The Rhizome Ritual

Sonny

We decided that even though the ley lines were only a five-minute walk from the house, we wanted to get there super early. There were certain things we needed to prep for, and there was a certain tipping point we needed to reach, at a certain critical moment.

Basically, we needed Claude hard and on the brink of coming at the exact point of sunrise. And timings were important because he was not as into edging as I was. He was much more likely to let himself become swept away in the intensity.

The occasion called for timeliness and finesse, and also probably a decent aim.

We took some supplies from Claude’s room and crept through the guest house. John had commandeered Mrs Ziegler’s abandoned chaise longue, but Willow and Oggy were in the same places on the dining-room floor. Someone—most likely John—had placed a blanket over Willow and had given Oggy a sick-bucket, which she was now cradling like a life buoy.

At the ley lines, Claude laid his duvet on the grass beside the tablet. He’d reasoned, since it was squishier, it would be more comfortable than a scratchy woollen picnic blanket. I set one of Claude’s pocket watches on the corner of the duvet so that we could keep an eye on the time. The sunrise was due after four a.m. We had an hour.

Claude and I took off our shoes and lay on our sides opposite each other on the duvet. I let my eyes travel over him and everything he was. His copper curls, his dark skin, his silver freckles, his tummy. I couldn’t stop smiling. He reached his hand out into the gap between us, and I remembered all those times he’d done just that in his four-poster bed. Reaching for my hand in the hopes I’d take it, but I’d been too cowardly.

I took it now. Slotted my fingers between his.

They were soft and warm. No calluses from wielding loppers or secateurs, no dirt lurking under his fingernails, no chipped polish that he reapplied haphazardly while talking on video calls because it gave his idle hands something to do.

We were so different, and yet, I felt the need to be with him at a soul-deep level.

Jenny must have felt it too, because the house had done nothing but push us together. Not that I ever tried to resist, but Claude had, at first. Like for the first three years.

I owed this house so much gratitude.

At about three forty, the birds began their morning fanfare—calling out from every tree, every hedgerow, every inch of the sky. The velvety blue of the night began to lighten in the east, shifting to lilac. The sun was coming.

I figured now was a good time to get Claude hard, and because he was looking a little sleepy, I rolled on top of him and buried my tongue in his mouth. He groaned, rocked his hips upwards, already halfway there. He pushed my hoodie up my back and we paused the kiss to pull it over my head. The morning air danced over my bare skin, but I would heat up in no time.

We were going to fuck in a barren field at sunrise. I was so happy, I could burst.

“I’ve been looking forward to this moment since the second you told me about the ritual. Even before I knew what it was,” I said. Because this was the type of magic I lived and breathed for, and I would get to share that magic with Claude.

I straddled his lap and undid his shirt buttons—slowly, like a striptease, revealing inch by glorious inch of his body. Claude was hairy, and chubby, and perfect in every possible way. I could spend a lifetime staring at him and never grow bored. I leant down and kissed the delicate skin above his collarbone and worked my lips down his abdomen. Gentle, soft butterfly kisses.

Claude hissed out his breath. His fingers threaded into my hair.

I kissed and nipped and licked a trail down his stomach to his trouser fastenings and slipped the button out of its loop. I might not be able to swallow his cum tonight, but I could at least taste his skin, feel his hot urgency against my tongue.

I peeled down Claude’s trousers then his underpants, freeing his cock, and took him into my mouth. He was entirely too big for this. I almost couldn’t breathe, but I fucking loved every second of it.

Claude panted and cried out. I listened to his cues, made sure I wasn’t about to push him over the point of no return before the sunrise. When I sensed he was getting close, I lifted my head and gazed into his eyes.

“Fucking hell, you’re gorgeous,” he said. “Can I prep you, now?”

The ancient shroom laws made it difficult for us to talk about the ritual beforehand, but we discovered we could discuss sex as long as we didn’t refer to it as “the ritual.” This morning we’d chatted about what we wanted to do, and had decided condoms would get in the way. I’d washed in the shower earlier and we’d brought lube from his rooms, but Claude would fuck me bare.

In answer to his question, I pulled the loaned PJ bottoms off my legs and passed him the bottle of lube. I wasn’t wearing any underpants because all my pants were in the suitcase still, and I was already hard. He squirted lube into his hands and slicked up his fingers.

“Lie down,” he said. “Knees up.”

I did as he asked. He leaned over me and teased my entrance before sinking his middle finger in.

“My gods,” he huffed, dropping his head to the crease between my neck and shoulder. “You’re so tight. I’m not going to last a second in there. We need to make sure the sun is right there before I fuck you.”

At least, that’s what I thought he said. He was doing that one-fingered prostate massage he’d learned a few weeks ago. The one that turned me into a puddle.

“The sun better hurry the fuck up then,” I said. “I need you now.”

“You’re still so tight. Let me stretch you more.” He added another finger.

I bit down on the top of my forearm. It felt so good. It felt—oh, gods—

“Wait, stop. It’s too much. I’m gonna come.”

Claude stopped curling his fingers but didn’t remove them. “Fucking look at you.” He gazed down at me. In the dull light, it was difficult to make out his expression, but his eyes were glassy and there was a slight furrow to his brow. He looked on the brink of tears. Which was exactly how I felt. “Let’s get into position.”

I nodded, having forgotten what words were and how to use them, and I just sort of helplessly watched as Claude moved the duvet to the other side of the stone tablet. He smoothed down an area, where my ass should go, and grabbed the lube again.

I nestled into the space he’d created—my ass at one end of the tablet, Claude’s knees on the grass at the other end.

“I’m trying not to think about how my father must have done exactly this,” he said, grimacing, but laughing all the same.

“Yeah. Or how the Earth Bells are probably watching,” I added.

“I guess we’ve grown accustomed to an audience by now,” he said, and he didn’t seem slightly fazed as he squirted more lube into his palm and slicked himself up.

My eyes watched him greedily, my breath catching. I leaned back on my elbows and Claude tipped his weight forward, caging my body with his. His cock nestled against my hole.

“Um...” He swallowed. “I really hope this works, but if it doesn’t, I just wanted to say... thank you. For everything. For being you. Perfect, incredible you. And... I love you.”

“I’m sure it will work. I know it will, in fact. But even if it doesn’t, I’m not going anywhere. I want to come to this stone—and come on this stone—every six months until the end of our days.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. As though the last tether of his control had snapped, he pressed into me. “Oh, gods. Sonny, where’s that sun? This is all going to be over so quick.” It was the first time he was fucking me without a condom. I could only imagine how incredible it must feel for him.

I lifted my head up and peeked over Claude’s shoulders. “It’s getting close. The sky is orange... Any second, and...” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I didn’t even know what I was going to say, anyway. Instead, I whined, spurring Claude to begin rocking, thrusting.

Which he did. Gently at first, as he kissed my neck. And then harder as he pushed up on his arms to gaze into my eyes. I couldn’t look away. I was so far gone for this man, so fucking in love with him.

“Claude . . . fuck, I’m . . . gonna come.”

He eased a gap between our bodies, and I snaked my hand down, wrapped it around my cock, and pumped my fist. Within seconds, my orgasm crashed over me, arching my back, whiting out my vision. Wet warmth blossomed over my hand and shot up my stomach.

Claude cradled my face, watching the show. He stilled inside me, clenched his jaw, and slammed his eyes closed as he teetered on that invisible line. One movement, one tiny stroke or muscle spasm could end this too soon. Ruin everything.

“Fuck, Sonny, you almost sent me over,” he gritted out. “You’re so... You feel so... Fuck.”

“I feel so fuck?” I asked, trying to defuse the moment, edge Claude. Only a little bit longer. The sky was getting lighter by the second.

“You feel so fucking fuck.”

I realised my legs were still wrapped around his waist, so I brought them down to make the sensation less intense for him.

“Thank you,” he breathed against my neck. “I hate edging. I just want to come. I want to come so fucking bad.”

Over his shoulder, I glimpsed the very tip of a golden speck as it crested the horizon, seemingly lighting up the entire sky, announcing the moment in magnificent fashion. “Now. You can come now. The sun—”

His hand slid around the base of my neck, and he brought his mouth up to mine. Hard. Claiming everything. “I love you,” he said, then he pulled out.

I eased up onto my elbows in enough time to watch Claude’s face crumple under his ecstasy. Silky white ribbons shot from his cock and splashed against the tablet over and over.

Like the blood from before, Claude’s release was immediately absorbed into the rock surface until it was bare again. Like he hadn’t just covered it with cum.

I sat up, reached a hand forward to touch the stone. Dry. No signs of any mess. My own cooling jizz trickled down my happy trail.

Claude let out a long, slow breath, recovering from his climax. “Did that work?” He glanced over to the spires of the house visible beyond the tree line. “Jenny?”

We both stared at the tablet, waiting for something, anything to happen. If this wasn’t the ritual, well, we were truly fucked.

I scooted over to where Claude had folded himself, lying prostrate next to the stone. It looked like he was praying—was, in fact, praying.

“Please work. Please work,” I repeated under my breath.

And we waited a little longer.

The morning was hushed. So quiet. Even the birds seemed to pause their song, as though they were holding their breaths as well.

Still nothing. Two, three minutes ticked by and Claude was silent. Tears popped at the corners of his eyes.

Fuck, it hadn’t worked.

I needed to say something. To let him know that I’d always be here for him, with him. That this didn’t change anything between us. I loved him. And I would choose him every time.

“Claude, I—”

“Look!”

A flower sprouted at the edge of the tablet. A daisy. Pink-tinged petals opened all at once like they did on time-lapse videos. I gasped, reached a hand over and grabbed Claude’s bicep.

Another erupted right next to the first. Then a buttercup on the other side of the stone. Then another and another, until the ground beneath our feet was transforming into a carpet of rainbow wildflowers.

Poppies and primrose and anemones and cornflowers. Cow parsley, bluebells, milkwort, hellebores, echinacea, crocuses. Half of these weren’t even supposed to be flowering at this time of year. Shooting up around us like fireworks were agapanthus, alliums, foxgloves, and verbena.

And mushrooms everywhere—between clumps of flowers, in fairy rings in the grass, and some as tall as me. Fly agaric and inkcaps and puffballs and chanterelles in every colour available and, of course, stinkhorns.

Stinkhorns galore.

They spread across the paddock in waves. Like stacks of dominos being pushed over, but in reverse. When they reached the hedgerows, blackberries and raspberries erupted, and the birds turned their silent mourning into a dawn chorus so loud it could lift roofs off rafters.

It was wild, in every sense of the word. An explosion of senses—sight, sound, smell.

“I think it worked,” I said, as a liberty cap nudged its way into existence right next to my baby toe.

But Claude was on top of me already, kissing me into the bed of flowers, not giving an iota of shit that my cum was now squishing onto his belly.

He paused... pushed a gap between us and smiled. “It’s back,” he whispered. And then he yelled, “Good morning, Jenny! It’s wonderful to have you here again.”