Page 149 of Shroom for Improvement

The Rhizome Ritual

Sonny

We decided that even though the ley lines were only a five-minute walk from the house, we wanted to get there super early. There were certain things we needed to prep for, and there was a certain tipping point we needed to reach, at a certain critical moment.

Basically, we needed Claude hard and on the brink of coming at the exact point of sunrise. And timings were important because he was not as into edging as I was. He was much more likely to let himself become swept away in the intensity.

The occasion called for timeliness and finesse, and also probably a decent aim.

We took some supplies from Claude’s room and crept through the guest house. John had commandeered Mrs Ziegler’s abandoned chaise longue, but Willow and Oggy were in the same places on the dining-room floor. Someone—most likely John—had placed a blanket over Willow and had given Oggy a sick-bucket, which she was now cradling like a life buoy.

At the ley lines, Claude laid his duvet on the grass beside the tablet. He’d reasoned, since it was squishier, it would be more comfortable than a scratchy woollen picnic blanket. I set one of Claude’s pocket watches on the corner of the duvet so that we could keep an eye on the time. The sunrise was due after four a.m. We had an hour.

Claude and I took off our shoes and lay on our sides opposite each other on the duvet. I let my eyes travel over him and everything he was. His copper curls, his dark skin, his silver freckles, his tummy. I couldn’t stop smiling. He reached his hand out into the gap between us, and I remembered all those times he’d done just that in his four-poster bed. Reaching for my hand in the hopes I’d take it, but I’d been too cowardly.

I took it now. Slotted my fingers between his.

They were soft and warm. No calluses from wielding loppers or secateurs, no dirt lurking under his fingernails, no chipped polish that he reapplied haphazardly while talking on video calls because it gave his idle hands something to do.

We were so different, and yet, I felt the need to be with him at a soul-deep level.

Jenny must have felt it too, because the house had done nothing but push us together. Not that I ever tried to resist, but Claude had, at first. Like for the first three years.

I owed this house so much gratitude.

At about three forty, the birds began their morning fanfare—calling out from every tree, every hedgerow, every inch of the sky. The velvety blue of the night began to lighten in the east, shifting to lilac. The sun was coming.

I figured now was a good time to get Claude hard, and because he was looking a little sleepy, I rolled on top of him and buried my tongue in his mouth. He groaned, rocked his hips upwards, already halfway there. He pushed my hoodie up my back and we paused the kiss to pull it over my head. Themorning air danced over my bare skin, but I would heat up in no time.

We were going to fuck in a barren field at sunrise. I was so happy, I could burst.

“I’ve been looking forward to this moment since the second you told me about the ritual. Even before I knew what it was,” I said. Because this was the type of magic I lived and breathed for, and I would get to share that magic with Claude.

I straddled his lap and undid his shirt buttons—slowly, like a striptease, revealing inch by glorious inch of his body. Claude was hairy, and chubby, and perfect in every possible way. I could spend a lifetime staring at him and never grow bored. I leant down and kissed the delicate skin above his collarbone and worked my lips down his abdomen. Gentle, soft butterfly kisses.

Claude hissed out his breath. His fingers threaded into my hair.

I kissed and nipped and licked a trail down his stomach to his trouser fastenings and slipped the button out of its loop. I might not be able to swallow his cum tonight, but I could at least taste his skin, feel his hot urgency against my tongue.

I peeled down Claude’s trousers then his underpants, freeing his cock, and took him into my mouth. He was entirely too big for this. I almost couldn’t breathe, but I fucking loved every second of it.

Claude panted and cried out. I listened to his cues, made sure I wasn’t about to push him over the point of no return before the sunrise. When I sensed he was getting close, I lifted my head and gazed into his eyes.

“Fucking hell, you’re gorgeous,” he said. “Can I prep you, now?”

The ancient shroom laws made it difficult for us to talk about the ritual beforehand, but we discovered we could discuss sex as long as we didn’t refer to it as “the ritual.” This morningwe’d chatted about what we wanted to do, and had decided condoms would get in the way. I’d washed in the shower earlier and we’d brought lube from his rooms, but Claude would fuck me bare.

In answer to his question, I pulled the loaned PJ bottoms off my legs and passed him the bottle of lube. I wasn’t wearing any underpants because all my pants were in the suitcase still, and I was already hard. He squirted lube into his hands and slicked up his fingers.

“Lie down,” he said. “Knees up.”

I did as he asked. He leaned over me and teased my entrance before sinking his middle finger in.

“My gods,” he huffed, dropping his head to the crease between my neck and shoulder. “You’re so tight. I’m not going to last a second in there. We need to make sure the sun is right there before I fuck you.”

At least, that’s what I thought he said. He was doing that one-fingered prostate massage he’d learned a few weeks ago. The one that turned me into a puddle.

“The sun better hurry the fuck up then,” I said. “I need you now.”

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