Page 25 of Tossing the Caber

For all Laurel’s creativity and skill at modifying bodies, Beacon is the expert in operating them. He takes enough control to show Laurel how to move, starting slow until Laurel catches on and takes Beacon’s other hand, tightly entwining their fingers while bracing himself against the tile.

And.

It.

Works.

Beacon keeps them grounded while Laurel keeps them on their toes, cries escalating into an outpouring of primal need. Laurel’s never been so in sync with another person. Never found pleasure like this in someone else’s arms. He had resigned himself to solitary thoughts, his own hand, and an ever-empty embrace.

Now, Beacon refuses to let him go.

Laurel has never been with a man who couldn’t ejaculate before, so he forces his useless hole of a mouth to form the words, “Tell me when you’re close. Teach me how to finish you. I want to.” Beacon nods, no protest or hesitation.

Sooner than expected, Beacon grunts something that might beI’m, then a sound that tries to beclosebut ends with an open cry. Laurel gets the message.

He doesn’t mind when Beacon’s hand stops moving, when he grips Laurel’s hip instead, holding him in place. Theoutline of his fingers will bruise, dark purple under Laurel’s fuchsia skin; he can’t wait to see it bloom.

“Fuck!”

Beacon’s thrusts become frantic, a hard grind that steals Laurel’s breath alongside Beacon’s own choked gasps, until Beacon throws his head back and frees a guttural, broken call.

Laurel strokes himself through it, almost brought to his own climax purely from the swell of arousal at hearing,feelingBeacon fall apart. He doesn’t mind having to take himself in hand; it’s nothing he hasn’t done before.

Except then Beacon clumsily untangles himself from Laurel’s tail and falls heavily to his knees. Laurel ends up wedged against the wall, a surprised groan taking over his body as Beacon sweeps his tongue between the spread globes of his ass.

Beacon licks into Laurel’s core with carnal enthusiasm, holding him open with one big hand so he can return the other to Laurel’s straining cock.

The sensations are wild and overwhelming. Maybe it’s exhausting, in its own way, to be starstruck by havingnever felt this before, but Laurel hasn’t. And it is. Heavens above, it’s claiming him, Beacon’s tongue forcing the ring of his ass soft and puffy, hand cradling his bollocks so Laurel can work his cockhead.

A growl resonates in Beacon’s throat, the feral sound reverberating through Laurel’s flesh. He’sso close, begging without words, pushing up onto his toes to chase his way to the peak. Suddenly, there’s the sharp, exquisite burst of Beacon digging his teeth into Laurel’s ass cheek. The pain is otherworldly, a celestial vision flickering before him, lighting the way to a soul-rending climax.

Beacon milks him of every drop, prolonging the fraying thread of pleasure until Laurel has to beg for mercy before he snaps. Even then, the comedown is slow, Beacon notimmediately releasing his cock as it softens. He licks the bite mark on Laurel’s ass, as if in apology.

“I didn’t ask before doing any of that,” he says a few moments later.

A single caw of laughter forces its way up Laurel’s throat, already sore from making so much noise. “Don’t worry. I liked it.”

“But what if you hadn’t?” Beacon presses.

Laurel pulls Beacon—hishusband, gods!—to his feet and kisses him gently. “Then we’d have dealt with it. But I did, so no more fretting.” He taps Beacon on the nose, chuckling when the other elf mouths‘fretting?’like it’s an insult.

The magic box of rain has gone cold, making Laurel shiver. He takes it as a sign that their washing is complete and fiddles with the handle until the water turns off.

“That counts as consummating the marriage, right?” Laurel asks suddenly, brow furrowing. “I mean, we don’t have to…” Is penetrationmandatoryfor the union to be completed? Laurel doesn’t know.

Beacon stares at him for a number of seconds, as if contemplating the same thing. That or worrying he just married a mad elf. Then, quite improbably, he bursts into laughter. “Come on, sweet one,” he says, shoving the curtain aside so he can help Laurel off the slippery floor and into the rest of their lives.

Laurel has never been one for sports. He’s never had a reason to sit on a bench in the stands facing a massive athletic field. If he had, he’d surely have been in the back where no one could see him or step on his tail.

Unfortunately—oh, maybe that’s rude?—he’s now married to one of the star athletes, so Laurel is not at the back.He’s sitting with the other family members and partners in the front, so close he can see the moisture pearling on Beacon’s exposed shoulders.

When the games started, he was in a buttoned shirt and dark kilt. With the sun high, he all but tore it off, leaving him in a sleeveless undershirt that’s gone transparent with sweat and the entire jar of water he poured over his head three minutes ago. The crowd had cheered, but Laurel remained silent—not because he disapproved, but because he appreciated the act possiblytoomuch.

Aside from the tug-of-war tournament, all the games appear to be people with muscles seeing who can throw heavy things the best. The tug-of-war came down to the Dun Steorra team and the Gearwickians, who took today’s win. Beacon didn’t look happy, but one of the other spouses assured Laurel their team would have the opportunity for a rematch in a few days. Laurel thanked her awkwardly.

Laurel reaches critical mass during the shot put, overwhelmed beyond belief. Even the sight of his husband huffing and puffing and strutting around with the other athletes, completely in his element, fails to stimulate Laurel’s ability to just…sit thereand watch.

There are things he could be working on right now!