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The cave in their field was new.
The gaggle of nymphs went to crowd around it; even with the brilliant morning sunshine, the light failed to penetrate to the black abyss at the very bottom. The stones leading precipitously downward were not of the same warmth and quality as the occasional meadow-boulder left by the ancient glaciers; it seemed not to be a tunnel that ran literally into the ground, but a portal to somewhere else.
“Lampades mischief,” said Sentinel, authoritatively, nodding to himself with satisfaction. He turned and gestured emphatically to Fire and Storm to get the young aurae to stop gawking into the darkness. “Ignore it. It’ll collapse on its own.”
“I see something, down there in the pitch-black, Sentinel, don’t you, there, right there?” Blur said, leaning forward. He outthrust a finger. “There’s a red mark there, something glowing in the depths, something very small.”
“I told you, it’s one of the lampades mischief-making,” Sentinel repeated, stubbornly. “They are the underworld’s torch-bearers, after all. That red thing is one of them with a torch. It’s even more proof of my theory, Blur.”
He grasped Blur roughly around the neck, and pulled him away from the pit. Sentinel was a doughty dryad, big and burly, and used to throwing his weight around against young aurae. Blur was not near as young as Fire and Storm, and he twisted viciously out of the big-fisted hold without issue and pushed Sentinel fiercely away from him.
“This is our meadow, though, should we not send someone to negotiate, to tell them they’re not allowed to raise random caves in the midst of our lands, I happen to know for a fact that there was a warren of rabbits living in that exact spot that this cave is now occupying, and Boreas only knows where they ended up, they’re probably dead, in which case, we will need to exact our pound of flesh for their trespass,” Blur argued, without drawing a breath.
“I’m not a maenad, Blur, I’m not insane enough to go down there,” Sentinel said, with a vigorous head shake. “I don’t mess with the underworld. They’ll get bored and leave.”
“What if it happens again?”
“What do you care, Blur? You’re a breeze-nymph, you can keep floating along no matter what this meadow looks like, or how many caves are in it.” Sentinel made it very clear he was not interested in continuing the conversation; he turned and stalked off, bullying Fire and Storm to follow behind him and into the nearby treeline.
Blur sought Cliff’s gaze, but the scarlet-skinned oread was likewise distracted. No— Cliff was intentionally avoiding him, attending to some stony caern he was building. Metal-Hawk was cruising on a distant thermal far overhead, streamer-thin wings billowing in the sun. Jazz, a naiad, was minding his stream and enjoying the rhythmic babbling of the water. There was no one else to seek support from, and he suspected a conversation with any of the other nymphs about security, safety, and information wouldn’t have gone his way, regardless.
Blur sat down at the cave entrance, lifting up a stone; he weighed it in his hand, and then threw it into the dark. He closed his eyes and counted the seconds.
One, two, three… clack. Blur was a breeze nymph, swift and light, and all he’d needed to know was that there was a bottom to the narrow chasm.
That red light glittered invitingly. It was calling to him, almost. The lampad, if indeed it were one of Hecate’s torch-bearers, was almost mockingly brazen about its presence beneath their meadow.
He plunged down into the dark; riding on air currents he slowly descended, deeper and darker. His bare feet touched the ground, and he gave a muffled gasp; the stone beneath him was glassy smooth and icy cold, almost stinging at first. The more he moved the more he adjusted, but an immediate chill swept through him. This was an unnatural coldness; perhaps the cave was made from ice? He could only see anything in the dark due to his own glowing eyes, blue light making eerie shadows of the cave’s smooth contours.
He became aware of a presence. An animal. Blur, as a rule, got along well with animals. Birds, deer, wolves, mice, rabbits; fleet-footed (or winged) creatures were in his wheelhouse, as an aura specializing in swiftness.
Blur turned his head, and jumped as six red eyes stared out at him in the darkness. It was a hound of some kind, coal-black, only visible in the darkness due to the glossy coat reflecting Blur’s gaze. It had three heads, three necks, bulging outward from its wide shoulders.
“Are you the master of this place?” Blur asked. Gods and other spirits took the form of animals often, particularly unconventional animals, like a three-headed dog. It was best to be respectful. “I tread lightly in your domain, four-legged friend, I come only to ensure that this place is not a danger to the valley that I am obligated to nurture and protect.”
It did not answer him. Two heads turned to gaze forward, while one lingered on Blur.
Blur followed its head, watching where it was watching. There was a large chamber up ahead, the cave he was in opening up to a massive hollow cavern. In the midst of the open cave, there was an upraised platform surrounded by a sharp drop straight down to who-knew-where— certain death, most likely. On the platform was a large, pale tree— just about the last thing he expected to see growing down here.
There was a thin land bridge from where he stood to the tree, and he slowly- carefully- paced its length. The dog trailed after him, nails clicking quietly on the icy ground.
Light came from overhead, weak and sickly and white, getting stronger the closer Blur came. The tree had a single round fruit, red and luminous and shiny, literally glowing. It was what he had seen earlier; this he was sure of, now.
“Oh,” Blur said, softly. It would not hurt to pay a compliment to such an unusual, unlikely beauty. “It’s beautiful, it’s the most gorgeous fruit I’ve ever seen, I’ve never seen such a tree before, nor such a fruit, that color is beyond compare…”
The tree was a barren skeleton, completely without leaves, appearing to have braved harsh winter with one fruit remaining.
It was cold, and getting colder, as he approached the bone-white tree and its improbable fruit. His breath plumed in a little white cloud, and he took quicker steps, to avoid leaving the bottom of his feet on the ground for too long.
“Is this the last one of the year?” Blur asked, hesitating under the boughs. “Spring thaw has not reached this place yet, I see, I can certainly feel Boreas’s touch along my flesh down here, even though up above it is warm, there are bees and buds opening and birds crooning; perhaps you would like to come back with me, to our meadow, and feel the sunshine on your fur.”
The hound remained resolute. One muzzle lifted, eyes fixed on the fruit.
“The people up there leave much to be desired, though,” Blur continued, with a quiet, emboldened titter. “Perhaps you’ll think they’re better company, but I don’t like them much, truth be told, they wouldn’t even come down with me, and when I suggested trying to defend our home Sentinel struck at me, as if I were some green-around-the-stem dryad sapling.”
The dog hefted itself up, placing its two giant heavy forepaws on the tree’s trunk. It was built thin in the belly, almost emaciated, but its shoulders and fetlocks and paws were enormous and muscled. Pale purple fur, glossy and short, dusted along its chest and faces; a pair of small nubs, like badly disbudded horns, rose from the middle head.
Pale claws dug into the paper-white bark. Its gaze never retreated from the fruit.
“Do you want it?” Blur asked. The jaws on its middle head parted slightly, fangs emerging, purple tongue visible in the light. Saliva was pooling, a strand gathering between its jaws. “You look hungry, my friend.”
Blur was always weak for animals. They were often easier to be around than other nymphs.
“Are we allowed to take it? Swear to me, hound, that we have permission to take this fruit.”
The dog’s jaws closed. The two auxiliary heads gazed at him, the red fire in them burning bright and clear.
Blur reached and picked it from the branch. The tree shuddered for a moment with the motion of removal.
Blur sat with his back to the trunk. He took his thumbs, peeling the delicate crown of the fruit open, and with a forceful pull, it split in half.
There were dozens of tiny little red gemstones inside, filling either half like a broken geode; parts of the fruit, Blur gathered, but he had never seen their like before.
He gave the dog both halves, presenting them in either palm.
“Eat, hound,” Blur said. “You’re much too thin, and this will help you, if you’re hungry, please eat.”
One head took half of the offering, but refused the other.
“Is this side not good for eating?” Blur asked. “I am sorry, I didn’t know, I’ve never seen such a thing before.”
The dog shook its head slightly. It nudged him with his snout, pushing the broken fruit towards him.
“Oh— for me?” Blur asked, surprised, but also a little flattered it had wanted to share. “No, if you’re still hungry, no, I have plenty of food up above, it will not bother me to not eat, if you need it, not much appears to grow here.”
The dog gave him a piteous look; it shifted around, laying at his side, and stuck its heads in his lap. It crunched on the fruit, flesh and fruit and pith and rind alike, but it would not accept another offering.
Blur stroked its silky fur, caressing neck and flank, enjoying the heat it radiated in the cold. When he pet too low, he could feel its ribs through its pelt, and that perturbed him.
“Eat just a little more?” Blur asked. He broke a seed off the pith, offering it to the dog; after a beat of hesitation, it licked it right out of his palm. Its tongue was warm, and tickly, in the cold air.
Emboldened by the dog’s willingness to eat, the process repeated. Over and over again, it licked his hand clean while Blur stroked its flank and said soft things to it.
“Last ones?” Blur offered. It put a paw under his hand, lifting his palm up to his own face. “Ah, I see; alright, you want me to share, I suppose there are so few that it will not hurt, and I do not want to refuse your desire for kindness.”
He put a seed in his mouth, half-expecting to break his teeth on a tough little gemstone. It was juicy, for such a small thing; the seed inside gritty but sweet as he swallowed. His tongue tingled, half-numb, half sour-sweet with the flavor.
He had the remainder of the fruit. There were twelve little ruby pearls left, eleven, pleasant on his tongue and resting easy in his belly. The very last one he gave to the dog.
“At least I know it’s safe for the meadow,” Blur commented, speaking mostly to himself. “There’s no lampades down here, at least, but I worry about what this place portends, appearing like this, I am very sorry, dog, but I will need to go now, perhaps I could bring you more to eat another time.”
He gently shifted the dog’s heads from his lap; it had fallen asleep, to Blur’s eyes, but it was suddenly bolt awake.
“My love,” it said, speaking from all its heads, “please don’t leave me yet.”
There was a sudden transformation— the dog seemed to lengthen, body twisting, heads fusing together. Silver claws lengthened into perfect blades, and its shoulders and thighs grew treaded, crocodilian scales; those nubby horns extended into a rack of thick, gleaming antlers. Three heads became one, and six eyes turned to a single luminous red orb the size of Blur’s closed fist.
Blur’s mouth yawned open in shock— he darted to his feet, flattening his back against the tree. The massive thing loomed over him.
“You were kind to me, an animal,” the being said, mellifluous tones humming through the air. “You spoke to me softly, with respect. You fed me because I was hungry. You came here alone to defend your home because you wanted safety for those in your meadow. You did not take any food until I insisted, and would not take the fruit until you asked for permission from its owner.” It shuddered. “You have passed my tests. You will be my spouse, nymph.”
Blur stared at the apparition, twice his size, and shivered; without the dog to keep him warm, the cavern’s cold air rushed over his flesh.
“Who are you?” Blur asked.
“Is it not obvious?” It asked, spreading its claws. The darkness loomed; Blur could see a million spots of light dancing on the walls, millions of gemstones embedded in the surface gleaming in the light. Skeletal hands reached out from inside the rock, weird and translucent, as if he were looking at a body trapped in resin.
No, not a body.
Millions of bodies.
Millions of jewels.
“Oh,” Blur said, unable to keep himself from shaking. “Oh, no…”
“I will be wedded to you,” purred the Underworld’s sovereign. “As soon as possible. You are perfect for me.”
“No! To move to the underworld will be the death of me!” Blur was in half-hysterics, frightened. “I am a nymph! I need sunshine, grain, flowers, bees! I cannot be betrothed to the king of the Underworld, to Ha—”
“Shh!” The god warned. A hot flicker of red light ran through the walls, the gaping skeletal faces of the damned suddenly made black and freakish in the hellish light. The intensity dimmed, but the red glow seemed to throb restlessly, like a living being. “You must use an alias, my love, or you will attract attention. No one says the names of the gods without an offering. You may call me Shockwave.”
Blur’s eyes were beginning to grow wet. “I want to go home!”
“Do you?” Shockwave asked. “You told me yourself that you hate the company of the nymphs around you. They let you come down here alone to die to a lampad, my love.”
“I need the sky, I need the sun,” Blur hiccuped, shaking his head.
“Are either of those things required for a breeze, little aura? You are not a delicate flower, who needs rain and sunshine and soil and bees to sustain yourself; where there is hot and cold, there is a breeze. The underworld is a crucible of hot magma and cold air. The child that is made from the union of temperatures is wind. You will be nourished; this is a home that will tolerate you. I will make sure of it.”
Blur wiped his cheeks, breathing still broken and staggered. Shockwave gazed upon him, single red eye alive with interest and a small amount of pity. He reached out, grasping Blur around the waist; he shuddered, turning his head away. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of; he didn’t think Shockwave was going to kill him, certainly not, but the idea of such a staggering change scared him. Shockwave threaded together his claws, making a seat for Blur’s rear and thighs to rest upon, and held him against the barren fruit tree.
Shockwave nuzzled him. His cervine head touched Blur’s shoulder and neck, wet nose drawing along his cheek and the elongated swoop of his cranium, following the pluming trail of ‘wind’. Blur reached out, holding his head, clasping the god’s face to his breast.
“Something has hurt you,” Shockwave said, a thin tongue coming out to run along the back of Blur’s neck. “Your throat is swollen.”
Blur shuddered. “A dryad from my meadow— he grabbed me there a short time ago.”
“It’s starting to bruise,” Shockwave’s words were neutral. “Are there other injuries?”
“That— that dryad gets physical with the young nymphs often, I know I’m not exactly a young nymph anymore but he treats me like one, he shouts and hits because no-one listens to him otherwise, so, yes, I do have a few more, but they heal quickly, all nymphs heal quickly.” It was a primary reason Metal-Hawk spent so much time in the air, and why Cliff pretended to be deaf whenever there was an argument, and why Jazz rarely left his stream except to intercede when Sentinel exploded. It was even the reason why Fire and Storm trailed on Sentinel’s every word, never arguing or disagreeing.
It was safer that way. For all of them.
Shockwave’s snout touched a bruise on Blur’s wrist. Blur breathed heavier.
“I still like— living there, Sentinel is the only problem, I was born on the mountain breezes that slope into that valley, I’ve never been underground before—”
“And yet you came down here without issue. You traversed the cave nicely. You’ve adjusted to the cold. You aren’t shivering anymore, even bare-footed.”
Blur sputtered, off-foot. “You’re— you’re very warm, is all, if you put me down I’d probably be trembling again in moments—”
“And you’re wearing almost nothing,” the god said, his tone warm and teasing. His tongue flitted out again, crossing Blur’s collarbone, and the nymph gave a weak gasp. The tongue dipped lower, along his chest, a firm wet lick teasing his breast and making a nipple stand at a peak.
“Nymphs d-don’t— wear clothes!” Blur squeaked. “We don’t need them!”
“And that makes you very vulnerable to my touches, doesn’t it?” Shockwave’s voice implied a smile. He licked the other one, and Blur felt a rush of heat welling through his stomach and seeping through his torso to his limbs. His length was starting to swell between his legs, and, of course, that did not go unnoticed. Shockwave’s nostrils flared in a sign of pleasure.
His head lowered, mouth opening, and—
Blur gave a broken moan, hips bucking upward. Shockwave took the entire length with ease, tongue deftly massaging the underside as it stiffened to its full hardness inside his mouth. The god’s regal head dipped up and down, servicing Blur’s member with ease, sucking leisurely. It was all Blur could do to grip onto Shockwave’s bone-white antlers with both hands and hold on for dear life.
Heat was shooting through him, lightning arcs of pleasure following the contour of his spine as he bucked and writhed in Shockwave’s tender hold. His entire length felt molten, Shockwave’s mouth deliriously wet and warm and tight, his ministrations perfect and precise. Sweat was beading on Blur’s azure skin, his body absurdly hot in spite of the bone-deep chill in the cave. His breath was puffing with each jagged pant, making repeated wet clouds in front of his face.
The sheer suddenness of Shockwave’s motions were shocking. Blur’s belly was burning with heat, thighs restlessly shifting and squirming from the stimulation, squeezing the god’s antlers with arrhythmic desperation he could not control. His abdominal muscles contracted, clenching and unclenching. Heat welled inside of him, the sensation travelling from belly to chest, like he was a log being hollowed out by a kindling flame.
His mind was fogging, and his squirming gradually became more effective— no longer mindless, random movement, but intent and purposeful, working together with Shockwave to bring further ecstasy. His hips bucked smoothly, canting forward and back to match Shockwave’s steady bobbing rhythm. Blur’s moans of pleasure came gurgled, strangled by sensation, by desire, by movement.
Shockwave gave a pleased rumble. The sucking pressure he provided became more intense, pulling harshly against Blur’s length. Lightning flickered up his spine, or what felt like it anyway, and he tipped his head back for a quiet keen.
He could not bear this- the ecstasy, the intensity- for long. Blur’s mouth fell open and he gave a thin shriek as he succumbed. Shockwave swallowed a few times around his length, almost teasingly milking him in the midst of his completion. He seemed to have had no objections to swallowing the nymph’s spend.
After a beat, when Shockwave began to feel Blur’s length soften in his mouth, he pulled off. He licked his lips, purple tongue gleaming briefly as it traveled along the slash of his mouth, amethyst-dark and wet.
Blur was still trembling, skin broken out in gooseflesh; heavy contentment, satiation, filled him from foot to scalp. His softening length throbbed sedately, little pulses of pleasure slowly diminishing. He was tired, though not completely spent, and he wasn’t sure what to do, or say, in the afterglow. He’d never had someone treat him this way.
“You are beautiful,” the god rumbled, nuzzling Blur again. He lifted Blur a little higher; it was not over, Blur realized, with a hot pang through his nethers. He was mortified at the fact that he was delighted that there would be more.
Shockwave’s snout nuzzled around his entrance. Blur’s thighs twitched, one leg kicking out weakly. It was not a protest; mere inexperience with having this part toyed with. Shockwave’s tongue licked through his folds, not yet trying to lap deeper, but attention to his clitoris made Blur shiver and whimper.
“Are you a virgin?” Shockwave asked, after a beat. It was a conversational tone, said with mild curiosity.
“No!” Blur squeaked, indignantly. Then, quickly, “Does that change anything? Will you only marry if it’s a virgin? No nymphs are virgins!”
“Oh, no, my love. My decision to wed you is final. You could have had a thousand partners and a thousand children; that changes nothing for me. It is for clarity, not to shame you. Let me ask in a different way: you’ve used this,” Shockwave said, bumping his nose affectionately against Blur’s softened shaft, “but what about this?” His tongue licked a stripe between Blur’s mounds, and the nymph’s breath was strangled in his lungs.
“N-no…” Blur admitted, timidly. He let go of Shockwave’s antlers, not needing the grip anymore. “I— I have penetrated nephelae at celebrations during the equinox, when Zephyrus’s western winds bring spring rain, we have a practice of ritual intercourse, in the sense that we mate mid-air, and then that union prompts precipitation.”
Shockwave’s head was cocked slightly, listening intently, the pose strangely doggish— or perhaps not so strange, given the disguise he had taken prior. “Nephalae? Your cloud cousins?” He gave a hearty laugh, like the vibration of an earthquake. “Your semen brings rainwater for the farmers’ crops, little nymph. I’m sure if the humans knew the origin they would hesitate before eating.”
Blur’s cheeks went a shade of bluish-purple, the darkest blush he could manage. He averted his eyes, profoundly mortified.
“I liked the taste, my love,” Shockwave assured. “I would love to have it again… and again… and again.”
Blur pushed at him without any real strength or malice, huffing in embarrassment.
“Will you let me try this, though?” Shockwave’s snout prodded his lower groin again. Blur’s toes curled. “I recognize your inexperience with this area. I will be gentle.”
Blur should have said no. This god intended to marry him, to take him away from the surface; he had no idea if he would ever see the sun and stars again.
But he had been gentle, and caring. And he was not wrong; a spirit of the air would not wither and die away from the sunlight in the same way that a plant spirit would’ve.
“You may,” Blur murmured, lips tight. “Do you intend— are you wanting to impregnate me? Do you want heirs?”
“Not until after our marriage.” Shockwave reassured him. “And it will be a grand marriage, my love. The wedding to end all weddings.”
Blur huffed. “Hm! You don’t even know my name, Shockwave, but you have ideas for our wedding already designed in your mind?”
That stalled Shockwave. His gaze fixed on Blur, vacant and glassy. He was stunned, just as embarrassed as Blur had been. His mouth parted, nares flaring slightly as if scent would bring him Blur’s given designation.
“I may have gotten carried away prematurely,” Shockwave admitted, sheepishly. It was the first time Blur had seen him anything other than self-assured and smooth. “...Will you tell it to me, my love?”
He took pity on the god.
“Blur.”
“Blur,” Shockwave hummed, contentedly. His snout burrowed forth, finding Blur’s slit again, and his tongue made a thin stripe along the tender, quivering flesh. Blur immediately shuddered, muscles in his legs contracting. The god did not leave, however; he stayed in that spot, head buried between Blur’s thighs. His tongue spooned out, lapping shallowly against outer petals of his sex, then delving deeper.
His wet nose rubbed against Blur’s clitoris as he lapped, sending sparks of pleasure shooting down his thigh-bones and roaring up his spine to tap straight into his brain. Fire was licking through his midsection, a blaze built up from the dying embers of the previous encounter. His back arched, pressing his pelvis into Shockwave’s face, wanting the god’s tongue deeper. It was so smooth, so supple, so good as it ran through him… each lick was a little wave of pleasure, like a ripple in a pond, passing through his flesh.
“I—” Blur tried to say, quaking slightly, “I want you— nhhh— to feel good, too, I’m being s-selfish…”
“It is not selfish to take if it is given freely,” Shockwave assured him, lifting his muzzle to leave a small lick against Blur’s nub. It made him twitch and take a much heavier breath. “Seeing you like this, my love, I feel fantastic. Do not worry. I will reap my… physical rewards on our wedding night.”
That shot a sharp zap of heat through Blur’s body— even his softened length twitched in arousal. His heady, fuzzy thoughts turned to the giant, powerful god laying him out gently on a downy marital bed after an elaborate ceremony. He wondered what Shockwave’s undoubtedly monstrous length would look like, how good it would feel inside him, if Shockwave would want things hard and fast or slow and gentle, what he might look like in ecstasy, if he would let Blur on top to ride him, if he would press Blur to the bedding and make him take it, if he would tear off the wedding clothes and delicate jewelry, snapping chains and scattering gems to get prize unwrapped and bare as quickly as possible—
Shockwave’s tongue pressed inside, lapping at sensitive inner walls with an almost curious affectation, intent on exploring moreso than racing Blur to a quick conclusion. Blur was wet, he knew, intensely wet from the thoughts that were swirling through his mind. A moment later Shockwave pulled up, lips around Blur’s clitoris, offering a gentle sucking pressure and a tongue passing firmly against the nub every so often. Blur, already sharply piqued by vivid imaginings of their wedding night (how quickly he had gone from dreading it to wishing it were here!), gave a sharp cry and threw his head back. He balled his hands into fists, breaths jagged, almost sobs of pleasure.
(Would he let Blur penetrate him? Could he sit between the giant god’s thighs, hold his hips and back, and thrust into him, the way he would’ve for a nephele? Was he too prideful for that, thinking that being penetrated made him weak or effeminate? Would he feel good? Would he tremble with ecstasy and need, the way Blur was right now?)
“I want— to see—” Blur moaned, piteously. He was hiccuping almost, barely able to speak betwixt panting and moaning. “Your— your…”
“I know what you want,” Shockwave said, quietly.
His tongue withdrew; Blur gave a piteous cry, twisting, feeling empty and unloved without Shockwave’s tongue gently caressing his slit and working his nub. There was a beat of hesitation, but Shockwave lowered Blur, until their hips were nearly level— a slick, purple length had emerged from the depths of the cloak and his fur. It was mottled with black streaks and spots, arrow-shaped, long and shining slightly, either wet or a little metallic. It was proud, hard, a little vein pulsing steadily to the beat of Shockwave’s heart.
“I want it,” Blur mewled, wanting his vividly-imagined fantasies to come to fruition, “I want—”
Shockwave shook his head in denial. Blur grit his teeth and groaned, his slit throbbing, wanting a return to the excellent stimulation it had been getting.
“Why do you refuse me? I want to give you pleasure!” Blur said, protesting. “I want this!”
“No,” he said. “Our children will not be bastards. They will be heirs. Proper heirs. I won’t lie about when they were conceived, or they will be seen as illegitimate. I will wed properly.”
Blur’s mind worked feverishly to work out a solution— and he came to one.
Blur quickly swung his legs forward— he wrapped them around Shockwave’s hips, anchoring his knees against the slight swell of his waist. He shifted his hips, positioning himself properly…
It was not exactly dignified, but he rutted. He slid his body against Shockwave’s member, running the lips of his sex against the underside of Shockwave’s length in sharp little jerks. It was undignified, humping, but Shockwave did not seem to protest. His singular eye went dim, closing slightly in bliss. He must have enjoyed it; he rocked forward, gently, small exhalations starting to leave him. He saw the loophole, and had no objection to exploiting it.
“No— no children, this way,” Blur affirmed, the effort of getting those five words out making him feel almost light-headed from lack of air. Shockwave had some small ridge, a bump, something, on the underside of his member, which was rubbing against Blur’s clitoris with every frantic wiggle and thrust of his hips. The contact against the burning heat of his sex felt insane, especially when Blur could move as fast as he wanted— he abused himself until stars sparkled in front of his eyes, until his whole body was shaking like it was about to fall apart, until he could barely breathe or think or move.
He came, again. It was so intense that he was momentarily insensate. A warm blanket of darkness, heat and satiation and love and bliss, was shrouded around him— it struck him deaf, dumb, blind, practically dead, but for the pulses of ecstasy traveling from his midsection.
When he came to, Shockwave was cradling him in his arms. He lifted Blur’s limp form to his head, and pressed a kiss against his chest, then shoulder, then cheek, then temple.
“I love you, my little aura,” Shockwave said, quietly. “My little Blur. You did so well for me. You are so pretty, in ecstasy.”
Blur’s whole groin was tingling with overstimulation. He closed his thighs, shuddering, as even that minute motion sent a spike of bliss through him because of his swollen nethers. He felt like he couldn’t even walk, he was so exhausted. He was grateful the god of the dead was able to carry him.
“Did you,” he began to ask, too fatigued to finish his question in due haste. Shockwave nodded in the affirmative, soothing him with a nuzzle.
It was probably a lie, just to make Blur feel better about mutual reciprocation…
… but Blur swore, on their wedding night, he would pay Hades back twice over.