CONTENT WARNING: sexual content, monster sex
"The… rest?"
The creature nodded and motioned for Pascal to look around him. Many different beasts and monsters kept their distance around the room, hugging the walls or peeking in through the doorways. Eyes of every shape glowing in the dim light; skin colors of every shade twisted and writhed; scales gleaming in the silvery light of a pregnant moon. Curving horns, branching antlers, wicked barbs and spikes reflecting the dim light, and bodies covered in silken fur choked the space of the room and beyond.
All beasts and monsters watched him and the creature before him.
You are here for them as much as for me, the creature told him, gently dropping a hand to Pascal's thigh. You are to be the bride of monsters… one who satisfies not just the Master of this place, but all those who reside within. How you please depends upon the resident.
The creature's dark eyes returned to Pascal. Does that tell you who I am, little lamb?
Pascal slowly nodded. "You're… the master of this place."
I am, the creature replied.
"What— what did you give me when I arrived?"
The creature blinked slowly before he finally said, Our wedding drink. That which binds you to me. That which tells the forest that you are a resident. And you are mine.
"I— do you have a name?" Pascal asked, flushing, as the reality of this place began to crash upon him.
Again, the creature tilted his head. I have no name. My people call me Master. Your people long ago called me God of Beasts. But I have no name.
"May—may I name you? Or is that too presumptuous?"
Another hum rumbled through the creature, and he tried to smile again. You may. Those before you have done the same. What do you wish to call me, little lamb?
Pascal dropped his eyes as he thought carefully, running through and discarding several names. Finally, he ventured, "What about… Daernis?"
When the creature did not respond, Pascal turned to see the god staring curiously at him.
"D-did I say something wrong?"
The god shook his head. No, nothing wrong, little lamb. Just— that was a name another lamb gave me long ago. I did not expect to hear it again.
Pascal smiled slowly and carefully took the god's hand in his. "Then, if it's okay, I'll call you Master Daernis."
The god brushed the back of his knuckles over Pascal's cheek and chuckled. Little lamb, there is no need for you to call me Master. You are my bride and therefore my equal here. You have no Master upon this earth.
Pascal blinked as he processed those words before he shut his eyes and breathed. This, he realized, was the creature’s way of giving him something to control in all this. When he opened them, he looked upon Daernis with new respect and understanding. "Will you… explain to me all my duties as your bride?"
A pleased hum came from the god. He nodded and held out a hand. I will, yes. But tomorrow. Tonight, we complete the union in the way mortals do. Come, I will show you to our rooms.
Our rooms. The simple word had Pascal pinking and biting his lip. He’d only ever shared a one-room hut—barely a house—with his family, and this creature, this god, wanted to share so much more. The implication drove him to distraction—so much so that he hadn't processed the words before it.
As Pascal placed his hand—so much smaller than the god's—into Daernis's outstretched palm, the god's words finally registered. Pascal covered his flaming cheeks with his other hand, far too aware that he appeared a “blushing bride” now more than ever.
Daernis led the way through what looked like a sprawling manor, but where humans would have used paint to cover the walls, lichen and flowering vines served. Instead of the cut stone or processed wood Pascal was familiar with, trees and the earth met the needs of the manor's Master. Creatures of all shapes and sizes skittered along the natural walls, hung from the ceilings, or peaked through archways. Their eyes followed the pair's progress up beautiful stairs of tree and stone, covered in vines, ferns, and flowers.
Thoughts of the marriage bed fled as Pascal took in the wondrous surroundings. Like walking through a fairy's castle, moonlight filtered in from above and created a fantastical starry sky. Luminescent scales, lichen, flowers, and bugs emitted a myriad of lights, giving the impression of a galaxy swirling above them.
Daenris squeezed Pascal's hand as he approached a large set of what appeared to be doors covered in thick vines.
This is our room. You will be comfortable here, the god told him.
Using the hand holding Pascal's, Daenris reached for the odd-looking door. Guiding Pascal, the god parted the vines and revealed the expansive cavernous room. The same natural walls and luminous lichen spread through the space. A bed covered in furs sat supported on twisted roots. Pillows of soft fur and supple leather waited to comfort them.
In the soft glow of the lichen, Pascal turned to face his god-husband. Gathering what courage he could, Pascal reached up on his toes with his free hand and cupped Daenris's cheek.
"Please let me see my husband's true face on my wedding night," Pascal murmured.
Daenris leaned his horned head into the touch and let out a soft sigh.
You are a stubborn little lamb. I can already see, the god replied. He kissed Pascal's palm. Between one breath and the next, Pascal stroked his thumb along the ash-grey leathery skin of the god's face. Black ooze ran down his chin from between his fangs, becoming smoke before it could drip from his skin. Misty trails of ghostly smoke slowly rose from his body as if the humid warmth of the forest could not cool his heated flesh.
Yet to the touch, his skin remained cool.
Truly, little lamb, you are so brave to look upon me with little fear.
Pascal gave the god a small smile, feeling the tiniest pinpricks of pity.
"I see nothing to fear before me," Pascal insisted, "you are to be my husband. No husband should instill fear in their partner. I can already tell you care for each of the humans given to you. It is already unlike anything I was told about you or this forest. So, I am going to proceed with an open mind."
Daenris bowed his head and cupped Pascal's cheeks in his hands, holding the boy's gaze with his. Long moments passed while bone-white eyes searched Pascal's amber eyes.
You are a strange little lamb, the god said.
"Pascal," the ginger-haired boy insisted. "My name is Pascal."
The god's head tilted one way, then the other, even as his fingers tipped with talons ran along Pascal's cheeks. Do you not like it when I call you ‘little lamb?’
Pascal flushed. "N-no, I— I don't mind. I just realized I hadn't introduced myself."
The god nodded and hummed and dropped his hands. He wrapped an arm around the boy's waist and guided him to the bed. With gentle coaxing and humming, Daenris sat Pascal at the edge, then knelt. Even while on his knees, his horns spiraled above the boy. Careful of Pascal's fragile frame, Daenris removed Pascal's boots one at a time. Pascal watched each movement of the creature, forcing his body to relax, to not react without thought. Sensing the bit of tension still remaining in the boy, Daenris gingerly rubbed Pascal's feet. Paying attention to his left foot, then his right, the god massaged the tender muscles in Pascal's feet and ankles. The boy groaned and winced as overused muscles relaxed for the first time in years.
Will you strip for me? I wish to massage the rest of your body. You are very tense, and I wish you to relax, Daenris asked as he released Pascal's ankle.
Swallowing a tremor of anxious energy, Pascal nodded. He tugged his tunic over his head, tossing it to a nearby chair made of vines and roots. Then his fingers went to his trousers, and he flushed, knowing that once they came off, there remained nothing to hide his body from Daenris's eyes.
Does my bride not wish to reveal himself? Daenris teased, running a hand up Pascal's leg.
Pascal snorted. "I'm just… nervous. Never—never been with anyone like this. It was—I only ever lived with my brother and Mum—no one ever… wanted me… like this, I mean."
Daenris tilted his head again, much like a bird. In all my years of little lambs coming to me, I still do not understand the need for hiding one's body.
Pascal raised an eyebrow at that. "But you have a wrap around your waist."
Daenris nodded and hummed, Because of past lambs who would not look at me otherwise. This was the least they asked of me.
Pascal shook his head ruefully. "Well, it's a modesty thing. People got it into their heads a long time ago that being nude wasn't acceptable, especially around strangers and in public. It's only acceptable in certain situations. Like— like between partners."
Yes, I have heard much the same, Daenris replied, his talons plucking at Pascal's pant leg.
"Speaking of the others… you get a new bride every ten years. What happens to me after ten years?" Pascal asked, his fingers working nimbly to unlace his trousers.
I will tell you all you wish to know tomorrow, the god said as his fingers assisted Pascal in tugging off the trousers. Daenris tossed the pants onto the same chair as his tunic before gently pushing Pascal onto the bed.
"That almost feels like you're dodging the question," Pascal muttered as he did as the god instructed. "Like you eat us after you get bored or something."
An amused hum, almost a chuckle, reverberated in the god's chest. He stood and strode to a bedside table with grown-in cubbies. Once he retrieved a small pot, he returned and placed it beside Pascal. Daenris dipped his fingers in the jar and began to gingerly rub and massage Pascal's legs. Your speculation is amusing. Why would I eat my brides?
"Then why get a new one every ten years?"
Because humans are forgetful. Once a year was far too much. Once a century, your people would forget their vow. But once every ten years, my brides live a long life here with everything they need or could ever want. They satisfy the residents. They satisfy me. Is that sufficient to assuage your curiosity for now?
Pascal groaned as Daenris found a knot in his thigh muscle. When he could speak normally, Pascal panted, "Y-yeah. Good enough for now."
Then you will not mind if I change the subject, Daenris said, moving his fingers up over Pascal's hips and to his abdomen. He paused only long enough to retrieve more of the oil before returning his deft fingers to Pascal's body. What do you enjoy eating, little lamb?
"Mmmm, moving to food?" Pascal shut his eyes as Daenris slowly moved the boy onto his stomach. "I like fruit. And meat…"
Do you have a favorite? Daenris rubbed into the boy's lower back, working his way up Pascal's spine.
Pascal groaned again and bit his lip, trying his hardest to pay attention to the conversation. "The— the little red berries... tart with a hint of sweet. They grow on bushes near the edge of the forest— oooh gods, that feels good!"
Another pleased hum. I know the berries well. They grow all throughout the forest. I am pleased you enjoyed them. I'll make sure you have some whenever you like.
Pascal flushed at the words—and the press of strong fingers into his arms. The boy shuddered as those hands moved up his arms and met at his shoulders, digging into the muscles. Pascal groaned and melted into the furs, shutting his eyes as the tension dissipated from his muscles. Each knot Daenris found he diligently worked until the muscle became pliant under his care.
Better? Daenris asked, rubbing at Pascal's neck.
"Ooh, yes. So much better," Pascal murmured, barely managing to prevent himself from dozing after the muscle-melting massage.
Are you perhaps, Daenris began, more willing to be my bride?
For a brief moment, Pascal wasn't sure what Daenris meant. But the god's fingers slowly trailed down his back and traced swirling designs over his flesh. The boy slid his arms under his chest and gripped the furs just under his chin.
"I— I do not really have a choice," Pascal said slowly, "but you have been nothing but kind to me. I cannot say that the idea of—of that—with you repulses me."
But does it appeal to you?
Pascal flushed and dropped his forehead to the furs, sorting through his thoughts. Did sex with the God of Beasts appeal?
On some level, yes. Daenris was kind, clearly able to take care of Pascal, and he didn't mind answering questions. The god didn't scold or yell, and he hadn't hit him yet.
And he was being considerate and waiting for Pascal to be ready.
All things in the god's favor.
But was he ready? The heat building in his crotch at the thought certainly seemed to tell him so.
Taking a slow breath, Pascal realized it didn't matter if he was ready; this was his duty.
"I'm… nervous," Pascal answered, staring holes into the furs, "but, I am ready."
It wasn't entirely a lie.
Daenris gently ran his fingers up Pascal's sides and slowly turned the boy to face him. I have no lips with which to kiss you in this form. Are you certain you would not prefer the other?
Pascal twisted until he was on his knees before the god's sitting form. The boy leaned closer, his fingers hesitantly resting upon Daenris's collarbone. Through long lashes, his amber eyes studied Daenris's dark ash-grey face—and pressed a kiss to the god's fangs.
"I do not need a pretty lie," Pascal murmured, meeting those bone-white eyes, "when I am accepting of the truth."
The god cupped Pascal's cheek and pressed their foreheads together. Oh, my brave little lamb. You try my control.
Pascal blushed and smiled, not at all repentant. "Why do you need control when you are my husband?"
The god's rumbling, amused hum vibrated through Pascal's fingers. Daenris took those fingers in his other hand as he rubbed his thumb over Pascal's cheek. I do not wish to hurt and traumatize you on your first night, little lamb. You would never spread your legs for me after that.
The boy's cheeks darkened, and he bit his lip, taking a moment to breathe even as his cock jolted. Each reminder of what tonight's activities entailed sent shivers of anticipation straight between his legs. Now that he was no longer face down on the furs, the movement caught Daenris's eyes.
I see the thought appeals, the god teased, squeezing Pascal's hands. Then lay back down. I can do nothing if you are not prepared.
Prepared. Pascal had a small idea of what that meant, but he'd never engaged in sexual activities—not even kissed!—so he obeyed Daenris and laid back. The god grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed, lifted Pascal's hips, and slid it beneath the boy. He nuzzled the boy's flesh as his talons ghosted down Pascal's thighs.
You have not experienced this, the god surmised, but surely you have touched yourself before?
Pascal flushed, but he nodded, not sure where this was going.
Daenris plucked the small pot from the bed and showed it to Pascal. If I open you myself, I am liable to hurt you… so you will have to do so. I will guide you through it.
Comments (0)
See all