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astrobei · 1 year

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byler 22 for the touch prompts??

22 for touch prompts: falling asleep on the other's shoulder (+ bonus mini soundtrack that i listened to on repeat while writing this)

“Remind me again,” Mike says, as Will climbs into the passenger side of the car, “why we have to go to this thing today?”

Will gives him a look. Or his best attempt at a look anyway. He’s ninety percent sure they fall too flat to ever be effective, or Mike would have stopped saying stupid shit years ago. “This thing?” He struggles with the seatbelt for a moment before it finally clicks into place. “You mean your sister’s wedding? To my brother?”

Mike pulls a face. “If you want to get into the semantics,” he mumbles, adjusting the rearview mirror, and Will laughs.

“You’re ridiculous. It’s their wedding, Mike.”

“Rude to get married on a Saturday night,” Mike says, as if every wedding in the history of the world ever hasn’t taken place on a Saturday night. “Maybe some of us had things to do.”

“Yeah? What did you have going on?” Will asks, smoothing down the lapel of his suit. This jacket is a lint magnet like nothing he’s ever seen before, and he plucks a little piece of it away. “Hot date?”

Mike wiggles his eyebrows, and Will realizes immediately that this was the wrong thing to say. “Yeah,” Mike chirps, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You.”

Despite himself, Will feels his cheeks turn red. It’s stupid, because he quite literally handed Mike the opportunity to say this on a silver platter, and it’s more dumb than any sort of flirtatious, except the unfortunate truth of dating Mike Wheeler is that he doesn’t even have to try and actually flirt to get Will blushing like a teenage girl. “I had that coming,” he admits, and Mike grins even harder than before. “And we didn’t have a date tonight.”

“We did! We were going to–”

“We can order pizza and watch TV when we get back, Mike,” Will chides, and, when Mike’s lower lip turns downward in something reminiscent of a pout, “this is Nancy’s wedding.”

“I was never Nancy’s favorite sibling,” Mike says noncommittally, releasing the parking brake, “she won’t even notice if I’m not there,” which one, is not true because Mike makes up about a third of Nancy’s bridal party so she will most definitely notice if he goes AWOL. And second, this is also not true because Will knows that Holly is currently in the throes of teenage angst, and Mike is still working on the angst but he’s moved on from the teenager part, at least, which is definitely earning him some points in Nancy’s book. So at worst, he’s tied with Holly. At least for the next couple of years.

And Will knows he’s not being serious anyway. For all of the fuss he’s kicking up, he knows Mike is happy for them. Will checks the backseat to make sure he put the presents in the car earlier that afternoon, and says, laughing, “Cold feet? It’s not even your wedding, Mike.”

“I know,” Mike moans, falling forward until his forehead hits the top of the steering wheel. “And it’s exciting! I’m happy for them! And your brother too, and I know your mom and Hop are so pumped, and– it’s just that I’m not so pumped about spending the evening with my family.”

Will suddenly feels very, very stupid. Jesus, he hadn’t even thought about that– about Mike’s parents being there, and his nana, the one that his mom had totally guilted Nancy into inviting because she might not live long enough to see Mike and Holly get married, Nancy, just let her have this. Which was kind of a depressing enough thought on its own, Will thinks, even without the entire conversation that had followed, the one he’d overheard Mike have on the phone in the living room, loud and frustrated before he’d slammed the phone down on the receiver hard enough for Will to hear it from their bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, then rests a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to them, okay, Mike? Just– hang out with us instead. I know Dustin’s been dying to break out his new dance moves.”

Mike cracks a tentative smile, then turns his face slightly so that one side of it is illuminated by the glow of the street lamps outside. “I’m scared he’s going to get driven away in a stretcher,” Mike admits, and Will grins.

“Yeah, probably. It’ll be a good distraction, at least. I’ll tell him to take one for the team.”

Mike nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Will hesitates, then drops his hand to Mike’s and slots their fingers together. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”

Mike looks up the rest of the way. He looks incredible tonight, which is something Will’s been thinking ever since they’d started getting ready an hour ago, and at least half of the reason it took him so long was because he’d been totally distracted the whole time. Maybe Will is just biased, which is a little true, sure, but Mike should definitely wear suits more– and he’s officially taking it upon himself to make sure that Mike wears suits more– because suddenly he’s tempted to take Mike up on his offer of becoming a runaway best man and going back inside and collapsing on the couch and kissing him stupid into the early hours of the morning.

“What?” Mike is saying, eyebrows twisting a little self-consciously. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“You just look really nice,” Will says simply, and then, because that comes nowhere close to how good Mike looks in a tie, “no, actually, you look– wow.”

Mike’s lips twitch, but he looks a little pleased. “Wow? Really?”

“You’ve rendered me speechless,” Will nods rapidly, and Mike’s shy smile breaks into something more genuine. “You– look at you, I mean– I can’t even– wow.”

“Will,” Mike says, drawing out the single syllable until it feels big enough to fill up the whole car. “Okay, I look nice! You can stop playing it up now.”

His cheeks are turning red, slowly, visible even in the dim lighting of the street lamps through the windows, because it’s early fall and it’s started to get dark ridiculously early in the day. It feels like a victory, getting Mike flustered, even after a year of dating. Will smiles to himself.

“I’m not,” Will says, then leans in across the console. “Come here. I’ll prove it.”

“You’ll–” Mike gets out, eyes going wide in surprise, “–has anyone ever told you that you’re–”

Whatever it was that people may or may not have told Will is apparently a mystery that will die with the universe, because Will never finds out. He kisses Mike with one hand still holding his, threads a hand through his hair and cups his jaw. Soft. Slow. Unhurried, even though they should have left ten minutes ago and they’re going to be cutting it real close– Will can’t be bothered to rush.

Mike hums low in the back of his throat, pleased, and shifts closer. He’s pushing himself up over the console, a hand ghosting the side of Will’s neck, when–

Beeeeep.

“What–” Will jerks backwards, startled, and Mike immediately lets go of his hand. “Did you just–”

Mike rubs his elbow and moves further away from the wheel. “I got a little distracted,” he laughs, but the tension has ebbed from his shoulders a little and his eyes are creasing up at the corners, so Will considers this a mission success, thank you. “We should probably go?”

“Good idea,” Will says, then reaches over to smooth out a stray tuft of Mike’s hair that was– he thinks, a little proud of himself– definitely not out of place before. “And hey,” he adds, before Mike can take the car out of park. “Seriously. Ignore your parents. It’s not their wedding, okay, it’s Nancy’s. And Jonathan’s. And they both want us there. Together.”

Mike’s lips press together into a thin, determined line. “You’re right,” he nods, “I know, it’s just–”

“I know,” Will echoes, and Mike shoots him a grateful smile. “Now let’s go, or we really will miss the ceremony.”

—-

They don’t miss the ceremony, which is good, because having both the best man and the– whatever Mike was– would probably not be a good look for anyone involved.

“I can’t believe you cried,” Dustin says, after the toasts are done and the speeches are given and everyone’s been supplied with enough champagne to go a little loose and maybe a little tear-happy.

Mike scowls across the table at him. “I didn’t cry,” he insists, which is kind of pointless because Will had been watching him the whole time he’d been standing up there, shuffling his feet awkwardly in place at his designated spot in between Holly and Robin Buckley, and he’d definitely cried. Just a little, but he had.

“You did,” El chimes in primly, plucking at her shrimp cocktail. “I saw.”

“Thanks, El,” Mike mutters, sinking back in his chair a little and crossing his arms. “It’s– the vows were very emotional, okay, you’d have to be made of total stone to not tear up!”

“I didn’t cry,” Lucas announces, which is a fucking lie, by the way. Will saw him dabbing at his eyes in the bathroom on the way here.

“I think it’s sweet,” he says, instead of throwing Lucas to the dogs like he maybe should have. He flashes Mike a grin, leans over in his chair to bridge the space between them and squeezes his hand, once. “They were very sappy vows, to be fair.”

Mike blinks up at him from where he’s slumped down to somewhere around shoulder height. “You didn’t cry.”

“Oh, I did,” Will assures him. “I just cried in the back with Jonathan while he was getting ready.”

“Really?” Mike perks right up. “You did?”

“Yes,” Will laughs, “and I can’t believe you’re happy about it,” and then Mike grins so wide that Will can’t help but lean in the rest of the way and press a quick kiss to Mike’s cheek.

“You two are disgusting,” Lucas says, and he’s maybe one strike away from Will speaking up about the bathroom incident after all.

“Maybe so,” Mike relents, looking properly cheered up now. “What about it?”

Mike’s grip on Will’s hand never falters. Will feels himself turn warmer with every slow pass of Mike’s thumb over his knuckles, even with their hands tucked under the tablecloth and out of view. And it isn’t from the champagne. He’s had just the one glass with dinner, which is nothing, so it must be something else that’s making him feel like this. Something–

“You okay?” Mike murmurs as his thumb pauses, briefly, on the back of Will’s hand. “You got kind of quiet out of nowhere,” and yeah, there it is.

“I meant it,” Will says, lowering his voice so their friends can’t hear them from across the table. “What I said in the car, I mean. You look beautiful.”

It’s a little amusing just how fast Mike can turn such a violent shade of red. “You can’t just say that,” he splutters. “Give a guy some warning, Jesus, Will–”

“Mm, no,” Will decides smugly, watching the red creep down the collar of Mike’s carefully starched dress shirt. Then, because the soft lighting of the venue and the way Mike’s hair has started to fall free around his face is doing something funny to his chest and stomach, Will nods to the dance floor and says, “You wanna?”

Mike hesitates, looking over his shoulder. “Dance?”

Will shrugs, then looks over to where Jonathan and Nancy are trying– and failing, quite hilariously and miserably– at a dance of their own. “I mean, it’s a wedding, and people dance at weddings. Not that either of us are good at it, but it might be fun to try?”

Mike chews nervously at his lower lip and nudges Will’s foot with his own. “I don’t know,” he admits. “My mom was eyeing me earlier and I was totally avoiding her by hiding out over here but I feel like the dance floor is fair game for a–” he waves his hands around, “pseudo-confrontation. Nancy’s only three years older than you, blah, blah. When are you going to settle down, blah, blah. Even though I’m here with my boyfriend, which apparently doesn’t count for shit, and–” Mike sighs dejectedly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down, it’s just– I was having such a good day, too.”

Will squeezes Mike’s leg, just above the knee. “You were having a good day? Really? Even though your hot date got canceled?”

“Well,” Mike rolls his eyes. “My sister got married, and now my hot date is all dressed up and sweet-talking me, so I think this is even better than pizza on the couch.” He pauses, contemplating. “Actually, scratch that. It’s not. But it’s a close second,” Mike adds, then grins and picks Will’s hand up again. “Dance– later, maybe? I’m really enjoying this for right now.”

“Of course. Anything you want,” Will smiles, as the music in the background softens into something more mellow. He pulls his chair up so that it’s flush with Mike’s, their thighs pressed up together in one line, and passes Mike a flute of champagne from the table. “You might want to drink this, though, because your mom looks like she might be heading over here any second.”

“Thanks,” Mike groans, then knocks the whole thing back in one go.

—-

Will knows that a big fancy flashy wedding isn’t really Jonathan’s style, and he didn’t think it was Nancy’s either. Which is why he was surprised to get an invite to an event at all, because he’d honestly sort of thought they’d make a courthouse affair of it and then have everyone over for dinner or something. They’d been engaged for, like, three years, because it was career stuff and then more career stuff and then a couple months of long distance while Jonathan was doing some photojournalism thing in London, and Will had figured at some point that they’d get so tired of being engaged that they’d show up the next day with papers from City Hall and that would be that.

Apparently, though, in a not-so-surprising turn of events, Nancy Wheeler takes to event planning like a moth to flame, and Jonathan was immediately dragged along for the ride. He didn’t seem too upset about it, though, when Will had asked. “It’s Nancy,” he shrugged, like that explained everything. And maybe it did, because not too long after that, Will started dating Mike and everything immediately clicked.

Which is maybe the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him. For anyone else, Will would not even entertain the thought of fussing over seating arrangements, and he’s certain he only knows, like, five types of flowers– if pink and red roses count as two different types. It’s Nancy, Jonathan had said, and Will hadn’t gotten it then but he does now.

Mike’s hand twitches on Will’s bicep, fingers clutching once at the fabric of his shirt. Will’s suit jacket lies abandoned on the chair behind them. Mike had leaned over maybe half an hour ago to rest his head on Will’s shoulder, as it got later in the night and guests started slowly trickling out of the room. And then, maybe fifteen or so minutes ago, his breathing had evened out, fingers slackening in their grip against his arm, and Will doesn’t know how the hell Mike can fall asleep in a room that’s filled with so much noise, but he can’t help but find it endearing– wholly, completely, embarrassingly endearing.

And he gets it, he does. It’s Mike, he thinks, chest flooding with warmth in a strange, hollowed-out way, like there’s nothing left inside him except this feeling. It’s Mike. It’s Mike. It’s–

“Hey, hon,” comes a voice behind him, and Will startles, just a little, then immediately relaxes.

“Oh, hey mom,” he whispers, and Mike’s hand twitches lightly against his arm again. Joyce gives him an amused look, glancing down at Mike, then back at Will.

“Did he fall asleep?” she asks, pulling up a chair next to them. “I’ll be quiet, don’t worry.”

Will feels himself smile before he actually realizes he’s doing it. “Yeah,” he snorts softly, “but I have no idea how.”

As if roused by some sixth sense, like he knew they were talking about him, Mike stirs, lifting his head off of Will’s shoulder and blinking blearily. “What–”

“Shh,” Will says, and Joyce bites back a smile. “Go back to sleep.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Mike says, and then yawns loud and conspicuously. “Shit– I’ve just been so tired this week, sorry, Will–”

“Don’t be,” he says immediately, even though his shoulder and arm are starting to fall asleep, just a little. Will drops a kiss to the top of Mike’s head, and feels him start to smile into his shoulder before stiffening, a little self-consciously, and glancing up at Joyce.

“Um–”

“Oh,” his mom waves a hand, “don’t mind me. You two are so sweet. You remind me of Nancy and Jonathan after they started dating. Jonathan would turn so red, but maybe not as red as you’re turning right now, Will–”

“Mom!”

“Red?” Mike perks up, and then, “Oh you are turning red!”

“Shut up,” Will mumbles, but he’s sure it’s not convincing in the slightest. “Did you come over here just to embarrass me?”

Joyce puts two hands up in the air like hey, don’t look at me. “I was just going to let you know that Hop and I are taking off,” she says, eyes sparkling. “He has the early shift tomorrow, but Mike, now that I’ve caught you– your speech was wonderful. Really. Jim was tearing up and he told me to never let you find out but I figured you’d want to know.”

Mike blinks. He still looks a little out of it, still a little red from sleep or the champagne from earlier, but he smiles, sudden and pleased. “Really?”

“Don’t tell him I told you,” Joyce grins conspiratorially. “But yes. It was very sweet.”

“Thanks Mrs. Byers,” Mike says, the words stretching into another yawn, quieter this time. He groans lightly, then pushes himself off of Will’s shoulder and sits back up.

Will peers over at him. “Are you tired? You want to head back?”

Mike rubs at his eyes with both hands, blinks a few times in rapid succession, then shakes his head like he’s trying to shake the sleep out of his body, like it’s a physical thing. “No,” he smiles, and it’s a little bit tired, but he looks happy. “No, not yet.”

“Okay,” Will whispers, and he’s probably grinning like an idiot, but he can’t help it. That’s the common denominator here, between every interaction he ever has with Mike– that he’s so happy that he just can’t help it. “You still want to get pizza on the way back?”

“God, yes please,” Mike groans in relief. “Um. No offense, but wedding food is just– like what the hell, man, I’m starving. That was nothing.”

“Pizza it is,” Will agreed easily, mentally making a pros and cons list of getting a large and having leftovers or saving money and going for a medium. “Pepperoni?”

“Anything goes,” Mike is saying, and then Joyce clears her throat.

“Well,” she says, snapping her purse shut and smiling. “Hop and I are heading out but– oh, drive safe you two. Eat a slice for me, actually, I’ve been craving pizza all week.”

“Bye, mom,” Will smiles, craning his neck upwards as she plants a kiss on top of his head.

“You too,” she says to Mike, who barely has time to blink in surprise before his mom is dropping a kiss on his forehead. She rests a hand on his shoulder briefly as she smiles and says, “I’d welcome you to the family, Mike, but you’ve been a part of it for years already.”

“I– bye, Mrs. Byers,” Mike says faintly, eyes wide, as Joyce waves goodbye. He turns back to Will. “Part of the family? Really?”

“It’s what you get for dating your best friend,” Will murmurs, glancing out over the rapidly emptying room before tugging on Mike’s arm until he falls into him with a small, startled noise. “You get smothered by my mom.”

“I wouldn’t call it smothering,” Mike laughs, eyes darting down to Will’s mouth. He swallows, and says, softly, “Plus, I like your family. No complaints from me.”

Will hums, soft. “I’m sorry about– you know. How did that go?”

“Nancy said she survived mom and dad with minimal damage,” Mike laughs drily. “And nana too. And I managed to avoid them long enough that they didn’t have a chance to ambush me, so.”

“Good,” Will says, kissing Mike softly on the corner of his mouth, then again, right over the curve of his cupid’s bow. He’s a little warm, a little loose and pliant from sleep, and he moves easily, tucking a finger into the loop of Will’s tie and pulling him in closer. Their knees bump against each other under the tablecloth, chair legs scraping gently across the polished floor as Will leans forward. “I’m glad,” Will says into the kiss, and Mike smiles.

“Me too,” Mike whispers, tucking his hands into Will’s hair and pulling away, just barely. “Because now they’re gone and all of our annoying cursory invite relatives are gone and it’s just you and me– and Nancy, and Jonathan, and El and Lucas and– whatever. I think I owe you a dance.”

There’s something slow and melodic playing as Nancy and Jonathan make the last of their rounds, most of the tables empty and the dance floor cleared out. Will grins, kisses Mike one more time for good measure, then stands up. “Okay,” he agrees, “but I’m leading.”

“I don’t think it makes a difference, because neither of us can–”

“I’m leading,” Will says again, and Mike chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sure. Lead the way, Will.”

#oh this got away from me #this really really got away from me #parker the actual prompt part is so minor i'm so sorry i had a vision for this and then it got away from me so bad #idk why i thought jancy wedding but the thought popped into my head and i just went with it #something so personal to me is jancy deciding to have a courthouse wedding but then nancy gets into planning like music and food and stuff #nothing fancy like she's not a bridezilla by any means #but they end up having a small ceremony n reception with just their family n close friends #like the extended party + jopper #and on nancy's side her parents wheedle her into inviting a few other relatives like aunts n cousins but it's still iike 25-30 people max #anyways these tags got so long and weren't even byler #parker i hope u like this !!!#probably is not even what u had in mind but . Yeah #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #fic #fun sized fics

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an-angels-fury · 2 months

Text

The only Heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

OR: Basically what happens after one day I find myself re-listining to "Take me to Church" by Hozier and suddenly getting all inspired to write a Caspeter oneshot based on the concept of #love as religion

OR: My first (kind of) successful attempt at writing something... spicier... I think...

A little dedication to @equixen, because you said you were interested at seeing more of my writing for this ship, and @eds-gryff, because I believe you might enjoy this as well - also the fact you made a Caspeter edit with the lyrics of this song, which I absolutely love it (😍) ! (Oh, and in case any of you feel uncomfortable for being tagged in my posts for any reason, just warn me so I won't do it next time, okay? 😅).

Anyway, good reading! 🫶

P.S.: The moodboard below was made by me. Images and quotes used were all found on Pinterest. The photo in the middle is from a fanart made by Tasya Rey (don't know the original ship tho).

Warning: Sexual Content (but nothing super descriptive)

You always knew this would happen anyway. You've been waiting for this moment your whole life. It was the truest of all truths, the one that had already been carved into your bones by the arrows of destiny long before you even existed.

And it was precisely because you blindly believed in such certainty that you didn't question when the High King intertwined his fingers with yours and guided you through the infinite maze of corridors to his private chambers, turning his head back from time to time to make sure you were still following him - of course you were. You would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked you to. There is no other place you would rather be than by his side.

You don't question it when you hear the slow creak of doors being closed and locked. The noise sends a shiver down your spine, only serving to alert you to the proximity of what is to come. The crackling fire in the hearth is the only source of light in the entire room, creating a trail of orange flash across the stone floor. You don't question it when the High King pushes you against the wall and his lips collide with yours. The two of you start off at a gentle pace, savoring every inch of each other's mouths. You tilt your head just a little to the side and make room for his tongue to enter, letting a hoarse moan escape from the back of your throat. Your hands find their way to the hair on the back of his neck and give a slight tug, causing the other to emit a low, guttural sound and quickly deepen the kiss.

You feel his hands slide down the sides of your body, burning your skin beneath your robes, until they stop at your hips and press them against his. The more the technique improves, the faster the embers burn and you fear that your heart will stop beating. You continue to taste those soft lips, the two of you moving in a continuous rhythm, until you are forced to stop to catch your breath.

Your eyes meet his and your insides are taken over by a wave of heat that weakens you from head to toe. You admire the way the red of the hearth flames mix with the blue of his pupils like liquid gold, displaying a flickering glow. For a moment, you begin to believe that you are under the influence of some spell - and you don't want to wake up. You would have already fallen to your knees if you weren't holding onto his shoulders as if he were the only anchor keeping you from drowning. But he is also the water that clogs your lungs, the water that cleanses and purifies your soul, the water that, the more you drink, the more you become thirsty.

A smile spreads across the High King's face, conveying a new kind of emotion for which there seem to be no words to describe its true meaning. Passion? Lust? Devotion? Maybe... love? Whatever it was, it was something that made you want to surrender to that feeling. Surrender to him.

You don't let yourself be intimidated by the intensity of his gaze, you just keep staring at him while you feel nimble fingers working to open the buttons on your tunic. And you don't try to stop him. You don't want him to stop because you need to feel more of him, more than ever, and he knows it.

The boy takes his time removing the remaining parts of your costume, layer by layer, undressing you with deliciously torturous slowness. You stop breathing for a moment when his hands find your bare chest and his palm rests over where your heart beats like a drum. Quickly, the hand is replaced by the mouth and you close your eyes and revel in the way those lips so intimately caress that specific place - the sacred place of your life source - and all you want is for him to go forward. You want him to rip your skin, open your ribcage and take your heart in his hands just so you can declare to him "It's yours. It beats for you... I bleed for you." You want to cling to him. You want him inside you.

When you least realize it, you find yourself completely undressed from your clothes, your back tingling from the contact against the rough, cold surface of the wall. Your lover's lips gently brush your skin, starting on your chest and passing through your shoulder, your collarbone and only stopping until they find a pulsing vein on your neck. Soon, his tongue and teeth begin to taste more of that corner and, involuntarily, you lift your head back just a little bit and oh! It feels so, so good. You can't help the whimpers of ecstasy that leave your mouth, the kind of sound you had no idea you were capable of producing. In an instinctive gesture, you grope the body in front of you, your vision still clouded by the darkness of your eyelids, and pull the fabric of his coat in a failed attempt to get rid of it. However, you feel your wrists being grabbed and pinned above your head and you grunt in frustration at the break of contact.

When your vision clears, you are met with a serious expression on the High King's face. His grip, once gentle, was now firm and strong. Despite having the youthful features of a teenager, it was enough to feel the calluses on his hands or dive into the deep abyss of his eyes to remember that in that body - that small cage - lay the soul of a powerful warrior whose acts of bravery spanned the centuries and gave you hope in the darkest days of your childhood. You dreamed of meeting him, of sitting next to him and listening to him tell you stories about his adventures for days and nights. You dreamed of the enchanting sound of his voice, the sweetness of his laugh and the feeling of his arms comforting you and taking all the loneliness away. But never, not even in your wildest dreams, have you seen yourself as the object of his adoration, of his most primal desire. A mere mortal like you being bestowed with such an honor? How was this possible?

For a minute, you both remain still where you are, until he approaches and places a chaste kiss on your lips before whispering in a commanding tone:

- Lay down.

And you just obey. You walk towards the bed and lie down on the velvet sheets. He comes to you, sits on the edge of the mattress and observes your nakedness appreciatively. His hands slide carefully over your tanned skin, knowing every curve and noticing your reactions. Every touch is a sacred gesture that you always respond to with a sigh of pleasure. It continues its path through the muscles of your belly, always descending, and a strange throbbing sensation begins to spread in the space between your thighs. When those skilled fingers finally approach your intimacy, your entire body contracts in a mix of embarrassment and thrill. The young blond man just gives you a small cheeky smile when you instinctively lift your pelvis towards the touch you so longed for.

Suddenly, he stops what he was doing and gets out of bed to take off his boots. Confused, you sit down and watch him attentively, not daring to say a single word. The High King stands before you and asks you to extend your hand. You give it to him – the one with the scar – and he kisses the thin, pink line across your palm. Then he takes that same hand and guides it to his belt buckle and you know exactly what to do. Your movements are slow and shaky, exposing your inexperience, but you keep going anyway. With each layer of clothing that falls to the floor, your heart skips a beat. In the end, you just gasp in admiration before the divine image that blesses your eyes.

Even naked, he carries the same aura of grandeur and magnanimity that he has always displayed. He is the Sun, and every part of his being - from his golden hair and his eyes as blue and vast as the northern sky that is his domain, to his marble skin, pale and marked with cracks - is sculpted by light. It shines so brightly that you fear you will go blind. You want to look away, you want to touch him too, but you can't move. His presence paralyzes every fiber of your being. It's as if your body no longer belongs to you.

Fortunately, in your moment of greatest despair, your loved one came to your aid - as he always did. He lifts your chin and holds your face between his hands, sliding his thumbs down your cheeks, then your nose, until it rests on the surface of your lips. He acts as if you are the work of art and he is the fascinated admirer. You find yourself too busy soaking in such grace that you don't even notice the silent shadows that begin to grow behind the mirrors of his soul. That darkness that manifested itself was just the silhouette of an even deeper and… animalistic feeling.

You finally find out what it is when he leans towards you and takes your mouth in an eager, ardent kiss. Tongues dance and meet in perfect synchrony and it doesn't take long for teeth to join in the act. His fingers cling to the black strands of your hair and you don't even try to contain your loud moan when he sits on your lap. Your arms grab him around the waist, trying to increase the friction between your bodies for as long as possible. Yes, you know that feeling, the desperate desire to devour and be eaten alive. It's so strong, so visceral, so... pure.

"What's the name again?" You wonder. Oh yes. Hunger. And the most exquisite kind.

You fall onto the pillow like a feather and he positions himself over you, all without breaking the kiss. There was no longer any escape - you already knew that the moment you heard the door close -. Now you are completely at his mercy. And you couldn't have it any other way.

His lips leave yours and begin to trace their way along your jawline, continuing until he reaches your neck. He starts to explore your weaknesses and quickly learns the best way to stimulate them. His magical touch makes you tremble and arch your spine in a mix of agony and delight. His enchanted tongue leaves a hot trail of saliva wherever it goes, and the further it goes down, the fiercer the need becomes. And when it finally arrives at the place that most craves attention, you just… feel like you're floating in the air. And you have to hold on to his tangled hair, otherwise you are sure you would get lost somewhere amidst the clouds and never return to the ground again.

An explosion of completely new sensations turns you into a pile of rubble on the sheets. It was exactly what you wanted. That's why you gave him the power to ruin you. You wanted him to hurt you and then end your suffering. You wanted him to kill you slowly and then bring you back to life. He is pain and relief, sickness and the cure, chaos and tranquility. He is everything to you and he is beautiful - Oh, heavens, he's absolutely beautiful - in a way you've never seen before and you soon regret not having worshiped him sooner.

That's why the first thing you decide to do right after you regain your senses is to hold him by the shoulders and push him against the bed, putting all your weight on him. Now it was your turn to drive him crazy with passion and, just like him, you wouldn't be the least bit merciful.

You kiss and caress him with the devotion of a fervent believer. You feel his nails scratching your back, leaving marks on your skin, a reminder that everything you are and everything you will ever become belongs to him and him alone. But that's where the best part comes from: there's reciprocity. His pleasure is also yours. You feel his desire - the same one that takes over you right now - to be consumed, to merge and become one. One body. One heart. One love.

Suddenly, he calls you and you answer him. You kiss him again and you even get to taste a little of yourself in his mouth. He finally surrenders to your advances and begs you to give him peace and take him to Paradise. Who would have thought that one day you would witness this scene: the High King, always so correct and composed, reduced to a pitiful creature begging for something that only you can give him? Seeing him so defenseless, so vulnerable and so uninhibited awakens something in your heart that leaves it heavy. It's shocking and painful to realize that you were responsible for leaving him in that state. You ruined him too.

You decide that you won't make either of you wait any longer. The truth is, there was nothing in this world or any other that you could ever deny him. You rest your forehead on his and look into his eyes one last time, searching for any sign of fear or doubt. However, all you find is a tempting invitation to your own damnation, which you accept with open arms because if he is a religion, then you are his most passionate disciple.

When you begin the ritual, which had only the moon and the night as legitimate witnesses, it is as if everything around you two faded into oblivion and the only thing that existed were your hands clasped on the mattress and the heavy breathing that marked the rhythm of the music to which your sweaty bodies danced. May the Great Lion forgive you for such blasphemy, but you do not wish to pay obeisance to any other god than the one beneath you. His body is your temple and his hips are the altar on which you kneel to pray. It is his name that comes from your lips when you sing your orisons and it is between his legs that you find your salvation. If it is such an abominable crime to praise the one you love most, then you will accept burning in that heavenly fire for all eternity.

But all good things come to an end. You watch him reach his climax and marvel at the way those angelic features contort with pleasure and you swear the title of 'Magnificent' has never suited him so well as it did at that very moment. You finish right after him and feel the little that remains of your energy drain away. A whirlwind of emotions takes hold of you and you find yourself unable to formulate any concrete idea that describes what you are feeling right now. You are surprised by the hot tears that form in your eyes and run down your cheeks, but what really leaves you speechless are the fingers that brush your damp hair away from your face and the pink lips that kiss your tears, drinking them like the delicate bud that searches for rain. And it's when he smiles that you see him blossom into a lovely flower. Finally, he hugs you and whispers his vows in your ear like a secret:

- My beautiful, gentle sin.

Then you realize why you could never prevent what happened tonight, why your bodies fit together so perfectly as if they were made for each other and why you could never break the invisible bond that connects your souls: it was never something simply carnal. It was a love capable of crossing the barriers of time and space - after all, more than 1300 years separated you two and, even so, he somehow managed to find his way to you. It was a love that no superior force could overcome. It was a love that meant more than love.

You always knew this would happen, one way or another. This was the mystery that gave life to the stars and hold them in place, the secret you fought so long to unravel. For years, you made the same wish, again and again, and after a long wait, they finally granted it. And you couldn't be more grateful for having received such a precious gift in your life.

You rejoice in your good fortune as you drift off into a calm, peaceful sleep.

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