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Flowers need sunlight. Some, in different ways than others.
"Lookit, Bluebell! Bullseye!"
Seated on a bench in the summer heat, Blue sips on orange juice and twirls his lacy parasol as he watches his husband, cowboy that he is, shoot at wooden targets laid disparately across a wide, grassy field. Any other day, he'd have opted to stay inside and soak his roots in a warm bath, or dance under the glaring spotlights in lieu of the sun, but he found himself yearning for this instead.
Yellow is a pretty sight when he's up there on the range, in his element, looking through the fixed iron sight of his fancy revolver and cheering for himself with a passion fit for a stage performance.
Why, it just about causes Blue's heart to soar, even.
"You're doing wonderful, dearest," Blue responds, loud as his delicate voice will allow him. He can't hear much, given that Yellow had begged him to wear beeswax earplugs so that he 'don't hurt them purdy ears,' but it's far preferable to overwhelming his senses in this heat. Blue is far more of a primrose than a sunflower, not at all attuned to such ravenous weather without a lot of shade and even more water.
He'll be fine, though. The sun is exactly what he's here for. Just not the one in the sky.
"Reloadin'!" Yellow shouts, "Watch this, Bellflower."
Blue perks up, eyeing his partner from a distance— a little shiver crawls up his spine when he sees Yellow finagle the revolver with quick, skilled hands. He fills its cylinder with six bullets and spins it like a roulette wheel before cocking it back in place, all within just a couple seconds. Blue will never figure out how he works that piece of metal so seamlessly, but it doesn't matter as long as he gets to watch.
Across an acre of grass, wooden boards with painted targets are placed with no rhyme or reason. There are other 'targets,' too, scarecrows with angry faces scribbled on them in permanent marker, vases, tin cans filled with beans and fruit. Shattered ceramics and holes riddled throughout several items lets him know where Yellow had hit these items before.
With a characteristic 'crack,' a bullet careens from the revolver, then another just a moment after. They shatter a set of ceramic vases and spray the shrapnel haphazardly across the ground. All of the sounds are muffled by the plugs in Blue's ears, but the clatter of debris still drives a shiver through him all the same. When Yellow turns back around to look at his partner, his bovine ears perk right up and his tail flits as he grins, no doubt proud of himself.
Flowers need sunlight. Yellow is the pinnacle of this, sunflower that he is, absolutely vibrant in his element.
"Lookit that! Whew-wee!" He says, or something else along those lines. It's hard to tell, but Blue claps for him regardless, enthralled, soaking in his partner's glee as if he were photosynthesizing it.
This is Blue's semi-guilty pleasure, watching Yellow with a close eye, drinking in the whole of his splendor. Unlike himself, Yellow blooms beautifully in the sun, the sweat on his brow making him glow rather than wither. He's brighter than the light of day itself, free from the tumultuous state of his mind, free from rain-soaked worries. Unadulterated passion has always been what gets Blue going, and right now, Yellow is full of that.
Not to mention, his silhouette is far more poised when he's in the zone, like that of a stage performer. His clothes are a bit more scant in the heat, too, a tight gingham shirt with the sleeves rolled up to free sweat-slicked arms, blue jeans that well-fit his lithe body, leather patches over the knees and a handkerchief tied loosely around his damp neck—
"Blue, darlin', didjya hear me? I gots another bullseye!"
Blue tenses, the heat of the flush on his cheeks beginning to rival that of the atmosphere. Perhaps indulging in this show has him feeling a little too hot under the collar, now that such thoughts are swirling around in his mind.
He shakes his head. It must just be the heat getting to him.
"Such a vibrant show of skill! " Blue shouts to try and clear his head.
It doesn't work, of course. Every time he watches Yellow dart along the range, he can't help but be entranced by the showmanship of it all. Everything is alluring, from the crack of the gun to the shattering of clay targets, to the way Yellow's body seems to know exactly how to move. He's perfect for it, damp with sweat out in the summer heat, tail straightening to balance him, nose crinkled as he aims with precision. He's stable and alight, free of worries, of mental intrusions and fears and criminality that rack his being so.
It's a strange thing, too. Most would fear the scent of gunpowder, or the way recoil vibrates through the body, but not Yellow. He embraces it.
That cowboy's a strange thing himself, to be fair. It's part of why Blue likes him so much.
"Lookit, honey! I explode-ered a few of them pots again." This time, he skips the muffled yelling and runs down from his spot on the field as he shouts his achievements. When he stops in front of Blue's wooden bench, he is far easier to see and hear. "Ain't no criminell gettin' away from me."
His excitement beams from him like rays of light. Blue bites his bottom lip.
"My, my, Dandelion." With a twirl of his parasol, Blue gazes up at him tenderly. "If I were a bandit, I'd surely not wish to tussle with you."
"A-aw, shucks." Yellow blushes— so easy to tease, this man— and fiddles with his empty revolver. "Yer just too sweet ta me, Blue."
"I only ever say what is true and on my mind." Not mentioning all the uncouth desires swirling around his head. Now is not the time. "You've put on a wonderful performance thus far. Thank you for coming to check on me over here, I do so enjoy being close to you."
"Me too! Y'know, I gots me plenty more rounds. I don't s'pose you'd wanna take a shot at it?"
Then, Yellow winks, and because Blue's a closet cornball himself, he can't stop himself from giggling at the pun.
It could be fun to get close and personal with Yellow on the range. A summer bodysuit and tutu are probably not the best in terms of gunslinger attire, but the sweet, earnest look on Yellow's face is too hard to ignore.
"I must warn you, I've got horrible aim," Blue says, offering a pitiful look. "You're sure you wish to invite me?"
"Always! I'll help ya out, too." With that, he offers his free hand to take. "It ain't fair to keep all the fun for myself."
Of course, Blue couldn't possibly say no. It would be like kicking a puppy, and he loves to indulge his husband anyways.
And if Yellow happens to have to use his hands to posture Blue's body for the lesson, well, that's neither here nor there.
"Alright dearest." Blue closes his parasol and sets it on the bench beside him before accepting Yellow's hand. "Lead the way."
Yellow beams, not unlike the sun, and wastes no time leading him over to his spot on the range. The revolver is a shiny old thing, carbon steel and a walnut grip that is still warm from use. When Blue takes it into his hands, it feels almost intimate to hold it, as if it were a piece of Yellow's heart itself, entrusted to him.
"Alright, now remember, yer gonna wanna hold it with yer fingers all on yer other fingers… now look through that fancy-ful metal piece right there…"
There's passion in the way he speaks about the way his gun works. He says something about its position, where the casings will fall, how to hold it when it's spent. Blue hears him, he feels the kindness and excitement in his husband's voice, and soaks it in; his mind is a little frazzled, made no better by the heat of summer, but he tries his best to take in every word.
Not to mention that Yellow looks far different up close like this. Better. More… tangible.
"Like this?" Blue asks. He feels a little shaky as he holds the revolver and peers through the sight, completely unused to the weight and balance.
"There y'are, here," Yellow says, stepping behind him to reset his position. He lines his arms up with Blue's own and holds his palms in place with a firm grip, correctly angling the revolver. "Hold it steady now…" His tall frame is pressed so tight against Blue's back that he can feel the warmth of breath against his ear. It sends a shiver up his spine that just about electrocutes him when he finally pulls the trigger.
With a crack, the first bullet empties from the revolver, whizzing right past a target he was aiming for and into a half-broken pot. The recoil causes Blue to jolt back a little, sturdy as he is, and there's no doubt in his mind that he'd have moved far more had Yellow not been holding him so firmly in place. The sense of security it elicits within him makes the blood in his body go hot as pavement.
Blue's not sure what comes over him, but suddenly it is very hard to focus on the targets.
"Whew-wee! Lookit that, Butterfly, yer a natural." The sweet, low husk of his voice is suddenly very poignant, and his grip against Blue's body is unwavering. "Let's empty this feller out, 'n then I can teach ya to reload."
Blue nods. Swallows. Blinks a few times to clear his thoughts. "Right. Empty, Reload."
On the flats of his feet, Blue allows Yellow to stabilize his stance once more and assist his aim. Five more shots.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three shots hit a painted wooden target in disparate spots. With each harsh recoil, Blue's body jolts back against Yellow's as it holds him in place. The response is an increasingly tight grip, stifling the blows and steadying his wrists. Yellow may as well have been shooting for him, the way Blue's knees are buckling and making him stammer, far more entranced by the tight grip and faint smell of honeyed sweat emanating from Yellow's firm figure than the revolver. Two more shots.
Blue pulls the trigger twice in quick succession, and the revolver's spent. He's not sure what they hit, but whatever it is has Yellow grinning ear to ear.
"Not too bad, partner!" Yellow pulls away from him with the spent revolver, clicking its safety on and holstering it in the belt on his hip. "You ain't got a bullseye yet, but yer damn close."
The lack of physical contact is somewhat disappointing, but also a massive relief— Blue has taken turns with Yellow's guns before, but never like this. Never in such heat, never with a mind full of uncouth thoughts. He's too old for this, too wise to be falling whim to passion in such inappropriate situations— He takes several moments to get his mind back to something resembling normalcy.
He can only pray that his tutu hides the physical toll he'd unexpectedly encountered.
Yellow is still chittering, though, unbothered for the moment. "I can teach ya how ta reload real quick-like, I have speed loaders too but— Hey, whassa matter?"
"Huh? What?"
Blue's head, ever in the clouds, turns to Yellow with a quickness as he snaps out of the trance he didn't know he was in. He's regrettably met with a face twisted in its familiar state of worry, brows furrowed and lips pouty and pursed. Blue winces, internally cursing at himself for getting so distracted at mere physical contact that he could hardly think. Heat crawls up his neck as it does across his body.
"I— my apologies," Blue says, stepping away from his partner's encroaching form. How humiliating, he hates to make his Dandelion worrisome. This weather is vile, but he can't quite blame the heat for making him unpoised, can he? He removes the plugs from his ears and tucks them away to speak candidly. "I simply am in need of rest. Please forgive me for interrupting your target practice."
"Oh no, did I hurt yer ears? Did them plugs not work?" Now he looks even more worried. Blue shakes his head feverishly.
"No, no. Nothing like that, I assure you." As an attempt to ease him, Blue offers Yellow a chaste kiss on the cheek. "I should sit."
Without allowing Yellow to get a word in edgewise, Blue putters over to his space on the wooden bench to collect himself. It's unprecedented. He's never been one to hide his passions, but he always remained poised, and Yellow was so carefree, so authentic— it is Blue whose whirlwind mind simply had to go and make it about himself. For shame.
He should take the time to sneak off for a nice, cold shower. He should leave his lover to finish indulging in his passion alone. He considers it, for just a moment.
"Butterfly, I thought I about lost ya! Yer lookin' mighty tired, I shouldn'ta pushed you ta try shootin' just 'cause I got excited, that was right unforgivable and—"
Unfortunately, fate seems to have other plans for what has clearly been Blue's own personal humiliation ritual. He can't get so much as a word out before Yellow approaches him again, this time to babble out apologies for things he didn't do and thoughts he shouldn't have had. He's a sweet little thing, and part of Blue appreciates it very much, knowing he's just trying to live up to being the fine gentleman that he is.
The other parts of him, however, feel like they're on fire, and Yellow's warm, adrenaline-spiked body being so close to his is most certainly not helping.
"Daffodil, please shake the worries from your mind. I am quite alright, I just…" Even Blue doesn't believe himself. His brain is scrambling, trying to play the part of the collective, reliable partner, but the summer heat has wrung him dry. "You should go back to your revolver, I'd love to see you hit some vases this time."
"Yer sweatin', 'n you look pale as a ghost," Yellow says, clearly disbelieving the excuses. He leans in even closer. "Oh, Blue. I'm so sorry. Here, let me take care of you."
Without further pretense, Yellow pulls his handkerchief off from around his neck and begins dotting the beads of sweat that have formed on Blue's forehead. It smells like him, that stupid piece of cloth, like his sweat and cologne and shampoo from where it had been touching the ends of his hair.
"Ah, darling, I am not unwell— you don't need to do all of this." He tries to pull back, to say something, anything to keep himself from getting exposed for his perversions. But once passion overtakes poise, like a flower wilted from the heat, it's very hard to regain that composure.
Yellow moves into him a little more, mindlessly placing a knee between his to take a sturdier stance, to watch the way his eyes dilate and to undo the tie keeping his locs firmly in place. Blue can feel warmth radiating onto his skin, he can feel his heartbeat begin to accelerate as his partner nudges him slightly with his forward knee and—
"Oh."
Yellow ceases his movements. He looks down, then back up.
Blue finally understands, on a personal level, Yellow's passion for making himself explode.
It's too late now. When Yellow nudges against Blue's crotch, he freezes there, no doubt feeling the firmness that has made itself present beneath thin blue tights. Unmistakable, even against heavy cotton trousers, even against the leather padding on his knees.
"Darling, I deeply apologize. I was rather overcome with emotion while watching you express your passion, it fully took even myself by surprise how worked up I would become." Blue's voice is sickeningly fast and lacking tact. He averts his gaze from his partner, ashamed. For as strong as his desire for love and passion may rack his body, shame and fear can hit him just as hard. "I promise, this is nothing for you to worry about and I would hate for you to lose focus on your craft."
"You really wasn't sickly. You were just tryin' to tell me— you were lookin' at me like a… like…" Despite his words, he's unmoving, still attempting to capture Blue's averted gaze in his own. His breath hitches.
For once, Yellow is hard to read.
"I… I suppose I was set alight by our shared space, furthered by the heat." Obvious, now that it's happened, but Blue never claimed to be self-actualized. Sue him for falling to the primal need for his partner's touch. "Which is why I must say again, please do not worry about me. Such things will pass."
Yellow is quiet for a moment in response, still staring, still watching Blue's eyes flicker between him and his own lap. They're so close together that Blue can feel the way Yellow's body shakes and the gentle nudge of his knee against him. Suddenly, the sun-soaked sky feels especially hot and brutal. Blue wishes to fall victim to his own melodrama, to run, to hide. He will.
His legs tighten to stand, but before he can commit to it, he finally feels Yellow shift his stance. Then, in one swift movement, the cowboy leans forwards and straddles his legs across Blue's, settling his knees on either side of his thighs and pushing their hips flush together. His long, gangly torso looms down over his partner, and when Blue finally gathers the courage to look him in the eyes, Yellow's lips have curled upward into an impish smirk.
Blue's body pulses, reacting faster than his mind can keep up.
"Bluebell," Yellow says, his voice low and confident, "who done said I want it to pass?"
"I—" Blue pauses, fully unable to find the words to describe what he's thinking. He isn't sure what he was expecting, but it surely wasn't his husband straddling his thighs like a prizewinning horse and talking to him like he'd devour him if he could. "I didn't… don't want to distract you from your gunslinging, you looked so passionate and carefree, and making it about myself wouldn't have been right."
"Lookit' you, arbit-tour of justice, my Bluebell." The addition of my to his sweet nickname puts Blue's mind into a frenzy. "Worried about distracterin' lil' ol' me. But I thinks I got a different passion ta focus on right now."
He pulls back just a little on Blue's thighs and lifts up his tutu, assessing the damage while still pressed against him. Very quickly, Blue's shame turns to thrill, amplified by just how forward his partner is being toward him. Whatever worries tended to plague Yellow's mind have seemingly been thrown to the wayside, because the hunger in his eyes expresses anything but fear.
"Sittin' there all purdy-like for me, battin' yer lashes 'n such. You think I ain't feelin' the same way now I know yer lookin' at me like that?"
Blue blinks hard. Is this the summer sun bringing his Yellow into full bloom?
"Were you… showing off for me?"
"Maybe." Yellow takes Blue's face into his hands. "Would you be mad iff'n I was?"
"No, never! I always yearn to be touched by you, dearest Yellow." In place of humiliation, his heart has begun to soar. So full of surprises, his dandelion. "I never would have expected your passion could include me, too. If this is truly what you wish, I wish it as well, and I would be remiss not to allow you to take it."
Apparently for Yellow, there's nothing more to be said. He scoops Blue up into his arms and spins him around once, peppering warm kisses all across his indigo-stained cheeks. With his empty revolver packed neatly in its holster, he just about runs off the range with Blue in his arms, eager to follow up on their shared expression of passion.
For as often as he tends to second-guess himself, Yellow never wastes time when he knows what he wants. He darts across the field and back indoors, dodging a few curious passerbys in the race to the bedroom. This side of him excites Blue to no end, his tight yet gentle grip on thick thighs and the periodic kisses he offers on the way to their living quarters. Yellow is absolutely ravenous for him right now, fueled by Blue's perversions and by the sun, and he's taking it into his own hands.
Perhaps Blue should be selfish a bit more often.
When they finally make it to their bedroom, Blue kicks the door shut with his feet and throws his arms around Yellow's neck. He's set to take full advantage of Yellow's bridal carry, practically attacking him with heated kisses to his face and neck before settling on his lips. It's messy and uncoordinated as they move toward the bed, Yellow trudging forward until his leg touches the foot of it and he can gently lay his lover down across the olive sheets.
Blue is throbbing beneath his tights. When Yellow prods against his lips with his tongue, he gives himself over completely. The cowboy is straddling him, something of a funny joke to be made there— Yellow is curled over, pressed against him like a lifeline, like he'd sooner pass out than let him go. Lithe fingers trail down the accesses of Blue's body and it causes him to gasp against his lips.
"A-ah, dearest," Blue stutters out between breathless kisses, "please be certain you do not wish to go back to your practice. Because I'm positive you must have your way with me or I may wilt."
"Well, we cain't have that now, can we? I ain't goin back." His answer is so direct, so headstrong.
Kisses trail from lips downward as Yellow pulls at the neck of Blue's leotard to gain more access to his body. He makes quick work of both the bodysuit and the tights without causing a single tear, and Blue practically melts in his hands, resigned to let him do whatever he wants. This forwardness, this show of strength— both physical and emotional— is doing something drastic to his psyche.
"Y'know, if you think about it, touchin' youse is kinda like target practice, too." Yellow places a kiss at Blue's chest and presses his nose there, smiling against his skin.
"Mmh, how so, my swallowtail?"
"Findin' all yer favorite places, makin' you make the purdy-est noises. Like, here—"
And he dives towards the left side of Blue's neck, pressing his lips into the tender flesh before gently suckling a deep, indigo mark into it. The ballerino gasps at the contact, rolling his hips upward into nothing as he feels the buzz of Yellow's hands pressed against his torso and lips against his throat.
"Here, too," Yellow continues, trailing downward to Blue's collarbone for a kiss, "and here." His tongue eagerly slides over the meat of his chest.
When he stops at a nipple and presses into it with his tongue, Blue's vision goes white for several moments. The sensation racks through his body and causes him to squirm like he'd been shocked.
"A-ah! Yellow, you—" He's cut off again by his own cries as his partner moves to the other nipple, his teeth grazing slightly against the hardened nub. He can't even get a word in edgewise.
"Yer real sensitive here, aint'chya?" As if to illustrate his question, he flicks over the nipple once more with his tongue and beams at the way it makes Blue squeal beneath him. "I reckon we call that a bullseye."
A breathless laugh shudders through Blue's body. So corny. In the commotion, he takes his partner by the waistband of his trousers and begins trying to shuffle them off— so much for feeling uncouth earlier, that fear melted away the moments he was given permission to indulge in his husband's body, and now he's focused on making the most of this newfound confidence. When he pulls the trousers down enough to uncover the firm, leaking erection hidden beneath cotton underwear, he immediately begins to palm at it in earnest.
Yellow goes bright marigold at the touch, gasping into Blue's chest.
"I'm afraid you've not found any such 'bovine eyes' just yet, dearest. Not until you deal with this." Blue rubs him over his clothes a little more, reveling in the way it makes him whine and ruin his garments with his own nectar.
He wishes he could tease him for hours, to watch the grin on his face melt into unbridled pleasure as it has many times before, but something about Yellow's emboldened attitude tells him that he's not quite ready to give up the reins.
Instead, Yellow gains the upper hand, hooking a thumb beneath the hem of Blue's panties and shuffling them down and off his thighs. It's no secret that Blue's been painfully aroused, but he's all but drenched with nectar that has since ruined the garments that he wears. Blue succumbs to the touch readily, redirecting his hands to pop open the buttons on his gingham shirt.
Lithe fingers roam Blue's body, taking note of each time he squirms and shudders. When Yellow reaches back to touch him below the belt, he just about gasps at what he feels.
"Yer soakin' yerself for me," Yellow says, sliding past the shaft of his pistil and down to the flush, petal-like entrance near the base of it, testing the waters with a ghost of a touch. It leaks sweet nectar, his stamens unfurling to grasp onto Yellow's wandering hands. "How long you been like this?"
Blue cries out against Yellow's skin when he feels the intrusion of fingers. "Since you— hah— put your hands on me on the range," he admits, racked with a perverse sense of vindication. "I didn't know that such handling from you could have me— ngh— yearning so deeply for you. My embodiment of the sun which I— haah— need to survive…!"
A particular touch causes Blue to gasp and roll his hips into Yellow's fingers. He could barely speak before, but now he cannot think, overcome by the feeling of being so wholly taken by Yellow, his sunflower, the man that occupies every one of his waking thoughts.
Of course, Yellow seems to love it, fingering that spot within him over and over again until Blue can no longer fathom a reality without his touch. He feels himself inching closer to completion by the second, the rise and fall of his belly growing quicker and his voice echoing off of the walls of their shared room. It's a rolling, endless exchange, but most importantly, Yellow watches him with glimmering eyes, entranced, like an absolutely smitten audience member of his one-man-show.
"Those are some real purdy sounds yer makin'," Yellow croons, low and sweet, "could listen to ya all day."
Unlikely, considering that Blue feels as though he could reach his zenith at any moment, but he struggles to say as much. Instead, his painted lips quiver as he babbles out useless attempts to warn of his upcoming climax, utterances of "I cannot last" interspersed with crescendoing moans. Yellow hears him, to be sure, but he pays it no mind— in fact, it may as well have driven him to continue. Blue bucks into his hand, chasing that cresting feeling as it becomes within reach, ready to all but fall victim to his own pleasure.
"So good," Yellow says, resigned to fall apart himself, "You best cum for me, darlin'. I wanna hear your beautyful voice."
As if willed to do so, Blue cums, his sepals squeezing tight around Yellow's curled fingers. His stamens attempt to pull those fingers in, to uselessly pollinate his hand, covering the both of them in powdery, yellow dust and nectar. It washes over him in waves, first, intense and scorching through his body like a beautiful summer day, then cool and awash as a gentle spring rain.
When Blue's stamens finally release their hold on Yellow's fingers, signifying the fallen crest of his orgasm, Yellow removes his hand. Blue shudders at the sudden loss of contact, opening his eyes in the recovery only to see his partner bringing those same fingers to his lips to taste the nectar captured upon them.
The sight nearly causes Blue to lose his breath all over again.
Such is a matter for another time, though. Blue knows that Yellow is aching, he can see his pistil straining hard against his underwear and leaking at the sensitive stigma. 'He hadn't even touched himself,' Blue thinks, an act of selflessness that drives Blue wild. In a state of pure lust, the ballerino reaches a hand to pull at his briefs, fully intent on freeing him from the confines of them, yet accidentally nudging the firm bulge in his attempt. Yellow gasps at the unexpected touch.
"Blue, you—"
"Please," Blue whines, sounding far more desperate than he feels he's ever been, "I wish to join our bodies as one, now that you've given me a taste of something so selflessly wonderful." This time, when he reaches his hands out, he successfully shuffles those briefs down Yellow's thighs just enough to uncover his pistil.
The sudden exposure to cold air causes Yellow to gasp, drunk on passion. His stamens are unfurled, searching for contact that isn't yet within reach, and he looks down at Blue with a barely restrained hunger.
"Gosh, ya want me that bad?" He asks, genuinely surprised, "Yer so purdy like this, I cain't… cain't help but wanna…" There's a hesitance in his voice and body language, like he doesn't wish to bite off more than Blue is willing to give, though it's far less restrained than other times they'd danced this dance together. He's waiting for permission, but Blue is near the point of begging.
Blue's response is physical, he wraps his arms around the cowboy's sweat-slicked neck and pulls him close until their hips are flush against each other once more. He wiggles himself underneath him, rubbing up against Yellow shamelessly and eliciting a groan.
"I desire you very much," Blue says, "my body is still desperate for your touch. Please, please grant me the extent of your love, I accept it willingly—"
And he moves his hips in such a way that Yellow's pistil slides against his entrance, already becoming soaked with Blue's nectar. Unfurled stamens guide them toward each other.
It was all that Yellow needed to hear.
Emboldened by Blue's words and by the raging sun, Yellow angles himself toward Blue's entrance and pushes inside, slowly at first, gasping out a broken breath. Their stamens intertwine, a primal attempt to assist in a successful pollination, but both men are past the need for such aid.
Yellow drives into Blue like a starved man, gaining a rhythm and moaning out with each wonderful push. Bringing hands to his own flexible thighs, Blue presses his legs back until his knees are just about near his ears, allowing his partner ample space to both see and take him. The taller man stutters downward a little, caught off balance by the shift, but when he sees his husband's body open up so readily for him like this, he just about falls apart then and there.
"F-fuck, Bluebell, yer so gorgeous like this, under me—" He cuts himself off with a groan, teetering on the edge of overwhelm, "—I need ya, feel so damn good, so good, made for me…"
And he presses forward, pushing against Blue's ankles at his shoulders to attempt a kiss. It's messy and imprecise and primal, as if he's searching for something to anchor himself onto. Blue lets him, he reciprocates as well as he can, feeling the passion leech through him in breathless kisses and stuttered thrusts.
When he pulls away to breathe, Yellow's eyes are closed, clenched shut as he chases the feeling he'd denied himself for so long. Blue meets each thrust with willing circles of his own to pull him deeper and help him get exactly what he needs.
"I'm so close, I'm sorry— I cain't— You feel so good, Bellflower, haah…"
Blue can see that his eyes have welled with tears, overcome with pure emotion. Poor thing. So full of love and passion with nowhere to put it, fully at the whims of the rain and sun. Blue is cresting himself, he knows this dance will soon come to an end. So, he leans up, showered in bliss, to kiss him, to kiss away those tears, to relieve that overwhelm, feeling the salty wetness dot his tongue.
"In me, my love," Blue all but whispers, hooking his ankles together, "inside, I wish to feel— ah— inside of me."
Before Yellow can regard that with a response, Blue cums again with little pretense, absolutely overwhelmed by their shared passion. His pistil, though mostly untouched, covers his belly in nectar as sepals close around Yellow once more and his stamens dust him in pollen. It's all so much, if he wasn't so wrecked by pure bliss, Blue is sure he would feel a twinge of embarrassment for coming twice before his partner, but perhaps that is what Yellow wanted all along. With legs locked across Yellow's back, he shudders through his second orgasm of the night, prepared to fall to exhaustion in its wake.
Yellow follows only half-a-second after that first wonderful clench around him, catching a glimpse of Blue at his peak before his eyes clench shut. Tears fall down his cheeks as he cums inside of Blue whose body invites him freely and greedily. Stamens intertwine, pollen spreads, and with each pulse of relief, Yellow whines out a wrecked moan, letting out all that he'd been keeping tucked away inside.
And when the aftershocks begin to die down, Yellow pulls away from his lover slowly before collapsing atop him, fully spent. Blue holds his husband in his arms, letting his weight fall against his chest and straightening his own legs to intertwine with his. Together, holding each other close, they fall into exhaustion, if only to relax themselves in the wake of their impulsive rendezvous.
Blue counts his breaths in sixes, like the chambers of a revolver.
—
Perhaps ten minutes pass when Yellow's eyes open again.
Blue keeps his shut, feigning relaxation, but he knows when his lover is stirred.
"Oh, sweet mother of all things!" Yellow says, suddenly. He sits up, looking flushed as a peach, surveying the scene beneath him. "I— lookit you, beautyful thing, I've gone 'n made a whole mess of you, 'n I haven't even offered to clean you up yet."
Blue stirs slowly onto his side and smiles dopily. There he is, his lovely, worrisome Yellow.
"What a splendid mess you made of me, my love."
He blushes, his bovine ears flitting over his eyes as he looks down toward his partner. "I ain't sure what come over me, geez louise, I felt on top of the world 'n then I— Oh, Bellflower, I done got you all fired up and then I— gosh, yer just amazing and—"
"I think you hit the 'bull eye' with me, dearest," he interrupts. A cheeky smile spreads across his face.
Yellow pauses. Lets the joke roll over in his head. Blinks twice.
Then, he bursts into a fit of giggles, falling to his side like it'd punched him in the gut.
Blue can't help but laugh along with him, curling into his side and meeting his face, contorted in glee, with his own. Their laughter is shared for several minutes until the wind is fully knocked out of both of their lungs once more and Yellow relaxes into the gentle touch. Blue presses a kiss onto his nose with a short breath and captures his gaze.
"This was wonderful," he says candidly. "I felt absolutely pampered by you, gunslinger, but what else could I have expected from such a sweet, strong, sexy cowboy?"
Steam just about shoots out from Yellow's ears with how flushed he gets.
"Oh, shoot. Ain't nothin'." He hides his eyes behind his ears once more, but the marigold blush betrays him just underneath. "I'm just glad you had a good time. I dunno, bein' out on the range, facin' the sun. It makes me… what's the word…"
"Bloom?" Blue says. Yellow nods sheepishly.
Like a sunflower.
"Well, we'll circle back to this," Blue says, "but for now, I am absolutely famished. I fear I have overexerted my body and am too hot to go outside. A primrose needs its water, it seems."
"Oh!" Without so much as another thought, Yellow practically shoots out of bed. His feet plant firmly on the floor with a thump. "Leave it to me, Butterfly. I'll get yer food 'n water lickety split!"
So sweet. The sticky nectar on his body betrays his chivalry, however, and Blue laughs, seating himself upright. "Why don't you run us a bath first? We can clean our bodies, and then afterwards, we can share some tinned peaches and honey."
"Yer my honey," Yellow says, a dopey smile plastered across his face.
He trudges off to their master bathroom before Blue can regard that, frankly awful, flirty pun, humming tunes to himself all the while. He can hear the cowboy laughing to himself in the other room, still giddy and sweet, still having the time of his life, so proud of himself.
And because Blue is a closet cornball, too, he cannot help but flush deep indigo, flattered by his words, and giggle along with him.