Page 82 of The Sixth Spring

Fluid and feeling, Itori had said once was how they shared things. That first bite had been for blood, for an exchange so powerful it had given him Will’s language.

What would it do now? What could they share if Will let him…?

He started to speak, cluttered consonants of desire jumbled in his mouth.

Itori hissed, teeth already on his throat like he knew, like he wanted it too. Will’s whole body quivered.

His next thrust was too hard, too much, and Itori yelped. Before Will could even think to stop, the claws were digging in, forcing him on. He grabbed hard at Will’s ass and pulled him in deeper, faster. Wanting it.

And that was it.

Will felt the break, the swirl of his orgasm bearing down on him. There were teeth against his neck and a growled curse in a language he didn’t understand. He spilled, crying out, hips rutting messily as he started to come.

And then–then there was something else. It was in Will’s head, like one of his own memories, except it wasn’t. He was seeing through eyes that weren’t his own, seeing through water like he’d never been able to before. He was deep in the springs veins, sliding through water he knew intimately.

This was Itori’s memory–one of the sweet, simple joys of the water.

Will reached for something he could offer back–a memory from when he’d been much younger. He’d been playing by the woods and had come across a rabbit's den. He’d known by then not to disturb it, so he’d just sat close by in the sun, waiting. Eventually the bundles of fur had hopped out to taste the fresh spring grass. Will had watched them for a long time, mesmerized by their smallness, their gentle simplicity.

It was a nice memory he came back to on occasion. He offered it to Itori, but kept hold of the tether, didn’t let it disappear on him.

And then he was back in his own body, looking through his own eyes. Itori was holding him tight, and molten wetness was sticky between their bodies. Will groaned as their bodies slowed to stillness. The night became quiet again.

It took Will a long time to pull himself back together. He realized now how easy it would be to give more of his mind over. How every time before he’d kept that door open, floated through it in his greed to get everything he could from their time.

But he didn’t want to forget, couldn’t afford the loss of memory. He sucked in huge mouthfuls of hot, night air, and focused on grounding himself, on the feeling of Itori, the texture of his scales, the sharp orange still on his tongue.

“Wow,” he mumbled, when that hazy edge finally retreated.

“Yes?” Itori’s voice was raspy.

“That was a lot.”

“Good a lot?”

Will hummed in agreement. His head was resting on Itori’s chest, and through a break in the tree branches, Will could see the crescent moon.

Except now, everything looked more defined than it had earlier. Despite the darkness, he could see individual leaves on trees, and bird nests tucked into the canopy. He thought he could even see, at a distance, the glow of other eyes.