Page 43 of Prince of Flowers
“Enough,” Sylvain said, drenched and dripping, hair stuck to his forehead again. “I yield. For now.”
I shook my head, chuckling. “You know, back when I cast the Pact of the Unknown — when I found you in the forest? This wasn’t what I was expecting at all.”
Sylvain furrowed his brow. “You mean when you abducted me in the midst of my travels.”
“Don’t start.” I stretched my arms out, sighing. “We’re having such a nice time, too. A little break before something bursts out of the foliage to try and kill us again.”
“Hmm. Nice. Yes. I would have preferred bathing with a goblet of wine in hand. Don’t you have any in that rucksack of yours?”
“I don’t carry wine around for questing, Sylvain. I’d rather keep my head clear in case we run into danger. And besides, I’m not really much of a drinker.”
Sylvain threw his hands up in frustration, splashing more of the water. “Well, there has to be some way to make this more festive. Ah. I wonder. Perhaps this.”
He snapped his fingers. My eyes grew wide as flowers bloomed on the surface of the water, petals unfurling, like pink and red stars. He’d conjured them out of nothing, caused them to grow out of thin air — or water, as was the case. Sylvain laughed triumphantly, clapped once.
“Even here they obey me. Wonderful.”
“They’re beautiful. This is amazing. But oh, would you look at that? I can’t help noticing there are far more flowers on your side of the pool than mine.”
He groaned. “Always something with you, isn’t there? I can’t help it. The flowers love me. I am their prince.”
A prince of flowers, huh? How very fae, truly, in every sense of the word. I didn’t voice my thoughts, but the title suited Sylvain just fine. He was beautiful, almost impossibly so, his fragrance intoxicating, whether he was clean or soaked in sweat.
He’d sooner die than admit it, but as strong as he was on the outside, built to fight and to kill, Sylvain was the most fragile person I knew. Yet it didn’t make me pity him, or even dislike him. There was a tenderness within him, a softness that lived behind all his sulks and pouts.
“Fine. Here. I’ll bring you some of your own bloody flowers.”
Sylvain stood up, gathering handfuls of the new blossoms in his hands. Apparently, in contrast to his hidden softness, there was a hardness, too. Right below his waist. A great, big hardness. Huge. It wavered as he worked, droplets of water falling back into the pool each time he leaned over to collect another flower.
“Gods above and below, Sylvain. Put that thing away.”
His laughter was boisterous, almost a bark. “Has a mind of his own, he does.”
I sent daggers at him with my eyes, staring between the gaps in my fingers. “I can’t — why are you even this hard? What the hell, Sylvain?”
He cocked his hip to the opposite side, the simple, completely innocent bit of body language made so unbelievably vulgar by the twitching of his cock, the rippling of his muscles.
“Maybe he knows that I see something I like.” He looked down at himself and shrugged. “You obviously know that you’re a good-looking fellow, Locke. I know that. My cock knows that. And the two of us are very curious as to what you’re planning to do about our predicament.”
It was a compliment, but one couched in so much filth. I wasn’t exactly a prude, but no one had ever talked to me like that before. And I hated just how fucking much I loved it.
The water sloshed as he approached. I backed away, then discovered, remembered I had nowhere to back away to. I stayed rooted to the spot, glancing away from his cock, looking again to memorize it for later, for when I could finish myself off, glancing away again.
“You did say you wanted to have a nice time,” he said, a wildcat’s purr, a murmur.
I held a stern finger up. “I said we were already having a nice time.”
“Ah. That’s actually true. But as nice as this is, are you saying that a little physical intimacy between friends wouldn’t improve it even more?”
I swallowed thickly, entranced, incapable of tearing my eyes away. Gods, it was so hard that it pointed at an angle up into the canopy. This man would split me in half.
“I — I didn’t realize we were friends,” I said, my stomach dropping in disappointment. I felt stupid. What was I even expecting? He was an eidolon. I was a summoner. That was that. “And what’s this about physical intimacy?” I added, my mouth parched.
“Oh, don’t be so coy,” he said, a hand on his hip, even the slightest motion making his cock twitch.
But it was right there, staring me in the face, throbbing in defiance. Sylvain leaned his hips forward, his cock bobbing, looking ridiculous and beautiful, flowers in each hand, turgid and rock-hard and ready.
I couldn’t help myself. I reached out, ran my fingers under his balls, getting harder as he chuckled. I wrapped my hand around his cock. Sylvain sighed. The flowers fell from his hands and into the water. He moaned, the sound of a man tasting his favorite dessert, indulging in his favorite thing in the world.
