#happy halloween everyone!! i hope you enjoy the big filthy finale lol

[rotworld]

31: Wild Hunt

few would be so foolish as to seek out the wild hunt, but you’re no fool. the lord of the hunt and his riders eagerly welcome you.

->explicit. contains gangbang, polyamory, mild feral behavior, mild gore, implied murder.

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They come at midnight, riding blood red auroras from the Land of the Fae. You hear the galloping first, the low drone of the war horn. You see their silhouettes race across the night sky. Their approach is heralded by the toll of church bells, a slow and solemn death knell. Much of the village has long since fled for the nearest shelter, extinguishing glimmering candle lights and leaving no trace of life behind barricaded doors, but there are always a few unlucky stragglers and those with more boldness than sense. There is always you, slipping silently out the door and going where no one should go.

Like all beings from the Land of the Fae, the Wild Hunt is mercurial. They are ruled by their whims and by forgotten accords. You follow a path of conquest and bloodshed through farmland, through a village, through ancient ruins in the forest. There’s no way of knowing what the Hunt will do when they come across someone.

Some are of no interest. You see the twisted bodies of those who did not clear the road fast enough, bludgeoned to death by a procession of spectral horses. Some are taken, tossed over the backs of the riders as they pass. They may be riders themselves next year, changed by their journey through the Land of the Fae, or they may not survive.

It’s instinct that slows your steps, the inherited fears of your ancestors. The Wild Hunt leaves ghostly fire in its wake, green and unburning, and everywhere it touches blooms with thorns and fae flowers. You see the same ghostly glow through the trees. You hear the bustling war camp, the laughter, the revelry at the end of a hunt. Something buried deep within you recognizes the danger. It sees a wolf den or a pit of snakes. But you press on, peering through the tangles of foliage and winding vines growing up all around you.

There are at least a dozen riders scattered around an emerald campfire. The twisting flames are neither hot nor cold, but there is an eerie feeling of strange magic in the air. Ales and meads are passed around in drinking horns as they tend to the wounded and compare trophies. There are still-beating lich hearts, sparkling dragon scales, and gruesome relics of creatures you can’t even guess at. 

One of the riders, stripped down to his breeches as another applies salve to a brutal, claw-like wound, rests his boot on the decapitated head of a hydra. There’s something familiar about him, the shape of his face, the curve of his nose, but you aren’t sure until one of the other riders comes over and calls him “Rory.” You knew Rory. He lived in your village. The two of you snuck out on moonlit nights to kiss beneath the sheltering boughs of ancient trees. The Hunt took him years ago and you’d feared the worst. It’s strange to see him again after you’d already mourned him and it makes you hesitate. Would he remember you? Would it be more painful if he did? 

“Not bad for your first hunt,” one of the other riders tells Rory, bandaging his shoulder.

“Not bad? You wouldn’t have a head if I hadn’t jumped in when I did,” he says, grinning. He’s not the same scrawny boy he was when they took him. He’s big like they are, taller and more fearsome than any mortal. He’s grown his hair out, tying back long curls in a high ponytail that reaches the middle of his back. His soft brown eyes have turned burning gold. There are painful-looking notches in his ears, the flesh snipped away to make them look more like the pointed ears of his companions.

“He’s right, Glavra, you had a poor showing tonight,” another rider teases the one beside Rory, smirking over his drink. “It would’ve been a pain to have to cut the beast open and fish you out a piece at a time. Might’ve just left you there.” 

“And what were you doing, hm?” Glavra snaps. “Watching? Twirling your sword around? Don’t come on a hunt if you have no intention of actually hunting.”

A third voice joins in with hard finality. “That’s enough. If you have a disagreement, do not squabble like children. Fight like riders. You embarrass yourselves before an offering.” 

You swallow hard as all eyes turn to you. Cernunnos, Lord of the Hunt, rises from where he sits cross-legged by the fire. He beckons you into the clearing with one raised hand. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” you say, embarrassed. 

“We look forward to your interruption,” he says smoothly. The Lord of the Hunt has antlers for every phase of life; the small nubs of a fawn, the branch-like protrusions of a young buck, and the sprawling crown of an elder. He knew you would come and he’s already peeled off his light armor and leathers, wearing only a loose and dangling loincloth. You feel the other riders watching intently as you cross the clearing to him. They stare hungrily but they remain a respectful distance away. Those who remember you from years past call your name with warmth and affection. 

You feel Rory’s stare burning into your back, but Cernunnos demands your attention, pulling you into a searing kiss. He cups your chin and licks into your mouth, waiting for you to let him in before he tangles his tongue with yours. You’re panting, saliva dripping down your chin, when he pulls away, acutely aware of the heavy silence draped over the camp.

“An offering?” Glavra says slowly, a twinge of suspicion in his voice.

Cernunnos chuckles but doesn’t answer, letting you explain yourself. He savors being able to see and touch you again, caressing you as you speak. “Cernunnos and I met several years ago. I’ve been visiting him at the end of these hunts ever since.” For you, it was a near-death experience. For Cernunnos, it was love at first sight. The whirlwind romance has been anything but typical, but you find that you don’t mind that much. Sharing you with his riders seemed natural to him, a logical next step in your relationship. You’d been embarrassed initially, but the riders were rather open about skinship and desire. This group, to your delight, seems little different.

“Glavra. Tirun,” Cernunnos calls, causing two riders to shoot to their feet. They’re complete opposites. Glavra is wide and broad-shouldered, his skin unnaturally pale and his long, black hair blending into the crow feathers adorning his cloak. Tirun is smaller with a healthier complexion, his hair silver and tied into one long braid tossed over his shoulder. He’s smirking as he looks you up and down, in stark contrast to Glavra’s more cautious gaze. “You two have a score to settle. Why not raise the stakes?” You know that look. The Lord of the Hunt smiles serenely, but there’s mischief in his eyes. “If you lose, you can only watch tonight.” 

The fire crackles quietly, filling the silence. Tirun must be something of a troublemaker. He looks enticed by the challenge, eyeing you with undisguised lust. “Now there’s an idea,” he purrs. He glances at Glavra, head tilted. “I hope your pride’s not too bruised from the hydra, because it’s about to take another beating.” You don’t know either of them very well, but you assume Glavra won’t take the bait. You’re an oddity. Not every rider trusts you, and some simply aren’t interested. 

But the look Glavra gives you is absolutely feral. Heat rises to your face and arousal pools in your stomach from his gaze alone. “Bold words for a coward,” Glavra growls. He throws off his armor, unlatching his gauntlets and throwing off his cloak, leaving him in only his softer leathers. The other riders begin to laugh and egg them on, making space in the clearing for the two to circle each other like wolves. 

“They’re not going to really hurt each other, are they?” you ask nervously. Cernunnos smiles at you, endeared by your concern.

“Don’t worry, my fawn,” he says, wrapping an arm around you to pull you into his side. “This is how we settle petty disputes. They fight bare-handed, you see? The greatest harm will be to one’s pride, but it’s good to be humbled from time to time.” His hand slides down, shamelessly cupping your ass and squeezing. “I’d like you to watch them fight for you,” he murmurs, “but it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you last.” 

You meet his searing gaze, feeling lightheaded with want. “I can multitask,” you say coyly. Cernunnos grins. You yelp when you’re lifted onto his shoulder, carried like a sack of grain. He carries you across the clearing to a pile of furs and discarded cloaks. All his; you can tell by that particular scent of pine and petrichor. He lays you down gently and joins you, capturing your lips with his. He undresses you with deft, firm fingers, tugging your tunic over your head and exposing your chest to the cool, night air. When you’re bare before him, he pauses, leaning back to take in the sight of you. 

“It’s as if every meeting is our first,” he says, caressing your cheek. “I’m charmed by you all over again.” Cernunnos is in awe of you, urging you to open yourself, to discard your shyness with him. He trails his lips down your chest and over your stomach, his hands moving restlessly over your skin. He can’t decide where to touch you. He settles on the places that bring out your neediest noises, massaging your thighs and using his talented fingers on your sex. He’s so focused on you’re pleasure that you think he must not notice the sounds of someone approaching, the footsteps that stop right behind you, but the Lord of the Hunt misses nothing. 

“Rory,” he addresses the rider without looking up from your body. Your heartbeat quickens. Cernunnos allows you to turn away and gaze up at your old lover. You feel so vulnerable, naked on the ground in front of him, but you see no judgment in his eyes. Rory’s expression is complicated, numerous emotions flickering across his gaze; happiness. Anxiety. Desire.

“I know you,” he says quietly. “I knew you in a past life.” You nod, glancing at Cernunnos. You’re not sure if you should say anything. You don’t need to, because Rory kneels, carefully keeping himself in the grass and not trespassing on the soft pile of furs. “May I?” 

You think he’s talking to Cernunnos, but Cernunnos turns to you. “May you what?” you ask, your heart racing.

“May I touch you?” Rory asks without hesitation. He looks at the ground, as though he has no right to even meet your eyes. “May I please you?” 

It’s not unusual for other riders to approach once Cernunnos has laid with you, but he’s barely touched you. You’re unsure of what to do. Cernunnos senses this and squeezes your shoulder. “What do you want, my fawn?” 

You know what you want. You reach out to Rory, framing his face with your hands. You raise his head, urging  him to look at you. “Yes,” you tell him, “you may.” He’s kissing you before the words even leave your lips, kissing you feverishly. Rory’s body collides with yours and you fall back into the furs. He follows you, blankets your body with his and his hands are all over you. He kisses like Cernunnos, with passion kindled over many moons spent apart. He nips at your lower lip, pulling gently with his teeth, and shivers at the whine he drags out of you. You have so many questions for him. Where has he been? What has he seen? But the time for words will come later. Now you just have to feel him. 

“Rory,” Cernunnos says, his voice low and growling with need. “I know I have waited far too long already. Haven’t you?” 

Rory reluctantly parts from you, his lips flushed and glistening with your combined saliva. “Yes,” he says with a shaky breath. “Yes, I have.” He slides his hand between your legs and strokes you, wetting his fingers in your arousal. “Are you ready?” he asks you.

You are. You always prepare before you leave for the camp and now you’re achingly empty. “Please,” you say. Rory and Cernunnos exchange a glance, something unspoken passing between them. They stand suddenly, lifting you without difficulty. Rory stands in front of you, quickly stripping away the last of his clothing and wrapping your legs around his waist. Cernunnos presses in close behind you and you’re pinned between their bodies, warmed by their heat.

“Eager for us, are you, my darling fawn?” Cernunnos drawls against your ear. He slips two fingers into your entrance easily, finding you wonderfully stretched. You sink down onto his fingers and it’s not nearly enough. 

They don’t leave you waiting. Rory brushes his fingers beneath your chin and pulls you into a kiss as Cernunnos enters you, his hands grasping your hips. The thickness of his cock pushes you to your very limits and you sigh shakily as he fills you with a single thrust. His breath warms your neck and he groans, lifting you halfway up his length before dropping you back down. You’re just starting to adjust and remember how it feels to be stuffed full of him when you feel Rory, hot and hard, brush against your thigh. 

“I thought I would never see you again,” Rory says hoarsely. He rubs against you when you sink down on Cernunnos’ cock. “But you’re here. You’re real. It’s not a trick.” He sounds as though he might cry.

“Take them, Rory,” Cernunnos says softly. “They want you.” He clutches the meat of your thighs, relishing in your tight heat all around him. Rory’s grasp brushes his when he takes your hips, steadying you as he nudges the head of his cock against you. You thought you knew what it was to be full, but you didn’t. Rory might break you, but you’d let him. You cling to his shoulders, whispering his name as he moves his hips and slowly, carefully enters you, mindful of your every gasp.

“You’re perfect,” Rory says breathlessly. He hilts himself inside of you and the pressure is almost unbearable. He falls into a rough rhythm with Cernunnos, thrusting up into you whenever Cernunnos pulls out, leaving you constantly full. The friction is maddening, the hot pulse of their cocks inside of you sending you over the edge far too early. You cum with a cry that’s halfway between their names, slumping in their hold. 

“Oh, my fawn,” Cernunnos sighs fondly. Rory stills briefly inside of you, uncertain, but Cernunnos never stops moving. He kisses the nape of your neck, licking and nipping, making you whine as he grinds into you. “The night is still young. We have so much more pleasure to give you.”

It’s then that you notice the other riders gathered around you, even the newcomers you’ve never met emboldened by Rory’s forwardness. They circle Cernunnos’ nest in various states of undress, some merely watching, some palming their cocks. Over Rory’s shoulder, you see the battle of Glavra and Tirun still rages. Glavra is clearly the stronger of the two but Turin is much quicker on his feet, dancing away from Glavra’s strikes. They clash like beasts, growling and snarling. 

“They fight for you, my fawn,” Cernunnos purrs. “For the right to mate with you.” 

Rory begins to move again and your attention is torn from the fight, looking down at where your bodies join. His grip moves to your backside, kneading at your flesh in time with his thrusts. Your thighs are starting to ache but it’s satisfying, the kind of pain you’ll savor with the memories in the morning. “I’m jealous,” he admits, grunting when you squeeze around him. “Cernunnos has had you all this time and I never even knew.”

“Jealousy has no place in the Hunt,” Cernunnos chides him. “We share the spoils, the joys and the sorrows. I gladly share my fawn, so long as they wish to be shared.”

The ache in your legs grows too great to bear and Cernunnos is the first to notice. He and Rory share another glance and you’re lowered back into the nest. “Rest, and let us please you,” Cernunnos murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He looks back, cocks his head, and the riders are upon you. 

You lie back and eagerly take what they offer. One of the riders, flaxen-haired and heavily scarred, kisses your inner thigh, trailing his lips up to your sex. You arch your back with a cry when his mouth engulfs you, tongue swirling around your sensitive flesh. Another kneels beside you, offering a jutting cock with a bead of precum on the tip. You wrap your hand around it, pumping lazily, rewarded with a hand in your hair and fevered praise.

“Beautiful,” the riders murmur, caressing you, teasing your nipples and massaging the soreness from your thighs. You feel debauched and divine, worshipped by these fearless hunters who take and give in equal measure. The rider with his head between your legs slides his hands beneath you, cupping your ass and urging you to grind against him. You cum on his tongue, shaking as he hums around you and teasingly licks your slit. He fills you with his cock while you’re still shivering, his hands roaming your chest. 

Somewhere nearby, Cernunnos murmurs, “Go on.” You can hear the smile in his voice. Hands are on your face, tilting your head back. You look up and Rory is there, his knees resting on either side of your head. He looks almost wounded, his hands trembling. He’s still hard, his cock bobbing against his chest. 

“This is alright?” he asks. “You want this? We aren’t hurting you?” 

You smile and reach out to him. Rory leans down and kisses you. The angle is awkward but he’s so earnest, so hungry for you. “I’m ok,” you assure him. “I want this. I come here every hunt just to see Cernunnos and his riders. And now,” you stroke his cheek, “to see you, too.” 

Rory looks like he wants to say something else, something even more vulnerable, but he doesn’t. Not yet. Maybe later, when you’re tangled together, a heap of satisfaction. But for now, he gently caresses your chin, tilting your head back, and presses his cock against your lips. You let him in, tasting his lust for you. He moans as he slides down your throat. He wraps his hand around your neck, feeling the bulge of his length sliding into you.

“Don’t forget about me, my fawn,” Cernunnos says. You feel his enormous length against your free hand, grinding against your palm. You stroke him just the way he likes, twisting your hand around his head, and he rumbles in pleasure. The rider fucking you cums with a long moan and you writhe as he fills you, slipping out with a rush of cum. You’re exhausted, unable to do anything but lay there, reveling in the affections of the riders. 

There’s a crash as a body hits the forest floor and a snarl, an animalistic growl. “Oh? Those two are finally done?” one of the riders muses. “Come on, Tirun. Take your prize.” 

The pleasure is blinding but you’re aware of someone new touching you, slender, firm hands spreading your legs. You choke around Rory’s cock. Tirun teases you, rubbing his leaking head all around your entrance. “To the victor go the spoils,” he purrs. “Get a good look, Glavra. Don’t want you to miss how this sweet fawn takes my cock.” You feel lightheaded when he thrusts into you, your eyes rolling back in your head. 

Cernunnos is right. The night is just beginning, and you are just as ravenous as his riders. You give yourself to the pleasure of the hunt’s end, taking and being taken until the sun rises.