Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Perhaps that was a good idea.

 A sigh of pleasure escaped Hazel. One arm released Fletcher’s collar, wrapping behind his head gently to hold it close as they kissed.

Fletcher positioned his hands underneath their buttocks, eliciting a gasp, and carried them to the bed.

Then he followed, elbows on each side of Hazel's face and noses nearly touching. “Is this good?”

The skirt of their dress rode up as Fletcher placed Hazel beneath him on the bed, revealing the top edge of black stockings. They panted, hair strewn like a halo around them. Hands lay at the side with curled fingers as if reaching for something.

“Y-yes.” Hazel could barely get the words out, the ebony gemstone of their necklace bobbing on their collarbone with each anxious breath.

Fletcher sat back on his haunches, the bed creaking under the movement. He scanned the pale curve of their neck down to the bare thigh.

 “You’re beautiful, Hazel.” There was no tremor to his voice, only stark certainty. 

He brought his hand under the lacy edge of Hazel’s skirt, fingers ghosting across the flesh directly above their stockings. 

Hazel’s entire body shuddered, hands gripping the silken bed sheets tightly. Their hips twisted between Fletcher’s legs. Every breath became a tiny gasp and every movement a twitch under him. 

Fletcher hooked one finger into the edge of Hazel’s panties, peeling the delicate fabric away from their skin. 

He halted, gnawing at his lipstick-reddened bottom lip. “Hazel, you’re-” Delicate and quiet, he searched for the right words for the sight of what was under the lace. 

Hazel paused, still short of breath as Fletcher had halted, eyes wide with realization. F-Fletcher... I...um...” 

Hazel lay, their skirt pulled back and lacy black lingerie revealing their secret. A cock, hard and flushed at the tip, sprung from between their thighs.

 “Is...who I am...alright," they asked quietly.

Fletcher nodded sharply. “Yes!” The answer came out quickly and a little too loud. “Yes, Ha-Hazel,” he repeated, clearing his throat.

Brothers tended to talk. Someone as loud as Louis had never kept the details of his escapades and lovers from Fletcher. Many a time in their teenage years he had been subjected to him detailing how he ‘plowed the fields' with a farmer’s son or made a traveling minstrel sing sweet melodies all night. 

Fletcher searched his mind for the details, the mechanics of an act new in a way that made his erection twitch. 

“We- We don’t have oil,” he said dumbly.

“We are in a honeymoon suite, aren’t we?” Hazel traced Fletcher's expression with their lust-drunk eyes, eyelashes fluttering as they blinked. “Surely, there are such things in the room?”

“Surely,” Fletcher agreed, stepping off the bed. 

There was a large vanity, bedside table, and dresser in the room and all in matching cherry wood. He tried the bedside table first, flickering on the spark-powered lamp on its marble top. Next to the lamp was a little basket woven of rosy fibers filled with various bottles. One of which read ‘Lavender Oil’ in the prettiest cursive. 

He exhaled slowly. “Here is some.” 

Turning back to Hazel, he sat down on the bed once again. This time he was next to them. “Have you done anything-” He cast his gaze away, bringing a hand to hide his grimace. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I...have experimented,” Hazel confessed with a blush. “I imagine it's easier when with someone else.”

Fletcher coughed into his fist. “Please let me know if anything is unpleasant. I-” He closed his eyes against the embarrassment that threatened to burn him alive. “I am going off secondhand instruction.” That was what he left it at, wagering mentioning his brother would murder the mood.

He shifted his weight, settling lower between their legs. Though it stung him to do so, he ran a hand along their thighs and once again disheveled where they had tidied themself up as he pulled their panties back down. He took in the sight greedily, like a thirsty man to water. 

There had never been a person he had wanted to touch this way. When he relieved himself on lonely nights, hands tucked into trousers, his mind never dared to picture more than a warm body on his and a mouth against his skin.

 

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Gender and sex had never crossed his mind. He was expected to carry on the family name and sire a new generation of Hunters. But those expectations were no longer possible anyway. 

With slickened fingers, Fletcher slipped his hand under those pretty panties to touch the tender skin there. 

Hazel let out a low, high-pitched moan as their legs squeezed together. Eyes half-lidded, they wound their hands in the bedsheets.

Fletcher bit down on his lip, too sharp teeth pricking at the skin. There was tingling under his skin like an itch he could not scratch. Tension coiled in his stomach, tight pleasure like a shaken bottle of seltzer. He slid a finger inside of Hazel. 

Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out.  

He repeated the mantra, appeasing the beast. This was no time to lose control. 

 Another gasp and a quivering moan escaped from Hazel’s lips.

Fletcher shifted himself, the tightness of his pants becoming too much on his arousal. His free hand steadied himself with a palm to the bed sheets next to Hazel’s trembling form.

“Is that alright,” Fletcher asked, softly. 

Hazel nodded.

“Let me know if it gets to be too much.” The hand not busy with preparing Hazel drifted to undo his trousers. He had dared to do more than that. The thought of someone seeing his most vulnerable places sent a shiver through him. Fear and shame in equal parts burned through his chest. 

It was not like he could forget the ugly scars that stretched across his skin like ley lines. He had not expected anyone to see them. 

But Hazel had trusted him enough to show the parts of them that they did not advertise. 

Fletcher shuddered, the noises they made were like lighting through his body, tingling and leaving heat behind. Silently, he added a second finger, amber eyes scanning Hazel’s face hungrily.

“Ah...ah...!” Hazel’s voice shook as the second finger entered them, eyes briefly growing wide as the tingling grew more intense. The slow rolling of their hips, however, did not stop, nor did the gasping sounds Hazel made.

Fletcher was gentle and methodical. Like his work at the smithy, this was something he did with care. Slowly and surely, until he finally pulled away from Hazel. 

Hazel’s inhale when Fletcher pulled his fingers away was barely stifled by one of the plush pillows.

“I think-,” he started, stepping back off the bed. “I think that is good enough.”

With trembling hands, Fletcher pulled his shirt over his head. The task was much easier with the button Hazel had undone earlier. Scars were stretched across one side of his torso, great bites and tears outlined in silver. 

   

When he turned to throw his clothing aside, a large disk-shaped scar sat directly on his spine.

Fletcher swallowed down the self-consciousness building like bile in his throat. The lavender oil was warm, heated by his skin as he spread it on his cock. His breath came in sharply as he shivered at the pleasure. 

On the bed Hazel followed his every movement, eyes wide and avaricious. 

“Come here, Hazel,” he breathed, half choked. However, it was he who closed the gap, settling between their legs. He slid the panties aside. 

Their bodies were flush against one another, the throbbing of him sitting against where his fingers had been.

Hazel was so warm. Their skin was untouched and velvety on his own. What had he done to deserve such pleasure? Such comfort?  

 “I-,” he started, glancing up at them, “Please tell me if it hurts.”

 They nodded, eyelids fluttering. That warm look in their eyes was maddening. The sight of it curled like a warm animal in his chest. All he wanted to do was nurture it. Hold it close. Keep it safe. 

Then, he pushed forward and into them. 

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