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This morning, I completed the materials for a lecture scheduled for later in the day. Of the ‘Development and discovery of White Magic and its applications’. All greatly enhanced by the hands of my lovely assistant. He brought me vanilla tea, jellybean jam on toast and a sweet smile once I was done.
That afternoon, I performed my lecture before a wide crowd. Words flow far too easily these days, many I cannot remember myself. I had thought that I’d be more excited for such new magic, but the hours came to a crawl. My assistant was not in the audience; perhaps I shall bring him with me next time.
White Magic was discovered in his hands after all.
In the evening, I continued my way through the reports that my assistant deemed worthy enough of my attention. A reprieve from all the meaningless drivel drilled into my ears these days. Those desperate and damned, unable to accept the truth of the way things are…
Hypocrisy, I suppose, that syrupy taste of lies coats my tongue far sweeter than that bitter tang of truth.
For each day, I feel as though I have been lying to myself.
For something has changed within me.
Whenever I look upon my assistant, my chest burns.
The way he oh so softly giggles at my clumsy attempts at humour. The way he replaces my ink and quills before they’ve pushed beyond their use. How he sits with me beneath the stars as I speak of worlds beyond…
His beauty, those soft flecks of brown sugar freckles that kiss his shoulders and cheeks.
How my blues are worn with ease by him.
The way that his robes hug his skin…
The way the scent of vanilla never leaves my side…
The way he softly breaths in his sleep…
The way that he could moa-
His book was snapped shut with a thud, shortly followed by the screams muffled by his own thick robes. A pathetic display for a Virtue, but he was a pathetic cookie after all. Bogged down by the weight of emotions he could not comprehend, even amidst the vast ocean of knowledge at his fingertips.
And it would soon drive him to madness.
Who could bring a Virtue down to such lowly straits? Why, his assistant, of course, Healer Cookie. The man who would be the death of him.
Healer was a cookie of many mysteries, mysteries that escaped even The Fount of Knowledge’s understanding. Having shown up one day dressed in rags and gravely wounded, The Fount could not leave him to die, no matter how he may have ended up here.
Yet somehow traces of his Soul Jam were moulded into his dough. Its very essence living amongst the White Magic within him that had yet to even exist up until now. At first, he believed it to be some sort of trial by the Witches, a test of his worth.
No other Virtue was given such a test. Nor did his pleading or prayers ever warrant a response from their distant creators. Remaining silent as always.
And so he relented to his theory, allowing Healer to stay with him until he could discover what the test entailed. He made a smooth recovery, and nothing occurred. He began teaching White Magic, but still nothing. The healer even witnessed him at his lowest point, a vicious and cruel beast to be scorned and burned.
He had held him, ever so gently.
…And nothing happened.
So, what if he was not a test after all? But instead, a blessing?
Such a cute offer, truly. Those who served the Virtues were well aware of their powers, their immortality. It was a waste of time to worry about the mortal woes removed from their dough. Yet Healer feigned ignorance of this. Caring for The Fount as if he were a mortal.
It was ever so sweet watching his Healer fuss over him when the roles should have been switched. He couldn’t help but fawn over the cookie each time he tried, practically tripping over his robes if even a crumb littered the Fount’s cheek.
Once, out of amusement, he suggested that his Healer clean it without his hands. Only for him to lick it off like some loyal dog. Perhaps pet would be a better way to describe the man rather than assistant.
Why, were he to but ask. His Healer would surely grovel on the floor for him, following his every step just as a good hound would. But he cared for his Healer; he would not have him dirty himself in such a way.
Nay, he would merely…
The Fount sharply inhaled, bidding his mind to calm itself.
His Healer treated him with a gentleness far too personal. And this love, this grounded affection, sailed a storm deep in his chest. One he was unable to handle. Flittering about his study, lost in thought to that ever gnawing sensation that prickled below.
They did little to keep him from his physical ailment; perhaps a round of study would put his mind at ease. But to research such an ailment, he would need the hand of its very cause. His Healer.
It was an ordeal dragging his burdened body through those pristine halls. The Witches baked Gods with the weight of mortal form, elevated minds and souls mere meters away from their own.
Yet this weight had all but lifted as of late, as that distant pull of vanilla settled into his dough. ‘You’re so tense…’ His Healer had once commented. ‘That won’t do you any good… My Fount, come rest on my lap and you’ll be invigorated in no time!’ Lately, he felt as fresh as the day he had been baked.
And it was all to do with the man’s loving care. Only stirring that unknowable sensation once again, forcing him to gasp, leaning against a wall. His head, brimming with thoughts of his gentle touch.
It only hurried him to his room, desperate to hear his honied voice once again. “Healer Cookie, are you?-” His excitement waned as the door swung open, his Healer nowhere to be seen. Only the light scent of vanilla wafting through the air told of his faded presence.
With a sigh, he reclined on Healer’s soft bed. His own room lacked a bed, for he was baked without the need to sleep. Yet even so, he could not help but lounge on the rare occasion he was without work. Dreams were often fitful, nightmarish, if they occurred at all.
It was strangely refreshing despite it all, and he was half tempted to sleep away until Healer’s return, until something caught his eye. A washing basket.
As if by instinct, he dragged himself over, that peculiar sensation clawing its way back through him. These were his clothes after all. His scent. Everything.
Fresh linen and soaps were rubbed away by the sweet, cloying scent of vanilla, a most subtle yet sharp smell rushed through his jam. It was deplorable of him, standing here inhaling the discarded robes and towels of his Healer.
Yet he could not help himself, as a flower draws in the butterfly with its intoxicating pollen.
Every part of him burned in it.
“Ha…” Something below him stirred, pressing tightly against his robes. All too eagerly freed by his foggy mind. He rolled his robes up above his hips, pressing a towel against his nose.
At that rush, his free hand drifted, pumping his sorely neglected cock in the palm of his hand. It was unbecoming of him, yet now he was no better than a beast. “Nngh… Ah! Haa…” Buckling against his touch, he dove into the basket for more cloth.
It assailed him, that vanilla smell. Digging through discarded robes and towels, disappointment ebbed. He could not find anything else, but he’d do with what he had. This was merely to satisfy that gnawing urge after all…
…Right?
Piling them together, his cock sprang into action, excitedly rubbing against the cotton as it leaked from the tip. Biting his lip, he murmured an apology to whoever would clean them before plunging in deep with a suppressed moan.
Collapsing onto the pile, he buried his face amongst the smells, only serving to trigger his fervour. Humping into Healer’s clothes as if they were merely cumrags at his disposal, such shameful thoughts causing his knees to buckle against the bed.
“Ah… Ahh!- Healer… My Healer, dear dove… You drive me mad, in a way I cannot understand!-” Teeth gnashed against each other, grinding with each thrust. “I’m no better than a breeding beast. His galaxy-trailing hair began to twitch and turn as if it were living in pure bliss. “Ah- This is that sinful feeling, isn't it? That they tried so desperately to remove it from my dough!-”
Lust.
He could imagine it now, to dig his nose deep into his Healer’s hair. Hands wrapped around his soft waist as his cock plunged into his soft, inviting hole. “Ahhh! My Fount! Deeper! Ah!-” Soft whines and moans crafted by every thrust.
“You’re so inviting, dear d-dove!-” He stuttered, dragging his cock down his leaking hole. “It won’t be long now! Dove!”
“My Fount!” He whined in bliss.
With one last buckle, a strangled wail escaped his throat. Ropes of cum stained the pile of robes as his mind cooled into the cold aftermath of reality. No Healer Cookie remained before him, merely a delusion of bliss.
Although baked with such a capacity, of all the Virtues, he was expected to remain above such base instincts. To hold all knowledge was to remain tactful at all times, never controlled by emotions, especially that of lust.
And yet year after year, cookie after cookie. Where such a feeling had remained dormant since birth, he tore it out of its sleep… And The Fount loved it.
It was freeing, it was pleasure, it was-
“My Fount? Are you sleeping in my room again?” A soft giggle echoed out from the hallway. He sprang back to life, his cock, unfortunately, also following in tune. With a quick snap, Healer's clothes were cleaned and stashed away as though the laundry had been done for the day.
Leaving The Fount with only a minuscule amount of seconds as his Healer approached the crack he so foolishly left in the door. Hurrying to fix his crown and hide any evidence left on his own robes.
Healer stepped through the door, blissfully unaware of the filth that had occurred in his own bedroom. By his side, so dearly clutched in his palms, was a seeing-eye staff Fount had crafted for him. Opposed to the weak flower, his was metallic, firm and gold. A simple golden base with an ornate disc at the top, where a crystalline eye sat firmly between the sun and moon carved within.
His robes were decidedly simpler; he was considered a servant of sorts after all. A soft navy robe with puffed-up sleeves, with a touch of gold rope tied around his waist that carried tinctures and a small bell. And over his eyes was tied a silken blindfold, a closed eye stitched at the centre.
A blind man had no need for eyes.
A blind man had no need for light.
A blind man, blind to truth.
“Healer Cookie, are you faring well today?” He reined control back into his senses, deep, heavy breaths still assailing him from his recent climax. A serpentine smile crawled up his lips, gliding across the floor with ease to pet his soft blonde hair. “Hmm, it’s getting longer now, isn’t it? Would you look good if I grew it out?... Perhaps we could try that for a change?” Fount let out a quiet laugh, giving the man little time to talk.
Claw-tipped fingers brushed against his Healer’s cheek. Pressing against the soft dough. “You’re eating well, I see, very good.”
“Ah, it’s all thanks to you, My Fount,” praise slipped from his lips with ease. “I only wish you’d eat more alongside me…” A frown threatened that soft smile, and a strange chill ran down his spine.
His thumb pressed against the corner of his mouth, pushing it up as his Healer followed his lead, returning to his soft and sunny smile once more. Wonderfully well-trained. “Haven’t I spoiled you with my presence enough already? I suppose I could share a little more… Come with me, let us share a meal.”
“Gladly, My Fount!” Ever eager, his Healer took his hand, trusting his eyes above his staff. And Fount squeezed it oh so slightly.
As opposed to the sprawling banquets and delights one might expect a Virtue to indulge in, the Fount of Knowledge was never one to follow such indulgence. But, he could spare a few bites to eat for the sake of his Healer.
Instead of the kitchen, however. They made a swift trip to the gardens instead.
His gardens were originally intended to house plants for study, unlike the Sugar of Happiness and her Garden of Delights. The Spire’s gardens were organised but not particularly pretty. Any oddity or sprig of intrigue would be rooted and pulled until wrung dry.
That wasn’t until Healer Cookie arrived. “Some orchids would be delightful, wouldn’t they?” He had first suggested when being shown around. “Lilies have such a peaceful scent too…”
It began as some light indulgence, to watch his reactions. Yet it grew into something more with each sprout. His Healer showed immense patience and care for every flower. Whenever he wasn’t serving The Fount’s needs or preparing medicine, he could be found gardening. Soil clinging to his fingernails as he chimed to the birdsong that now illuminated the once sterile grounds.
While the lack of plants to study should have been a damper, his spirits had only grown alongside the flora. And his Healer was always all too eager to show him their progress. “Hehe, look here. These are chrysanthemums! I heard they’re wonderful with tea; perhaps we could share some once they’re fully bloomed.”
The man glowed with every word, never once stopping to remember who he was talking to. But he enjoyed listening to his rambles; the eagerness was infectious, and now he was developing the craving for tea of all things. “I would enjoy that, thank you. But, for now, let’s share hmm… An apple.”
Simple and light enough, easy to pass, with a fresh taste. Were he a year younger, he would have laughed at the thought. The Fount needed no food; it was wasted on him. Like dust upon his tongue.
He did not worry himself about any possible benefits or flaws; he simply did not need them, and that was all. Yet, as all things as of late, it changed when Healer arrived. In his recovery, whilst many medics were under his command, The Fount found himself personally attending to him whenever he could. Finding that the man had great difficulty with an ever-present guilt for merely finching a grape.
The Fount would share a meal with the man, insisting he could not finish it on his own. Perhaps a cruel trick at first, but in tricking the man, he saved him from ravenous pains that clawed at his stomach.
And to that, perhaps Healer had felt indebted to him for all the dedication thrown his way.
Even now, as they approached the tree, hidden and secluded in the corner, Healer insisted on picking one for The Fount. “It’ll just take a moment,” he gleefully chirped as he pressed his staff into the branches, searching for the juiciest to pick. “Hmm… Ah- That one!” Perched on the tip of his toes, he stretched out for one particularly high up.
But The Fount, with merely a wave of his hand, let it tumble from its branch and into Healer’s awaiting hand. “Ah! Got it! The man cheered, utterly unaware. Or perhaps merely playing face in front of him.
Cradling the ripe red fruit in his hand, Healer reached out to him once again to pull him ever deeper into the maze of life that was his garden. For beyond the apple tree and past bushes of lilac was an enclosed secret only known to them both. Sunlight filtered through the overgrowth, ivy crawling across forgotten walls as tree roots cut through stone and earth alike.
A carpet of flowers softly brushed against his feet, of milkcrowns, forget-me-nots and primroses. Petals softly swaying in the light breeze that escaped through the trees, lilac raining down upon them as they dusted themselves down.
This silent sanctuary was once a refuge from the burden of his existence. To quietly weep far away from their prying eyes, to allow himself even a modicum of rest before perching the crown once more. All of it came crashing down the day he met Healer in this very flowerbed. Cradled by crying milkcrowns, his body had been on the verge of crumbling, jam seeping out of cracks running down his skin.
It was not a pleasant sight, especially after a particularly heavy day on his mind. But ever since then, these grounds had become sacred to both of them. A realm of rest, where butterflies would perch against their sleeping forms, mistaking them for the flowers below.
“How was your lecture today, My Fount?” Healer asked in innocent curiosity as they sat amongst the flora. “I’m afraid so much of my power is blurred in my memory… I wish I could tell you more about it.”
The Fount allowed himself to lie amongst the milkcrowns, his hair spilling out a river of stars as the sun soaked through his robes. “It went well… As you suggested, we tried the restoration of raisins to grapes. A… peculiar method, but it got the idea through to them.”
His Healer only giggled at the confusion plastered across his face. “That gladdens me to hear. I just hope it will help them in time… They all deserve a chance to save themselves.”
The Fount remained quiet, unable to whisper a word amidst silent determination.
“Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself. We came here to relax, did we not?” With a light chuckle, his Healer split the apple in one swift motion, holding out one half for The Fount. “For you, My Fount,” he smiled as he graciously took the gift he did not deserve to be given.
Carefully, his teeth grazed the fleshy edge, red skin tearing away and sticking inside his mouth. While his Healer took large, filling bites, The Fount merely nibbled away like a mouse. “Do you not enjoy apples, My Fount?” His Healer enquired, leaving the core against the grass.
“I enjoy them more than any other fruit. But without hunger, I’m afraid I feel no need to hurry.”
“Mmm, well, as long as you’re still enjoying it,” his Healer hummed. “Have you ever eaten its seeds before?”
“Of course not, they’re bitter.”
“And poisonous too.”
The Fount paused his bites, attempting to push away his inner tutor with little avail. “The average cookie would be required to crush and consume at least one hundred and fifty seeds on average for the poison to take effect. If you ate it whole as it is now, you’d be completely fine.”
He felt his Healer’s gaze rest on him before a stifled giggle puffed through his nose. “You speak as though I were ready to eat as many as I could.”
“Whose to say you wouldn’t?” Especially if he told him to.
But for a moment, The Fount wondered to himself. What would it feel like? Were he to eat core after core and allow such poison to overtake his veins? Nothing at all, perhaps.
He took a bigger bite.
After this short meal, he allowed himself to relax in his Healer's presence. Hands patted against his lap, welcoming The Fount to rest. Silence enveloped the peace, as his eyes fluttered shut against his touch.
Even if for a moment, he wanted this to last.
But alas.
“Fount of Knowledge, oh Fount, are you there?” A servant called for him from across the garden. The people had need of him once more, and yet he felt no drive towards their call. But duty remained, yowling and howling for him. They would never let up, not till he quelled their curiosity, no matter the cost.
And yet, his Healer held him down, softly pulling him by the shoulders with a smile as the servant continued to call out to him. “You must rest, My Fount. They cannot have you on your feet forever.”
“But-”
He lightly tapped the tip of his nose with a grin. “I’m sure they can wait a day. Close your eyes now, I won’t move, not even an inch…” Warmth spread across his cheeks, tense limbs relaxed with every minute. His Healer began a hum, an effortless tune that pulled him beneath into a blackened abyss of sleep.
How he longed to remain in his warmth forever.
A spell cast upon him where the nightmares of the abyss were dreamless yet soft.
…
But.
Why did he feel so, so cold?
His eyes peeled open, alone in their sanctuary. “Healer Cookie?... Healer Cookie, where are you?” He could not let panic grip him, so, even as he rose trembling like a fawn. His Healer, nowhere to be found.
Past the iris bushes, he spared no attention to the way they clung to his hair. Drawn ever closer to the distant murmurs of unfamiliar voices intruding upon his garden. “Please… The Fount of Knowledge needs his rest. I can help you however I can, but-”
“But we need to speak with The Fount of Knowledge! Only The Fount can help us now!” The faceless followers pleaded, fingers grasping tightly onto his Healer’s robes, leaving deep creases.
His Healer flinched, unable to pull away. “Please unhand me-”
“Be at peace, all of you. There is no need to be so physical… ” Try as he might, the bitterness of his voice escaped its containment as he grasped the follower's wrist. Tightening his grip until they released his Healer, a taciturn smile stretched across his face. “Now, what is the matter?”
Their faces brightened, aggressively so. “Fount of Knowledge, we have travelled far and wide to seek your guidance and counsel. It has been a long and treacherous journey, but we knew in our hearts that only you would know the answers we seek.”
“...I understand, Healer Cookie.”
“Yes, My Fount.” With a polite bow that felt so out of place in his heart, his Healer impaled his staff into the ground before taking paper and ink in hand, manifested by The Fount. It was one of many jobs he took on as his assistant, scribing conversations with his followers for the sake of records.
The questions were simple enough, far beyond the worth of coming to him in person for it.
Were they truly baked by the Witches?
Was the world flat?
How did the oceans come to be?
If they merely spent a moment or two searching books, they would have the answers they looked for. A waste of his time. Unable to accept the truth laid in paper, they had come to him instead. Disappointment became clear with each question answered, that same look time and time again.
‘Was this all there was?’
The answers felt too simple, too clean.
No better than…
“A lie! It has to be!” Someone exclaimed, his Healer pausing his scribing at the commotion. “Fount of Knowledge, there must be something more to this! Anything at all!” Desperation took root, yet The Fount remained stalwart.
Eyes that betrayed an eternity of exhaustion looked upon those faceless followers once again, words broken by repetition. “It is the truth. Nothing more, nothing less.” A cold glare overtook his calm facade, bitterness reaching across the tongue.
“Your journey was fruitless from the beginning, delusional souls.”
It only took a moment. A second in time. Rage sapped the ability of thought, of reason. He knew this all too well. Generations apart, where the truth grew too bitter. They spat, fought and threw their hatred onto him, the cause of their misery, creator of pain.
It was not he who charted the course of storms. Nor him who brewed the disease that ate at their doughs. But it was he who knew of their cause, their creation and effect. That was all. And that was all they needed for blame.
A rock was thrown from the crowd, as many often were. Pristine dough moulded itself over cuts and bruises, never leaving a sliver of a scar. He could take it just fine, for his body was built to take it. “My Fount!” If only he could understand.
Jam splattered against his cheek.
The crowd stilled, a rock tumbling across the ground.
His Healer, his face. “Are you… Alright, My Fount?” Were all the words he could breathe before slumping into his arms. A dangerously large crack now formed around the edge of Healer’s face.
He couldn’t remember much after that.
For all the years of memory left unclouded in his mind, that hour had been utterly lost to him. Lost in the same thoughtless rage that consumed his now fearful followers. It was only by the warmth of his Healer that he did not raise his hand against them, merely exiling them from his spire, never to return.
He could not lose his Healer.
Not ever again.
Staff left in droves; he could not stand them much longer. How their presence pulled the two apart, reminders of duty and faces to hold. Scrunched glares and expressions of confusion for the undying affection shared between the two of them.
Yes, there was no need for anyone else.
No one.
His Healer needed no one else.
“My Fount… I know you are worried, but I must-”
“But dear dov- Healer. Did we not agree they would find their own way?”
“Yes… But I cannot help but worry for them. There’s still so much they do not know. My heart aches to think of a child sick and dying…”
“Your heart is in the right place…” He rested his forehead against the man, his hand tracing against the sealed cracks across the side of his face. “...But… Why not send a missive instead? I’m sure even your letters will help them.”
His Healer pressed his own hand against The Fount’s, leaning against his touch. “Alright… I’ll try that then.” Smiling once again for a world now locked beyond the Spire. Letters poured with heart never left their grounds, replies writ by the same ink and parchment as his own.
If his Healer ever noticed, he did not speak a word of it.
Now bereft of staff, The Fount took it upon himself to make his own. Something far cuter and pleasing to the eye. Toy rabbits, brought to life with his own magic. They could do anything the servants could do, albeit with a disadvantage of height. But they were determined objects with one goal stitched into their fur.
Make his Healer happy.
It had become quite clear, a few weeks in, that somehow the man had grown lonely, the nurturing side of his personality longing for the children he used to visit. Upon handing him the first of many bunnies, it bloomed once more as he cuddled and cooed at them.
Another feeling would grip him soon afterwards, just as strong as the lust that once warmed his groin. A feeling he spared no time in recognising.
Jealousy.
It was not as if Healer stopped paying attention to him. But it had lessened significantly than he would like. Poor rabbits ended up in scrap, The Fount acting none the wiser to their sudden absence as he basked in his Healer’s glow.
Before long, he had taken to lavishing the man in silks, watching the flush grow across his face as The Fount supplied him with piles after piles of beautiful clothing. While he already dressed the man in styles and colours he preferred, The Fount resisted the temptation to take advantage of his eagerness to please.
All such temptations wore away once the Spire became their only world. His simple robes were not required anymore in The Fount’s opinion. He could dress however he pleased. That was to say, not himself, but his Healer.
Except the man was far too humble for his liking. “Oh, but I cannot… These are simply too much for me to take, My Fount.” He would insist. But he would inevitably cave after The Fount stared at him witsfully enough.
This silly game of dress-up had his Healer try on quite the variety he had collected. From chic white suits to dresses with more frills than clothing. All of which left him beet-red in the face as he stood before The Fount. Though he paid little mind, eyes drawn to how they clung around his hips-
He pressed a palm against his skull, hard .
“M-My Fount? Are you alright?” His Healer jumped into action, nearly tripping over the long white ball-gown he had him try on. Why, it was as if he were in a wedding dress.
…
That did not help.
All of the ones he had tried on were white, in fact.
Oh, he was a fool.
“Oh, yes, I-I’m fine! Merely…” He peeked out from behind his hand. Oh, his shoulders were exposed, too. “...taken away by how well they fit you.” He explained, crossing his legs.
“It doesn’t surprise me, you picked them out after all,” his Healer beamed as The Fount hid his eyes away once more.
“Yes, yes! Ah, how about you pick something this time? I’ve indulged myself quite enough now,” The Fount coughed. “What is it that you like? Have a look.”
He practically shooed the man away for a moment of peace. Pathetic as it was, the small act of trying on clothes had stirred that feeling of lust within him once more. But his hands remained firmly planted atop his leg, resisting the burning temptation beneath.
“How is this, My Fount?” His Healer called to him after a couple of minutes, stepping back through the door with a sheepish expression. Unsurprisingly, he had sought out the simplest robe of them all, a soft pastel yellow with shapes closely resembling flowers embroidered in white across the hem and top. And on top of that was a long-sleeved pale blue cardigan with sheep patterned across it.
It was very cute.
Far more casual than the formal work robes he wore before. Speaking much of his character with a single glance. “Do you like it, My Fount? It feels so soft and comfortable to wear,” his Healer asked, swaying it around.
A true chuckle escaped The Fount’s lips, the fire in his belly simmering down. “I do. It’s very you, what else can I say?”
So strangely domestic, he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Thoughts became lost amidst this strange development between them. Feeling ever closer now, far closer than he should.
Wrong, every part of him screamed this was wrong. He was a Virtue, denied a normal life from the moment he was baked. This was temptation, simple and straight. Against that intoxicating pull, he regained normalcy once again. Burying himself away in work, endless, mindless, drivelling work.
Soon, he was practically ignoring his Healer outside of the assistance he brought, blinding himself from the concerned gaze that now graced his face.
One night, his Healer approached him in the midst of his studies. As isolated as they were now, he still had some duties to uphold lest he be skewered by forks… On the rare occasion, he now left his Spire, he would leave behind numerous papers and artefacts for his followers to busy themselves with and buy more time between required visits.
This time in particular, he had gotten far too engrossed. With few needs, he had spent up to a week straight lost in his papers, all until a hand pressed on his shoulder. Standing there dressed in a frilled nightgown, oh so generously gifted by The Fount, his Healer stood there illuminated by the cool glow of enchanted candles.
“My Fount… Have you not rested yet?” Even without eyes to read, he could see the way his lips curled in concern. “It’s been a week since you started, and I fear you haven’t stopped since.”
The Fount smiled at him, a cold and distant smile. “Worrying yourself over me again? How sweet… But knowledge does not sleep, you know this. Now, go back to bed. If one of us needs sleep here, it's clearly you,” he was not blind to the soft sways of exhaustion that held his Healer.
Was he losing his own sleep over this?
“I… I see…” His Healer grasped himself, hands tightening against his arms. “Then, I shall not bother you much longer-” He had turned to excuse himself, hiding face as The Fount slipped through the shadows to stand before him.
Index finger lifting him up by the chin, he grinned. “I smell a little lie when I hear one… Dear dove, what is truly on your mind?” He did not miss the way the slip of his secret nickname caused his Healer to quietly tremble.
“F-Forgive me, My Fount. It’s only a selfish request, pay no mind to it,” his Healer attempted to pull away. But The Fount was having none of it. Holding him now by the shoulders as those little cogs of thought twirled in his Healer’s mind.
Sensing no escape, the man quietly sighed. “I missed your presence… I thought of all the times you would sleep on my lap, how peaceful you would look.”
It took all he had not to let a maddening grin overtake his lips. His precious Healer, ever so thoughtful, ever so finally selfish. All for him. That chilling grip faded into a warming hug as he nuzzled the slowly growing golden locks of hair. “You are a sweet one, Healer. Perhaps I didn’t spoil you enough before.”
With the wave of his hand, furniture shifted like unbaked dough. Clearing away space and forming into a king-sized bed, plush with royal blue sheets and curtained by white veils, clasped in gold. “Does this satisfy you?” He hummed, knowing full well the answer he’d get.
“It’s more than enough, My Fount.” Bingo. “But are you sure you’ll be fine with this? It’s distracting from your duties…”
The Fount tutted the man as he pushed him towards the bed. “Distraction? Why, you’re far more precious than any duty of mine.” Yes, he did not miss the flush that crept across his Healer’s ears. “It was a failure of mine to forget so…”
He had ensured the bed was soft, rivalling The Bringer of Happiness’s cotton clouds. The Fount had no preference for his comfort; even the stiff floor had suited him well enough. But he had seen the way his Healer secretly snuggled against the softest surfaces he could grab.
As his Healer climbed his way into bed, The Fount tugged at his robes, allowing them to soften and change into a simple black nightgown before following him. It had not been uncommon for them to share bed space before.
Something felt different this time, however. The way that his Healer pulled him in close, the gentle pulse of life that thrummed between the two. “Goodnight… My Fount,” Healer murmured as his hands cradled his back, holding him close as his breathing evened out.
Out like a light. Leaving The Fount as nought but a teddy bear in his arms. And he held him back, a simple act. Yet all too peculiar.
Healer was such a strange cookie, the remnants of his Soul Jam left him betwix the realm of mortal and immortal. The Fount could never change, but his Healer could. Even while void of memory, of original purpose, he carved out one to care and serve those who needed it. Yet chose to devote himself to the one who needed it least…
Why?
He could not understand.
Why was it that his chest thrummed with every pass his thumb made against his golden locks of hair? As if holding something so delicate, so sacred in his arms.
Why?...
Even as the morning sun rose and woke his Healer once more. That feeling persisted through his soft ‘Good morning’ and smile.
Routine formed, his Healer’s old room began collecting dust. This was their room now. Days spent organising paperwork, tending to the gardens and playing games of chess or riddles. Evenings alone under the stars, speaking until his Healer could stay awake no longer. Silent nights beneath suffocating covers as the cycle continued once again.
He had made no progress in discerning this feeling. And a part of him did not want to. It was lust, nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps a few times, he broke that trust between the two of them. While he would not dare touch his Healer in his sleep, the fires that burned in his veins needed quelling as he would palm himself beneath his nightgown.
It was disgusting, perverted thoughts and feelings battering at his mind as he forced himself to turn away from the man, curling onto himself with cock in hand. Shallow breaths, wheezing through his teeth, violently pumping as if the speed of his relief would serve him any good.
‘Let me help you… My Fount,’ a false voice echoed in his mind, a delusion of soft hands raking across his cock. Every pump, vein and twitch he could see him there. Smiling up at him as his mouth drew open and-
“Hhn!-” Jam stained the inside of his mouth as he bit down, hard. Cum splattering into his lower hand and onto the bedsheets. A bite mark across the other hand began to knit itself back together again slowly, natural magic working tirelessly as he erased the evidence of his misdeed.
The feeling never changed. No matter how much shame he dragged himself through.
And one night, he fell asleep once again, embraced by sweet vanilla.
…
His Healer was missing.
Their bed was left with the traces of warmth in the morning sun. And his Healer, nowhere to be found.
He erupted, madness encroaching across his face. Eyes bore wide in panic, bleeding through the dimmed stardust sprinkled across his hair. Searching and yearning for his lost dove.
Hapless woollen rabbits were crushed in his descent, ground to dust by the mindless flailing of his maddened hair. Walls twisted and turned, swaying and fraying against his every step.
Not here, nor there, nor anywhere at all.
Room after room, empty of life.
After all he had done, had he finally grown weary of him?
He had not missed the way his gaze would linger at every window.
Had he finally noticed the disgusting beast that he slept beside?
“You can’t leave me here!” Claws tore at millennium-aged tapestries without care, statues toppled, and doors swung off their hinges. “Dear dove, dear dove, where are you?” Mania bloomed, disgusting, viscous tar trailing behind as he opened one last door.
The gardens were quiet.
Larkspurs shivered in his presence, curling upon themselves as he passed their grounds.
He could feel something drip from his eye, milkcrowns crushed before they could bloom. Leaving a trail of sour milk in his wake.
That grand apple tree was passed without a second thought, tar seeping into the soil as black snakes curled amongst the branches.
Lilacs fell before his hand, withering in his grief as he escaped into their old retreat.
“...Dove…”
The world stilled, just for a moment. His Healer was here all along, hidden in a world he only knew. Basking in the dapple of morning light, dressed in a pure white robe with not a care in the world.
“Hm?...” He turned his way, blind eyes unseeing for the split moment his staff remained out of reach. The Fount panicked, patting down his hair and rubbing away at his eyes.
A stretched smile perched on his face. “It’s only me, your Fount.” He assured him before his fingers rested against his seeing staff.
“Oh! My Fount! Won’t you sit with me then for a spell?” Healer beamed far brighter than the blooms surrounding him. “The birds sing so sweetly today, such a shame they won’t come any closer,” he mourned. Blissfully unaware of the gilded cage that stretched out into the garden. “I haven’t heard them sing for so long, so I had to hurry as soon as they chirped.”
Ah, yes, how foolish of him to get so wound up. Fount let out a hum of intrigue. After all, a barrier now domed his Spire. “How peculiar of them… But ah, yes, let me join you.” Settling beside his warmth, flowers creaking beneath his knees, a thought crossed his mind.
What if he were to cage one of the birds for him? It could sing as close as he’d like it to; besides, his Healer was fond of animals and would surely appreciate such company whenever he was called away. But a bird will someday die… Its song shall fade, and his Healer would be less inclined to stay. Replacing it with another doomed dove would only make him seem cruel.
Perhaps a bird of metal that could replicate their song? A metal bird cannot die, nor escape. It may break, but not truly die, for it was never alive. But his Healer was such a sensitive soul, he would surely be unsatisfied by a replicated song and be inclined to leave…
He couldn’t.
He wouldn’t .
“My Fount?...”
A metal bird.
A false life.
Unworthy of his time.
Its metal wings reflected back in his eyes.
Born for the cage, never to fly.
There was never a metal bird in there, was there?
“My Fount!” His Healer desperately grasped at his robes, fingers clinging deep into his dough. “Please, tell me what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? Whatever do you mean?”
“You’re crying…”
Milkcrowns bloomed in excess.
And his closely guarded heart, shattered like sugar glass.
“There is something wrong with me,” he put it bluntly, past the quivers of his voice, claws clinging tightly to his sides. “Deeply utterly wrong … And I cannot contain it any longer.”
His precious Healer drew close, lips trembling with worry as he trailed fingertips down the sides of his face. As if he were dancing around something delicate. “What ails you, My Fount? Please, let me help you,” he so desperately begged.
Ahh, how his Healer was both the poison that seeped through his veins and the antidote to soothe his aching soul. Such an unfortunate burden to be placed upon, on the whims of a childish god.
Breathing in that toxic yet sweet vanilla, he rested his head against his breast. Allowing his healer to hug his head, hands massaging through the trailing milky way. Even amidst the wrongness of it all, he couldn’t help but melt. “Dear dove… I…”
He deserved better than the crumbling mind of a Virtue once pure.
“I am falling. And I shall never return. You may run while you like, even as it pains me so.” His teeth ground against each other, an offer he felt unready to give. But one made for the best. If he were to lose himself so readily, his Healer would be thrust into grave danger.
Yet his Healer was anything but stubborn, clinging to his head, he forced The Fount to peer up, deep into the closed eye stitched to his blindfold. “My Fount, for all you have done for me, I could never let you go. So please, tell me what’s wrong… You have been so skittish, it worries me so…”
Forced to bare his heart, he spoke ever so slowly. “In my time spent with you, feelings immeasurable and alien have spun within me. For I have lusted for you in secrecy, no doubt. Yet… something else now aches within me. Similar, yet stronger. I wish to cure myself of it, how my chest palpitates and aches in your hands…”
Even now, he felt it tearing away at him, digging ever deeper inside. “Is there any cure for me, dear dove?”
And his Healer tucked back a stray hair behind his ear with a soft smile. “Yes, My Fount…” Before bringing him closer than ever before.
Vanilla held a delicate taste, unobtrusive and comforting at its first layer. Yet the further one dug, the more intoxicating it became—a rich bitterness at the core of the purest vanilla, extracted from pods lavished by gentle blooms. And he hungered for more.
The sweetness of his Healer’s lips was no cure.
He had poisoned him forevermore.
“My Fount- Mph!” Before his Healer could escape, to even explain himself, he dove in for more. Listening to the flustered groans that escaped his throat as The Fount pressed their lips apart.
His Healer submitted to his kiss, parting open to allow their mouths to entwine with each other. That inviting warmth trailed across his tongue, spit intermingling into the sweetest drink.
Not nearly enough.
He needed more of him.
More, more, moremoremore-
A soft gasp escaped from beneath him as they toppled over together into the flowerbed. Petals scattering in their wake as the two remained, lost in embrace until his Healer finally pulled away. Gasping for breath as a trail remained no matter how far he went.
His cheeks were flushed, his lips slightly swollen and rosy. A beautiful sight, only meant for him. “Ah… M-My Fount… What you have is love. A dangerous sickness, you see, it makes fools of the best of us.”
Unable to keep his hands to himself, The Fount continued without complaint. “Sickness, you say? Carry on.” Tugging at his Healer’s robes, he assailed his neck. Suckling away and nibbling at the dough that sang so softly.
“Y-Yes! It’s overpowering, it’s!- Ahhh!” A delicious wail escaped him, as The Fount deemed it necessary to leave a mark of his own behind. Teeth digging till jam kissed his lips. Skin trembled against his touch, his tongue running against a job well done, no better than a horny beast marking its territory.
Love.
It all made sense now.
An invasive feeling, unnatural to his dough. Whereas lust was merely a side effect of being cursed with a physical body. Love ran deeper, inking his soul. Love was once the odd twinge of sorrow he once felt at his unheard pleas. There was no one else to hold his love, for that love was never meant to be.
Yet here he was, slobbering and rubbing away as if these were his last moments alive. To consume and be consumed. This is what he was made for, this is why he was born. This is why his Healer was chosen, to love him now and forever.
“I can help you, My Fount,” his Healer shivered against his touch. A drunk smile crossed his face as he pushed The Fount back. “Love and lust may live side by side, there’s no cure to be found but…”
The whispers of his breath were as close as any kiss. “I live to serve… My darling Fount…” Before plunging their mouths back together once more. It was worship, every way his lips moved against his face. Planting prayer after prayer against his skin. Of adoration, of love.
“Ahh… My Fount, my beautiful Fount,” he all but chanted, breath kissing against his lips as the tips of their noses pressed warmth against each other. “Please… Let me show you my devotion.” At an agonising crawl, his hands slid down his sides, mapping out the lithe shape beneath the robes. All before pushing the bottom of his robe further and further up his legs.
His Healer let out the softest of laughs as the Fount turned his away at the sobering chill of embarrassment. “My Fount! Is this just for the occasion, or have you been bare down here since the day we met?”
Grumbling, a red-hot blush clung to his cheeks. “What of it? You have been the only one to stir me so.”
A shiver trailed up his spine as Healer slid a finger up the underside of his stiffening cock. Averaging in length and thickness, there was no sense of shame to a Virtue who could decide what remained below there. Yet in this moment in particular, the light blues of his dough hued ever darker and speckled by starlight up towards the tip. “How delightful, it pleases me to hear that. After all, that makes us one in the same.” With a smirk, he backed away, gathering the bottom of his robes before slowly pulling them up like a curtain. The Fount’s eyes widened, drawn in by the soaking wet pink pussy hidden beneath. It had always been a quiet disappointment of his that Healer’s underwear never smelt like him, nor could he find it in the wash. Such garments were never used in the first place…
Leaving his robes hitched, thighs exposed to the elements, Healer returned to worship, grasping at the base of his cock as if it were a sacred instrument. “My Fount… How the stars glitter in my eyes with every part you bear to me.” Licking his lips, a loud wet kiss suckled at the tip of his cock. “Ehe… Does this please you? My Fount .”
Those words were honey dripping in his ears, a shiver running through his throbbing cock. “Yesss,” he hissed. Precum beading with every kiss sucked into his skin. “For me… Mn!... All for me…” The Fount sighed, relaxing into his feathery touches.
“All for you, My Fount…” His hot breath fizzled against his skin as he nuzzled and rubbed the base of his cock. So taken by the sight below him, The Fount failed to notice the way Healer’s thighs desperately rubbed together, thrusting fruitlessly in the air in search of the cock in his very hands.
Delving deeper, The Fount chewed the bottom of his lip, jam running out of his pierced skin as a hot tongue enveloped his balls. Gently licking and suckling before running a stripe up the bottom of his cock, suckling under the head of his cock. “Ah!-” The sensation shot down to his hips, bucking up against Healer’s face with a low groan. With a pleased grin, Healer resumed kitten licking the tip before parting his soft lips.
That dangerously warm heat enveloped the head of his cock, a gentle hum thrumming down the rest of the length as Healer began his prayer in earnest. His hands clasped above his head, with only his mouth to serve the god that sat before him.
It was a slow descent into madness, with every brush of his lips deepening towards the base. Arching his entire body to serve a singular purpose, flashing his soaked pussy against the catch of sunlight, bringing with it a cloying warmth to The Fount. Desperately, he clawed at Healer’s scalp, pressing his head further down as a mere instrument of his pleasure.
“Mmph!-” There was no need for struggle. His Healer took what was given, just as desperate as The Fount, his mouth suckling away for every last drop. “Mmf! Mmhhpf!” His Healer’s throat gargled against his cock, even now calling and praying out to him through a muffled voice.
Relaxing his grip, The Fount took to gently caressing his head, a soft sigh elicited through his lips. “Ah! Good boy… I can feel everything, the velvet touch of your throat… Ngh! The warmth of your tongue… Haa- You serve me so, so well,” he cooed, dropping his hand down to cup his cheek, feeling the pulse of his jaw beneath his fingers as he worked to please.
Bathed in pleasures, his mind seeped away. To let his body settle and be pleased. Wash his worries away and be held with meaning. For none deserved to worship him the way His Healer did.
“Ah… There…” His hips seized, building pleasure ready to burst. It took all he had to push Healer away, his swollen lips dragging back up his cock as he fought back against his touch. “So, so eager. But I have a gift- Mh!... F-For you, my most devoted!” With ragged breaths, he pulled Healer's head away, thumb trapped between his still suckling lips.
Now with his own cock in hand he began to pump, buckling into his own touch. “Stay still for me, pretty little thing!-” His cock squeezed tighter than ever before, desperately chasing its release. Hot strings of cum decorated Healer’s willing face, lips ajar to catch the stray droplets as The Fount watched in glee. “My blessings, yours to take- Haa…”
And with a relieved sigh, Healer parted his prayers to partake in his gift, cleaning his face like a cat as his tongue made quick work. Licking away at the blessing that coated him before diving in to clean up the tip of his sensitive cock. “Thank you! Thank you, My Fount!” Even with the blindfold on, he could feel those eager eyes burning through the cloth.
To think such a pious little thing had been such a slut underneath. Lapping away at his cock, hungry for blessings. “Patience, my dove,” The Fount groaned, fisting a clump of his hair as he pulled the man off. Hissing at the burning sensitivity every touch left.
How his mind rushed at such devotion, no other follower could ever compare to the display before him. Yet in this act, he knew something was not quite right. Something stirred . Far beyond his reach.
Yes, there was no going back now.
The Witches would surely act. His followers, too, grew desperate for answers. And to whom could be blamed for his absence? His love. His Healer, his dear dove.
What would they do?... He could not bear the thought that even death could separate the two. But he had one part of a solution, his Soul Jam glimmering with power as their chests pressed against each other. Right there, before him, he could feel the pulse of his soul, pristine and pure.
At their touch, his soul overtook the other, squeezing it tightly as the man squirmed beneath him.
His Healer let out a choked gasp. “M-My Fount?” His voice was strained, speckles of pain intermingled with a pleasurable strain. “What are you?-” A high keen escaped his lips as their souls entwined, Fount pressing ever deeper as he stained Healer Cookie’s soul with his own shade.
A mark, a claim. That he was his and his alone.
No one, not the Witches, nor time itself could ever hide him. For he would always find him, forever and ever and ever and ever and ever-
“Hhnn!- F-hount!” His Healer trembled beneath him, a deluge splattering against his robes before he collapsed back against the flora, dough sheening with sweat.
“Oh?... Was that an orgasm already?” With an intrigued hum, Fount pressed his claw-tipped fingers against his soaked pussy, watching as his body trembled in excess pleasure. And he popped those fingers into his mouth, savouring the sweet vanilla balanced by a light bitter undertone. As if a man parched for water, he dove in to drink, relishing in the scream as his tongue lapped at the ambrosia beneath.
His Healer’s thighs pressed against the sides of his head, capturing him in place as he continued his devotion. Burying his nose against the blonde curls that forested that well, lapping at the enclosed petals before plunging his tongue deep inside. So settled in he was that the press of his lips kissed against his clit, all the while his tongue extended and lathered those velvety insides.
Lost in stupor, the Fount breathed heavily against his indulgent feast. Never coming out for a wisp of breath, suffocating himself amidst that bittersweet cloy. Even as the well dried out, he needed only to dig deeper, to break that dam and drown himself in purest pleasure.
His Healer’s voice was lost in his buried ears, extracting his tongue as nails scraped at his scalp to warn of the coming break. The Fount, of course, would never flee from such a kind offering. Choosing now to instead deeply kiss his Healer’s pussy through his second orgasm. Juices of ambrosia slipping back past his lips once again, refreshing his throat and his soul.
Already now, Healer Cookie looked fucked out of his mind, his head no longer held up as it fruitlessly fell to the side, his blindfold soaked with tears. “My poor Healer… You look exhausted,” Fount cooed as he cupped his face with both hands. His Healer had no words to spare him, merely nuzzling against his touch.
It would do him no good to push him too far, as greedily as he waited for that final step in their… coupling. He did not want Healer Cookie to pass out in his arms, missing all that precious time so entwined together. “Let us take a small break for now, hm? I’ll be right back, just you wait.”
The Fount sauntered away, legs trembling beneath his own weight against every step. Everything was alight in the lust that consumed his body. So much so, he gave up on his feet entirely, floating above the grass as he passed through the lilacs.
After so much stimulation, his Healer was exhausted already. And The Fount didn’t intend to finish so soon.
Drifting back to the apple tree, his intent was merely to feed his Healer. Give him that last burst of energy for what was to come. Yet something was off. The shimmering ruby red skin had changed. A blue sheen now coated them instead, but they did not appear to be rotten in any way.
If anything, they smelled sweeter than anything ever before.
Swallowing the spit that gathered in his mouth, The Fount plucked the nearest to him. Curling branches now closer to the slivering body of a snake that trembled at his pull. “...How strange…” He murmured to himself, watching his reflection in that waxy skin.
…A bite, just to be sure.
His canines sank into the flesh, juices dripping down his chin as he took a bite far larger than ever before. It was sweet, fresh and floral. Or perhaps tangy like a blueberry or rich like fine cream.
How it burned his throat with flavour after flavour. Any he could dream of, any he could desire. One bite was not nearly enough; he hungered for more. Demolishing it in seconds, seeds and all.
Another, and another. Worms or decay, they mattered not.
He was starving.
…
One apple remained.
Seeds littered the grass as the snakes stared back.
The last of the bunch, the biggest of them all. Shimmering skin and a delectable smell. His Healer would savour this, he knew that well.
Upon his return, he was met with a most beautiful sight. Against the exhaustion of his body, Healer Cookie had removed his now soaked robes, leaving them bundled by the side as he sat exposed amongst the flowers. An ethereal sight on its own, as if he were a painting, one to admire for centuries to come. One meant for him, and him alone.
But something else was exposed. Soaked in tears, his blindfold now sat in his hands. Milky eyes, blue and gold, peered towards him, half-lidded and tired.
It was the first time the Fount dared to ever lay eyes on him like this. Nor did he miss that gentle glimmer as soon as he set eyes upon him. “My Fount… My apologies, I did mean to…” A rush of shame flickered through his soft face, eyes squeezing shut as The Fount all but leapt upon him.
“Do not hide them, dear dove. Open them up, for me.” He cradled Healer’s face, even as he tried to turn away.
Eyelashes flickered as he laced his fingers in anxiety. “No, I… I do not deserve the grace of sight, for whatever I must have done. The Witches did not punish me enough.”
“And even so, you use my gift of sight?”
“I… I could not deny it, as selfish as it may be… It made me happy.” Warm tears crept from the corner of his eyes, softly kissed away by The Fount’s embrace. “Please forgive this foolish sinner, who strayed too far from the light…”
His grip only tightened, squeezing the dough as a sombre gaze met one filled with simmering rage. “Then, won’t you join me in the shadows? Witches be damned, I’m all that you need. And you’re all that I have.” Standing high above the crumbling corpses of the many, the Fount of Knowledge was bound to stand alone. Unyielding against times tide, a servant to its pull.
Yet his Healer, he stood amongst it all. Brimming with a warmth he could not share with himself. Keeping away the chill as they sank into the dark.
“I love you,” he breathed into his ear, voice whispering far from those up high. “And… I know that you love me too, right?”
Healer shuddered, a quiet gasp catching his lips before he parted them in a small smile. “Yes…”
“Good…” Resting their foreheads together, he awaited the time when Healer’s emotions simmered. Calmness enveloped his aching body as The Fount pulled back to take in the sights.
Utter beauty sat before him, never meant for mortal eyes. His Healer, ever bashful, pulled his arms up to cover whatever he could only to weakly part them at The Fount’s gentle touch. Small scars dotted his dough, healed by time and by hand that told a tempestuous story of his life. Below his nipples lay the largest of them all, diamond scars all open for The Fount to kiss across in adoration.
“Beautiful… So beautiful…” The Fount hummed in admiration. Rubbing his hands down towards the plush of his thighs, eliciting a mild squeak as he squeezed the handiwork of keeping such a stubborn man well-fed and cared for. “So shy, even after all the work I’ve done?”
“F-Fount!” His Healer dropped his etiquette at such teases, earning him a smug kiss on the lips. If anything, he was rather envious of the man. A Virtue was baked in whatever ideal image the Witches desired. Stagnant bodies, unchanging. There was little to love there, where he wished to displace and remould his dough however he pleased, even against their Godly will.
Alas, such thoughts dampened the spirits of their lovemaking. He would not dwell on them for long. “Now, if we are to continue, you must do something for me.” Pulling Healer’s back against his chest, he allowed the man to rest against him as he levitated the forgotten apple towards them before grasping Healer’s hand. “You need your energy, but why not kill two birds with one stone. Prepare yourself for me, and I shall feed you as a treat for a job well done.”
The Fount pulled his hand down towards his pussy, giving his clit an experimental flick as his Healer jolted in pleasure. “Oh! Y-Yesss My Fount. Let me stretch myself for you,” he said, rubbing his folds with a whine, eyeing up the apple held before his face. “Ohh. It's a beautiful apple.” Droll escaped his lips. “It’s so blue… It reminds me of you.”
With a deep breath, his Healer pressed the first finger in, keening as it breached inside. “M-My Fount… Might I take a bite now?” He begged, thrusting his finger with increased intensity as if to prove he deserved it.
He couldn’t help but chuckle at such eagerness. “Very well, take a bite…” The Fount murmured in his ear, pressing the skin against his quivering lips.
His Healer took small, gentle bites at first, little whines accompanying his chews as he picked up the pace. One became two, sissoring away at his opening, putting himself out on display as he lazily licked at the fruit’s flesh.
“It’s delicious…” He muffled. “Ahh… Every bite burns me up inside.” Another, more desperate than the last. The Fount pressed it closer against his mouth as his Healer began to grind against his own fingers.
Two became three, his eyes rolling back with every thrust against himself. Breathless moans and pants sang in his ear as The Fount’s attention was grabbed from that delectable display. Something within his own chest burned, rubbing against his Healer’s back side, doing little to help.
It was a pull. Beyond physical, seeped in emotions. And as he peered just a bit closer, even his very so throbbed in excitement.
A link. Clinging to him.
This was an unexpected development, how curious, how delightful . He had only intended to mark his Healer’s soul, a signal to those who could see that he belonged to no one else but him. Yet with every bite, every pulse and tick of time. Something had grown.
Juices above and below dribbled out as his Healer remained blissfully unaware of the fate he had sealed within. Soulmates, speculation at best to the average cookie. But a bond of souls held above any marriage to those deeply entwined. His Healer could never escape his grasp, yes… But bonded like so, now he, too, could never escape his Healer.
From the ends of Earthbread, they would always find each other. Always and forever…
“Eat it! Dear dove! All of it!” The Fount demanded, sealing their fates as his Healer wailed in pleasure.
Like a starving man, he gnawed chunks out of the fruit. Not even leaving the seeds as they cracked between his teeth. Long after it was all consumed, the juices that clung to his hands were enveloped by hungry licks and sucks. “Mmh… Oh… Witches,” his Healer gasped, legs trembling against the rush in his veins.
A switch flipped, such sacrilege spoken in his presence.
Pulling his Healer’s fingers out of his hole, he pushed the whining man down against the floor. “Puhlease… My Fount…” Healer sobbed, humping at the air as The Fount removed his robes.
With featherlight precision, the tip of his claw trailed between the folds, his hole briefly catching it before reaching the clit. “Dear dove…” The Fount hummed, a second tip joining as eyes peered up at him in aroused fear. “Do not speak of them here.” With just a pinch, a strangled wail escaped his lips.
Tears welled up in the corner of his eyes, his mouth hung wide as he slowly squeezed it. “Damn the Witches, damn them all! Any prayers left and any prayers to be are only for me! Do I make myself clear?”
And with a quick tug, his Healer squirted all over his fingers with a scream. “My Fount! My Fount! My Fount!” His name babbled endlessly, hand clapped together in firm prayer. “Please! Please! Please!-” Silenced by one more kiss.
“Peace… Dear dove,” The Fount hummed, pecking away at his throat. “I will forgive you. But for as long as you may pray, this night will never end.” A dance of endless revelry as his thumbs squeezed the back of his legs.
He would hold his Healer in a mating press, of the endless knowledge held in his palms, it called to him most of all as his Healer squirmed beneath the bend of his legs. No longer could he contain himself; no more could he hold back.
That flower perked and blossomed before him. Soaking wet, ready for the taking. And oh, how he would indulge.
The tip of his cock pecked against the entrance as he slowly pushed into that velvet heat. Ragged breaths heaved out of his chest, feeling those fluttering walls pulse and squeeze around him.
It was merely the beginning, but he would willingly crumble without regret now.
“Hah… So perfect… Dear dove,” he hissed. Each inch, his claws left their mark. Jam beading at the tips as he racked them against Healer’s dough. “Utterly perfect for me.”
A kiss from his tip so gently left on his Healer’s cervix. Slobbering and rubbing against it as his prayers tightened. Tears welling in the corner of his eyes as The Fount made an experimental thrust to a wonderful wail. “Ahh! It’s so deep!”
The Fount clicked his tongue, kissing up those salted tears. “Shall I go even deeper, dear dove? Deeper than you’ve ever felt before?” A sacred land, untouched, lay out before him. One he could only have imagined up until now.
“Please… My… My love.”
Something broke inside The Fount that day.
Control.
He pulled himself all the way back out, just where his tip rubbed against the folds. Before thrusting back in, all at once. Wet slaps intermingled with garbled moans as he battered against that last barrier. Unrelenting with animalistic fervour, no words left between them.
Only guttural moans and howls would escape them now.
A breach was enough for his Healer to relent, his legs trembling beneath his grip as his climax finally hit its peak. Yet The Fount continued to fuck him through it, watching as his eyes rolled back, hands remaining clasped.
His devotion was deserving of a blessing.
Thrusts lost all aim, instead pushing his Healer further back to allow deeper purchase. Chasing that last release, his gift to him. With one sharp thrust, his belly coiled and burned. Molten cum pooling out into his Healer, filling him well.
Leaving their trembling bodies gasping for air, skin sheened by sweat.
But this would not be the end.
For his Healer’s hands remained in prayer.
A small thrust bumped against his cock, and who was he to deny his Healer a little more?