Page 23 of Rumpelstilzchen

When he found his strained cock, he mirrored the hold and squeezed his base tightly. His hips jerked and his knees buckled, but the leather-clad finger that depressed his tongue gave him no alternative but to remain upright. The sensations were strong, almost overwhelming, and Boy didn’t know how to manage them. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—close his eyes, because he needed to see what the man did next. He also couldn’t clench his jaw because he didn’t want to bite the finger that had invaded his mouth.

On an exhale, Boy surrendered. He didn’t want to fight against it.

The Queen’s Shadow stroked up his length to the tip, where he rotated his wrist expertly before he slowly and firmly dragged his hand back down. Boy copied. He almost drowned in the new sensation; he’d never worked himself this slow before.

On the next stroke, he noticed the way the other man positioned his thumb to press along the vein on the underside, and he was eager to follow. He couldn’t hold in the moan and his eyes flashed closed by themselves.

He repeated this corkscrew motion a few more times, and Boy’s muscles tensed like a bowstring. When the spit-soaked finger in his mouth withdrew and joined the Shadow’s other hand to tug on his balls with a claw-like grip, Boy thought he might come on the spot.

How did he not know so many of these things felt so good? Having his nipples and navel played with had awakened a deep-seated desire in his core. Dragging his thumb over his head and twisting his palm to slick himself up had made him dizzy, but tugging on his balls like this made him cross-eyed.

Boy’s hips bucked some more, and he came on a cry. His eyes were scrunched tight, but his vision still turned white. His breaths were full and long but burned his throat. His body felt heavy and low, yet it tingled and vibrated with need. He’d never orgasmed so hard in his life.

He barely felt the hand that pressed between his shoulder blades and lowered him to the floor. Had hardly opened his eyes before the shadows carefully rolled him over onto his back, and had just enough time to open his mouth before his Shadow—not the Queen’s—dropped to one knee over the top of him and ejaculated over his chest, neck, jaw, and lips. Some strung over his eyelashes too, but through his one clear eye he saw the ecstasy written over the geist’s face, and the image burned itself into his mind.

thirteen

Rumple

‘Mine,’ Rumple thought fiercely.

The image of Boy laid out and spent beneath him satisfied Rumple in a way nothing else ever had. When the tip of Boy’s tongue peeked out, searching and gratefully swallowing down whatever he found, Rumple realised he wasn’t ready for this to end. It wasn’t just that Boy housed his Heart, it was more than that. He brought his other knee down so that he straddled Boy’s hips, and rubbed his release into Boy’s skin like it was luxury oil imported from the neighbouring kingdom of Hallin.

In exchange for their lives, Rumple was used to people wanting to strike a deal, then always—always—reneging. It was why he’d long stopped entertaining such pleas. Humans, as profoundly unmagickal beings, were not bound by the same Laws of Magick as he was.

Rumple’s gloved hand slid up Boy’s cum-slicked chest until he reached over the top of his pounding heart. But this human had made no such attempt. Twice now, he would have died, and yet the thought of asking Rumple to use his magick to spin the golden thread likely hadn’t even crossed his mind. Boy believed his death was serving a greater purpose, and wanted nothing more in return than that his siblings would be spared death by starvation. That level of devotion, loyalty, and bravery appealed to Rumple—filled an emptiness inside him, and restored his hope.

Boy had followed Rumple’s every command, and even now, debauched as he was, Rumple suspected that he could demand even more from Boy, and he would give it.

Testing his theory, he knee-walked higher, his heavy and half-hard length trailing up Boy’s chest until he was positioned over his shoulders. His thighs pinned Boy’s arms to his sides. Rumple held his gaze, then commanded, “Clean me.”

Boy didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look away despite the fresh round of crimson that flooded his cheeks. Didn’t try to speak, push Rumple off, or clamber out from his vice-like hold. Instead, he opened his mouth as wide as he could and sucked on the sensitive tip as though he’d been waiting for the opportunity.

No, his human wasn’t like anyone else Rumple had ever met.

The appreciation he was being shown was tantamount to worship. Other magick users, he knew, drew their power from the strength of human devotion, and Rumple had always thought that to be their greatest weakness. Now that he had experienced it for himself, it was as if a key had opened a lock somewhere deep inside him. This simple action, done at his own behest, would have consequences the likes of which Rumple knew he would never fully recover from.

He forcefully dragged his gaze from the desirous view of Boy’s puffy lips as they placed soft kisses to the underside of his cock and sucked at his foreskin, and looked out of the window above them. The moon, high and bright in the sky, announced with unsettling finality just how much time had passed while he had indulged in his Boy. Only a few hours remained until sunrise. This time last night, he had used his shadow magick to lull Boy to sleep and then slipped out under the cell door. But not tonight.

He lowered his mostly soft cock fully into Boy’s mouth, and used his thumb to wipe away his spend that still strung over those stunningly long lashes. Reluctantly, he rose to his feet and tucked himself away. Holding his gloved hand out, he helped Boy up and steadied him on his feet, making a mental note to remember to let him breathe next time.

When he was sure Boy was fine, he commanded that his shadows saturate Boy’s stained and tattered shirt to lift away all the dirt from the fibres and repair any tears. Satisfied, he had them float the clothes over him.

“Arms up.” Rumple’s voice was low and quiet, and still, his Boy obeyed without hesitation or word of complaint.

Once they were settled in place, Boy pulled at the hem and sleeves in turn, analysing the material of his tunic and rubbing over the fibres with the pad of his thumb. Those rich brown eyes, full of wonderment, looked up—and Rumple knew what he was asking without him needing to even open his mouth.

“Would you like to see the magick of my shadows?”

Boy’s eyes grew impossibly wider, and his head nodded so animatedly that Rumple was surprised he didn’t strain his neck, but it was the way Boy then threaded their fingers together that gave him pause. Such a small and simple gesture. It required no magick, no conjuring or creation, no wealth or status, and no words. An act of kindness, performed in silence, with no expectation of anything in return. His little human humbled him, and the space where Rumple’s Heart should have been thrummed in response.

At a loss for words, he tugged Boy along with him as they stepped out of the chamber bay and into the main room.

The multiple bays of the Fachhallenhaus were full to the rafters with hessian sacks of straw, and while this was by far the most rundown of the farmhouses in the Merchant’s Quarters, it still carried a lot of stock. Rumple held Boy close as he fortified the shadows that spread outward from where they stood; they blanketed the draughty wooden floor, sealed over the doors and windows, and pushed into the nooks and crannies of the thatched roof above, sealing them safely inside. No one would be able to see or hear what occurred inside the dark sanctuary he had created.

Boy’s fingers squeezed his, and he remembered that included his human. With a flick of his wrist, the wicks in the two oil lamps the Queen had provided burst into flame, and Boy’s soft exhale was loud in the otherwise silent room. Rumple led him over to the small stool set before the spinning wheel. He could have had his shadows create a second seat, but he didn’t. If he only had the short while until dawn with his Boy, then Rumple needed there to be no distance between them.

He kept hold of Boy’s hand when he sat and spread his legs in open invitation. Rumple had meant for him to perch on his thigh, but Boy stepped between Rumple’s feet and knelt there, facing the wheel. He wriggled a bit, until the freshly cleaned soles of his feet were positioned just right to cradle his pert bottom, and then let his hands fall lax in his lap. The significance of Boy kneeling for him, without his express command to do so, made Rumple’s world grind to a halt.