Who: Oberon and Puck
What: Hot faerie smexin'. Hard R.
Where: The Sleeping Woods, Oberon's bower.
When: After this which led to this.



Oberon had sped back to the woods with all haste. He did not want to cross the paths of any sword wielding Camlannans. He knew Puck was reluctant to just run away from a fight, but he did not trust that they could defeat this king so easily. Oberon was not one to fight so openly what might be resolved with words of diplomacy.

Stopping within close distance of his bower he smirked over to Puck. "Well my, wasn't that entertaining?"

Puck's response was a scowl and a stream of language so foul it nearly curled the leaves of a nearby bush of nightshade. "That...that mortal," he spat, as if the word were the foulest thing he could call the king of Camlaan. "How dare he call you into question?" He was pacing in a small circuit around Oberon, gesturing wildly, wisps of green hair flying about his face as if blown by some invisible storm. "I should have turned him into tree and had him chopped into firewood! And what was that?" Puck demanded of no one in particular. "Magic? He condemns us and yet throws magic in our faces? The nerve!"

He was more amused at the wild gestures than the words because while they rang true; he knew that they had earned any maliciousness the King of Camlann could throw at them. We are not always in the right, dear Puck. In fact we are quite often wrong. He reached his hand out and stroked it idly through the fly about hair when ever Puck came close enough. He'd let him pace a bit longer before pulling him into an embrace and occupying his mouth so that he could rage no more.

As was the way of faeries, Puck found it convenient to forget that they'd caused this whole mess in the first place and not the other way around. As far as he was concerned his mischief had been interrupted and an iron weapon held to his king, his Oberon; neither was to be tolerated. "Mordred has overstepped himself," he hissed, whirling to face Oberon, eyes alight with fierce magic. "Does he not know who you are? The consequences of such impertinence? He should be made to pay for it, leave no doubt in any mortal's mind as to just who is the better king." He was in a fine temper, one barely leashed. One only Oberon had ever been able to either subdue or soothe in one form or another.

"I doubt he knows what kind of wrath he has invoked," the king said lightly, though the words chosen were far weightier than his tone. He pulled Puck close, his arm wrapping tightly around the slim waste. "I would not like you to carry on like this all night, lest you were to carry on about it with me. No one must know of our mischief. The repercussions may be further reaching than we can yet suspect."

The tall, gaunt fae sighed before setting his lips to the soft, green hair. He always craved this kind of contact after a close call. He wanted to be close, wanted someone to touch him and hold him. Everything else followed, the frenzied, tantric sex, the bite marks littering the length of his body. He smiled suddenly and brought his lips close to Puck's ear. He nibbled, just enough to distract his boy from the anger, just enough to cool him and give his words time to sink in.

Though Puck folded himself against Oberon's taller frame easily, his hands clutched less than gentle at Oberon's arms, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise; though he shivered when Oberon exploited that particular weakness of his, lips and teeth working a different kind of magic at his ear, Puck was loathe to be diverted from his ire. It was in the tufts of green that refused to lie still against his head, the restless energy that trembled through his limbs. Or maybe that was just him trembling after all because it really didn't take too long for Oberon's practical magic to work its will. Slowly, Puck's unfocused fury, the wild fly-about hair, settled and the tension radiating from him became that of a different sort. Hands releasing their death grip, pale green fingers began to pet absently, as if Oberon needed the calming rather than himself. "No one can know?" he said at last, words coming soft if still carrying a trace of petulance as his head came to rest against Oberon's chest. And then even that petulance gave way to something else when he added, "A secret, then?" Oh, Puck did enjoy his secrets.

Stretching out before him on a long line to the future was an idea, one he'd been contemplating idly since the move to Pentamerone. This might be the chance he was looking for, that opportunity to provide his means. He smiled, his own secret forming. It wouldn't be long before he would share it with Puck. "Our secret," he affirmed, "Come hell or high water."

And like that, like match smoke in a hurricane, the last of Puck's anger disappeared as if it had never been. The smile he graced Oberon with was small but held a wealth of wickedness and no small edge of satisfaction, the fae's eyes glittering. "Our secret, then," he agreed. One to add to many shared between the two of them, but Puck doubted they shared one so large as this.

"How shall we seal this contract?" he whispered, his desire rising. He kept his eyes focused on Puck, aiming to hide the myriad of ideas running over his mind. Soon enough you'll know all that I desire for us.

"A kiss, perhaps?" Puck suggested with patent coyness. He well knew that particular look in his king's eyes, and his blood warmed in answer, the hands that had been gently petting growing a bit firmer in their touch. "Or would you prefer something a bit more...binding?" Binding, bruising, biting...Any or all would suit Puck just fine.

"Depends on who is doing the binding my boy." Oberon was grinning now as he gazed hungrily. "Kisses are well and good, but I need a little more to hold this promise," he said as he leaned in closely to Puck. His fingers were already running down his back, sliding under his shirt.

His spine flowed like water under Oberon's fingers, grin wide - perhaps disturbingly predatory to anyone who wasn't unseelie - and fingers clutching at Oberon's shirt sleeves almost painfully hard. "Hmm, secrets are hard kept." He struck, viper quick, teeth scraping swift under Oberon's jaw. "Perhaps I should be hard bound to ensure my promise holds true." As if there were any real doubt of that after all this time.

"You will be hard bound," Oberon assured him, hands grabbing small arms and holding them tight, pushing his back up against a tree. "And very hard pressed," he added grinding his hips against Puck's. His lips grazed over the fae's neck, warm and full of want.

A grunt burst from Puck's lips when he struck the tree, rough bark digging into his back through his shirt, Oberon's hips and hands pinning him, holding him fast. And he smiled through it all, lust-slitted eyes and vicious twist of lips that parted to hiss an eager "yesss" before latching on to the fae king's throat, teeth catching skin sharply. The thrill of their mischief, their close call, and the fury that followed coursed through Puck's body still, making his growing desire a heady, entirely animal thing.

Oberon was always a little bit more in his head during this kind of intimacy. Puck could growl and bite, ravage him within an inch of bleeding (and sometimes beyond), but there was always a part of him locked away, making plans and thinking up new schemes. Not that anyone ever seemed to notice. His body and his words never seemed to fail him when it came to this. His hands remained clutched to the tree, pressing Puck's fair skin into the sharp bark. His lips began to rove, if he left Puck to sucking his neck too long he might end up missing a chunk of his own flesh. That was how their attraction ran, rough and sweet, steaming hot and then brutally cold. He was growing eager to have Puck underneath him, not just pinned to a tree and sharing harsh kisses.

Oberon was right about a few things, and less so about others. Puck was well aware of Oberon's constant distraction, even when so engaged in erotic play. He just didn't care. He was getting this, Oberon to himself for even a brief amount of time, his hands and mouth and body all Puck's to do with as he pleased. And Puck, in turn, was Oberon's to do with as he pleased. The young faerie sensed the shift in his king's need clear as it was his own and his legs came up, winding like creeping vines around Oberon's hips and just as tightly. It was with a low, gutteral sound, half demand and half plea, that Puck gave up the taste of the unseelie king's throat for that of his lips.

His grip moving from Puck's wrist to around his body, Oberon moved swiftly and pinned the fae he adored onto the ground amidst the fallen leaves. They crunched as the two faeries moved over them, grinding their dead and dry forms into fine powder. He moaned slightly, a tiny fluttering of breath that vibrated in his throat. His lips were happily captured, his tongue playing at hide and go seek between teeth and cheek. The urge to thrust was becoming harder to ignore and he found his hands moving to rid him of an clothing that remained in his way.

Much as he liked his clothes, Puck hated them dearly at the moment. They separated skin from skin and he fought to free himself from them, hands clashing with Oberon's as they both reached for a button or a zipper. Finally - finally, there was enough flesh bared to allow hot, blessed contact and Puck arched, the sound slipping past his lips into Oberon's mouth soft and sweet, almost needy were it anyone else. His hands climbed their way up the skin of his king's back, burying in the dark strands of his hair and gripping tight enough to sting and, no words were needed - they never were - to get across just exactly what Puck wanted.

I shouldn't wear three piece suits when I'm with Puck, he thought, a little smile tugging at his lips, even as Puck tugged on them. He pulled upwards, long enough to look down upon his companion, a moment of looking before properly commencing. He bit his lip; his desire uncommon tonight. He was hotter now than he had been in years. The very tiny thought of his future plans was beginning to sprout and take hold. His mind was on fire with growth, his body so ready. He was sheathed inside of Puck before he had time to even register it.

Oh sweet hell-- Oberon was in a Mood and Puck was certainly reaping the benefits of it now. His body gave a token protest at that sudden intrusion, a slight tensing of limbs and muscles before welcoming his king inside him completely. There was no muffling the moan Puck let loose at the sharp friction, nor did he try to. Lips already grown swollen from harsh kisses parted on another sound of pleasure as the fae lifted his hips, urging Oberon on, intent on provoking whatever force was driving him that night.

He was moaning already, sharing in the vocal moment as he filled his young lover. No one was as satisfying as Puck. Oberon had never said so out loud, but he thought perhaps Puck knew. Why else would so many of their romps of mischief end tangled in the leaves and each others arms? His thrusting was hard, though slow paced. Tonight was a night to draw things out.

For Puck, an impatient creature at best, it was torture of the best kind. The hint of violence he craved - more often than not, really - but at such a teasing pace. It had the young faerie mewling, swearing viciously in such plaintive tones, nails drawing scratches down Oberon's back even as he surrendered completely to his king's will, to the drive of his body. A foot found itself braced haphazardly against the brittle bed of leaves, providing the leverage Puck need to push himself up into those thrusts, meet them eagerly with the hot clutch of his body and a twist of hips that had made lesser men near weep from the pleasure.

Where Titania could occasionally match his magical prowess, only Puck had ever been able to match him in the bedroom. It was as if he knew instinctively what his king wanted, though Oberon was good enough at communicating. Puck never failed to impress and please, something which kept his lengthy service rather appealing to the faerie king. Icing on a very decadent cake, to be sure. His teeth met a fold of skin near the collar bone, strange animal noises pouring from his body. Blood boiling, body aching, his back arched and his head pulled away as Puck made a particularly delicious twist. He was almost ready to give him the control, almost ready to roll his back into the crushed leaves and let Puck have his way.

Puck was good at reading people - when he had the patience to bother trying. Rarely did he, though, and it often led the faerie to being at cross purposes with many he'd encountered over his long existence. Oberon, however, was the only one Puck knew he could read with nary a thought. Eons of keeping company with the unseelie king had taught him many things, especially about Oberon himself. So Puck could decipher the signs; he understood what each rough sound meant, could read the curve of his king's spine under nimble fingers like braille.

He didn't wait for permission. Legs winding tight around Oberon's hip like constrictors, Puck heaved his body up, rolling them so it was Oberon himself with back flat against their makeshift bed and, bracing his hands on the faerie king's chest, Puck started to ride him within an inch of his life.

Only you, he thought softly, gazing up at Puck in amazement, only you can do this to me. His mind slowed as his body took over. There was far too much sensation to think properly, skin rubbing raw in places, tongue and lips roving over neck. His hands found Puck's hips, pulling him even harder into each thrust.

Harder, he wanted to say. Faster! but the demands were strangled in his throat, snuffed and replaced by harsh cries that rose to the treetops and sent night birds scattering on wing. Even though he'd taken the initiative, even though he was currently the one on top, Puck was helpless, at the mercy of Oberon's sexual appetite and his own. His body strained and bucked, his cries growing to a high keening that was almost like some unearthly song in the depths of the winter forest. His hands held onto Oberon as if he were the only thing real in that world, the only thing that could keep him from shattering, scattering as completely as leaves in a storm. And when he started to shiver, muscles trembling, begging for release, it was Oberon's name that slipped from his lips, the name carrying its own kind of magic in each beloved syllable.

"Puck," he cried in response. In the old days he might yell Robin, a fun name his boy used among the humans. He would never yell Hobgoblin, a nickname so obscene, something he knew Puck hated. Now it was all Puck, the very sound which seemed like a great exclamation of joy. You let me move inside of you as no other. Now let me bring you the sweetest kind of pleasure. His thrusting increased in pace and hardness. He was jerking upward, his body lifting and slamming back into the ground. He'd have nice bruises on his hind end tomorrow; he'd be laying in his bower on his belly for hours, probably attended by some sweet little slip of faerie to rub his sore muscles. Come now Puck. Do not hold out on me.

As if Puck could truly deny Oberon anything. The words may not have been said aloud, but Puck's body must have heard them anyway because it was a bare heartbeat before the faerie was arching, body tensing and holding for a long breathless moment before his voice, a choked shout at first, rose on a wild, ecstatic scream that could have called down the heavens themselves. His hips jerked and rolled as he rode out the throes of his orgasm, making a mess of Oberon's stomach and chest even as his muscles milked the unseelie king in a merciless grip, demanding everything Oberon had to give.

He couldn't remember if it was always this way and he didn't care, not as he came running across the finish line himself bucking out the last that his body had to give. His noises were softer, as if that kind of satisfaction had quieted him. His mind however was still a jumble of thoughts and scenarios. We will ride out this coming storm and cross gallantly on the other side. There was no doubt in his mind that Puck would be his general should this escalate to war. Always at his side, new thoughts and plans, regardless of his servitude which only served to bind them tighter if possible. He grew oddly sentimental, his arms wrapping around Puck as his body relaxed and his pulse settled. "Will you lay with me awhile, in my bower?" he added as he noticed a twig sticking into his back rather uncomfortably. Of all of the bruises his body bore this was probably the least, but enough of an excuse to go snuggle in bed.

Draped across the other faerie's body, sated, limp, and unaware of Oberon's grand plans, Puck snorted softly against his chest, skepticism and satisfaction melding together in the quiet sound. "What kind of silly question is that?" As if Oberon didn't already know the answer. And if he didn't, more fool his king. Though, If Oberon wanted Puck to join him, he was going to have to do all the moving; the younger fae was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to get his limbs to cooperate any time soon.

Oberon smiled and turned slightly to kiss his hair. "Of course," he said gently. "Shall I carry you?" he asked, guessing that Puck's strength had not yet returned to him. He sat up slowly, holding Puck to his chest, almost like a sleeping child.

"Only if you'd like," Puck murmured demurely, nevermind that the faerie would like it very much. Oberon wasn't far off. While Puck could go for hours on end, seemingly having an endless supply of energy, after the night's excitement, he was ready to fall off to sleep like a toddler; all kinetic vivacity dropping off into a pleasant and complete low that would have Puck asleep in moments. Even sooner, wrapped up as he was in Oberon's arms.

Oberon stood with awkward grace, a strange paradox of a thing. He cradled Puck's bottom with his hands and walked at a crisp pace. They were not as far from his bower as he thought. Their clothes were in a forgotten pile that some fae would stumble upon, perhaps a mortal who would wonder at the wearers who left their things so thoughtlessly. He nodded to his attending fae who would know enough to leave him for the night to sleep peacefully. He set Puck into his bed, a luxurious thing with fine fabrics stolen from some castle in their former world. He crawled in after him and lay on his back, gazing into the height of the trees. Only when it was raining did he bother to set a tarp over the bed. Tonight it was clear and cool, dark but for the moon peaking through the branches.

The moon giving his pale green skin a silvery glow, easing that strange part of him that loved the night, Puck gravitated towards Oberon's warmth without waking, seeking in sleep what he craved when conscious and, content at least for a little while, the faerie slipped deeper still into his slumber and dreamt of havoc yet to be wreaked.

Current Mood: calm
Tags: oberon, puck