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Wyll paced away from the camp, needing some well-earned peace and solitude. He was very grateful for the way his companions didn’t shy away from him or treated him differently after his unwillingly transformation. But he is craving some rest. Unused to his new body features, he was not able to catch much sleep last night, nor the other, nor the other one. He doesn’t want to be grumpy, but the noises of the camp are being too much for him right now, so he retreats silently and heads next to the peaceful creek they camped not too far from.
He climbs a tree with ease, and nests himself in one of the largest branches, that fully supports his body. From here, he can only hear the faintest noises from his companions, the distant laugh of Karlach and some noises probably related to the amount of metal Lae’zel is carrying. He shimmies in the branch and rest his head against the trunk, feeling the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze create a peaceful environment for him to get his well-deserved rest.
He has been dozing off for a while, when he hears faint, very faint footsteps leading to the creek. He cocks his head to the right to see the huge figure of Halsin walking towards the water. How is such a hunk of a man so silent? Wyll wonders, dragging his eyes over Halsin’s well defined back.
Halsin, unwise of the unexpected company, stretches with his arms lifted up until a loud crack breaks the peaceful forest’s silence. He sighs in content, having cracked a knot on his back that has been bothering him since waking up. Slowly, he starts unbuckling the straps of his upper clothes, face basking into the sunlight, his intricate terracotta tattoos looking like they’re aflame, and his soft chestnut hair blowing alongside the calm breeze. His armor falls down and he soon strips from his boots, his pants and his underclothes. Completely naked, as nature intended, he walks slowly into the water, relishing in the cold and clean stream against his tired body. He swims for a while, body glistening in the afternoon sun, and then he retreats to the riverbank to grab a small pouch. He takes out a small washcloth and a bar of scented soap. This one smells like lavender and bergamot. He has always enjoyed the scents of nature, so it was appropriate to use them to make different types of soap to accompany him in his journey.
With the lower half of his body covered by water, he rubs the soap onto his hair, his face, big shoulders, and wide chest and washes him with the washcloth. He steps back a little so he is out of the water, to properly wash with soap the rest of his body, and then forcefully drags the washcloth over his muscles, to clean them from sweat and dirt, and to allow a better blood circulation. Then, he goes back to swimming, so he can get rid of the soapsuds, and also because he very much enjoys being in the water. That liking he also shares with the bear inside him, the memory of jumping into a river to catch salmons for prey last winter still fresh in his mind. When he gets tired of swimming, he retreats to the riverbank and finds a huge rock to lay on, tanned skin glistening with water droplets.
He looks ethereal like that. His wet hair splayed onto the grey rock, his tattoos and scars fully visible on his face, his eyes closed and face calm, lips stretched into a soft smile. He enjoys the heat of the sun on his skin, and the rock has been warming the whole day, so it feels amazing on his back. His knees are bent and his legs are open, allowing the soft breeze to caress his whole body. He is enjoying nature in the fullest, and the sunlight almost makes him glow.
After a while of laying down, he extends his hand and grabs the small pouch. This time, he retrieves a jar of arnica salve, wonderful to soothe tired muscles. He opens the lid and smears two fingers onto the salve. He then lays back again and drags his fingers onto his muscled chest. His hands now roam over his pectorals, relishing in the way it makes his muscles feel. His fingers apply more pressure under the ribs, since he had taken a hit with a mace the other day, and a soft gasp escapes from his parted lips. He grabs the jar again and takes some more salve onto his hands. His palms rub against each other, deftly spreading the healing mixture, and he rubs his shoulders and his biceps, putting more pressure on the muscles he feels more tired. Then, Halsin opens his eyes and lifts himself up. Now on his knees, with his butt sitting on his heels, he spreads more of the mixture on his back. Thanks to the stretching exercises he never forgets to do morning and evening, he is flexible enough to reach almost every part in his broad back, and now is glistening into the sun like a marbled figure. Content, he directs his attention towards his thighs, applying more and more pressure until a satisfied moan comes out of his throat. With his back now dried, he lays again back on the rock, blissful look on his face and lips parted in satisfaction. Muscles now pleasured from his massage, now he feels way more relaxed. The cool breeze makes his nipples harden at the feeling, and soon his left hand is rubbing over them. Sensitive, a rip of pleasure travels within him and sends sparks into his groin. He pinches his nipples just the tiniest amount, and rubs them between his index and thumb, sighing at the pleasure. He is usually very loud and unrestrained with pleasuring himself, that’s why he usually doesn’t do it in the camp, not to disturb his mates. But here…
His cock is starting to take some interest, and has been betting harder and harder. He rubs his nipples some more and squeezes his well defined chest. His hands roam lower and lower, and soon his right hand is gripping his big cock, already hard against his stomach, and leaking precum. Slowly, taking his time, he drags his hand up and down his cock, a moan escaping out of his mouth. Oakfather, how much I needed this, he thinks, hand speeding up and down, his breath becoming more ragged by the seconds. He drags his thumb over his slit, spreading precum over the head of his now bright cock, and his other hand cups his balls and starts toying with them. Up and down, up and down, faster and faster, and gripping his dick with more force. Wanton moans come out of his throat, and his hips start buckling up, wanting somebody, someone to be riding him as hard as he is thrusting. With a low moan, he comes all over his torso in big, pearly white streaks. His hands leave his groin and lay down at his sides. He is such a sight like this, sprawled over the rock, tanned skin glistening with sweat and covered in his own cum, with his big cock still hard against his abdomen. His chest heaves up and down after his high, and he slowly drags a finger up his chest, collecting some of his cum, and greedily lifts it to his mouth, tongue lapping to taste himself. He hums, satisfied with his taste, result of a diet very rich in different fruits. He lowers his hand again, brushing over his cock, which takes a small twitch in interest, and caressing over his balls. His index finger travels lower, and caresses at his entrance. After a moment of consideration, his hand extends again to the small pouch and takes out a vial of a transparent substance, some kind of oil he has been using since he first started experimenting with himself, back in his young days.
He dribbles some onto his fingers, and lifts his hips, repositioning himself on the rock so his hands can reach better his ass. His index finger toys at his entrance, and he is teasing himself, entering just the tip of his finger while his hips start wiggling at their own accord, wanting more. He then slowly pushes his finger deeper, arching it to rub better his inner walls. Lips parted, his tongue drags across them, leaving a glistening sheer on them. His face is flushed both with the stretch and the pleasure, and soon he introduces another finger, slowly scissoring them to stretch himself further. Not being able to reach his prostate in that position, he sits back on his knees, and twists his arm behind him, plunging his fingers back into his ass, moaning loudly at the sudden stretch. He keeps his hand in place and he slowly drags himself up and then down his fingers, slowly fucking himself into them. He ponders about adding a third one, but spreading his hips a little wider, soon the tips of his fingers reach his sweet spot and he cannot contain the loud moan at the pleasure. Halsin picks up his pace, fucking himself fast and dirty on his fingers, rubbing his prostate with every time he sinks down on them, mouth open and loud moans coming from him, his cock flushed hard against his abdomen, leaking and bouncing with each thrust. His abdomen coils in pleasure and he feels himself getting close, very close. With his free hand, he grabs his cock and fists it fast as he keeps on fucking himself, panting, chasing his release.
Suddenly, pleasure overcomes him, as his fingers prod on his prostate one last time, and the force of his orgasm makes him plunge himself on his hand, while his cock spurts again pearly white streaks, coating the rock under him. He cannot help but let his loud moans roam free as he cums, a name slipping out of his lips.
Wyll, my love…
When he comes down from his high, chest puffing up and sinking with his deep breaths, he splashes some water on the rock and jumps into the river to clean himself up from his activities. He comes out of the water, relaxed and swift, and dries himself with a spare cloth. Slowly, he puts his clothes back, grabs his pouch and walks back to camp.
On the tree, Wyll takes a while more to detach his hand clamped on his mouth to not emit a single sound, and winces when trying to climb down the tree, stickiness and dampness on his pants from coming untouched after hearing his name coming out so sweetly, so wanting, from Halsin’s lips. Wyll, my love…
His brain is completely dazed at the thought. Halsin has always been kind to him, before and after the transformation. Sometimes he even thought the wood elf was looking for more of his company, that he always seemed to find a moment to talk to Wyll, ask about his day, his doubts, about him. His gaze always seemed to linger on him. There was a time before Mizora’s curse when he entertained the thought of maybe let his friendship with Halsin turn into something more, but after the changing, he could not believe somebody as great as Halsin would find himself falling for a devil like him. Until now. Wyll, my love… He peels himself of his clothes and tosses them onto the floor; he will wash them later. For now, he needs to wash himself and hopes the cold water will clear his mind.
It’s night already when he goes back to camp, most of them finishing their tasks before dinner. He enters his tent to change into more comfortable clothing for spending the night, and he finds a wooden duck on his bedroll, with a small piece of parchment under it.
“Now you know how much I desire you, my heart, how much I long for you. If you feel the same, you know where to find me. Halsin”. Embarrassment floods his face, and despite his dark skin a blush creeps up his cheeks. Shit, he knows. He feels ashamed but at the same time, there’s the possibility…
He changes clothes and walks back to the campfire, where all of his friends are already starting dinner. He purposely sits next to Halsin, and he eyes the young devil with a question in his eyes. Wyll swallows down his nervousness and self-loathing, and nods. Halsin’s smile is so bright and warm that he feels melting under his gaze.
“Do you…want to…erm, talk? tonight?” Wyll winces at his own awkwardness. Come on, he was educated as a gentleman, this shouldn’t be so hard.
“Tonight and all the nights you will want me close to your heart, Wyll” Halsin honestly answers, his face turned towards Wyll, looking at him with adoration.
“Hey, Wyll, you’re almost as red as me!” Karlach laughs from the other side of the campfire, making all of them laugh with her, Wyll included. Perhaps there’s still hope for him, after all.