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“Just a moment!” Tyranny says, gathering an armload of her clothing. “I just need to change, and then we can go.”
“I went down to the bathing creek,” Tyranny explains, damp hair tied back in a ribbon as she disappears behind a folding changing screen. “I lost track of time!”
Wick clears his throat. “Your nightdress is fine.”
Tyranny’s head peeks around the corner. “What?”
“You can…wear that, if you wish,” Wick says thickly. “I have a blanket, from Thimble. Your dress will not be stained.”
“You sure?” Thimble asks. “I’m not indecent?”
“No,” Wick says. “No, you are perfect…ly decent.”
“Thank the Beam,” Tyranny sighs. “Oh, I did not want to struggle with a waistband after this spread. Let me grab my shawl.”
“I can get it!” Wick offers, already grabbing the fine green wool off the back of her chair. “Thimble even told me the best spot for us.”
Wicander Halovar has been a very, very selfish man. In a white nightdress, still slit up the sides, Tyranny hums to herself as she gets the blanket from Thimble laid out on the shaded grass. Had it been any other color, Wick wouldn’t have said anything. In the high sunlight, he can try to convince himself he can see through the material, but even he knows Lady Royce is not one to make her sleepwear so shameless. Still, it clings to every curve of Tyranny’s body, highlighting her hips and thighs and rear, and Wick can only stare like a buffoon when she rights a strap that slips off one shoulder.
“I have wine,” is all Wick can say dumbly.
“Ooh!” Tyranny giggles. “You’re treatin’ me like a real lady!”
“You are,” Wick tries, but it’s lost in the commotion of Tyranny opening the basket and setting items out on the blanket.
Wine. Bread and cheese. Fruits and dried meats. More of Tyranny’s mint chocolate truffles. A dark berry spread that Thimble recommended. All of it is almost pedestrian in Wick’s eyes, knowing that Tyranny should be eating fresh caught seafood and expensive cuts from the finest butchers. Like a true Aramán Lady, she should be seated at a high table and drolly discussing imported silks and who is having an affair with their husband’s knight. Lady Tyranny H–
“Are you coming, Wick?” Tyranny asks.
She’s seated with her legs folded, fine cotton bunched between her thighs to preserve her modesty, and she shakes out her hair absentmindedly as she uses her sharp nail to uncork the white wine that Lady Royce generously provided from her own selections. She balances the bottle against the inside of her thigh, setting out two ceramic plates for them both before setting their glasses on a third, larger plate to keep them stable.
“Thimble thinks of everything,” Tyranny says, filling each glass halfway. “Sit.”
“I hope you like,” Wick tries, “the cheese.”
“This was so sweet of you, Wick,” Tyranny smiles.
“I don't know when we'll have the time for something like this again,” Wick says as he sits across from her on the blanket.
“For a picnic?” Tyranny asks.
“For us,” Wick says.
Tyranny pauses, hand halfway into the basket. “Wick?”
“You're beautiful here,” Wick spills before he can think. “You're always beautiful, but– here? I can't describe it.”
“Try,” Tyranny says coyly, mischievous golden eyes on him as she regards him over her glass of wine.
“It's like magic,” Wick says. “Like you're supposed to be here, in the Orchard and with the fae folk. In these clothes, in this house– it's where you belong.”
“I could almost kiss you for that,” Tyranny plays.
“Almost?” Wick asks, cringing internally as his voice cracks on the word.
The air around Tyranny shifts; Wick swears he can almost see it. She sets her glass aside before leaning forward, just a little bit. The change in her position means that Wick almost has a perfect view down her nightdress and he knows she's doing it on purpose. He averts his eyes, looking at Tyranny's face as she bites her lower lip.
“Why?” Tyranny asks, head cocked as she plays innocent. “Do you want to kiss me, Wick?”
“Can I?”
Tyranny pretends to think about it. “I guess!” Her tone is playful and overdramatic, an exaggerated roll of her eyes as she smiles brightly.
So Wick leans forward, awkwardly braced on his palms, and clumsily presses his lips to Tyranny's. They're tacky, from the wine, but Wick doesn't linger. He aches to, but Tyranny didn't say he could do anything more than a kiss. He steals a quick glance down her nightdress and a selfish disappointment briefly bubbles in his blood when he's met with the linen wrapped around her chest.
Of course she's wearing proper undergarments! Wick could smack himself in the forehead. For all her tricks and innuendos, she's not showing up to a lovely afternoon picnic without anything beneath her nightdress! Still, he knows the material is fine and it wouldn't take much for Wick's curious hand to slip under and touch the soft skin beneath.
“Do you think we should clean this up?” Tyranny asks.
“Are you no longer hungry?” Wick swallows the frantic edge to his tone. He's ruined it!
“Not for this,” Tyranny says, eyes on Wick's lips.
“I could go back inside and–”
“Wicander,” Tyranny says firmly.
“Yes?” The use of his full first name makes him shiver uncomfortably.
“Help me pack up this food,” Tyranny says deliberately. “And kiss me again.”
“Yes–” my Lady sticks in his mouth and he nervously looks around for the basket, just to have anything to do that isn't looking at her.
Easily, like she's not even distracted, Tyranny gets a stopper in the wine bottle before downing Wick's untouched glass. The basket has some sort of enchantment on it, to keep their food fresh, and it chills Wick's hands when he sets their untouched plates back inside of it. He hopes they warm back up before he's allowed to maybe touch Tyranny.
Want, eager, burning want, curls in Wick's body. There's a distant throb at the base of his cock and he can't stop thinking about her body near his own. He's still busying himself with the clean up, brushing invisible crumbs off the blanket, and he fidgets with the corner as Tyranny sets the basket aside.
“Perhaps your appetite will–!”
Wick's cut off by Tyranny yanking him by the collar to smash their mouths together. He's half sprawled on top of her, legs and hooves in a tangle, and she tastes like the midday heat of summer when her forked tongue slips into his mouth. Tyranny collapses onto her back and brings Wick with her. He falls ungracefully, worried about his weight pressing against her body, but Tyranny just hauls him closer and kisses him hotly.
“Finally,” Tyranny pants when they part for air. “I've been trying to do that for months.”
“You could've asked,” Wick squeaks.
“You were scared of women until two weeks ago,” Tyranny says.
“I want to have sex with you,” Wick says bluntly. “I think I've always wanted to have sex with you.”
Her hand is still fisted in his collar, anchoring him right where she wants. “You think?!”
“It's complicated?” Wick tries. “The whole, you know, keeping my body pure for the Light and all that.”
“Do you want to?” Tyranny asks.
“Yes,” Wick says immediately. “If– if you want to.”
“Thank fuck,” Tyranny groans, pulling Wick in for another kiss.
Kissing Tyranny with intent fuels Wick. He doesn't know what he's doing, but his body seems to handle it for him. His tongue works against hers, feeling her sharpened teeth and shuddering against her when he thinks about the thrill of them near sensitive areas. He shifts and one hand awkwardly clamps over her breast, squeezing her over her layers and drinking down her soft moan. Even proper, it's easy to find her peaked nipple and Wick rubs his thumb over the bud, drinking down Tyranny's gasp.
“Off,” Tyranny demands, tugging at Wick's shirt.
“Tyranny, we're outside!”
“Fine,” Tyranny says, undoing Wick's shirt as best she can. “Open.”
Wick sits up and looks around the orchard. They're so far away from Lady Royce’s home that the sprawling estate is barely a blip in his vision. Even as he knows the others could be wandering the gardens, with more noble intentions, Wick is willing to take whatever scolding Lady Royce doles out if he's caught, literally, with his pants down. He also can't deny the excitement in his blood, feeling like the only way for him to be with Tyranny like this is outside, in a place like this. Maybe a bed, next time, but for now, Wick pulls his half undone shirt over his head and tosses it aside.
“Good,” Tyranny says, eyes hooded as she looks at Wick's bare chest appraisingly.
Despite it being nothing that Tyranny hasn't seen before, there's a hunger in her golden eyes that sends more heat straight to Wick's cock. The same heat must burn inside of her, and so Wick lets her roll him onto his back so she can straddle him. Her nightdress hides where their bodies press together; even as Wick can feel the heat between her thighs firm against his own interest, he wants to see it.
“Wick,” Tyranny moans quietly when she bends down to kiss at his jaw. “Tell me if it's too much.”
“N-never,” Wick stutters as his hands rest on Tyranny's hips.
Her nightdress has rucked up and the high slits are almost at her perfect hips. Wick might tug the material a little bit, just to feel Tyranny's heated skin beneath his sweating palms. Her tail wraps around his right leg, just a firm pressure, but Wick just thinks of her using it as his leash.
“I want you so much,” Tyranny swears, pressing her lips to his. “This is just what I wanted.”
Her backside is right against his erection when she kisses him again and Wick moans against her lips when she rocks a little on top of him. He's seen illicit drawings, fools leaving them in copies of Candescent holy books as a prank, and knows that Tyranny could be on top, just like this. He pulls on the strap of her nightdress, trying to still be a gentleman but he needs to see her.
“Give me a second,” Tyranny laughs against his lips.
She sits back up and snickers at Wick when she wriggles her hips and he jerks desperately in response. She pulls the straps of her nightdress down until she slips her arms out and lets the material gather around her waist. Even with linen wrapped around her chest, she's still breathtakingly erotic atop Wick. Tyranny, his demon, his aspirant, sitting astride him with her fine nightdress sitting around her waist. She glows, pearly white and glimmering fuschia, and her claws rest on Wick's bare chest as he looks at her helplessly.
“This too?” Tyranny asks gently, thumb pressed between her covered breasts.
“Please!” Wick nearly begs.
The material unwinds easily and Wick's mouth waters as more and more of her body is revealed to him. She tosses the linen aside but sits upright like she knows how much Wick needs to see her. Of course her breasts are also perfect, a heavy handful for his itching palms with darker pink nipples that he needs to get his tongue on.
“Anything else?” Tyranny asks playfully, arms pressed to the sides of her chest as Wick fixates on her cleavage. “You're in control here, Wick.”
He's not. She has all of the power over him, like she's had since day one. She's topless, perched happily on his lap, and Wick is on the verge of signing over his small handful of Halovar holdings to her and her alone. His hands are nervous on her thighs, feeling the soft fur of them, and he swallows twice before he can speak.
“I want you on top of me,” he manages.
“I already am, honey.”
“I want–”
Another illicit drawing left in a holy text. A lewd caricature of a Candescent nun, skirts gathered in her hands as she was straddling the face of a priest. The caption was something about that's one way to stay pure!, and Wick remembers shredding the drawing in disgust before tossing the scraps into the fire.
“--you on top of me,” Wick says again.
“Oh!” Tyranny smiles. “Yeah, let me just…”
She lifts up on her knees and scoots forward before planting her backside on Wick's lower stomach.
“There,” she says. “Sorry if I got too frisky.”
“Higher,” Wick says, voice tight and thin.
“Wick, I'm worried I'll crush your ribs!” Tyranny says, smiling as confusion colors her tone.
“Higher.”
Tyranny's brow furrows before–
“Oh.”
“Please.”
“Are you sure?” Tyranny asks softly. “That's– that could be a lot.”
“Tyranny, do not make me beg to perform oral sex on you,” Wick says quickly.
“Well,” Tyranny says with a shrug, “you can always yank on my tail if it's too much.”
Tyranny stands and Wick hears the subtle noise of her undergarments hitting the blanket. She folds them neatly, along with the forgotten linen, before starting to pull her white nightdress over her head.
“Keep that on?” Wick asks, palm pressed against the front of his trousers to try and push down the arousal boiling in his blood.
“I'll keep it out of your face,” Tyranny promises.
“Please don't,” Wick says.
“Wick,” Tyranny sighs. “I'll need to see your face, to know that you're okay.”
“Trust me, I will be fantastic. Please, Tyranny?”
“Okay,” Tyranny sighs. “Remember, just pull on my tail if you need to breathe.”
He was always a strong swimmer.
It takes some adjustment with Tyranny's clothing, but soon she's hovering just above his eager mouth as the white cotton blocks out everything that isn't her. Even the hair on her– her cunt, as he's heard it called before, is white and Wick has half a poet’s mind to compare her cunt to a blossoming flower in the snow. So he pulls her a little closer, using the point of his tongue to part her glistening folds so he can taste her dew.
“Oh!” Tyranny gasps sharply, more of her weight pressing down.
Wick is in paradise. Her thighs quiver, fur against his ears to muffle the outside world. He can tell Tyranny is leaning forward, hands on the blanket above his head, and he groans against her flesh as he takes more of her weight. He can't see, he can't hear, all he can do is lap at Tyranny's cunt and feel her shiver against him. He dips his tongue inside of her slit, feeling the warmth inside of her cunt, and his cock throbs with heavy need.
“Wick!” Tyranny whines, clit bumping his nose. “Oh fuck.”
He could be here all afternoon, tongue inside of Tyranny's cunt as he drinks down her pleasure. Her hips move, an aborted jerk, and Wick groans deeply as his senses are flooded with her. His hands are on her thighs to keep her close, but he still craves her. Tyranny pants as he keeps fucking her with his tongue, smelling the sweetened salt of her arousal as she rubs her cunt against his face.
“That's it,” Tyranny sighs happily when he flicks his tongue up to her clit. “That feels nice.”
Wick realizes he may be the first person to do this to her. He swats away an intrusive thought of Davinos’ dark hair between her thighs, focusing more on the dreamy sighs of Tyranny's pleasure above him. He wishes he could see her; he wants to see how her head tips back and if she's playing with her breasts while Wick is beneath her.
Wick jolts, nails digging into Tyranny's furred thighs, and listens to her satisfied giggle. The spade of her tail strokes his cock over his trousers and Wick grunts against her when the tip of the spade presses beneath the head. The spade is almost cupping around his cock, stroking him carefully while Tyranny gasps and sighs above him.
“Wick,” Tyranny whines, thighs clenching on either side of his head. “Fuck. You're gonna make me come.”
Wick focuses solely on her clit, holding her thighs desperately as Tyranny fucks against his tongue. There's slick halfway up his face, smearing over his nose and mouth as she rolls her hips against him. He hopes she'll move the same way in his lap, hips in perfectly tight circles as she takes her pleasure from Wick. Her tail strokes him faster, not enough to make him come but enough to keep him eager for her body.
“Fuck!” Tyranny groans. “Wick, your tongue.”
She rides it eagerly, rolling her cunt across it shamelessly as her cries take on a higher pitch. Wick can't get close enough to her, muffled gasps for air lost where his nose and mouth are forced against her aching cunt. She'll sit next time, on one of Lady Royce's expensive divans, and lock her thighs around Wick's head until he's lightheaded and she's exhausted herself. He wants to touch himself, wants Tyranny's tail to help, and arousal makes him dizzy as she rolls her hips faster.
“Please, Wick!” Tyranny whimpers. “Oh, please– please–!”
Tyranny comes with a high, desperate noise that immediately goes to Wick's cock. He keeps licking her, tongue everywhere he can reach, and Tyranny shivers and gasps as her hips finally slow before coming to a twitching stop. When she goes to pull off of him, he holds her firm as he laps slowly at her dripping, swollen cunt. She gasps shakily, breathing heavily with a small whine, before she finally unlocks Wick's hand from her thigh.
“Se– sensitive,” she says as Wick reluctantly lets her go.
The bright sunlight burns Wick's eyes as her nightdress is lifted and he grunts when Tyranny's weight settles on his upper chest. He can feel slick dripping off his chin and he grabs the hem of her nightdress to wipe his mouth and face with.
“Hey!” Tyranny snaps. “Not my nightie!”
“When can we do that again?” Wick asks, voice thick and wet.
“Again?!” Tyranny asks.
Wick nods. “Do you need 10 minutes or so?”
Tyranny snorts. “Next time, I'm going to pin you there by choking you with my thighs and using your hair like reins.”
“Five minutes?”
“Tell me to put my clothes back on,” Tyranny says, pushing Wick's sweaty hair off his forehead. “Tell me to stop.”
“What's next?” Wick asks, knowing there's very little he'll say no to.
“I get naked, rip your pants open, and ride you until you're dry.”
“Please.”
Tyranny gets off of him, taking a moment to stretch her legs and roll her hooves. Wick sits up on his elbows, watching as Tyranny pulls her soiled nightdress up and over her head with ease. She really is beautiful, framed by the afternoon sun as she's bare and comfortable in her skin. He has to kiss every inch of her, feeling where the smooth skin of her hips and lower stomach becomes the coarseness of white hair on her mound and the soft, intoxicating fur on her legs. He needs to trace his tongue around the base of her tail, either licking back up her spine or lower still to see if she'd allow him to.
“I wish you could stay like this,” Wick says. “You're beautiful here.”
“Naked?” Tyranny laughs, arms stretched high above her head.
“Natural,” Wick corrects.
“You just want to see me eating pomegranate seeds with my tits out.”
“Yes,” Wick says plainly.
“I think that could be arranged,” Tyranny winks. “Pants, Wick.”
He has none of Tyranny's grace as he strips, but she's back on his lap before he can even resettle into the blanket. She leans forward, bare backside against Wick's cock and her breasts against his chest as she kisses him again. She must taste herself on his tongue, and her nails tug on his hair as she kisses him passionately.
“You look amazing,” Tyranny says softly, eyes on his flushed face. “You keep sayin' I look like I belong here, but I've been thinking the same about you.”
“I'm afraid I wouldn't look as good eating fruit without my shirt on,” Wick chuckles.
“You might not,” Tyranny says teasingly. “But you might look better with your cock in my mouth.”
“Tyranny–!”
“You don't want that?” Tyranny pretends to pout, pushing her breasts against him. “I could even do it while I'm on your face. We can see who can make the other come first.”
“Oh Beam,” Wick groans.
He knows she'd win; Wick would be done the second that forked tongue touched anything sensitive. Tyranny sits up and Wick hisses when her hand wraps around his cock. Precome slicks her fist and Wick watches helplessly as she plays with him.
“Why am I not surprised that it's blue?” Tyranny bites off a laugh.
“It's not blue,” Wick says.
“Yes it is!” Tyranny says. “It makes sense; your hair is the same shade. Of course the carpet would match the drapes.”
“You, you weren't talking about my– never mind,” Wick manages.
“It's cute!” Tyranny giggles. “All day long, I'm just going to be thinking about this. Wait, what color is your leg hair?”
“Tyranny–”
“Don't laugh with your dick in my hands?”
“Essentially.”
“What do you want, Wick?” Tyranny asks, a serious note to her tone.
“I want to have sex with you,” Wick says. “Right now, if you want.”
“You sure?”
Wick nods. “More than anything.”
“Just talk to me, Wick,” Tyranny says as she lifts up onto her knees.
They both moan when the head of Wick's cock slips into Tyranny's cunt. Gravity sinks Tyranny down, breath caught in her throat, and Wick's muscles tense once she's seated on his pelvis. Tyranny takes a moment to catch her breath, sweat between her breasts, and the faintest flash of pain furrows her brow.
“Big boy,” Tyranny pants. “Oh, I'll feel this tomorrow.”
“This is your first time.”
Tyranny nods. “I knew it would always be you.”
Wick's hands come to her hips as his tongue ties. He has so much to say to her, but none of his thoughts are where they need to be. He hopes his touch says it all, smooth strokes up her thighs or a playful squeeze of her hips. She must have a spell over him, or maybe it's just her.
“Wick,” Tyranny exhales as she rocks against him. “I've wanted you so badly.”
“You've got me,” Wick promises, even as he groans when Tyranny's hands cover her breasts.
She stays close as she rides him, hips in those tight circles as she grinds her clit against the base of his cock. She’s tight around him, clenching tighter with each flash of her pleasure, and Wick can barely manage more than a half-hearted thrust here or there as Tyranny takes from him. Anything she wants could be hers– his fortune, his estates, his bloody heart– anything to make Tyranny smile and decide to bless him with her affections.
And what is this, if not a blessing? A new devotion, an altered holiness, a modified worship– Wick would bend to kiss Tyranny’s hooves, would kneel between her knees to show his devotion to her radiant beauty. Beam and Light, all shining on her like that afternoon sun to illuminate her exposed nature, to reflect her bare glory. Brighter than his Light, more beautiful than any diamond or pearl could wish to be, all for her to choose Wick as her most devoted acolyte.
Wick takes his hand off her hip to press his thumb against where she’s firm against his pelvis. It takes a moment, or two, for them to adjust their rhythm, but Tyranny squeals and smiles when Wick rubs a counter-circle against her clit to work against her hips. It’s the least he can do; he’s too overwhelmed for anything else. It should be his hands on her breasts, should be his mouth against her throat, but Wick is staving off his rapidly approaching orgasm and praying that he can see Tyranny undone first. He should be impressive, should be suave and roll her onto her back to finish the job, but his toes are curling as heat races up his spine and he knows that he’s about to fall over the precipice.
“Tyranny,” Wick gasps. “I’m not going to last.”
“Don’t,” Tyranny groans. “I want you to.”
It takes two, three, four–! rolls of Tyranny’s hips before Wick is falling. His head tilts back, a whimper slipping between his teeth, and his cock twitches inside of Tyranny’s heat before he groans through a heart-pounding orgasm. She keeps rolling her hips, keeps clenching around his cock, and she encourages Wick so sweetly as he gasps through the last burning embers of his orgasm.
“If you– oh fuck,” Wick pants, “wish to…get back up here, I will make sure you are also satisfied.”
“Wick, you just–”
“I am aware,” Wick says, eyes screwed shut.
“Are you sure?”
“Tyranny.”
“I forgot about the cheese,” Tyranny says. “And the wine!”
Tyranny is shaking as she pushes herself into a sitting position, wincing as pressure hits her pelvis and adjusting into a more comfortable seated position. By the time she was satisfied, Wick was ready to go again. So they went again, Tyranny on her back, and Wick waited until she was satisfied, again, before finding his own pleasure for a second time. Now Wick is dehydrated and needs a bath, and both of their stomachs grumble as Tyranny gets into their long-forgotten picnic basket.
Wick knows it won’t always be like this, and he accepts it. For now, he can enjoy a shaking, utterly wrung out Tyranny who is prioritizing her stomach above all else. For now, Tyranny is all his, even if she’s more excited for fresh green apples and freshly baked breads. Still, when a smear of dark berry jam slips off her bread and lands on her breast (“aw shit!”), Wick doesn’t feel bad when he imagines lapping the sweetness from her skin.
Tyranny’s satisfaction, however it comes, is Wick’s new priority. Especially if her kisses always taste like fresh berried jam.