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“Lie back,” Elion murmured, voice low and quiet like a prayer said too close to the altar.
Killi hesitated for a moment—not out of disobedience, but sheer anticipation, a trembling in his muscles like a plucked string. Then he obeyed, his spine lowering gently into the forest floor, moss cradling his shoulders, curls falling in a halo of riotous dark. His eyes fluttered, then opened, wide and waiting.
“Good,” Elion said softly, fingertips brushing up Killi’s ribcage, pausing to stroke the sensitive fur there with a careful reverence. “Now let me see you. Hands over your head.”
The satyr’s breath hitched, the faintest shiver tracing through him as he lifted his arms, wrists meeting above his crown. Elion guided them with his own hands, pressing Killi’s palms into the grass. He didn’t bind them, didn’t need to—not with the way Killi stayed still for him.
“You’ll stay just like this,” Elion whispered, lips at the corner of Killi’s jaw now. “Won’t you, sweetling?”
Killi nodded, breathless. “Y-Yes, I—”
“No speaking unless I ask something,” Elion interrupted gently. “You know better.”
And oh, the way Killi squirmed, tail twitching against the soft earth, mouth open in a gasp that turned into a moan he barely managed to swallow.
“That’s it,” Elion said, a little smile curling into his voice now. “You look like the forest’s gift, stretched out like that. My gift. I’m going to unwrap you.”
He didn’t rush. He never did. His hands worked lower, smoothing down the soft fur of Killi’s sides, down toward the sharp curve of his hips, whispering quiet praise that made the satyr’s face burn and his legs shift with want. So beautiful. So soft. So good for me.
He took his time—pressing kisses to Killi’s chest, down his belly, murmuring wicked little things in between: how his body tasted like summer, how Elion could spend all day like this, worshiping him like the altar he was.
“You’re already shaking, love,” Elion said softly, as he kissed just above the line of skin where fur turned coarse again. “And I haven’t even—”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. The low, guttural whimper that escaped Killi’s throat was everything Elion had asked for and more.
“Good,” Elion said again, voice like velvet. “Stay just like that. And don’t even think of closing your legs.”
Killi's hooves scraped against the forest floor, digging shallow grooves into the earth as he fought to keep himself still. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, muscles quivering under Elion's feather-light touch.
Elion's fingers trailed lower, combing through the coarse fur at Killi's thighs. He paused, savoring the way Killi's body tensed in anticipation. Then, with deliberate slowness, he parted the fur to reveal the sensitive skin beneath.
"Look at you," Elion breathed, voice thick with desire. "So responsive, so eager."
He leaned down, his breath hot against Killi's inner thigh. The satyr's hips bucked involuntarily, a quiet whine escaping his lips before he could stifle it.
Elion clicked his tongue, a teasing smile playing at his lips. "Patience, my love."
He traced his tongue along the crease of Killi's thigh, eliciting a full-body shudder from the satyr. Killi's fingers curled into the grass above his head, chest heaving as he fought to remain still and silent.
Elion's ministrations grew bolder, his mouth exploring every sensitive inch of Killi's lower half. He lavished attention on trembling thighs, nipped gently at hipbones, and ghosted his lips tantalizingly close to where Killi ached for him most.
The forest seemed to hold its breath along with Killi, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the satyr's muffled whimpers. Elion's hands roamed reverently over fur and flesh alike, mapping out the terrain of Killi's body with practiced care. Finally, he slipped a single finger inside, achingly gentle. Killi's back arched off the forest floor, a strangled gasp escaping his lips.
"Shh," Elion soothed, his free hand stroking Killi's trembling flank. "I've got you."
He worked his finger slowly, reverently, savoring each shuddering breath and muffled moan from the satyr beneath him. When he added a second finger, Killi's hooves dug deep furrows in the earth as he fought to keep still.
Elion's touch remained tender, almost worshipful, as he stretched and prepared his lover. His lips traced patterns across Killi's hipbones, his belly, anywhere he could reach. All the while, his fingers moved with deliberate purpose, seeking out the spots that made Killi writheand whimper with need.
"Please," Killi breathed, the word barely audible.
Elion paused, lifting his head to meet Killi's desperate gaze. A moment of silent communication passed between them before Elion nodded, eyes dark with desire.
In one fluid motion, he withdrew his fingers and positioned himself between Killi's trembling thighs. With agonizing slowness, he pushed forward, sheathing himself fully in the satyr's welcoming heat. Killi's mouth fell open in a silent cry of ecstasy, his body arching to meet Elion's. His hands, still obediently raised above his head, clenched and unclenched in the grass as waves of pleasure washed over him.
Elion set a languid pace, each thrust deep and purposeful. He leaned down to capture Killi's mouth in a heated kiss.
"You're doing so well," Elion murmured against Killi's lips, his hips never faltering in their steady rhythm. "So perfect for me."
The praise sent a shiver through Killi's body, his legs wrapping instinctively around Elion's waist to draw him deeper. Elion allowed it, rewarding the satyr with a particularly deep thrust that had Killi seeing stars.
The forest around them seemed to pulse with their shared heartbeat, the very air thick with the scent of their lovemaking. Leaves rustled overhead, dappling their intertwined bodies with shifting patterns of sunlight and shadow.
Elion's pace gradually increased, his control slipping as pleasure built between them. He braced one hand in the moss beside Killi's head, the other sliding down to grip the satyr's hip with bruising force.
Killi's breath came in ragged gasps, each exhale a barely-contained moan. His arms trembled with the effort of keeping them raised, knuckles white as he gripped fistfuls of grass and wildflowers.
Elion's thrusts grew more urgent, his usually composed demeanor cracking under the weight of his desire. He buried his face in the crook of Killi's neck, inhaling the earthy scent of his lover mingled with sweat and arousal.
"Let go," Elion whispered hoarsely, his lips brushing against Killi's ear. "I want to hear you, sweetling. Let the whole forest know who you belong to."
With those words, the last of Killi's restraint shattered. His cries echoed through the clearing, primal and unrestrained, as Elion drove into him. And finally, like snapping a cord, he unraveled in his lover's hands, all control lost in the heat.
Elion isn't far behind, spilling hot and sticky into him. Leaning against Killi's shoulder, kissing the coarse fur as if it'll bring him back down faster. Elion holds Killi's sides, keeping him present through the trembling high. His thumbs draw slow, anchoring circles into the soft fur just above Killi’s hips, murmuring nothing in particular—just the rhythm of his breath, his heartbeat, a litany of grounding sounds that coax the satyr back from wherever he’d gone.
Killi’s chest rises and falls too fast, but it's slowing. His lips are parted, a flush blooming across his cheeks and curling around his ears. His eyes flutter open for a second, then shut again with a small whine, like even the weight of light is too much.
“I’ve got you,” Elion whispers, bringing his forehead to Killi’s. “Still here, sweetling. Just breathe.”
He doesn’t move to untangle their limbs yet. Not until Killi’s hands—previously clenched in the grass, in his own hair, against Elion’s shoulders—finally go soft, limp with contented exhaustion. Not until the twitch of his tail stills, and he lets out a shaky breath that turns into a quiet, blissed-out hum.
“I should say scandalous things about you,” Killi mutters, slurred with drowsiness. “About what you've done to a poor fey creature like me, defiled in broad daylight. You’ll never marry now.”
Elion chuckles low in his throat and presses a kiss to Killi’s temple. “Then it’s a good thing I already know I’m doomed. I’ll take the fall if you take the nap.”
“A tempting offer…”
But even as he speaks, Killi’s arms are winding around Elion’s middle, pulling him down, closer, tangled. Elion shifts them slowly, curling the satyr into his chest, draping the woven edge of his discarded wrap over Killi’s shoulders like a blanket. The moss beneath them is soft and warm, kissed by morning sun, and the scent of crushed wildflowers wraps around them like the final layer of a spell.
Killi’s hooves kick faintly, settling. His breath puffs into Elion’s collarbone, sleep-heavy and warm. Elion pets slowly along his back, fingers combing through that fine fur, stroking down until Killi sighs again and sinks fully into rest.
Elion stays awake a little longer, watching over him, brushing sweat-damp curls from Killi’s brow, letting himself be nothing but stillness and presence.
The forest hums quietly around them, and for now, nothing else matters.