sight, but he was looking up at me. If he was waiting for some kind of objection, he must have known that none was coming.

But it was still difficult to think of something to respond with. His nose, his breath, his lips were surely enough for him to realise my response. “Elixir of life,” I finally whispered.

“If the Fountain were to be found anywhere, surely it is here; the only way to know for sure would be for me to drink long and often from it.”

I did think of correcting him, but it did not seem like the opportune moment to do so. He must have been telling the truth when he said that the very scent of my pleasure had sent him into delirium, and any number of alchemic quips could have left my tongue, but… no. Perhaps he was making his own truths, but should he want to drink often from my spring, who was I to deny him that?

Instead, my fingers brushed through his hair, and his eyes closed softly, serenely. His lips opened, but no words left them this time; no, his tongue came for its first taste, hot, wet, slow in pushing open the soft folds of my skin. It withdrew, and I heard him swallow with a loving rumble. I fell back to the bed, eyes closing as my hips rose into his weight; my breath was already catching, but with each further taste, every time that his tongue pushed its way into me, it became more and more trying to keep it steady. He lifted us connected together, and my legs wrapped over his shoulders, down his back, and whatever timidness had been left abandoned him.

His entire body shifted just so his tongue could thrust into me with a feral nature, further enhanced by the groans that streamed endlessly from him. I gasped at the first, rolling up against him, and he met the movements, aided them, his breath hard and serving to only enhance the pleasure. The fluid never had a chance to leave me, caught as it was instantly on his tongue, and just knowing that caused a further deluge, and of my moans. My hands tugged at his hair, trying to ground myself, but my eyes opened and I saw him buried deep and desperately against my pussy and it was all for nought.

I pulsed around his tongue, and his groans cut as if he had not been expecting it, but they were soon back; his tongue was not leaving me anymore, only practically twisting inside of me. He still met my hip’s movements, fingers digging into my sides painfully until the heat wracked my entire being. I gasped, head thrown back, hands keeping his head there, his tongue in me to be sure he could catch it all, hips stuttering at the glorious climax.

I could not keep Henry there, though I did try. He withdrew to take some deep breaths, kissing at the inside of my thigh, and I could feel just how out of breath I had made him. I sat up with trembling arms to able to see him: eyes closed, cheek slick with the waters of life and sweat combined against my skin, arms strong still and not releasing me, though lowering with me to rest on the bed.

It was another moment before his hands and arms released me, flexing his fingers; he had been holding rather tightly. He collected the remnants from around his lips, eyes steady on me as he licked it away. “You did not disappoint.”

I laughed in an airy way, sitting up further. I stretched out my legs, winding my feet in circles to regain all of their feeling. “Satisfied?” He frowned in my direction, and I smiled. “We could tuck in now–”

His hands fell to my thighs, pushing my legs open again, eyes trailing down before they jumped back up to mine. “Not quite yet. I feel awake.” The fresh hit of air, and his words, sent a shudder up through me, though quickly quelled when he slid his touch up on either side of me until our lips could be together. I took in a deep breath of him, hands all the way up his back for his hair, urging him to fall against me. I needed his weight and heat over me, enveloping me, and he did not argue. He fell, between my legs, his throbbing cock against my thigh, and then as quick as it was there, to slide up to meet the puddle he had left. The noise he made against my lips was not to soon be forgotten, and I was sure to meet it; the pressure against already sensitive skin was enthralling, and that it was him and his cock– I could not help it.

Henry wrapped his arms up and under me, and then rolled us so that his back was to the bed, granting me a few extra longing kisses. Both of my knees found the blankets, tugging my hands from under him and down his chest as I sat up. His features had the tone of elation, mouth still open from our kiss, and his eyes following my form as I adjusted to be seated fully on him. Neither of us moved for a few seconds, but then his hips shifted, his large hands were to my sides to lift me; my hands fell to his chest to steady myself, swiping through the sweat, biting my lip at the feel of his tip against me. My fingers fell between us, taking the opportunity also to look down at his cock; my hand wrapped around the shaft and he grunted, tried to press me down over him. My touch had to raise to myself, directing his cock between the folds and to my entrance and the next he urged my hips down, he entered smoothly.

I gasped, hand falling to the bed, and his hips thrust themselves up against mine to bury his cock into me completely. My head fell to his chest, then his shoulder with moans for him at the feeling; I gripped at his arms, listening to his faltering breath that was soon under my ear. Then into my hair, the warmth of his touch up my back and comforting as his other hand gripping at my hip to move me over him. Not a lot, but it was enough, more than enough with his movements to match.

I had to gather myself enough to move, but it proved difficult. At first, it was just meeting his direction, rolling my hips down with his hand to help; his cock was filling me, stretching me, completing me in a way that I did not realise was possible before, and each of our movements together hit the perfect spot; I did not want the pleasure to end. And yet still, the temptation for more was there. I slowly sat up, my hands drawing down Henry’s shoulders, his chest, and he let out a moan that he must have been stifling. His features were full of the emotion, though, and, fuck, so were mine.

Both of his hands were on my sides then, eyes moving over the entirety of me, watching my breasts bounce as he encouraged a quicker pace perhaps for just that very reason. Our breath was coming with difficulty. My touch left his skin to wrap up into my own hair, head and body leaning back to get completely lost in the feeling of him, stomach tensing with every roll to meet his increasingly fast and desperate thrusts.

His grip tightened on my thighs, every breath was a gasp for air, and then he tugged me up. He let out little protesting sounds when I resisted, the tip of his cock pressing right where I needed it, but then it was not a suggestion. He forced me up and off of him, his head back with groans of pleasure as he finished over my thighs, and his stomach. I watched the splattering of our skin together with a bitten lip, slowly releasing my hair and then falling down to lay beside him.

Henry did not protest this. I do not think he had the breath or energy to. I pulled myself to him, fingers swiping up his damp skin to turn his head to the side so that I could kiss him. My lips moved on his, and after a few seconds he met it, his tongue to mine in an extension of intimacy only helped along by his hands coming to find all of me that he could.

The kiss did not stay, but his hands did. He settled himself, relaxing down beside me as the tension left him completely. “The elixir of life comes from the philosopher’s stone,” he murmured, and I laughed softly, resting my head on his shoulder. He was smiling. “But who knows? Perhaps you are the Fountain of Youth.”

#the secret history #tsh #henry winter x reader #henry winter #the secret history fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #henry winter fanfic #henry winter smut #m/f

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