NIGHT PRINCE & ROSEFINCH VOL 2

Free teaser for the first part of Volume 2!

THEY'RE BACK! It's time for more! Now that all of Hell has been made aware of the the Night Prince's vow with his fallen angel, the two of them are now busy with fixing everything that fell apart in Silence's domain during his long, mysterious absence. Or, so the finch assumes.

...

In the inky blackness of damnation, the angel receives an invitation. The thick paper is adorned with symbols the angel cannot read, and yet he recognizes somehow that this is for him. Or, it was for him, before he became a flightless bird sat upon a silver perch. This name he cannot read once belonged to him. These words are of a language he once spoke.

Cautiously, the fallen angel breaks a red waxen seal pressed into the shape of a skull, and unveils a short message.

The Undying King will see you now.

When the fallen angel lifts his gaze from the parchment, he is standing in front of the Undying King sat upon his throne constructed of eternally white bone. He stares with his chin propped onto his deathly knuckles, black eyes locked unkindly on the angel’s face. His long hair streams about his face like living pitch.

“You are a problem,” the Undying King says, his voice rippling over the fallen angel.

The fallen angel stiffens under the King’s gaze. “I am aware.”

“Then why are you still here?” the King asks.

The fallen angel bows his head, unable to stand the weight of such intensity. “I am bound to him now.”

With a grunt, the Undying King rises from his throne, and the fallen angel shivers uncontrollably as the shadow of death passes over. The King of Hell draws nearer, bringing such a terrible emptiness with him. The angel trembles from head to toe at the promise of complete and total separation.

“Do you really believe that if you ran, he would chase?”

The King words are spoken quiet and low, like the stomach of a great creature rumbling.

“If I…” The useless angel swallows and tries again. “If I am killed, he will die too. I do not believe he will let me go. Even if he says otherwise.”

“Mm, then perhaps you are right to play the long game,” the King muses. He is so close now, the angel can see his bare legs beneath the edge of his warrior’s skirt, the lifeless hue of his once-bronzed skin, the power of his legs that persist beyond death.

“My poor, misshapen son may not have the same beauty as a proper demon, but he shares our hunger. In all his years, the Night Prince has never once remained loyal to a consort.” The King circles back toward his seat, a relieved smugness filling his voice. “You need only wait until he grows bored of you. When the time comes, I will see to your safety. You will have no need of each other, and you may both be free of this useless bond.”

Once again seated on his throne, the King waves his hand, banishing the angel from his court.

The Finch wakes up with a throbbing ache between his thighs. It is with a strange, creeping discomfort that he feels his cock still heavy in bloom. Surely it should have retreated back into the hollows of his body by now? Prickling shame across over the finch’s shoulders—until he feels a soft, wet tongue flick over his skin.

“You had more poison in you than I thought.”

The Night Prince pulls the sheet back, his smirking gaze finding the finch’s from between bronze thighs.

“Even in your sleep, the nectar flows,” the Prince remarks, eyes on the droplets slipping down the finch’s swollen skin.

Heat bellows in the finch’s face, and his legs go taut on either side of the Prince’s head. “If you continue to touch it, it will not recede.”

The Eldest Prince of Hell gives a thoughtful look to the finch’s stiff cock, placing his pale fingertip onto the darkened slit to flatten a bead of fluid. “I wonder how long you would last…”

“Do not starve me!” the Finch protests.

“I will feed you plenty in return,” the Prince purrs back.

“Silence!”

The demon’s eyes cut to the finch’s, sharp like the glint of moonlight on dark water. The finch blushes fiercely, the intimacy of a given name weighing down his tongue before he turns his nose up, indignant pride pinching his mouth into a frown.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” the finch asks, doing his best to ignore the burn. “You…you need your strength as well as I do.”

The Demon Prince lets out a decadent sigh and lays his head upon the finch’s bare thigh. “Oh, is this what marital bliss is like? To be so cared for…”

“We are not yet—”

“Your concern is so touching,” he goes on, his fingers lazily drawing down over the open mouth of the finch’s cunt. He smears fluid over the petals of ripe skin stuck in full bloom, and the finch twitches at his touch, tingling sensation shooting through his body.

“I fed on you all night,” Silence says, letting his eyes flutter shut. “It was heavenly.”

“Do not,” the finch says immediately.

Silence only laughs, the hush of water rolling over sand in the dead of night. “You are so easy to tease. But, you are right. I have many court duties to attend to, each one more boring than the last. I shall release you for the day, but do be ready for me to feed on you again this evening.”

He picks himself up, all the weightless grace of the night sky in his limbs as he rises up over the finch to stretch his long arms above his head. The finch’s gaze snags on the demon’s torso, the solidity of him all tangled up in the fragility of pale light. A question parts the finch’s lips, gathering saliva on his tongue, but he does not dare ask it aloud.

Silence rises to stand beside the bed, but before the finch can turn away from him, the demon swoops down to grab his consort’s face gently between two palms cool as marble. “If anyone else should try to drink your nectar while I’m busy, remind them who you belong to.”

The Prince’s eyes are the yellow of a nocturnal creature’s reflecting light, shining and focused.

“My name will be enough to keep you safe,” the demon promises, though his voice seems to rattle inside the finch’s very skull.

The finch nods, fear prickling down his sides.

With a sigh, Silence straightens back up, his gaze softening as he stares openly at his bird’s naked body sprawled across his bed, the curves of relaxed muscle and the expanse of dewy bronze skin. “Mm, I hate to leave you.”

The finch snaps the sheets back over his body, burrowing into bed.

Silence smiles at him, wide with amusement. “Do be good, my future Princess of Night.”

He vanishes as though he was never there, and the rosefinch buries his face in the pillows. In truth, his body still burns with poison that has yet to be leeched from him, and a flash of heat zips down his back. It would be easy to do it himself, to reach down and grip his own cock, do to his own body what the Night Prince so easily does to it and harvest his own nectar, but as soon as the finch moves his own hand over the bedding, he freezes up. The poison is only good for one thing, so if the demon is not here to consume it, the finch has no use for it.

With a sigh, the finch goes slack, resigning himself to wait until his body closes once more.

When at least, the petals of skin have smoothed back down, the finch pulls himself up to eat at the perpetual feast upon the Night Prince’s dining room table. He bathes in the washroom, grateful when the selkies do not approach him. As he stands waist deep in the water, he stares at his own arms, slowly turning his hands palm up, and then palm down, studying his own skin for many moments, as though he expects to find a crack in the surface of his body.

More fear percolates in his belly as the finch dresses himself in a short tunic befitting a warrior, and pokes his head out of Silence’s personal chambers. The rest of the Night Palace is once again bustling with night demons of all shapes and sizes. Wolves, insects, cats, reptiles, they all walks the halls wearing the night’s colors. They all walk with purpose, something the finch now lacks as he awkwardly attempts to join the throng, only to watch in shock as the river of bodies instantly parts for him.

“Prince-Consort,” a lanky demon with black and red scales down his neck stops and bows. “My apologies, I did not see you.”

“O-Oh, no, that’s quite alright,” the finch sputters, heat in his face.

“Does the Prince-Consort need something?” a pretty lynx-faced demon asks, her long ears twitching.

“No, no, I am fine!” The finch raises his hands up to wave her away.

“If you are searching for the Night Prince,” a low, smooth voice envelopes the finch as a long arm curls around his shoulder. “He has gone off to the Undying Palace to treat with his father.”

Arvel, the demon with tufted owl ears and gray feathers for hair appears beside the finch, his lined face showing a smile. The finch barely keeps from bolting, shoulders still tensed around his ears.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to cause a stir,” the finch says.

“Not to worry,” Arvel assures him, his gray and brown wings held taut behind him like a cape. “Is there something in the palace that interests you, dear boy? I am happy to guide you. I know these halls better than anyone, excepting the Prince himself, of course.”

The finch nods, something like a smile tugging at his lips as the crowd of curious demons dissipates back into the river of movement until he and Arvel are practically alone.

“Thank you,” the finch whispers.

The kindly owl winks at him. “It’s no trouble at all, Prince-Consort. Tell me what I can do for you.”

The finch stares up at him, letting some of his uncertainty show in his eyes as he asks, “How long have you served the Night Prince?”

Arvel gives a warm smile, guiding the finch along with him. “Oh, I have been the Prince’s adviser for many years. I have not always been here, but I do carry the knowledge of my predecessors. We owls are guardian’s of the night’s secrets. There are precious few questions I do not have the answer to, but there are some answers I cannot give.”

The finch glances around the halls as they briskly walk further from the entrance of the Night Palace, past the moon pool and onto a large, spiraling staircase.

“Do you have a brand upon your tongue as well?” the finch asks, his eyes fixed on the owl’s face.

“Not like you do, I’m afraid,” Arvel says with a pitying glance. He squeezes the finch closer to him as they step into the warmly lit threshold of a great library. The finch’s eyes widen at the sight of it, massive black and silver shelves that reach up toward impossibly high ceilings covered in a mural of constellations in the night sky. The room is so deep, his eyes can’t see the end of it, only the way the light shifts the further on it goes.

Arvel smoothly guides the finch past a large desk where a sleepy slug demon slowly blinks at them, eyes held aloft on long stalks. Past several rows of packed bookcases, they emerge in a small nook where Arvel pulls out a small armchair for the finch to sit in. The finch eases down in front of a great glass window showing him a splendid view of the gardens that surround the Night Palace.

“My tongue is quite free,” Arvel says in the finch’s ear, drawing his startled gaze back to Arvel with a smirk. “It is only loyalty that binds me.”

The finch blushes at how close the demon is, turning his face away. “I…I am not allowed to touch anyone but the Prince.”

Arvel gracefully sits across from him, and his movements almost remind the finch of Silence’s ethereal beauty, but, while Arvel hides it well, there is also a force to his presence that does not quite match up to the Prince’s.

“Trust me, Prince-Consort, I know the rules quite well.” Arvel still smiles so easily, but when he leans his chin on his fist, propped on the arm of his chair, there is a flash of hunger that shines in his gaze. “And I know my Prince. His appetite is quite fickle, I will admit, but you are quite the catch.”

The finch squirms, suddenly regretting his petulant decision to dress so sparsely. A warrior’s tunic does not mean the same thing when he does not hold a spear.

“I would never dream of poaching a lover from my Prince’s bed,” Arvel says. “But, if my Prince should decide his appetite demands something new, I would not turn away such a handsome face.”

The finch stares at his bare knees. “Are all the creatures of the night so…forward?”

Arvel gives a laugh, some of the steam leaving him. “Forgive me, Prince-Consort. I earnestly brought you here to offer you knowledge, not to fluster you in my Prince’s absence. His return has brought with him a fever, I’m afraid. The entire Underworld is positively swelling with relief now that his seat is filled once more.”

The finch suddenly leans forward, gripping the plush edges of his chair. “Do you know where he was being held?”

“I do not,” Arvel says with a slight bow of his head. “Apologies. I am not all-knowing. That is a secret our Prince has yet to disclose.”

The finch’s shoulders drop and his face falls. “Everyone speaks of him so…so…”

Arvel patiently waits for the finch’s words, crossing on leg over another in his black and silver robes.

“I do not believe anyone expects me to last very long,” the finch admits. “After all, the moon shines on everyone equally, does it not? It comes and goes, never favoring one body over another. It would almost be—”

His mouth cannot get the last of his words out, and so he closes his mouth instead.

Arvel tilts his head. “Worried you’ll be replaced?”

The finch straightens his shoulders again, crossing his arms and sneaking a glance down at himself. “It is not his affection I crave. But if we are linked, mortally, we cannot be rid of each other. So, should his fondness for me wane over time, what will become of me then?”

As soon as the question has left him, the finch shrinks in on himself in regret. These are personal fears, not something to be trusted in the ears of the Night Prince’s personal adviser.

“Ahh, yes of course,” Arvel says, his long fingers bridging together over his lap. “You can survive down here, that much I know. You are not the first angel to fall to us, and you will not be the last. You are rare, of course, but not impossible. And I am quite certain that there are numerous demons who would not stand idly by if they believed the Night Prince was in danger. So long as you align yourself with the Night Court, no matter your title, you will kept alive and well.”

The finch’s brows pinch together, lost in thought, or perhaps his own memory.

“You know, there are even some fallen angels who work directly for the Undying King.”

The finch’s head pops back up, eyes wide. “Is there?”

“Yes,” Arvel nods. “Though, they no longer call themselves as much. As I understand it, after a century or two away from home, they felt they had earned a new title. Now, they are the King’s own circle of witches.”

“Witches…” the finch tastes the word, pushing past his own discomfort.

“Quite powerful too,” Arvel says. “But that’s not really what you wanted to ask me, is it?”

The finch takes a deep breath, drawing up his posture once more to face Arvel without flinching. “Who is the Queen of the Underworld?”

Arvel looks pleased by the question, his gray eyes narrowing in thought as he smiles. “The Queen is our last remaining tether to the world of humans. Without her, we are all just…animals.”

The finch shivers at his words, goosebumps raising across his arms.

“Ah,” Arvel swivels his head toward the wall. “The Prince is on his way home. He has quite a busy schedule it seems, which means I do as well. I am happy to continue our chat some other time. I only hope I could ease some of your worries.”

The finch watches Arvel rise from his chair and drop into a sweeping bow, his wings fluttering with the gesture.

“Thank you,” the finch mutters.

“Anything for our Prince-Consort,” Arvel says, straightening up and extending a hand. “Allow me to escort you to the Prince. You’re expected.”

-

Deep in the labyrinthine walls of the Night Palace, there sits a garden. After years of neglect, a grove of withered trees have just barely begun to shake off the dust. As the finch and Arvel enter the pocket of warmth at the heart of the palace, the finch is surprised to find they are outside once more, no ceiling above their heads, only the perpetual night of his Prince’s domain. The air is pleasantly humid, and soft, warm light spills out from several lamps threaded throughout the garden.

At once, the finch hears a guttural moan and goes stiff beneath Arvel’s wing. This sound seems to haunt him everywhere he goes—the throes of carnal relief.

“Ooh, yes!”

The finch burns as he spies two demons entangled at the foot of one of the trees. A little demon is covered in a layer of short fur, black and yellow stripes down the swell of his hips and over his ass, now bouncing up and down over another demon beneath him. When he tries to look past the couple, his gaze is immediately snared by another tangle of honeybees just past them, connected to each other by every conceivable orifice.

The finch drops his gaze, shoulders tensing. “Where is the Prince?”

“He’s landing now,” Arvel says.

The finch glances toward the open sky, heat filling his face as the honeybees pleasure each other all around him. In the black velvet night above, a sliver of light emerges, slowly growing into the shape of a long-limbed man, pale wings extended to slow his descent. The Prince sends a wave of cool air bursting through the garden as he flutters to a stop and drops gracefully to his feet once more. His eyes find the finch’s immediately, a large smile splitting his muzzle.

In a blink, his arms are around the finch’s hips, lifting him up to hold him as if he were a child, the finch’s thighs wrapped around Silence’s waist, the finch’s hands forced to grip pale marble shoulders.

“There you are.” Silence swallows the finch’s gaze up in his own. “Right where I need you for once.”

The finch’s legs tense, anxiety swelling with his feet no longer on the ground. The center of his body is certainly visibly to any of the bee demons beneath them. “Put me down.”

“Nonsense,” Silence says, gripping the finch’s rear in both hands. “I should carry you everywhere. To make up for your missing wings.”

The finch attempts to glare at Silence, to muster up every ounce of indignant anger and cut into his demonic warden with the force of his own gaze. It merely slides off of Silence’s fond smile, water over rock.

“Thank you for bringing my consort to me,” Silence says to Arvel, though he does not break eye contact with the finch. “You are dismissed.”

Arvel bows to his Prince. “Of course, my liege. If you need anything else for the pollination, please send for me.”

The finch shivers at the word pollination. He cannot begin to guess what that will mean for him, and he fidgets in the demon’s arms. It is no illusion, the finch realizes, that Silence’s smile looks wilder to him. His very features have begun to shift, the membranous bat’s wings still taut behind him. At the tips of each one, claws sharp enough to piece flesh loom toward the finch.

“Welcome to my garden,” the Night Prince says, his voice a low rumble.

The finch hardly registers the sound of the bees in their mindless pleasure. His is caught once more in the grip of a predator.

“This place was a gift from my mother, you see,” Silence says, teeth long and sharp in his impossibly large mouth. His muzzle has only split wider, his nose lengthening into the shape of the bat. “She grew the first tree while I grew in her belly.”

The finch’s breath catches as he sees the pale fur now covering Silence’s chest and shoulders and arms.

“My father knows only death,” Silence says, eyes completely black now, shiny and wet. “It is my connection to my mother that allows me to care for this place, but the fruits have languished in my absence. Now that I’m home, every demon in the underworld is begging for a bottle of pomegranate wine. I must restore the garden to its former splendor.”

The finch’s hands slowly ease over the Night Prince’s shoulders, bronze vines carding through white fur. “I am guessing you need me to assist you in this?”

Silence licks his gums with a thick, red tongue. “I could pick some other demon to help, if you’d really prefer it.”

The finch holds his breath, letting his fingers slide through the soft bat’s fur covering the cap of Silence’s broad shoulders. His own skin looks even darker against the Pale Prince’s. He has not seen a shade quite like his own since coming here.

“You owe me a favor,” the finch says, his voice quiet.

“Do I?” the demon asks in return, tilting his head in curiosity.

“You made me a deal,” the finch says, managing to look Silence in his blackened eyes. “You promised me if I did well yesterday, you would owe me something.”

“Hmm, that certainly sounds like something I would say,” Silence admits. His hands grip the finch tighter, and his tongue flicks out to lick the finch’s chin. “Then tell me, little bird. What do you desire most? Do you wish to fly again?”

The finch feels the Prince’s saliva tingling pleasantly on his skin. “I would—” He takes another breath and leans in even closer, pressing his forehead to Silence’s, his arms wrapping tighter around the Prince’s neck. “I would like to visit the human world.”

“The human world?” Silence purrs. “That is an awfully big request for a wingless little bird.”

“It is not the humans I wish to see,” the finch insists. “It is only…”

He burns at the need in his own voice, and Silence begins to laugh. “Ooh, sweet thing. Do you miss the glow of your sun?”

The finch stiffens, and Silence lets out another laugh, loud and satisfied. “Of course you do, of course. Tell you what. Help me restore my mother’s garden, really let yourself assist me. And then I will see about beginning the process for a visit upstairs.”

“Do you promise?” the finch asks, fingers clamping down on Silence’s shoulders.

“I promise by the power of my name,” Silence says, the long claws at the tips of his wings now brushing over the finch’s cheeks, hair and cool through the finch’s long, dark hair. “You may invoke it, should it slip my mind again.”

The finch lets out a breath, and at once, sensation seems to return to him. He can hear the honeybees all around him again, moaning and writhing with each other. He can feel the Prince’s cool body pressed up against his own, the strength of his demon’s grip and the softness of his fur.

He can feel his own body so easily threatening to bloom again.

“Alright,” the finch whispers. “How does…pollination work?”

Silence presses in close to kiss the finch, startling him with a tongue ever larger than he remembers slipping into him. The shape of Silence’s muzzle feels awkward flush to his lips, yet the finch cannot help himself from kissing back. As he tells his body to relax, a crisp, sweet fluid gushes into the finch’s mouth, and he swallows it frantically just to keep from choking on it. It flows down his throat in gulps, and the finch’s body begins to tingle and shiver all over.

When Silence releases him, the finch breaks away with a gasp. “What was that?”

“Some wine,” the Prince coos. “To get us started.”

The finch narrows his eyes, though there is no force behind it. “You could have warned me.”

The Prince does not seem to heed his words. “The trees here grow my mother’s pomegranates, but without sunlight, we must give them extra encouragement. That is why this garden is only open to other pollinators.”

The Night Prince turns his fond smile onto another pair of honeybees a few feet away from them, one sat in the other’s lap while they cling to each other, rocking back and forth in the roots of another pomegranate tree. The finch can hardly tell which one is penetrating the other. They’re both so lost in the feeling, the dark skin of their hands tangled over their hazy faces, and large, blissed out eyes fixed on each other.

“The queen of honey always expects her drones to be ready to mate,” Silence explains. “But the queen herself is not always ready, and she has some rather strict policies about wasting honey. The drones are normally forbidden from any unnecessary coupling, but the queen does not command me, and she lacks power here. All the off-duty drones have free reign to visit my garden and indulge themselves away from their watchful Queen.”

The finch’s body is starting to soften, and he tells himself not to fight it. There is no use in fighting after he agreed to do this. His breathing slowly deepens as his gaze snares on the bees so lost in their own arousal, thin glassy wings twitching in pleasure.

“I have my moths to tend to the trees themselves, while the bees provide encouragement,” Silence says. “See?”

He directs the finch’s gaze back toward one of the trees where a large, thick-set demon with woody gray fur leans in toward a branch covered in clusters of red flowers. The demon extends a long, long tongue up and into the flowers, their eyes slowly rolling closed. Another moth comes up behind the first, their hands wandering over their companion’s body, and suddenly, their gray wings snap open, displaying two blue eyes staring back at the finch, as if to scold his wandering gaze.

The finch startles away from the sight of the moths, heat rapidly spreading through him.

“J-Just get to the part where you tell me you need me to do something depraved and g-get on with it.” The finch stutters through his words, panting harder as his body begins to bloom without prompting.

“You are so sensitive,” Silence says, pleased as punch with the finch’s swift intoxication. “I only gave you a taste of wine and here you are, dripping all over me.”

“I do not h-have your demonic constitution.” The finch fights to speak as his cock presses out against Silence’s belly, full of poison once more.

“Is it depraved to enjoy your body the way it was always meant to be enjoyed?” Silence asks.

The finch squirms, his hips aching beneath the tunic. He is open now, his petals spread and his hollow exposed. Everything tingles, desperate to be touched. He is sure he’ll make a mess when the demon inevitably takes him, and in that moment, he does not mind the thought in the least.

“I need the poison out of me.” The finch breathes the words, leaning his face back against Silence’s in an attempt to lure him to action.

“The trees will love you,” Silence assures him.

He carries the finch on a stone walkway further into the garden, past coupling bees and moths alike, filling the air with their panting breaths and relieved moans. The Night Prince brings the finch to an impossibly massive pomegranate tree that towers over all the others, its leaves full of rich red fruits hanging like rubies off every branch. The roots are so thick, they turn the earth into still waves of bark, twisting over each other and down into the soil. It would take the finch’s breath away, if he could think of anything other than the empty holes in his body.

Silence steps off the stone path and walks up the thick roots of the tree like it’s a staircase made for him. The finch has the idle thought that it very well might have been made for this demon Prince as the two of them enter a hollow big enough for both of them inside the trunk of the great tree. Immediately, the air becomes warmer, the scent of wood and sap in the finch’s nose. His body is so desperate to be filled, he tries to rut his cock against Silence’s stomach, and the demon gives a rumble of approval as he sits the finch on a cushioned shelf, like a perch made for just such a squirming bird.

Without prompting, the finch picks his feet up, planting them on the edge of the perch to display his bloom for Silence to see. Silence gives an appreciative look at the slick skin and the dripping cock being offered to him. When Silence does not immediately take him, the finch whines in frustration, pushing his hips even closer to the edge. Silence stands there at just the right height to marry their hips, but still he does not remove his clothing.

“Look at you,” Silence purrs. “I could probably let anyone have you and you would not complain.”

“No,” the finch protests, his knees twitching. “Not anyone else!”

Silence takes one hand to lazily draw up the underside of the finch’s thighs, and the finch shivers in delight as the demon spreads his legs even further. “You know, this is where my mother gave birth to me.”

The finch is panting too loudly to hear, so focused on anticipating the next part. The poison is eating from the inside.

“She brought life to this place,” Silence goes on, making eye contact with the finch’s dripping cunt. “And so I bring life to her garden.”

“Please!” The finch cries, the slow slide of his own nectar down his skin driving him mad.

Silence leans down toward the finch, the clawed tips of his wings settling beside the finch’s body, his human hands affixed to the finch’s muscled thighs.

“You have to look at me,” Silence says.

The finch’s gaze snaps to his, wide and delirious. “I am!”

“You must only look at me,” Silence warns.

The finch gasps at the slicked skin of Silence’s cock finally pressing in against his body. His eyelids flutter, and so he grasps the fur on Silence’s chest and forces himself to keep staring at his demon. Even such a soft touch pulls more poison from him, his hollow body kissing Silence’s taut skin, clenching at the demon to try and pull him deeper.

“Yes, that’s it,” Silence sighs, his voice a hush of wind as he plunges inside his bird, so easy and quick. “Only me.”

“Only—oh, only!” The finch can hardly stand how easy it is for Silence to bury his cock to the hilt. There isn’t an ounce of pain, no burning madness or terrible ache. His hollow body is so eager to be filled, the satisfaction of getting what he wants is so good, he doesn’t know how to feel it.

“You have to love it,” Silence says, his voice covering the finch like steam.

The finch’s hands dart into Silence’s long hair, pulling harder as nectar bursts out of him.

“Do you love it, my little bird?” Silence asks, his eyes now the black of an empty night sky about to birth a new moon.

His hips are slow and steady, and the finch shudders at the blossoming width. It almost feels like Silence is growing inside him with every thrust. The finch scrambles for a moment, his hands clawing at the Prince’s chest, legs kicking wildly at the growing pressure, but Silence grips the finch’s wrists in those claws, and his hands snap down around the finch’s legs, right above his bent knees. The stillness pierces through the finch, and he can do nothing as the poison overwhelms him.

The finch’s mouth peels opens in a keening song as Silence fucks him harder. The shock quickly gives way to numbing pleasure, and the finch hardly registers anything other than the need to keep coming, wring out every drop of nectar for this demon Prince. Even the hot spill of poison over his own skin pleases him, his own fluid mixes with Silence’s and dripping down his body, slicking his thighs and belly. It’s still not enough.

“More!” the finch begs, his eyes unfocused on the blur of white fur in front of him.

“Where?” Silence asks, his voice slipping right into the finch’s ear.

The finch grits his teeth as another orgasmic high claws through him, twisting his body as his cock spurts over the both of them, painting fur and skin alike.

“Everywhere,” the finch responds, his voice breaking.

Silence wraps cool fingers around the finch’s cock. “Here?”

“Yes!”

Even though the finch can barely see, he knows Silence is smiling at him with that devious little smirk as his thumb swirls over the slit of the finch’s cock. Something seems to extend from the skin of Silence’s finger, and the finch gags on the sensation of a thin appendage slipping into the canal of his stem. His eyes roll back in his head, his body twitching at the sudden closing of another outlet. As he cries out again—his voice beginning to bring pain with every sound—Silence kisses him once more, that wicked tongue pouring yet more wine down his throat.

The finch can only cling to Silence’s neck as the night sky seeps into every hole in his body to chase out the poison, every wall clinging desperately to the demon. When at least Silence pulls his mouth away, the finch cries with relief. The demon plucks the shadow from his cock, and the finch spills twice as much, moaning at the shower of heat covering his chest. When Silence cradles the finch’s hips to fuck him like a man again, the finch grabs the demon’s hips to feel every time the Night Prince penetrates him, sinking bronze fingers into taut flesh and soft fur.

It threatens to take his eyes again, and the finch fights the urge to close his lids so he can keep his gaze locked on the wide, toothy smile spread across Silence’s mouth. The unrelenting pressure inside his body is building toward staggering heights. The finch’s toes curl in the air where his feet hang uselessly. His body no longer feels too small. He can’t help the bit of pride gripping him as Silence’s cock spears into him with no resistance, over and over, the wet sounds of their union joining in with his own raw panting. He is strong enough to withstand even this.

The finch can’t stand it, how good it feels to be fucked endlessly at the very tip of his limit, just barely dancing on the cliff’s edge of madness. The finch closes his eyes out of pure bliss as yet more fluid is wrung out of him. In the darkness, it hits him all over again. He belongs to the Pale Prince of Night. The darkness is no stranger. The darkness is Silence. His demon lives in the shadow behind his eyes, and the finch moans at the top of his lungs as he comes again, completely sure in that moment that he has passed some kind of test.

The Night can take him anywhere, so long as it wants him.

In the darkness, the finch is untethered to everything except for Silence as he fills his hollow bird with shadow. The finch holds him tight, unwilling to let Silence go, addicted to the sharp thrusting that keeps him spilling long after he thinks he’ll have anything left to give.

“Silence!” The finch calls the name out, shivering uncontrollably as his voice is swallowed up in the quiet dark. He is sure his Prince is with him now more than ever, milking his body for all the nectar he has, splitting him open and plucking every seed from within.

The finch’s body begins to buzz from head to toe, his consciousness beginning to tingle down his skin as his strength leaves him. When Silence pulls out of him, the finch flails blindly, sighing with relief when his hand slides over cool, bare skin.

“Yes, that should feed the garden well,” Silence tells him, scooping the finch up into his arms.

The finch latches onto him, pressing his face to Silence to kiss his cheek. “I have more in me yet.”

“Perhaps you do,” Silence responds, a grin in his voice. “But you are fading fast. Sleep here, little bird. I will bring you something to perk you up again.”

“No,” the finch protests as Silence lays him down into a bundle of pillows.

“That wine went right through you, didn’t it?” Silence asks with a laugh. “I won’t be gone long.”

“Don’t,” the finch pants, spreading his legs again to show Silence. “It is empty again.”

Silence’s gaze flicks down to the finch’s bloom while a smile. “I see plenty still inside, but if you insist…”

He slides his hand over the finch’s eyes, plunging him back into darkness, and whispers sweet smoke in his ear.

“Keep your eyes closed, and I will stay with you.”

As he speaks, more pressure slides back into the finch’s body, over his thighs and chest and down into his mouth, and the finch shivers in delight. As soon as Silence pulls his hand away, the finch covers his own eyes just to be sure he doesn’t accidentally look to the light as shadowy fingers fill him once more.

The time and distance do not register to the finch like that. He is far too busy to care, only noticing when Silence returns and pulls the finch’s hands away from him eyes to offer him a drink, banishing the shadow inside him like it was never there.

“Here you are.”

The finch lets Silence tip a bottle to his lips. The demon feeds him more fruit and nuts and paper thin slices of meat that melt in his mouth.

“Did it…did it go well?” the finch asks, trying to ignore the incessant tingling and aching of his lower half.

Silence smiles, glancing up at the tree. “Yes, it went beautifully. I was gone so long, only my mother’s tree had been able to produce fruit, but now there is life returning to all the other trees. She would be pleased with your offering.”

He turns his gaze onto the finch, warmth in his eyes that sets the finch squirming again.

“You love your mother,” the finch blurts out.

The Pale Prince of Night runs his fingers across the finch’s cheek. “Dearly.”

The quality of his voice sends goosebumps rushing down the finch’s body, so intimate. “This is where you were born?”

“She laid right where you are now,” Silence answers. “It took her all day to have me. I did not want to be separated from her. Perhaps I sensed the looming distance.”

When he speaks, the finch swears Silence glows with the soft light of a distant moon.

“Why is she not here?” the finch asks.

Silence sighs. “She does not belong to us. We may only keep her for half the year, and my father is a very jealous man. I’m afraid I do not get nearly as much time with her as I’d like.”

“Who is he jealous of?” the finch chirps. “Humans?”

Silence only smiles.

“You asked me to see the human world, did you not?” He asks.

“I did!” The finch pushes himself up to sit, and Silence runs his hands down the finch’s chest, around his waist, bringing shivers with him.

“Well, if we have any hope of making it up there, we will need to ask some of my siblings for favors. And for that, we will need more wine.”

The finch huffs at him, staring at the pale fingers ghosting over his bronze skin. “Does that mean more nectar?”

“Now you’re getting it.” Silence grins.

--

Feels good to be back in hell!