We most certainly need more Wyll/Halsin content. Can I suggest 'bearlock' (since Wyll is a warlock) as a ship name? Though 'hornbear' is funny as hell, I agree.
I agree.
Halsin combines two of his favourite things: honey and Wyll.
CW: erotic use of food, oral sex, domination.
"Come closer. I'll take your mind off your devil."
Looking back, perhaps Wyll could have done more to resist such a sultry promise, but the rumble of Halsin's voice had a way of cutting down to a man's core. As an earthquake shook the ground, so did Halsin's voice shake a man's foundations; deep inside, where all his baser instincts and desires lurked.
Wyll had sat on the edge of the camp, nursing his mead, as Shadowheart had joked with Tav about 'conquering Mount Halsin', and while Wyll never dared to dream he would be anyone's choice of lover, and certainly wouldn't begrudge anyone the warm comforts of a strong and kind hand, he had been somewhat relieved when Tav had snuck off into the shadows with the pale elf.
Halsin had appeared not half an hour later, politely declining the offer of mead, while he settled down at Wyll's side with a sheath knife and a chunk of wood he had salvaged from the logpile waiting for the campfire.
Their conversation had drifted good-naturedly at first, steering towards humour and stories, but finally onto the issue of Wyll's quest. Halsin appeared intrigued by Wyll's story, particularly how he had ended up at the Grove, helping the Tieflings. All the while Wyll watched Halsin's hands work, his lips form in broad smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkle with mirth, his camp shirt barely laced at the front, teasing the firmness of his chest. Wyll wanted to trace every part of him; the red swirls of his tattoos, the edges and curves of his body. To have Halsin, to possess him, to be possessed by him.
Wyll had almost convinced himself that the fire in his belly and the tingling beneath his skin was part mead, part loneliness, part touch-starved and knowing no one would ever touch him again now that he bore the mark of a demon. His desires had to play second fiddle to his greater mission.
And then the offer had been made.
Wyll had looked up sharply, meeting those keenly intelligent eyes, edged with a golden light Wyll had come to associate with Halsin's fearsome Wildshape. Fierce, wild and staggeringly beautiful. He had swallowed, the words choked in his throat, and then Halsin's broad palm had brushed his cheek. Wyll hadn't pulled away. He couldn't. He was rooted as solidly to that moment as one of Halsin's great oaks was to the soil.
No, he had leaned in, desperate, needy.
Wyll didn't really recall how they had made it into Halsin's tent. A fevered fumbling of belts, buckles and cloth, overwhelmed by the sensation of hands and lips on his skin, his trepidation numbed a little by the warm buzz of mead in his blood and a desperate need to feel the full extent of Halsin's desire. Wyll gripped onto Halsin's shoulders as teeth and tongue roamed his throat and chest, his knees pressed to Halsin's hips, the wet, ruddy head of Halsin's thick cock brushing the inside of his thighs, his own desperate prick, whenever he leaned forward to taste more of Wyll's body.
And then Halsin drew away.
Wyll felt the absence of his warmth in a rush of fear. Had he done something wrong? Been too loud?
"I hope you can forgive me, but there is something I have desired for some time, and the way you wriggle with my tongue on your skin..."
"Anything."
Halsin smiled and dropped his eyes. He traced the inside of Wyll's knee in gentle circles, replacing his fingertips with his lips for a delicate kiss. "You must wait to hear the terms before you throw yourself in so readily, my heart."
Wyll swallowed. The term of endearment made something tighten at the base of his spine. "Then tell me."
Halsin leaned over, a hand braced at Wyll's side while the other sought something above his head. When Halsin moved back, it was to trace Wyll's lips with fingertips coated in sticky sweetness.
"Honey," Wyll said through a breathless laugh. He knew instantly he had stepped wrong, because the big druid retracted his hand and looked away, the glitter in his eyes dimming. Wyll recalled a conversation he had overheard, how Halsin's love of honey had been a subject of ridicule, and he reached out to take Halsin's hand, bringing it back to his lips for another gentle lick. "If you wish to spend the night kissing honey from my lips, then I will see it as a night well spent in excellent company."
Wyll watched the tips of Halsin's ears flush, and then that uncertain lilt of his mouth transformed into a truly devilish smirk. "When there is so much more of you I wish to taste?"
Wyll's prick twitched against his belly, still full and fat, and he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth with a soft groan. "You will be the ruin of me, druid."
Halsin hummed as he collected the deep bowl containing his precious store of liquid gold, and Wyll gasped as the first drops touched his skin. Halsin used honey to map his journey over Wyll's body. He started at Wyll's throat, leaving a trail down to the crest of his chest, and circled his nipples in lazy swirls before descending to the soft valleys of his stomach and the sharper angles of his hips. Halsin's path finished at the eager head of Wyll's cock, the slow spread of honey teasing the headier promise of Halsin's mouth.
When the bowl was empty, Halsin cast it aside with a feral urgency. His eyes had blown wide, his thick chest heaving, that golden hue ghosting over his skin, the beast barely contained in roiling muscle. Despite the threat of wild abandon, the first touch of Halsin's mouth was torturously slow. Halsin gripped Wyll's horns to pin his head back, and licked a long, indulgent stripe up the curve of Wyll's throat.
The bone deep groan Halsin let out rattled Wyll to the core, and he found himself clinging on to Halsin's wrists if only to bare himself fully to the druid's hunger. "Hals--yes, yes, please." He begged, and moaned, and gasped, body arching as Halsin's tongue circled over his chest and around his nipples, savouring every delicious drop of honey on Wyll's skin. "Please, please."
Wyll had expected to be supped like a pup cleaned by its mother; sweet, funny, playful. Not this. This slow, torturous devouring that held him at the aching brink, stripped him of his senses, left him as a shaking, whining mess beneath Halsin's mouth.
At some point, Halsin's hands had left Wyll's horns, but Wyll kept himself pinned back and spread, every muscle pulled taut and shuddering. The moment Halsin swallowed his prick, taking it to the base in one effortless swallow, Wyll almost spilled down his throat. The deep, guttural growls rising from Halsin's chest rippled up Wyll's spine, following the pulses of pleasure with each ripple of pressure from Halsin's mouth and throat.
All Wyll could do was cling on for dear life, his shaking fingers knotted in Halsin's braids, his thighs squeezing those elegant ears. He teetered on the edge, Halsin seemingly an expert in longing out his lover's pleasure until they were driven insane by it. But it was as Halsin pulled off, his tongue tracing the delicate seam of Wyll's sack to the intimate skin behind that the coil in Wyll's body released.
Wyll arched into Halsin with a wretched cry, light exploding behind his eyelids, his limbs flooded with warmth as he unspooled so completely.
In the soft afterglow, Wyll could barely keep his eyes open, but he did, if only to see Halsin's face. The effort was worth it; the druid's pupils were blown wide, his face a mess of honey and Wyll's pleasure, those large fingers tracing his own lips in search of every last morsel. He looked so thoroughly satisfied, that Wyll could almost have forgot about the straining erection arched up to Halsin's belly. So big, Wyll was surprised that Halsin had enough blood in his body to support it.
"Forgive me," Wyll rasped. "It's impossible to resist your ardour, give me a moment and I will attend to you before we retire."
There was that smirk again, and a renewed heat began to pool in Wyll's stomach. When Halsin spoke, it was with the lazy confidence of a predator with his prey trapped firmly beneath his paw. "The night's young, and it will take far more to sate my hunger for you. I shall be gentle," Halsin leaned over, knees easing Wyll's thighs apart once more, dark, hungry eyes tracing down Wyll's body, "well, I shall try."
