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Steve's skull is pounding. A heavy dizziness has settled in his limbs. The light dancing in the canopy hurts. He tries to roll on his side, but there's a weight straddling his hips.
“Silly boy. Did nobody tell you it was folly, venturing into the forest?”
They did. His father's advisors told him not to go. The spirits were most dangerous at this time of year, they said. Drowned souls climbing out of bogs and ponds to swing in the branches, luring in travellers. He laughed in their faces. The woods belong to his family. He could go for a ride whenever he damn well pleased.
The last thing he remembers is his horse bucking. Something moving in the trees. Tearing on the reigns, a thick branch jumping at him, and then … nothing.
“You're lucky I found you. The others would've pulled you under.”
A boy is looking down at him.
Steve forgets about the pain and the dizziness, forgets about everything but that face.
He's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Skin so pale he looks translucent in the murky light. Dark eyes and a pair of obscenely full lips that look like they were made to stretch around his cock. Wild curls falling over bony shoulders. The hands that slip into Steve's hair are cool against his throbbing temples.
“What a waste that would be. You're too pretty to drown. Much more fun to play with.”
He rolls his hips, and Steve gasps in surprise, something hot pooling in his belly, something warm and tight clenching deliciously around his cock.
Because his pants are gone, and he's desperately and painfully aroused, and the boy - stark naked and leaking all over Steve’s stomach - is fucking himself on his cock.
"What's wrong?” the boy grins, wild and wicked. The fingers of one pale hand slip into Steve's mouth while he starts stroking himself with the other. “You came here for a ride, didn't you?”
Steve wants to moan, to scream, wants it to stop, wants it to never end. Wants to throw the boy off and run, wants to flip him over and pin him down and fuck him into the mossy ground.
But he can't.
All he can do is let himself be used and drool around those fingers, looking up at that long, pale throat as the boy throws back his head and comes all over his chest and stomach in long, hot spurts.
His own climax hits him hard, and the world disappears into a haze of pleasure and pain. The last thing he sees is that face, inches from his, dark curls falling around him like willow branches.
“Let's play again soon, pretty boy.”