Lysander's lips pinched. "My royal personage was being chastised justly by my guardian. One is aware that's no excuse for tardiness."
Bacchus gave a satisfied smile, before steering Lysander next to his own whipping boy and then pressing him down. "Kneel, Dunce." A muscle twitched in Lysander's jaw, but he knelt with his head ducked. His wings curled around himself in comfort. "Transfiguration is for students, but you're only a Dunce now. Do you think you deserve even my ass on you?" Lysander pinked. "I can still use you though. You can be helpful in this lesson, just like your whipping boy is."
I shivered at the malicious delight that Bacchus took in each humiliating word. But then, Midnight opened his wing and wrapped it around Lysander. In shock, Lysander raised his head to meet Midnight's compassionate gaze. The same whipping boy who he'd made crawl was offering his support now that his patron been brought even lower than himself.
Midnight was epic, and Lysander wasn't the bastard that I'd thought he was. My furry tail wanted them both, and furry tails (especially crooked ones), shouldn't be denied.
Magenta offered Lysander a smile, which appeared to shock him as much as Midnight's feathery snuggle. Lysander offered a tight smile in return.
Bacchus prowled to lean against the wall, crossing her arms. "The Mind Control Spell is more powerful than any other because it creates a connection that's deeper than you'll ever taste between the caster and their puppet. It’s the true bond of gods and their followers. That's magic, darlings. Who holds the power, and who dances to their tune. Do you think you’re in charge of your own mind, fate, or will? Con others but not yourself.”
“I rather think that you’re the one who’s deluded. Don’t con yourself that since you have an unhealthy relationship with your god, we all do. My god is awfully nice.” Magenta blew a kiss to Sleipnir, whose hair softened to candy pink waves.
Sleipnir attempted to coolly nod his head, but Mist jumped up like he was trying to catch the kiss. Sleipnir could never hide his emotions now that Mist had been created.
By my prickles, don’t let anyone create a mist version of Mr. Fierce because I’d be screwed.
Bacchus’ knuckles whitened around her thyrsus. “Don’t speak about the darkness of eternal dedication that you could never understand. I’ve given up my Soul for my god, girl.”
“Ah,” Magenta said, brightly, “but have you ever given him a blowjob?”
Sleipnir covered his face with his hands.
So, this was what Religious Studies was like. I’d always considered that it’d be more about differences in belief and less my god is better than your god face-offs, where the bout was won with blowjobs.
Respect.
Bacchus’ smile was all teeth. “If you already have such power over gods, then step forward and let’s see you cast this spell over the Princes’ whipping boy.” She glanced dismissively down at Lysander. “The Dunce, despite his failures, is still magically powerful. He can cast the spell on your whipping boy.”
Magenta stiffened at the same time as Lysander, who caressed a reassuring hand over Midnight’s wing, before pushing himself to his feet.
Even though Lysander swayed, he still defiantly tilted up his chin. “I refuse—”
“As Flair would say,” Magenta hurriedly cut in, materializing in a fog of black mists in front of Lysander (was it weird how fuzzy it made me that she was protecting Lysander now?), “Fuck you, fuck your hex, and fuck your pointy fuck wand.”
Bask snickered and then paled as Bacchus spun in a furious circle, chanting an invocation.
Sticky red dripped from the walls like they were bleeding. “What you and this Flair need is a Fuck You Not Hex.”
“Dear Hecate, don’t let that be a celibacy hex.” Magenta shivered.
“It’s a ban on swearing. It can even include words that are considered dishonorable.” Willoughby looked lost, staring down at his hands. “It was cast on the nursery, which belonged to Darby and me.”
“My room at the Fae Court too,” Lysander muttered. “But I was creative.”
I rubbed my hands together metaphorically (although, only metaphorically because I was still tied up in purple silk), exchanging a mischievous glance with Sleipnir.
There were advantages to being mates with Loki’s son.
It was funny how I barely swore but now that I couldn’t, I’d never wanted to scream fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck so much in my life.
“What happens if you swear without being creative?” I asked.
Never let it be said that I was too stupid to ask the questions that other students were too smart to ask.
Wait, I meant…
“Try it,” Bacchus suggested.
“My king, don’t.” Midnight’s panicked gaze met mine.
“But the fucking witch just told me to swear, and it’d be taking the piss not to bloody listen to her.” Wow, I was bad at normal swearing.
Dad would be so cross with me right now. Although on the other hand, proud.
I didn’t like the way that Lysander’s eyes, however, gleamed with amusement.
The back of my tongue started to tingle. I smacked my lips in confusion, as the tingling spread along my tongue, roof of my mouth, and even into my gums. Then in a roar like dragon’s flame, heat exploded. I gasped, and my eyes watered.
Hot, hot, hot.
Willoughby winced in sympathy.
My tongue burned like it’d been dipped in hot sauce and then rubbed down in chilies for that extra kick.
What was that high whine? I shook my head, trying to clear it from my ears.
Oh, it was me.
“Stop this,” Magenta demanded.
“It’ll wear off.” Bacchus snorted. “Mage Baiting should be a sport.”
Tears chased down my cheeks. Where was a whole pail of milk when you needed one? Lysander no longer looked amused.
He grasped my chin, tipping up my face. “Allow me to help you…?”
I nodded.
Then between the waves of pulsing heat, I was aware enough to feel the way that Lysander’s thumbs were hooking open my mouth and his tongue was pressing inside.
So, help was what the fae called it…?
The cool of Lysander’s tongue, however, against the inferno of my tongue was blissful. Both Lysander and I groaned into the pleasure of the mingled hot and cold.
The distraction of Lysander’s wing feathers caressing my shoulders, as his thumb swept behind my ear like I could break at any moment, which matched the sweeps of his tongue, tamped down the burning, until it became a blurred pain-pleasure that prickled a flush through my entire body. My dick thickened with thoughts of pulling the fae onto it, just as right now he was riding my tongue.
Then Lysander pulled back with a final affectionate stroke of his wings (and I wasn’t imagining the affection), and I blinked up at him like I was drunk.
“The hex was never lifted from my bedroom by my guardian,” Lysander explained. “One is truly disappointed if you believe that I was never caught out swearing.”
“Who kissed you?” I blurted; my tongue felt heavy…burned.
Lysander’s expression shuttered. “But it appears that you do believe I was alone and unloved. Now that is disappointing.”
Despite everything, when he drew back, standing as stiffly as before, I felt cold at the loss of him.
Midnight’s pupils were dilated, and his grin was both sappy and over-excited like a kid who’d just walked in on his divorced parents kissing on Christmas morning. Brilliant. Now I had pressure to play nice with the fae prince who’d probably only kissed me to recreate the memory of some first love.