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Once freed, the halfling's breasts were everything he'd imagined. Pale and expansive, their soft weight shifted as she leaned back in the tilled soil, breathless from their impulsive sprint from the tavern to the lavender field. The rows of flowers were fragrant in full bloom, just tall enough to hide two young lovers as he kneeled before her. Her family’s bees hummed softly above, paying them no mind.
His hand worked quickly inside her skirts while the other gently palmed one of those soft breasts, pulling a stiffening bud between his fingers as he buried his face in the warmth of it. Layered with the salt on her skin and the heat of her arousal she carried the sweet tang of the honey mead she had served him a scant half hour ago. It seemed infused into all of her.
Her back arched as he found his prize, dipping inside to gently explore and scissor slick fingers. When he was confident she could take his girth if she wished, he leaned back to sample her arousal as it dripped down his hand. Honey mead, again, decadent and sweet.
Everyone he bedded reacted to his cock differently, and there were times when just the sight of it had ended an encounter. That potential for rejection made him a tad self conscious as he freed it from his robes.
Rising to his knees, he presented himself fully so there would be no surprises. Her eyes widened and she flushed when she saw his potential. Then, to his delight, she smiled eagerly as she canted her hips in invitation.
He lowered his body just shy of hers, always conscious to not pin his partners under his weight.
Their breath mingled as he watched her cautiously, “Are you sure?”
She bit her lip with such mischief that he felt his balls tighten and his cock strain in his hand. Then, she lightly traced the vines swirling down his cheek, still sensitive from their recent application. The touch pulled a desperate groan from his throat.
“I want you to fuck me, Halsin Silverbough.”
It was the first time he’d heard his true name affixed to the surname his circle reserved for outsiders. It was unfamiliar still, so soon into this first journey beyond his home. It felt awkward when he’d introduced himself to her, but not here. Halsin Silverbough. She made it music.
He licked her honey-sweet tongue and guided himself into her, circling her clit in the soaked tangle of hair above as he eased into her tight heat. Her sex gripped him and pulsed to his movements as they found a shallow rhythm.
She made the most incredible sounds, quiet moans rose deep from her chest then cut sharply each time he gently thrust deeper. He breathed with ragged sighs as she stretched around him, unlike anything he had felt in his seventy five years.
Still, he watched for discomfort as she hitched against the ground. This was the point where pleasure could spill into pain, where some told him he was too much. But not her. Her lips parted with another quiet moan as her eyes grew glassy with bliss.
When his crown pressed gently against the supple texture of her cervix he stilled, luxuriating in her body: the mane of curly hair she'd pulled over one shoulder, those perfect, soft breasts that lolled to the side. As his eyes roved, she brought herself to her elbows, close enough to flick his nose with her tongue and a wicked smile before pressing those honeyed lips to his.
“How do you want me to come, Tansy?” he murmured into her mouth, “Oakfather save me. I may not get much warning.” He took one of those breasts between his lips, his tongue swirling as she arched and rewarded him with another soft moan. He grazed her nipple with the rough texture of his lips as she fluttered around him.
“Not in me, or on me. I need to go back soon…”
“On the ground then.” He murmured into the sweetness of her skin, “I’ll be mindful of your clothes.”
She nodded with a sharp anticipatory twitch around him as he traced the round shell of her ear, moving fingers reverently down her neck to her collarbone, burying his hand in that long brown hair to grip her shoulder for his first proper thrust.
Her legs wrapped around him as she rolled her hips to pull his cock against the pebbled roof of her sex with firm pressure. He obliged the unspoken request, pushing his crown slowly against that spot before each thrust as she built a wave so strong it threatened to push him out completely.
His grip on her shoulder tightened as he fucked in earnest now. Their bodies in concert, in competition, both of them building to intense ends. He struggled to push into her as her body tensed and shivered, writhing around him in a delicious, tightening clench.
She caught her release with a gasp, and he pressed his thumb against her lips. She sucked it in, quieting exquisite, desperate sounds as she bucked, pulling and pushing him so tightly he winced in painful pleasure. Her come pulsed sudden and hot around his cock, and he groaned with effort to hold his own climax. Each jolt of her hips, each pulse of her milky spend, each twitch around him agonizing and glorious as his body begged for the same.
She stilled, and he shuddered as she pulled him into that hot stretch again with a slow roll of her hips, meeting his pleading look with a breathless nod. He buried his hand in her hair and rode her as hard as he dared.
His release washed over him, sudden and all-encompassing. Pulling free without a moment to spare, he whimpered with glorious overstimulation as a hard jet of come shot into the Oakfather’s embrace.
~~~
Collapsing beside her, she nuzzled into his chest and he wrapped her in his arms. His breathing stilled as he watched the bees float between lavender buds above them. This field, this unexpected shock of purple along a busy stretch of the Trade Way, was why he had stopped by her family’s tavern at all.
Lavender always felt like home, but he had never seen it like this before. So much in one place, so vibrant. It was a wonder, and he had to know what caused it, spending precious daylight to sate his curiosity.
Tracing her back in refractory clarity he remembered what she’d told him over a deep pour of honey mead:
How lavender was one of the only flowers that bloomed all summer, which helped bees survive between seasons.
How their nectar made the swarm’s honey unique, and the bees’ care for the flowers kept the lavender growing and healthy year after year.
How her family’s mead was sought throughout Faerûn for its gentle sweetness. Because of the honey, the bees, the lavender.
Her kin had cultivated all three for generations; no magic or druidic chants needed, just care. Nature’s balance could joyously thrive even in the orderly rows of civilization.
Surely, Silvanus had guided him here for that lesson as he embarked on his own liminal midsummer, roaming in search of his calling. He would need people like Tansy to remind him he was both bear and man, more than most but never too much for everyone. Sound wisdom to sustain him until the next season of his life began to bloom.
He smoothed her mussed hair, taking one last lingering taste of her honey-sweet tongue before they shared a smile and dressed, hoping her absence wasn't noted as they returned to the tavern.
Before they ducked inside, he looked back over the vibrant field. As he took a deep breath of the fragrant air, the bees made nature's beauty into something precious and sweet.