“Is mute, and if it wasn’t, it could help. Like your books.”
“Hang the books,” Edmund said roughly, thinking for the thousandth time that with Glendon he never quite knew where he stood. In this case, where he stood was pinned between her and a tree. That was obvious enough, and yet -
And yet, this was Glendon, troublesome cur, mangy beast, bodyguard and companion, Most Difficult Subject, who was suddenly doing very interesting things with her hands. She’d shed her cloak somewhere, and the tarnished chain around her neck glistened against her bare skin. The chain had Edmund’s own symbol on it, marking her as his, and the sight of that pendant between her breasts bypassed his mind and landed somewhere in the pit of his stomach.
“I’m,” Edmund attempted, trying to keep control of his reactions. “You’ve - you have before, haven’t you?”
“It’s Midsummer,” Glendon said, her breath shallow in his ear. “Of course I have. Not with a Human, before.” She nipped at his earlobe and then turned away. Edmund could feel her smile against his neck.
“Oh,” Edmund said, faintly. More and more parts of him were bypassing his mind; his left hand fitted itself neatly against her hip, and his right stroked a line of scar tissue just above the swell of her breast.
“Satyrs, mostly,” Glendon continued, working his tunic free of his belt. “And a river-spirit. That was damp. I’ve learned well, you know.” Edmund tried to help her free him of the shirt, and with a struggle of limbs the unwanted thing was pitched into the darkness. “But the parts are mostly the same.” She gave a gentle squeeze to the part in question, and grinned at Edmund’s gasp.
“Mostly?” Edmund echoed.
“There are things you can do with horns,” Glendon said, “and tails.”
“I don’t have horns,” Edmund said, in a voice he was horrified to realize sounded genuinely apologetic.
“You don’t need them,” Glendon said, now reaching for the tie of his breeches. “It’s okay.”
Things were not okay. Things were far from okay, because he needed to get that belt off, and if he was going to be had up against a tree by a Wer-Wolf he would very much like to have some say in the matter. It being Glendon, though, Edmund knew the best thing he could do was enjoy the experience and try not to get in the way.
Her hands found what they sought, beneath the fabric, and oh-if she would do that thing with her tonge again, against his neck, he would gladly give up his rank and rights and spend the rest of his days as a hermit in the woods.
The woods, after all, were full of trees to be pressed against.
OH MY. Yes, HAWT this is. And I want MOAR of course, but Glendon, oh my dear, darling Glendon. Helpful trees and the Calormene books which contain the erotic poetry and helpful positions. I think Ed and Glendon could write their OWN chapter with helpful trees.
And you spelled tongue correctly and OHHHHHH
LOVED THIS SO MUCH. yes, she wears your symbol, but Ed, you are toast. Or, maybe more like a marshmallow speared on stick.
This WAS SO WONDERFUL. You must write more. Now. Well, after a BtB updated.
“Is mute, and if it wasn’t, it could help. Like your books.”
“Hang the books,” Edmund said roughly, thinking for the thousandth time that with Glendon he never quite knew where he stood. In this case, where he stood was pinned between her and a tree. That was obvious enough, and yet -
And yet, this was Glendon, troublesome cur, mangy beast, bodyguard and companion, Most Difficult Subject, who was suddenly doing very interesting things with her hands. She’d shed her cloak somewhere, and the tarnished chain around her neck glistened against her bare skin. The chain had Edmund’s own symbol on it, marking her as his, and the sight of that pendant between her breasts bypassed his mind and landed somewhere in the pit of his stomach.
“I’m,” Edmund attempted, trying to keep control of his reactions. “You’ve - you have before, haven’t you?”
“It’s Midsummer,” Glendon said, her breath shallow in his ear. “Of course I have. Not with a Human, before.” She nipped at his earlobe and then turned away. Edmund could feel her smile against his neck.
“Oh,” Edmund said, faintly. More and more parts of him were bypassing his mind; his left hand fitted itself neatly against her hip, and his right stroked a line of scar tissue just above the swell of her breast.
“Satyrs, mostly,” Glendon continued, working his tunic free of his belt. “And a river-spirit. That was damp. I’ve learned well, you know.” Edmund tried to help her free him of the shirt, and with a struggle of limbs the unwanted thing was pitched into the darkness. “But the parts are mostly the same.” She gave a gentle squeeze to the part in question, and grinned at Edmund’s gasp.
“Mostly?” Edmund echoed.
“There are things you can do with horns,” Glendon said, “and tails.”
“I don’t have horns,” Edmund said, in a voice he was horrified to realize sounded genuinely apologetic.
“You don’t need them,” Glendon said, now reaching for the tie of his breeches. “It’s okay.”
Things were not okay. Things were far from okay, because he needed to get that belt off, and if he was going to be had up against a tree by a Wer-Wolf he would very much like to have some say in the matter. It being Glendon, though, Edmund knew the best thing he could do was enjoy the experience and try not to get in the way.
Her hands found what they sought, beneath the fabric, and oh-if she would do that thing with her tonge again, against his neck, he would gladly give up his rank and rights and spend the rest of his days as a hermit in the woods.
The woods, after all, were full of trees to be pressed against.
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And you spelled tongue correctly and OHHHHHH
LOVED THIS SO MUCH. yes, she wears your symbol, but Ed, you are toast. Or, maybe more like a marshmallow speared on stick.
This WAS SO WONDERFUL. You must write more. Now. Well, after a BtB updated.
Reply
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