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Leave it to His Grace Uldren Sov, Prince of the Awoken, Master of Crows, Heir to the Reef, and a Royal Pain in Jolyon’s Ass to treat this venture into the Black Garden like an afternoon picnic.
The Black Garden, a strange dimension, either created or simply discovered by the Vex. It is here in this place that exists in its own pocket void beyond space and time where they stand. Uldren and his loyal companion, who honestly needs to start questioning his life decisions more critically, have just destroyed a ginormous, indestructible Gate Lord to do it. Or rather, they made the Cabal destroy a ginormous, indestructible Gate Lord, but whatever. Point is, the pair are in here now, the first humans to explore the Black Garden... as far as anyone knows. The Vex like this place a lot, and whatever the Vex develop an affinity to is bad news for the rest of the known universe. It's not exactly a place you can just romp around willy-nilly among the pretty flowers and colorful butterflies.
It's not that kind of garden.
It's a horrifying place. The breathtaking awe when you gaze upon the towering cliffs, the pearlescent waterfalls that fall from the shocking heights of skyscrapers, the endless fields of flowers that stretch into eternity, the emerald mist that covers everything like a nebula where dead stars are born again... this very same awe also strikes with a blade of sheer icy terror into your soul. The air is rich with all that you need, no helmets required, and it is the air that whispers all the secrets of the universe you won't be able to hear no matter how hard you strain in concentration. If there is a God who has created all things in existence in His image, then this place is definitely His backyard and these two Awoken have just broken through the picket fence.
They are not supposed to be here.
Jolyon knew this was a bad idea the moment Uldren first brought it up what feels like ages ago. They were at the range, of course, where Jolyon is too busy concentrating on maintaining his perfect marksmanship record to really think about what the Prince is asking of him. It's such a dirty trick, and Jolyon falls for it every time.
This is still a bad idea, though, and Jolyon is as certain of it now as he is certain of his own name. Everything here is simply pure potential that has managed to hold itself together, like a dream. Does Uldren sit back and think about what the presence of mere mortals can do to a place of literal creation where one's very thoughts seed the ground and sprout into existence? Oh, he does, it's just that he thinks the consequences of his actions are exciting experiences and not important lessons that he probably shouldn't be so flippant about.
Speaking of Uldren, there he goes, racing through the rain and mud beneath the Garden's surface like a child in a candy store. His elegant royal garments are splattered with organic grime, and his boots slosh muck in all directions. Jolyon is stunned how anyone can run in this mess. Whenever he tries to lift his foot, it's like the mud tries to suck him back down into its goopy embrace. They aren't up above, where the flowers actually grow and maybe there are some butterflies or something, you know, the entire purpose of enjoying a garden in the first place. Uldren complains that its too Vex up there, too orderly, too unnatural.
So they are down here in the chasms between the manicured beds of flowers, the irrigation canals, where all is wild chaos and neverending rain to get the authentic experience.
Seriously, why are they even here?
If Uldren wants flowers for his sister, there are plenty, infinitely plenty, growing at the Garden’s surface. Ruby red flowers cover the Black Garden like a sea of blood from a slain god. All Uldren literally has to do is pick the first one he sees, and they are back at the Reef before dinner. It’s Tuesday. There are some ancient pre-Golden Age Earth customs you just don’t let go of.
But things are never that simple with Uldren Sov. Jolyon learned that long, long ago, and yet somehow he ends up always going along with whatever bullshit this guy has roped them into. Usually — usually — Jolyon is grateful for the adventure and excitement, these unique experiences with his Prince, so long as he and Death still maintain a respectful distance. Now he’s not so sure how he feels. Maybe he's grown up. Unlike present company.
He watches Uldren laugh and spin around with his arms spread and his mouth open wide, and it is rather amusing. Honestly, it's been a while since Uldren's been this overcome with excitement. It's not like his usual death-defying ventures to wow wide-eyed commoners who desire stories of the universe but will never dare step foot outside the Reef. There is a purpose here. And it's been a long while since Uldren's operated with a sense of purpose. Jolyon knows that this is more than just retrieving the rarest flower in existence, more than just one more story for the delight of his fans and followers. The Crow agent supposes he could try to be a bit more gracious despite all the mud.
Then Uldren coughs and starts spitting violently toward his feet. “Ren, are you okay!?” Jolyon exclaims with alarm, instincts kicking in to be at his Prince’s side at the first sign of any imminent danger or minor inconvenience.
Uldren makes a sour face as he continues to spit. “The rain tastes like watermelon and battery acid,” he groans in disgust.
Jolyon’s not going to ask how his Prince knows what battery acid tastes like. He’s not.
“We should head back to the surface,” he says instead, and this time he allows his words to be a bit more… insistent. “Please,” he adds for good measure. This place isn’t safe. Like the fruit bats that flap around with lead pipe wings and fish-tail ears and screech at them in the sound of breaking dishes from the trees where overripe fruit shaped like Ghosts grow.
Usually — usually — if Jolyon persists, Uldren eventually rediscovers he possesses good sense in there somewhere after all. But it seems that the Prince must have woken up on the extra-petulant side of the bed this morning because he makes that sour face again and whips around on his heel. His cloak would make that impressive swish with such a sharp turn of his body if not for all the drying mud weighing the fabric down.
This is so goddamn stupid.
And yet, Jolyon absolutely can’t resent him for it. And so he follows. As always.
The muck is getting deeper, now pooling at his hips. It’s such a disgusting soup of flower petals, rich soil, and fuzzy worms that meow at him as he passes. Jolyon tries not to think about how all this grossness is going to jam up his Supremacy rifle. Vines with their letter-shaped leaves slither through the soup like water vipers. They’ve tasted him, and now they want more. Jolyon stabs them away with his knife.
It happens way too fast for Jolyon to react. One second, Uldren is there just a few paces ahead, carefully picking his way through the soup. And then he’s gone. There’s a short shout, much too short, and then he’s just not there anymore. “Uldren!” Jolyon exclaims. The Supremacy is useless, so he reaches for his knife.
And then the mud is gone.
The ground beneath Jolyon suddenly vanishes, and now he’s falling dooooooooown into what can only be oblivion. "Uuuf!" His landing is soft, mushy, and very wet. He is covered in the dirt soup. His dishevelled silver braid is greasy and dark.
They’ve fallen through some kind of sinkhole. The soup doesn’t pour steadily down like a waterfall, but slowly splats over the edge high above in disgusting plops like the ground is shitting itself. Jolyon manages to roll out of the way before he can get splattered on. His mouth is filled with the taste of plastic, and something soft and a little prickly is moving around his left cheek. He reaches inside and pulls from between his teeth one of those fuzzy worms. It stares at him with a single black eye and meows. Horrified and sick, he tosses it back into the soil where it immediately digs inside for safety.
“Jol! Jol, c’mere! Hurry!”
It’s a relief to hear Uldren’s voice, but it echoes throughout the crystalline cavern from all directions. “Where are you?” Jolyon calls back.
“Just walk forward!”
And he has the nerve to sound impatient about it, too. Jolyon rolls his eyes, and he thinks of all the million other things he should’ve done before coming here. Like say ‘no’ to Uldren, and not his usual half-assed 'no' but one of resolute conviction. Actually set a boundary with this guy for once. Then lock the door to his apartment and refuse to come out. Petition the Queen to reassign him, Jolyon Till the Rachis, the most trusted of Crows, to Earth. He’ll take exile over revenge-driven snake vines with letter-shaped teeth ("F" for "fangs") and a mouthful of meowing worms any day.
Jolyon marches forward as instructed because of course, he does. He is sticky with gunk, his limbs stiff from drying mud. His hair hangs in a heavy clump that doesn’t feel like hair at all. But what choice does he have? He can’t very well just leave Uldren here on his own. He’ll do something exceptionally stupid then.
“Look! Look!”
For the life of him, the Crow agent can’t figure out what is it about this stars-forsaken place that has Uldren all worked up like a kid on some festive holiday morning. Yet those golden eyes shine with such vivid wonder, he can’t really bring himself to be mad. Annoyed, certainly, but not angry.
Jolyon sighs. If he tries to use words, he’ll scream instead. It’s all the acknowledgement Uldren needs.
Uldren then grabs his hand and tugs him forward. The two of them are no strangers to being touchy with each other, but Jolyon feels the heat rise in his face all the same. This literal hell of a cosmic garden has him fucked up in all kinds of ways.
And like a pair of schoolchildren, Uldren leads him through a hole in the crystal wall that spills open to a massive cavern that must be as large as the Dreaming City itself. Jolyon’s mouth drops open in awe. Warm light pours inside from some unknown source, illuminating the rocky terrain in a sparkling golden glow. Little particles of white like dust and tiny creatures dance in the radiant beams. The floor is covered in soft emerald grasses and diamond-clear pools. Trees, normal trees with normal leaves for once, grow throughout this underground grove, their gleaming silver branches bending with ripe, plump fruit. Fruit that also looks normal, like some kind of citrus, something he would buy from the weekly market without much thought.
"Untouched," Uldren whispers, awestruck. "Untouched by the Vex. Or anything else."
It’s too normal for Jolyon, much too normal for such a bizarre place that lies just a few paces and up a shithole behind him.
So he likes this even less.
“We can finally have a bath,” Uldren remarks with a grin, pointing toward the pools. The deeper, larger pools are of a beautiful aqua-green hue. “Clean our clothes. Look presentable for when we finally head back.”
Jolyon stops suddenly, nearly yanking Uldren backward. He fixes the smaller man with a sharp dark-blue eyed look. “Are we heading back?” Formalities be damned. Jolyon is done being gracious. They will just have to figure out something else that'll impress Mara, but right now he's at the end of his fucking rope. Five more minutes, and Jolyon’s going to headbutt the Prince with the Supremacy rifle and drag his ass back to the ship.
“Of course,” Uldren replies with a confused frown. “Once we finish exploring this place.”
“No. Now.”
Uldren’s eyes widen with surprise, and he looks almost insulted, even angry, at Jolyon's direct insubordination. But they aren’t Prince and Crow, not all the way out here, not in a place where clouds sing and the wind whispers barely words and bats fly on lead pipe wings.
Uldren has one chance before Jolyon brings out Supremacy to finish the job. Perhaps he sees the intent in the Crow agent’s eyes for he shakes his head and sighs deeply, finally defeated. “Fiiiiiiiine. But after a bath, okay? I’m not getting the ship dirty.”
“But then how are we — “ Jolyon stops. He was going to ask what the fuck the point is in bathing if they just have to climb back up through the mud and soil and worms to return to the surface anyway. He gives up. He’s already convinced Uldren to cut the trip short. Better to not push his luck.
Uldren raises an eyebrow as Jolyon contemplates the ethics of literally knocking sense into the Queensbrother and locking him in the cargo bay where he can’t escape.
“Agreed,” the Crow agent finally says, the one in defeat now.
Uldren is already heading for one of the nearest pools, and he lets his cloak fall off his shoulders in the most unceremonious plop upon the grass. Then he tugs off one of his boots. “Uuuuaaaaagh." A sickening sound of disgust rises from his stomach, and these round dark shapes that look suspiciously like peppermint patties pour out of the shoe along with the muck that managed to seep through. “We should definitely wash our clothes, too," he says, nose crinkled.
“Drying them will take forever,” Jolyon points out.
“What’s the point in bathing if we don’t wash our clothes, Jol?” Uldren counters.
What’s the point? What’s the point??
What’s the point in ANY of this!?! Jolyon wants to scream. There is no point when it comes to Uldren in his never-ending pointless pursuit for his sister’s acknowledgment.
Whoa now.
Jolyon takes a mental step back.
Okay, that’s harsh, even if it’s just in his own head.
This cursed place is getting to him. He shudders.
Brainstain. A contagion of concepts and ideas and stray thoughts seeded by others that rides in the air to contaminate your own. Jolyon shakes his head and runs his hands down his face. He's tired. Exhausted. The weariness makes his bones feel like lead; he can barely carry his own weight. Suddenly, he relates to those poor bats with wings that should be far too heavy for them to use.
Perhaps a bath wouldn't be such a terrible idea.
There is a clink of metal, and he gazes over at Uldren fiddling with all three of his belts. The Prince curses under his breath in frustration, and Jolyon’s mouth twitches with warm amusement despite it all. There’s something about being able to see this side of Uldren no one else gets to, not even his own twin. To the Reef, the Queensbrother is a hero, a celebrity, a champion who waltzes with Death and walks away unscathed. This is what makes him a pillar of strength among his people. Duty and personal pride do not allow for anything less.
But the Crow agent has seen his Prince when he’s scared, when he’s insecure, when he’s lost and doesn't know where to turn next. When he twirls around in rain and implies that he’s licked a battery once. When he wades waist-deep in mud and grime and shit because his curiosity is insatiable. When he can’t get three belts off —
Oh, wow, he really is struggling there.
“Having difficulty?” Jolyon casually asks, his shirt hanging off his arms.
“Stupid fucking — “ Uldren grunts, tugging at a belt loop. “I think there’s too much mud; it’s stuck.”
Jolyon shakes his head and strides over, almost lazily. It’s instinct. He is always there at Uldren’s side whenever the Prince is in imminent danger. Or inconvenienced. He tosses his shirt over a broad bare shoulder. “Here.” And he reaches for Uldren’s belt.
Uldren glares.
Jolyon is unfazed. “Your Grace. Please.”
Golden eyes roll toward the cave ceiling studded with stalactites and fine crystals. It’s all the answer Jolyon needs.
Uldren wasn’t kidding. Mud has really caked into every breadth of space on his belt. It takes longer than Jolyon initially anticipated as he fiddles with metal and leather at Uldren's waist. It’s taking too long, actually. He’s suddenly hyperaware of Uldren’s breath and his scent… and it’s terrible.
“What’s that face?” Uldren demands, eyes narrowed, when Jolyon’s face twists with unconscious repulsion.
“You need a bath.”
Uldren throws his hands up in exasperation. “That’s why we’re here! Thanks for joining the class, Jol.”
“And get a breath mint while you’re at it.”
“Oh, it’s not like you smell like a basket of fruit, either, buddy!”
The belt clinks open, and Uldren snatches himself out of Jolyon’s hold. Jolyon doesn’t miss the embarrassed tint of red on those slate-blue cheeks before his face turns away completely, covered by black hair. With the main belt loosened, it takes Uldren little time to take the rest of his clothes off. Jolyon returns to freeing himself from the confines of his own muddy garments.
They wash their clothes in the running stream that snakes between pools, neither of them speaking. The clear water dirties for only a split second while their clothes return to a pristine black and silver. Mostly. If one doesn’t inspect the fabric close enough.
It is nice, actually. The cavern is quiet. Peaceful. Colors bounce from the crystalline walls and dance over the diamond clear water. The grass beneath their bare feet feels like… grass. Nothing weird like you would expect, like thumbtacks or snakeskin. The air doesn't whisper and is instead filled with the pleasant sounds of gurgling streams and a faint hum akin to cicadas. The normalcy is so jarring compared to the rest of the Garden that Jolyon couldn't help finding it utterly repulsive when Uldren first pulled him in here. It’s growing on him quickly. Ha ha ha.
The water, on the other hand…
Jolyon doesn’t think he’s felt anything more pleasant in his life, and there is no second-guessing that. The water is warm against his skin and rich with minerals that soothe away his anxieties. And it smells good. Like mint and fresh rain.
SPLASH!
And leave it to Uldren to fall in.
“Ren?"
The Prince bursts through the surface of one of the deeper pools, spraying water out of his mouth. He flashes Jolyon that stupid, idiotic, dangerously charming grin of his, the same shit-eating grin he wore when he dyed Jolyon’s skin green as a prank all those centuries ago.
Centuries?
Millennia?
Jolyon’s not sure. It entirely depends on if you decide to go by Distributary time or the time of this reality. Time is fucking weird like that, and anytime he thinks about their past, he gets dizzy.
How long have they even been in the Garden? Days? Weeks? Mere hours?
If he’s here forever, in this particular place, this cozy cavern that reminds him so much of the amethyst caves beneath the Divalian Mists, maybe he won’t mind so much, after all.
Jolyon shakes away that strange thought, and he neatly lays out his clothes over the soft grass to dry. Then with a sigh, he does the same to Uldren’s clothes, which have been abandoned in a wet, wrinkling heap while their owner rushes off to play.
Actually, the Prince is surprisingly self-sufficient and often does things himself rather than have his numerous servants do it all for him. It probably keeps everyone at a distance, fewer people getting in your business when you make your own bed and wash your own laundry. The Master of Crows doesn’t trust easily, and it makes him all the more admired for it. But sometimes Uldren gets distracted and forgets things. Sometimes his self-awareness isn’t always on point. Sometimes, he does just leave his clothes lying around in a wet pile because there are times when he just can't be bothered. Another secret aspect of the Reef's charismatic Prince the Crow agent gets to see that others don’t.
Jolyon glances up. Uldren is washing the mud out of his crow-black hair, such a rare color for an Awoken, the water gently lapping around his slim hips. A dark trail of hair leads from his navel to disappear beneath the surface. Jolyon feels his mouth go dry.
Suddenly, Uldren lets out a shriek and sends water surging in all directions when he practically leaps out of the pool. “Something just bit me!” he exclaims in pitched panic.
On the one hand, this could another one of Uldren’s pranks, but on the other, Jolyon is never in the position to question it. The Crow agent snatches Uldren’s knife from his belt, still caked with mud, and jumps in the water. “Where is it?” he demands, sloshing his way to Uldren's defense.
Uldren twists his torso to look behind him. “I think it got me underneath my right cheek — “
Jolyon groans with exasperation. “I mean where is the thing that bit you?”
Sometimes he regrets ever meeting this man.
“Hell if I know!” Uldren huffs back. “It bit me and then disappeared.”
The water is as clear as air. You can see all the way to the tiny glistening rocks beneath the surface. There is nothing else in the pool besides the two of them and glimmering rocks of precious colors. Jolyon narrows his eyes with a deep, unamused frown.
“I’m serious!” Uldren insists. “Something really bit me!”
Truth be told, the Prince’s pranks, for all their childish vexatiousness, are usually much more clever than this. “Let’s just hurry up with the bath and be on our way,” Jolyon says, and starts undoing his braid.
“Here.”
Surprise keeps Jolyon still as Uldren’s deft fingers separate thick silver strands streaked with filth. This shouldn’t be all that surprising. Casual touching is nothing new between them, and Uldren has always had a habit of helping Jolyon with his braid, such long hair that stretches down his back almost to his waist. And yet there’s something different about his little habit this time.
Has Uldren always been this small?
The Awoken Prince is a bit on the shorter side, but his armor and cocksure attitude always make him seem larger than he actually is. Then again, Jolyon is taller than average. Uldren isn’t nearly as broad as him, either, muscular but slender, built more for slipping unnoticed into tight spaces like the stealthy hunter he is.
Jolyon realizes he’s staring again.
Then a sharp stab of pain shoots like lightning up his inner thigh. “Ow, FUCK!” Jolyon cries out from what does feel like an actual bite and slams into Uldren. Uldren, not at all prepared for this sudden friendship trust test, is unable to catch him, and the two fall together in the water with a massive splash. Jolyon resurfaces, coughing from shock and liquid in his lungs, and tries to squirt water out of his nose. As wonderfully warm and pleasant this water feels, it still hurts like a bitch when it shoots straight up into his sinuses.
Uldren remains seated in the pool, leaned back against his outstretched arms. There is this weird look on his face as he stares into space... no, not space. At Jolyon. Or a part of Jolyon that is lower than his face. Uldren's weird look lies somewhere between shocked and intrigued. Kinda like the face he had when they first walked into the Garden.
Then the Prince meets his gaze, looks back down, then meets his gaze again. He clicks his tongue. “You, uh… you might wanna fix that," he says.
“Huh?”
Jolyon is sure water is still clogged up his nose because everything seems kind of fuzzy, the world taking on a haze not unlike the green mist outside. And then his eyes suddenly hyperfocus on a single drop of water that falls from Uldren’s wet hair, down his cheek, the curve of his neck, the bump of his collarbone…
The Crow agent’s body is hot all over. Each nerve snaps to life, and he’s fully aware of every single molecule of air and water touching his heated skin. He looks down, following Uldren's pointed gaze, and sees with no small amount of mortification that his member has thickened and is hardening by the minute.
“It’s nothing!” Jolyon hisses, shoving his hands over his cock and turning away. “It’s fine!”
“I didn’t realize you liked swimming so much,” Uldren teases with a wicked grin. Jolyon doesn’t like that grin. Not one bit. “Do you need a few moments alone?”
“No.” Jolyon’s response is too quick. Because he knows exactly what he’s going to think about if he takes care of business, and he does not want to go there. Not here, not right now, not in this forsaken place.
Uldren raises an eyebrow. “So you’re just gonna walk around the Black Garden with a raging boner then?” he asks as casually as asking about the weather.
“It’s not raging,” Jolyon snaps in a low voice.
“Well, you’re not exactly flying at only half-mast there, my man.”
“Would you please leave my dick alone!?”
Out of all their centuries and millennia and whatever of friendship between them, Jolyon has never, ever thought he would say those very words to Uldren Sov under any circumstance.
Forget stuffing the Prince in the cargo bay. Regicide is the only way out of this.
“I’m just pointing out — ” Uldren begins then snorts at his own pun while Jolyon contemplates murder, “— anyway, what I’m saying is, everything we do affects the rest of the Garden. Concepts, thoughts, our very words, everything fertilizes the air here. So do you really wanna walk back through the Garden with horny thoughts?" Oh, he is enjoying this way, way too much. He wiggles his eyebrows. "Turn it into a Horny Garden?”
Jolyon blinks. “A what?”
“Oh, yeah. We’ll probably start seeing dick vines and titty fruit, tree trunks shaped like thiiiiiick thighs — “
“The only one who is turning this into a Horny Garden is you, you absolute child,” Jolyon interrupts peevishly. He’s so turned on right now, it’s starting to piss him off. Uldren’s jokes aren’t helping. They never help. It makes him want to knock the Prince to the ground and... totally not do those things that put him in this awful situation in the first place.
“It’s your boner!” Uldren retorts, unable to contain his utter delight at Jolyon's expense.
"Stop saying 'boner'!" Jolyon throws his hands up in defeat. “Fine! I will go... take care of it," he hisses through gritted teeth. "Just… stay here and don’t get into any trouble.” That latter part may be asking for Jupiter on a silver platter, but he feels the urge to say it anyway.
“Jol, wait.”
And then Uldren’s hand is on his wrist, keeping him in place. Those gold eyes don’t quite meet his as the Prince blushes a little. “I... I can help, y'know.”
It takes Jolyon about six months to come back to reality after he has just been mentally drop-kicked into the sun. “…P-pardon?”
“Yeah.” Uldren shrugs like he didn't really suggest the unsuggestable just now. “What’s a hand job between two guys who have been friends for literally forever? Heh. Surprised we haven't done this sooner, actually.”
Jolyon doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream, so he settles for his usual deadpan sarcasm. “You got brainstain or something?”
A wicked grin. “You don’t want me to?”
Jolyon doesn’t answer. He physically can’t answer because he actually does want Uldren to assist with his problem. And more. More than he has any right to ask. He can never tell Uldren the truth. It's the one secret he's kept buried too deep for even himself to dig out. But the word ‘no’ just won’t form on his mouth because it won’t even register in his thoughts.
“Oooooh,” Uldren says softly when Jolyon simply looks down at his own pathetic reflection. “I see. Well, I guess that settles it then.”
Wait, what’s being settled? “Ren,” Jolyon warns when the Prince starts pushing him backward toward the bank. “Ren, what are you doing?”
“Settling the matter.”
“You can’t exactly make this decision by yourself.”
“Then tell me not to.”
Damn it.
Uldren smirks when Jolyon looks away. “Thought so.”
“You cocky little — “
“Shhhh shhshhshhhh shhhhhhh.” Uldren places his finger on Jolyon’s lips. “Let me take care of things, sweet Jol. You just lie back and think of the Reef.”
"I don't think that's -- " Jolyon doesn’t have time to argue that phrase because the next thing he knows, he’s being pushed onto the grass. At this point, maybe there really is no use in fighting it. Just the feel of Uldren’s hands on his skin has him trembling all over. All that stupid guy has to do is be close to him, and Jolyon forgets how to breathe. Or act right.
Jolyon shoots up on his elbows when Uldren spreads his knees. “W-wait, Ren, what you doing!?”
“It’s fine,” Uldren replies cheerfully, settling himself between those long legs, his head level with the strong thighs. When he speaks, his breath brushes Jolyon’s aching erection, and the Crow agent bites his lip to keep from moaning. He shouldn't allow this to happen. He shouldn't.
“Y-you said it would be a hand job!” He's actually not opposed to this whatsoever, and therein lies the problem.
Uldren shrugs. “Yeeeeeaah, I thought about it, and that sounds way too boring, y'know, there’s so much work with the wrist and your arm gets sore…Trust me, Jol, this is much more interesting.” He lazily trails his long fingers up and down Jolyon’s thick shaft. The Crow agent struggles not to come from this alone, from Uldren finally touching him. He’s already never going to hear the end of this, and he’s not about to give this asshole any more ammunition.
“Do… do you even know what you’re doing?” Jolyon asks quietly. He’s not breathless with want. This is only Uldren about to suck his cock. No big deal. Not anything substantial that they will absolutely regret the moment they leave this place. Jolyon is on the verge of panic, his brain misfiring on all the proper protocols, alarms blaring crimson danger.
Uldren shoots him a look. “Uh, I always know what I’m doing, thank you. Now, silence. Your Prince is concentrating.”
This cocky bastard is really going to sit there with Jolyon’s dick in hand and lie to his face.
Jolyon doesn’t remember Uldren having a lot of lovers. In fact, he could even say Uldren never had any lovers at all, but that may just be the fog of memory that stretches too far back for his brain to bother holding onto anymore. All he remembers from the Distributary are the bits that matter. All he cares about is this reality.
Jolyon sighs with resignation. Uldren’s stupid smirk and hair and fingers on his skin are rendering all of his good sense completely useless. Best to get this over with already.
His breath hitches when Uldren’s palms brush along his inner thighs. A curious tongue licks his tip where precum has formed with an embarrassing quickness. Then Uldren licks him again, tongue tracing up and down his throbbing length.
Well, they're not gonna get anywhere in a hurry like this. “I’m not a popsicle,” Jolyon remarks dryly.
Uldren grunts. “You gonna let me do this or what?”
“Just put my dick in your mouth.”
And yet another thing Jolyon never thought he would say to his best friend and, oh, the twin brother of the monarch of his people.
“I was getting to that,” Uldren mutters from the corner of his mouth and a roll of his eyes.
A gasp bursts out of Jolyon the moment he feels his cock encased by that hot mouth that so often comes at him with an infuriating attitude equal in both snark and charm. Uldren’s tongue swirls around the tip in a few enticing circles, as if testing Jolyon’s taste. There is a delicate shyness to that tongue’s gentle movements that makes his heart race. Then Uldren gets a little braver, pushing his head forward and more of Jolyon toward his throat.
Jolyon’s head falls back. His fingers clutch at the grass. Uldren’s mouth is so warm and so wet, and the flat of his soft tongue presses against the underside of the Crow agent as he begins to suck. The Prince clearly has no experience with this particular act, but lucky for him, Jolyon is very easy to please right now. In fact, Jolyon isn’t sure what’s turning him on more: that he’s getting blown right now or that Uldren is the one doing it to him.
Who could’ve guessed this is the best way to shut Uldren up? That snarky Princely mouth stuffed full with his cock, golden eyes wet and ruined, is the prettiest damn sight, and Jolyon has been all over the universe.
He barely manages to bite back a moan when Uldren pulls back to work on his tip a bit more. He supposes he should say something, give some indication that the Prince is doing a decent job, at least. He wants to. He wants to encourage Uldren to keep going. Yes yes it feels so good repeats desperately in the very front of his brain, all he needs is to open his mouth for the words to manifest. His fingers ache to grasp those strands of crow-black hair instead of the grass.
Jolyon doesn’t dare make a sound. If he draws any attention to the situation, it’ll be ruined.
And so, Uldren, in his fashion, snatches that choice away from him when his cock suddenly pops out of that swollen mouth.
“Hey, am I doing something wrong?”
Jolyon lifts back up on his elbows. Uldren has sat up with a dissatisfied frown. He’s not exactly sulking, not like he usually does. There is a degree of worry there. An insecurity.
He replies with a soft, hopefully reassuring, “No, you’re doing fine.”
“But you’re not responding.” Uldren’s pout deepens.
A sigh. “We don’t have to do this,” Jolyon points out.
“But I want to.”
It’s like his stomach and his heart switched places just now. Jolyon's breath stills. It’s an illusion. It has to be. Some kind of trick of the Garden. There is a vulnerability surrounding the Prince that Jolyon doesn’t recognize, and that definitely must be a sign of brainstain.
Even though Uldren allows himself to be more genuine around Jolyon, it's not like the Crow agent sees everything. Uldren still maintains a guarded wall in some circumstances. A wall as thin as spidersilk is still just as strong as a wall made of solid rock. Jolyon knows this. Jolyon respects this boundary greatly. That’s why, despite his, well, whatever complicated feelings he has going on right now, Jolyon never makes anything between them more than what Uldren needs. Jolyon Till the Rachis is a Crow agent, sniper, scout, teller of tales, companion, friend, adventurer, unconditionally loyal follower of his Prince, and he doesn’t need to be anything more than that.
That all of his selfish desires have come to the surface so suddenly after so many years of being dutifully buried is just a trick of the Garden. A dirty, horrific, mortifying trick.
The problem is that the longer Uldren stares at him like that, the flimsier those excuses become.
“So, um, since I just tried to blow you just now, um…”
Uldren’s face turns hotter with each word, the pink of his cheeks mixing with the slate-blue of his skin. The silver swirls just beneath the surface of his face start to glow brighter. Like the Light of his soul can barely be contained.
“Ren.”
Jolyon has to stop this. He needs to stop this. Now.
“I want you,” Uldren suddenly spits out in a rush. He seems shocked at his own words, his eyes widening as he quickly sits back.
Uldren Sov doesn’t make confessions.
Uldren Sov doesn’t just lay out his cards on the table like that for all to read.
He doesn’t have a lot of secrets, but those few that he does, he guards closely behind that spidersilk wall. You think you can see the other side, take a few bold steps, and then very quickly discover there actually is a barrier there and there always has been.
“Uldren.” Jolyon doesn't use his usual affectionate nickname in a sign of desperation.
Uldren doesn’t want anything. The Awoken Prince can have literally any person in the Reef he desires, for he is that adored and beloved by his people. Even Jolyon. Look at him. Here he sits, thighs spread and every inch of his skin begging Uldren to continue despite common sense warning him this path is wrong. Even Jolyon can’t escape being utterly enraptured by his Prince.
The Sov Twins have that kind of effect on others.
So Uldren chooses no one because there is nothing as enticing about attraction as the chase, the hunt. And you can't hunt what refuses to run.
“There I said it, okay!” Uldren snaps before Jolyon can continue, waving his hands for emphasis. “I mean, your dick was in my mouth, isn’t it obvious? It’s not like I go around putting everyone’s dick in my mouth!”
Judging by that technique he’s displayed, Jolyon is confident his dick has been the only one in Uldren’s mouth. He keeps that thought to himself, filed away with all the other random details about the Prince that would bear no significant use to anyone else.
“I just… gaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh…” Uldren gives a loud, long, exasperated groan complete with a dramatic throw of his head back against his shoulders. He’s so flustered, he’s actually pissing himself off. Uldren thinks his jokes and his grins and his mischief are his charm, but no, it is this. This moment. When he knocks down his own spidersilk wall himself and struggles in the strands like a cat that's trapped itself in a ball of yarn.
Uldren Sov’s true charm is his honesty.
“I want to please you,” the Prince finally admits in a very quiet voice. He can’t lie for shit, but he can damn well try to sneak the truth past you before you notice. That's what makes him the Master of Crows. Lies can be detected too easily. The truth, now the truth you have to catch first.
Jolyon sits up. The movement makes Uldren start with surprise, and he gives Jolyon a worried look. Nothing will be the same between them after this, no matter what happens now, even if their next move is to put on their clothes and go back to the ship like fuck all.
So who the fuck cares anymore?
“No, Your Grace,” Jolyon says softly, almost reverently. It is only moments like this when Jolyon ever addresses Uldren by his title in private, when he needs to remind the Prince of his place, perhaps remind them both. “I am the one who should be pleasing you.”
Uldren’s lips are surprisingly soft despite starting to chap from dehydration. Jolyon’s hand snakes through the black hairs at the back of his head and tilts him so their mouths slot perfectly together. He licks that full bottom lip, and Uldren makes this sound, and Jolyon’s tongue slides in between his open teeth.
Uldren kisses back a little, surprisingly passive, but his hands shyly brush Jolyon’s shoulders. The agent’s other hand fits snugly against the small of his back to pull him closer. The taste of his own precum on Uldren’s tongue makes Jolyon dizzy with desire. When he closes his eyes, all he can feel is Uldren. Not the Prince of the Reef. Not the Master of Crows. Just Uldren. Before.
And this is the Uldren who Jolyon vowed to travel to all corners of the universe with, no matter what. The one whom Jolyon devoted his life to when all others had their sights on Mara.
Jolyon’s kiss grows deeper, rougher. Encouraged by a dark mote that stirs just beneath his longing, something he doesn’t dare name. Uldren's mouth follows Jolyon’s lead like a waltz, and his tongue pushes back against the other with a little demand. But Jolyon doesn’t let up, and his kiss becomes a bruise. His teeth dip into the soft tissue of that bottom lip just enough to make Uldren whine in his throat from the bite, and Jolyon slowly pulls back before releasing him completely.
Uldren’s eyes are still closed. His face is flushed hot, and his lips throb. When he finally opens his eyes, his lashes as long and black as crow feathers, the pristine gold of his irises has darkened to the color of sunset.
“You okay?” Jolyon asks softly.
Uldren’s only response is a nod once he is able to actually register the question.
Jolyon is not opposed to repeating this tactic if only to, for once, silence the Prince for a few blissful minutes.
“Do it again,” Uldren says, breathless but no less demanding.
Okay, make that thirty seconds. They’ll build up to it.
“As you command, Your Grace,” Jolyon replies with a dark chuckle. His kiss is slower, teasing, and this time it lets Uldren catch up. To his credit, Uldren is a quick study despite his inexperience. He licks into Jolyon’s mouth with a determined type of confidence, driven to immediately prove he can do exactly what Jolyon can if not better. The Prince's tongue pushes against his own, and Jolyon smirks as he lazily lets Uldren taste him as he pleases.
When they pull away again, a string of spit snaps between their tongues amid soft panting. Uldren’s nails have dug so deep into Jolyon’s soft blue skin that blood forms the tiny crimson beads beneath them.
If kissing Uldren feels this good, Jolyon doesn’t try to imagine what the rest might feel like, or he just might die right here and now.
He kisses Uldren again but moves away before the Prince can kiss him back to trace his lips along the strong jaw and lower to the sensitive skin of his neck. Uldren’s head dips back almost obediently. His pulse jumps wildly beneath those sharp kisses.
“Ah!”
A soft cry escapes when Jolyon bites into his throat just enough to leave a bruise that blooms in an ever so slightly darker gray than the rest of his skin. He slowly rolls his tongue over the wound to soothe away the pain before he sucks more marks, not as dark but no less deep, from his neck down to his collar. He has every intention of leaving such marks all over his Prince as proof of his devotion.
Gently pushing the Prince back down on the grass, Jolyon takes the opportunity to check in on him. Uldren stares back up at him through half-lidded eyes, drunk and dazed.
“Are you okay still?” Jolyon asks.
“Uh-huh.”
He grins. “Is His Highness pleased so far?”
“Heh. Hell yeah.” Uldren frowns a bit. “But you’re taking too long.”
Jolyon chuckles as he runs his hands up Uldren’s stomach toward his chest, relishing in the way the muscles spasm beneath his touch. His body is covered in scars from so many flirtatious encounters with Death, the only relationship Uldren feels worth pursuing.
“And end things too soon?” Jolyon teases. He palms Uldren’s trim chest, where there is a long scar from the kiss of an Arc blade stretches all the way down to his belly, and the pair of dark nipples harden from his playful fingers.
Uldren moans, curling up into the touch. “You… you’re feeling me up like a girl?” he remarks breathlessly.
“Is that bad?”
“N-no. Just… kinda funny. Didn't know... guys could do stuff like that, too."
Uldren yelps in the most undignified way when Jolyon pinches one of his nipples hard and captures the other in his mouth. The contrast of hard fingers and soft tongue makes the Prince squirm. Jolyon feels the other man's heart race against his cheek as slender fingers tangle themselves in the agent’s silver hair. Uldren’s cock strains against Jolyon’s stomach, precum dripping into the crevices of his abs. Who would’ve thought Prince Uldren Sov is actually so sensitive?
Jolyon lazily sucks and teases Uldren’s nipples as the Prince’s hips start to grind against his belly. Then Jolyon abandons the dusky nubs wet with his spit as he moves back up Uldren’s collar, sucking marks to the bone, and then bites his neck again with a soft growl.
He’ll worship his monarch’s body for hours. He’ll kiss every scar and then leave more with his own teeth.
“St-stop teasing me already,” Uldren finally pants. “If I come like this, I’ll be pissed, I mean it.” He glares, but his glassy gaze mutes the bite of his demand significantly.
Another muscle spasm as Jolyon strokes his stomach. The Prince is so wired, it’s like he’s literally trying to leap out of his own skin. “What if I make you come more than once?” the Crow agent purrs in a low voice. It's not a question.
Uldren’s eyes widen, stunned into silence once again. Jolyon can very much get used to this, and he grins wickedly. “Let me show you how it’s really done.”
Jolyon dives between Uldren’s legs without warning to wrap his lips around that hard cock. Uldren hides his shocked cry behind his hand, and Jolyon groans with pleasure at finally having the privilege to taste his Prince. Uldren’s scent is heady and pleasing in that primal way that calls to your deepest instincts and sets them free.
The soft sounds Jolyon makes in his throat send delicious vibrations through that swollen cock in his mouth. He doesn’t give Uldren a break here. He switches between rolling his tongue around the tip, teasing the dripping slit, to sucking mercilessly with the entirety of the length encased in his mouth as black hairs tickle his nose. The wet noises his mouth makes mix with Uldren’s desperate gasps.
“Yes. Yes, more. D-don’t... don't stop,” Uldren whispers to the Garden, like how Jolyon should have when their roles were reversed. He tries to buck into that mouth, literally fuck his face in pursuit of his own pleasure, but Jolyon’s strong hands pin his hips in place against the ground and force him still. Uldren whines. The only part of his body he can move is his hands which return to make a mess of Jolyon's impossibly long hair.
Uldren suddenly gasps and his entire body tenses. “Jol! Jol, I — !” He tries to push the Crow agent off of him, but Jolyon is the stronger and stubbornly remains in place. With a cry, the Prince arches up off the ground. His body trembles as his cum surges deep into Jolyon’s mouth. Jolyon swallows it all with a satisfied moan, sucking him for every drop through his climax.
Uldren's dick pops lewdly out from between Jolyon's glossy lips. He lays there, panting, eyes barely open. On occasion, a part of his body twitches with lingering sensation, like his finger or his leg. “I just… I just need a moment,” he says through heavy intakes of air, and his voice is rough on Jolyon’s ears. Rough and wrecked. And Jolyon has only gotten started.
"Take all the time you need,” Jolyon says then steps away to retrieve his bag sitting next to his clothes. His face twists with disgust at how some of the Garden has managed to crawl its way into his belongings, too. But he has no time right now to take inventory and discover what's still useful and what's been ruined completely. He finds the thing he needs, and thankfully, it is still fully intact and not very dirty.
Uldren sits up, having recovered a bit when the Crow agent returns holding a bottle of clear liquid. “You’re prepared?” he asks, looking genuinely impressed, correctly guessing what the bottle is for.
“I am always prepared,” Jolyon replies matter-of-factly.
“Well, that’s — “ The Prince cuts off and his eyes narrow with suspicion. He’s not Master of Crows for the fun of it, not entirely. “Wait, that’s not the lube you use to clean your gun with, is it?”
Jolyon blinks at him. “What else is there to use?”
Uldren nearly chokes on his double-take. “D-dude, is that even safe!?”
“It’s an organic mineral base, I’m sure it’s fine.” The Awoken are not in the habit of making things out of harmful chemicals like during the pre-Golden Age. Anything not recommended for consumption is usually immediately expelled one way or another with little damage to the body. In theory.
Uldren squirms. “Do we have to use it at all?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be fine without it.”
“No, you won’t.”
“You are not sticking gun oil up my ass!”
“It’s better than nothing, I promise you.”
Jolyon’s made some mistakes in his past. He’s not about to make them with Uldren. So despite Uldren’s protests about using lube that wasn’t made with this particular purpose in mind, he lathers up his fingers. Then he cuts off any further protest when he kisses Uldren again, deep and slow. Uldren moans at the taste of himself on Jolyon’s tongue, already forgotten his misgivings. Sometimes, Jolyon finds this single-mindedness infuriating, but in this case, it's unbearably adorable. He pushes the Prince back down onto the grass. Uldren sighs at the wonderful weight of him when Jolyon lies on top and fits their bodies together. Jolyon tongues Uldren's mouth in lazy, slow circles as he rocks against the smaller man. Uldren raises his hips in response, wrapping his legs around Jolyon's slender waist.
“Just relax,” Jolyon whispers against hungry lips as he reaches down between them, and then his finger traces tiny circles around Uldren’s entrance. He has plenty of lube in case he needs it. The Supremacy is a big gun, after all. He pushes a little inside, and Uldren tenses up. Jolyon expects this, so he’s already kissing the Prince’s delicate neck as a distraction, drawing out sighs and moans and whimpers of anticipation. His tongue tenderly licks over those fresh bruises he’s made earlier. He can feel the shivers shooting through the Crow Master as tiny goosebumps form beneath his lips.
Jolyon pushes his finger further, past the first knuckle and then the second. The lube makes this so much easier to work through the initial resistance. “Th-this isn’t so bad,” Uldren gasps. All he can do is cling to Jolyon’s back, nails raking deep long marks in their painful wake. Jolyon growls at the burn and bites Uldren just beneath the collar bone in return.
“You’re doing so good,” the Crow agent whispers, then sighs deeply. “Fuck, I can’t wait to finally be inside you.”
Uldren stills. “I... I thought you were.”
Oh, sweet thing. Jolyon lifts his head to gaze down at his Prince and smiles gently. “This is just one finger, Ren. Not even close.”
Uldren makes this whimpering sound, biting his lower lip. Jolyon kisses the tip of his nose. Something about this gesture feels far more intimate than being one finger deep inside Uldren’s ass, and Jolyon wonders if maybe he’s at last gone too far. But Uldren doesn’t rebuke him for it.
“I won’t hurt you,” Jolyon says, pressing their foreheads together, sweat on sweat. “I promise.”
The Prince still doesn’t look too sure about that, but he nods all the same. Their roles have been reversed. Now it is Uldren’s turn to place his trust in his partner during a highly uncertain situation. Has Uldren ever placed such trust in another before? Is this why he doesn't take anyone to his bed?
Jolyon seals the promise with a kiss on his lips and works in the second finger. Uldren gasps into his mouth, his nails scratching him up with delicious agony that sets his skin on fire. Jolyon stretches him, coaxing him open bit by bit. Even with all this work, it’s still gonna be a tight fit. The second finger makes way for the third.
Sweat gleams all over Uldren’s body. His cock hardens again amidst curls of black hair, precum pearling from the slit. His eyes of molten gold have watered over. Jolyon has never wanted — needed — anything so much in his entire life. In either this one or the one before.
He goes in deep. Curls his fingers and rubs back again. Uldren shudders with a small cry. “Please!” he gasps out.
Jolyon is incapable of not teasing him. “Do my ears deceive me?" he says with mock surprise. "Did my Prince make a humble request of his servant?”
The glaze of Uldren’s eyes quickly sharpens to a cold stare. “If I command you to fuck me already, would you?” he snaps irritably.
“Hmm,” Jolyon muses. “That depends, I guess." Then he brushes a finger against the right spot deep inside Uldren that makes the Prince yelp like a street whore, makes his back arch clear from the ground and then fall again as his chest heaves for air.
"Fuck... oh fuck, what... what the fuck was that?" Uldren pants.
"Your fun button."
"My whaaaaaaaa -- !!!!!!!" He shrieks when it happens again.
Jolyon shrugs with a satisfied smirk at the way Uldren quakes at his bidding. "Heh. I could do this for hours.”
“LIKE HELL!"
With a surprising strength, Uldren flips Jolyon to the ground. The Crow agent gasps lightly with surprise, a thrill shooting up his spine. In fact, he might have fantasized about this very scenario once or twice or a hundred times whenever they wrestled each other in the training room.
Uldren snatches the bottle from the grass and drenches Jolyon’s cock with lube, eyes narrowed with furious determination driven by a single purpose. “Y-you’re supposed to warm it in your hands first!” Jolyon gasps, body tensing from the sudden cold gel between his legs.
“Oops. My body will warm you soon enough, so don’t complain,” Uldren retorts. He's not in the least bit sorry.
Jolyon can only watch in stunned amazement as Uldren lines himself up over his cock. The tip goes in smoothly enough thanks to the ridiculous amounts of lube that's been used thus far, and Jolyon bites his lower lip to hold back a long groan. It takes every fiber of his being, every year of a thousand years of military-grade discipline, to keep his hips from instinctively thrusting upward and bury himself in that warmth he’s so desperately longed for.
“S-see? It’s not that bad at all.” Uldren’s words come out in a rush. Beads of sweat rain from his slicked black hair down his cheeks to his chest.
“Ren, just… just take it easy,” Jolyon warns, also finding it difficult to breathe as he feels himself sink further and further inside as Uldren strains from the girth.
And then Uldren practically impales himself right down to Jolyon’s ballsack, because of course any sensible advice that comes his way is automatically perceived as a direct challenge.
“FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!”
Jolyon sighs deeply as Uldren's scream echoes in a million directions throughout the massive cavern.
Uldren sways. His eyes have that glassy look again, and this time it’s not from pleasure but from a mind that is about to nope the fuck out from pain. Jolyon quickly sits up and wraps his arms around Uldren as the Prince slumps dizzily forward against his shoulder.
“Ren, are you okay? Uldren!”
For a moment, Uldren says nothing, and Jolyon’s blood runs cold from the terror that he actually has passed out.
“Uldren?”
"...Hey." Uldren's voice is very, very soft. Even with his mouth against his shoulder, Jolyon can barely hear him. "Hey... you remember when that one Cabal centurion stabbed me in the kidney?"
"How could I forget?" Uldren was in surgery for hours that day. It took every inkling of Awoken ingenuity to try to save both the organ and his life, and only one of those ending up leaving the operating room, anyway.
“This... this is so much worse," Uldren whispers. "That… that really… really fucking hurt."
Jolyon sighs again, this time with relief because Uldren is talking and that's always a good sign. “I told you…”
“Don’t.” Uldren lifts a weak finger and starts poking around Jolyon’s face because his own face is buried in the agent’s shoulder and therefore can’t see what he’s doing. “Where... where’s your fucking smartass mouth so I can shush you up?”
Jolyon chuckles and takes Uldren’s finger between his lips, sucking the digit with playful greed. Uldren moans a little and lifts his head. “Not what I meant,” he snaps, face burning bright.
Jolyon smirks and sucks harder, making the Prince’s breath hitch.
“You’re impossible.”
The Crow agent rolls his eyes. Pot and kettle. He strokes gentle caresses up and down Uldren’s spine with both of his hands, feeling the long dip between hard muscle. Uldren slips a second finger into Jolyon’s mouth, and Jolyon sucks with reverence. Uldren watches a moment before his hips start to move, almost unconciously.
His hiss of pain snaps Jolyon out of the moment. “Hey — “ he starts.
“It’s okay,” Uldren cuts in sharply. “I’m fine.”
“Can you please at least try to be careful?” For once.
“Yeah, yeah.”
At least, Uldren actually does take the sensible advice to heart this time. He moves at his own pace, testing his own boundaries with this new sensation of being joined with his best friend like this. Jolyon clings to him, kisses him all over, anything to distract him from chasing after his own pleasure in that devastating wet heat. “You feel so fucking good,” he breathes against Uldren’s lips.
“Am I the best you ever had?” Uldren whispers back.
“Uhhh... best is a rather strong word.”
Jolyon grins at his own joke, but it fades when Uldren shoves him back down on the grass. Amber eyes blaze like sunfire. “Then I have some catching up to do,” the Prince remarks with genuine determination.
One day, Uldren Sov is going to learn that not every casual remark is a challenge to be met. One day.
Before Jolyon can say anything, Uldren lifts himself up, nearly sliding the agent’s dick all the way out of his body… before he sinks down again. Jolyon groans. Uldren is so soft and warm and better than anything he's ever fantasized about. The Prince lifts and sinks down again. Sinks down again. Again and again and again, increasing his speed as confidence replaces his pain. Jolyon’s hands rest on those slim hips to balance him and encourage him to move faster if possible.
“How are you?” Jolyon asks softly.
Uldren smirks proudly, sitting on Jolyon’s lap like the king of the hill. “Fucking fantastic.”
“Seriously.”
He looks insulted. “I am serious!” As if to prove it, Uldren bounces faster on Jolyon’s cock. It’s a bit awkward, and he can’t seem to figure out a good rhythm, but it is no less pleasurable. Jolyon feels molten heat grow beneath his stomach, building up pressure, pushing against every seam in his body, but it's not going to get much more than this if Uldren keeps moving so awkwardly.
So Jolyon grabs those slim hips in an iron grip that digs into the sharp bone. Uldren blinks down in surprise as Jolyon forces him to move steadily, properly. "Like this," the Crow agent hisses darkly. He has slowed Uldren down, but that only makes him thrust deeper into him, harder. Uldren gasps and grabs at Jolyon's stomach when he shows the Prince just how deep his thick cock can go. Up. Down. Deep. Up again. Jolyon forces Uldren at this maddening pace, forces his hips to move in shallow circles. It doesn't matter that Uldren is on top; Jolyon is still the one in charge here. And for once, Uldren doesn't argue.
"That's it, just like that," Jolyon whispers with ragged breath. "Fuck, baby, you look so fucking good."
Uldren opens his mouth to make some kind of snide comment, and Jolyon shoves his cock up his ass in such a way that the Prince squeaks sharply instead. Shut the fuck up.
It's not enough.
He's fucking so deep into Uldren, that skin covered in kisses of devotion, and it's still not enough.
Jolyon can’t really remember the last time he shared a bed with someone. Most of his memories of his life, this one, the Distributary, and the few flimsy shadows of before, usually include Uldren. Joylon has had partners, lovers, but none of them were ever as important to him as his Prince. Which explains why none of them ever lasted very long.
No one has ever meant to Jolyon the way Uldren has. When all others drop to their knees for their Queen, it is the Queensbrother Jolyon keeps his gaze upon.
"Jol... Jol, I think... ah, I think I'm close...!" Uldren gasps in a strained, rough voice. He can barely open his eyes.
Jolyon knows what really bothers Uldren. That the Awoken only love him because he is the Queensbrother. Nothing can be further from the truth for Jolyon. And he'll prove it.
Overcome with emotion and desire, Jolyon suddenly flips them back to their original positions, with Uldren lying in a surprised heap beneath him. He traps those lips with his, shutting off any word of protest. His hips rock against Uldren’s thighs in a fast rhythm, pouring all his devotion with each thrust.
Uldren. Uldren. Uldren.
Uldren’s hands grab his neck, his arms, before finally latching onto his silver braid. He pulls the hair tight, and the pain only encourages Jolyon further. He buries his head in Uldren’s neck, and when he bites this time, he bites hard. Uldren cries out, his dick squeezed between their bellies. Another cry when Jolyon brushes that perfect spot again. “Don’t...! Don't stop...!” Uldren gasps out, yanking on the braid with one hand as his other tears up Jolyon’s shoulder. Jolyon has never seen anything more beautiful than Uldren lying there with his eyes closed and his mouth open, an absolute wreck of the proud spymaster and untouchable royalty.
Only Jolyon gets to make the Prince of the Reef look this way, feel this way.
Only Jolyon.
No one else.
Not ever.
That dark mote beneath his desire burns with black heat, and Jolyon loses himself. He folds Uldren up like paper art, knees toward his head, and slams into him with wild abandon. The Prince’s cries of pleasure, and maybe laced with a bit of pain, drown out flesh slapping wetly against flesh. “Jol,” Uldren breathes, barely having enough air in his lungs for that much. “Jol, Jol, Jol… it’s so…!”
He doesn’t have the strength to finish his own sentence. Jolyon hopes it’s a compliment.
Just hearing Uldren say his name like that is nearly enough to drive Jolyon into a frenzy. Perhaps he does. It feels so fucking good inside him, so warm and tight.
No one else will ever make Uldren feel this way.
No one else can have him. Not at his most intimate, his most vulnerable.
Not even her.
“Jol — Jolyon… please!” Uldren rasps desperately, his voice thick and cracked around the edges as he claws at the larger man wherever his recently washed nails can reach. All that pride and pretense have been ripped to shreds like the reddening scratches on the sniper's skin, and now he's raw and torn open. Jolyon shifts his hips to hit that sweet spot, and Uldren sobs. The Crow agent doesn’t want his master to even have the ability to speak anymore.
When Uldren comes again, it is sudden. Or maybe that’s what he’s been trying to warn Jolyon about. Cum gushes between their bodies, white on blue and gray, almost blending in with the silver that swirls within their skin. He comes with a cry from deep within his entire being, as if he's being unmade at the molecular level all over again. Jolyon doesn’t slow down as he continues to slam into him during his climax, thrusts matching the waves of ecstasy rocking through the Prince's body.
Uldren lays there, silent and boneless, and Jolyon Till the Rachis is the only one in the universe who gets to see the Prince like this. That thought alone snaps Jolyon in half and sends him hurtling over the edge of his own climax at light speed. His cum spills out in molten heat
all over his hand.
Jolyon blinks.
He is alone.
Alone.
Utterly alone.
Naked with his cock softening from the grip of his cum-soaked palm. He’s on his knees, and he's all alone.
At first he thinks this isn’t the position he usually masturbates in, and then he shakes that thought away because he wasn’t masturbating, he was here with Uldren, with Uldren — !
“Hey, you ‘bout done over there or what?”
It.
It can’t be.
“Uldren,” Jolyon whispers.
The grass in front of him hasn’t been touched. Cum drips from his palm onto the welcoming grass beneath his knees.
It.
Can’t.
Be.
“Hey.”
Jolyon nearly leaps out of his skin when Uldren is suddenly there by the small silver tree he’s crouched behind. The Prince is wearing his pants, and they don't cling to his skin like they would if they were wet. “You’ve been back here a while." He jerks a thumb toward the pools. "Our clothes are dry now.”
The Crow agent can’t move.
Uldren suddenly seems to notice Jolyon is still holding himself. “Ah! Were you not done? Sorry!” He wheels around to give his friend more privacy. “Just get on with it, okay? I still gotta find a flower for Mara before we leave this place. It’s gotta be perfect, y’know?”
There is no fucking way.
Something seizes in Jolyon’s chest as he watches Uldren walk away.
No, no that’s not right. Uldren was right here, he was right here. And Jolyon could feel him, Jolyon can still feel him. Jolyon touches the cum-stained grass, all of his scouting skills firing at their highest capacity, but there is nothing to indicate a body besides his own has been here at all.
No.
NO.
“Ren,” Jolyon rasps. His vocal cords scrape against each other like sandpaper. “Ren. Ren! Uldren!”
“What!?”
Uldren stops walking, and the look he gives over his shoulder is one of exasperation as Jolyon rushes to his side. “Are you okay, man?” he asks, his expression softening to one of genuine concern. "Seriously, what's with the freaky look on your face? Is it my nails again?"
“What happened?” Jolyon demands.
The Prince is startled by the sharp tone that isn't like the calm-natured sniper agent, and then he snorts. “For real? What do you think happened? You needed to go jerk off, and I respect that. You took way longer than I thought, though.“
“What… what were you doing?” he then asks cautiously.
"When?"
Come on, Uldren. Jolyon flicks his tongue over his lips, his mouth suddenly, painfully dry. “When I was… alone.”
“I just went to see if any of those flowers grow in this cavern. They don’t. Not enough light, I don’t think. Or maybe there’s too much light here?” Uldren ponders, tapping his finger against his chin. “I don’t really know that much about plants.”
“Is that all?”
“I checked to see if our clothes were dry.” Uldren arched an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get me to confess I masturbated, too, or something? I mean, I’ll happily admit it if I did, but I guess I have better control over my baseline urges than most.” He smirks, infuriatingly, handsomely. Jolyon wants to kiss that snarky mouth, make it real this time, but now he’s back to square one.
Make it... real...
But it happened!
It happened!
It was real and Uldren was in his arms and making the most wonderful sounds --
And yet, Uldren prattles on excitedly about finding the perfect flower for Mara. He's fully clothed now and behaves as if nothing has changed between them, and the only thing out of his mouth is Mara, Mara, Mara. And yet, from Jolyon's perspective, everything has changed between them on the most profound, fundamental level.
And yet.
And yet.
Jolyon tugs on his clothes. He doesn’t care that they are still slightly damp. He doesn’t care that it doesn’t matter because they’ll be muddy and wet again when they go back out to the Garden. He just wants to leave this awful place.
Everything fertilizes the Garden. Every breath, every thought creates a seed that rides in the air of concepts before burying itself in the ground to sprout into reality.
Jolyon’s been tricked. A dirty, horrific, mortifying trick.
During the entire ordeal, Jolyon’s wondered if maybe they both really have been bitten by something. Or if it was the water itself.
Distractions.
It’s the air.
In such a perfect little sphere of isolation meticulously tailored to mimic something comfortable and uniquely familiar just for them, Jolyon’s unrequited desire and Uldren’s penchant for pranks make for an irresistible mix. The Garden is not a place. It is a being. A sentient being that knows very well that they are there, and is determined to make them fertilize the soil as richly as the ones who came before. That’s how it grows.
That’s how it survives.
As Uldren and Jolyon slosh through the mud making their way up to the surface, Jolyon takes one last look over his shoulder at the Garden.
The Garden sneers back at him.
Jolyon has many dreams about the Black Garden for years to come. Sometimes they are vivid, sometimes they are just feelings that cling to him without form or substance. Rarely are they consistent. Dreams he wakes up from soaked with cold sweat and twisted between terror and longing. That he's still there. That a piece of him is still there. Isn't that the most fucked up thing? That a part of him longs to go back to the Garden and lie in the ground and let the snake-vines finally make him their own.
They barely speak these days, he and Uldren. Uldren has been driven wild by the Garden, obsessing over it like a mad man. Even the Queen worries, beneath her icy glare as she reprimands her most trusted Crow for allowing this to happen in the first place, she worries. Uldren becomes more and more like a shell of his former, pre-Garden self, as hollow as the beetles that wrestled in the Garden's soil. Like something is sapping his energy. Sometimes, more often than not, he just stops speaking and stares at nothing. Crow agents keep flocking around Jolyon, asking their superior what the heck is going on with their master because sometimes he gives orders on things that have already been accomplished or don't make any sense at all.
There is only one dream that is a constant, always the same, and the one he vividly remembers to this day. It is when Jolyon lies with Uldren again, deep in his dreams, the only place where his desires are allowed to manifest. They are kissing and holding each other, and it all feels so damn good. So right. What they are supposed to be. What they can be if they would only dare the impossible as they entangled together in a bed of red flowers, the blood of a slain god. "Ren," Jolyon breathes with a desire that radiates from his very soul. Uldren rides him so good, so much more experienced now, rocking his slender hips in a teasing way that makes Jolyon buck wildly beneath him.
And then Uldren bursts out laughing just before Jolyon climaxes. Ain't that just the way with such dreams? And he laughs and laughs and laughs, and his grin is wide and cruel, and his eyes glow as black as his hair and the gray skin of his bleeds dark motes. Because in his dreams, in his memories, Uldren and the Garden are one and the same, and you fell for it, you fell for it, you pathetic, lovesick, disgusting, depraved fool! And beneath that awful, awful laugh, Jolyon can hear the very heartbeat of his Prince. Thick and ripe, seeping radiolarian liquid as white as cum into parched veins with each wet pump. He can see it, too, beneath Uldren's chest, from which sprout inky black veins that quickly overtake his own body, and he's dragged deep, deep beneath rich soil and worms that meow.
Whenever he has that dream, the next morning Uldren looks particularly drained. Sometimes when their gazes accidentally meet, Jolyon suddenly sees golden eyes become black as the void and dark veins glow around an insidious grin still delighting in its perfect joke. The image is gone the moment Jolyon blinks, and Uldren is no longer looking at him.
Billions and billions of miles away through a portal on a dusty red planet that leads to a pocket void beyond space and time that isn't far away at all, but rather right next to you, a drop of Jolyon’s cum falls from a blade of grass onto the ground of rich black soil and takes root.