Chapter 55 of A Court of Mist and Fury - A Man-Fic Retelling.

Part 2 - Magical Bathtubs n'shit

... Or maybe not the end. (multiple orgasms and some heavy cuddling not enough? Geez!)

The conversation twisted and turned for some time, anchored firmly in words like love and marriage. Rhysand seemed to have an infinite capacity for shoe-horning these two phrases into just about every sentence. Feyre herself, an infinite capacity for overlooking clichés.

The tempest of lust subsiding within her loins, Feyre's more practical neurons began firing again. It was then she realised they were both caked in swirls of brightly coloured paint. Her eyes turned instinctively to the bathtub. Rhysand's eyes followed hers.

She slid her lithe, paint speckled body from the bed and he followed her keenly, scooping her up in his arms to carry her the rest of the way. She cooed into his shoulder as they went. Appreciating the fact that he was so broadly built as to make her feel smitten, rather than self-conscious at being so carried.

As they approached the walk-in bathtub, the steamy water had already begun to fill it, because this magic house had a sister's back. They sank into the hot water together, a masgic-ass basket of soap and oils manifesting at the tub's edge. Feyre wondered if it was there was such a thing a convenience porn?

Rhysand tossed a pine-tar scented bar at her and protested at the blue and red handprints she had left on his wings. She motioned for him to turn around and began soaping up a washcloth as candle-light danced over his manly battle-scars. Because of course there were magic mood-lighting candles too.

He shuddered beneath her fingers each time she drew the wet cloth over his wings, tensing and pawing at the lip of the bath. She peeked over his shoulders and twisted the washcloth gently over his left wing. Yep, this toy comes with a remote control.

'Mmm dick big' she uttered. Although if she were ever to write down her story she would pretend it was something much more articulate. 

Some real progress was made. Feelings were expressed, relationships were strengthened and Feyre made a mental note to try that thing with her tongue that inner Feyre had been performing for the better part of the conversation. Realising Rhysand's back had been washed clean for some time now, she turned him to face her. 'What now?' Another romp, more marriage talk, what could possible make this day more magical?

And then it happened: Turning her by the shoulders Rhysand took up the soap and oils and began kneading his firm hands softly into her shoulders and back. A massage! What impossible fiction is this?

Rhysand talked some more, changing the topic from love to marriage because apparently, he only thought in stereo. He was a truly thoughtful Mate and so laid out many options for their union but expressed no preference for any. Leaving the decision to her... Thumbs rolling between her shoulder-blades... Ummmf!

Some more talking, some jokes and the massage was concluded, just long enough that Feyre wasn't disappointed in its ending. Rhysand seated himself on a bench that appeared inside the tub, because again this house knew what was up. An Feyre took her cue, straddling his lap. Toying absentmindedly at his strong arms.

More jokes...Family talk...Bitch starts glowing for some reason...

...I'ma skip ahead a few pages, I know there's a sex scene around here somewhere...

...

...

Aha!

Right, so again Feyre has a lady-boner for getting acquainted with Rhysand's man-boner in some unconventional places. Well; by that I mean bathtub, hallway, kitchen table, you know... inside the house unconventional, she wasn't a total skank. Rhysand however seems to have two boners, one for Feyre, and one for doing it in the bedroom on a cumfy-ass bed. Maybe he has a bad back or something.

So, picking up Feyre once again he carries her steam-soaked bod back into the bedroom. No doubt with streams of glistening hot water streaking over his enormous chest and abs. He laid her down on the warm sheets and they were all glowing some fairy-shit glow now which made everything more magical. This time it was Feyre's turn to show him some skills and she pulled him down like a kraken into her love ocean. Sliding her hand over his enormous flotsam, firm and smooth to the touch. She brushed her thumb against its tip, revelling in the results.

Rhys took up a reclining lazy-man's pose, hands tucked behind his head as Feyre stroked his silken shaft. Accepting his obvious challenge, Feyre's mouth went in all tongue and tooth. Wracking him with a barrage of sensation that made her laugh a garbled cock-gobbling laugh. So successful was she that despite enjoying a veritable three-course meal at the kitchen table (a-wink, wink), Rhysand pulled her away after only a minute to pounce her bones. With a deft flip onto her front (butt upright, butt-right) she was taken from chore to pleasure, as his strong knees nudged her legs apart. Skilful hands at her supple hips he sheathed her in a single motion, like one-half of a spit-roast. He ploughed in and out of her, every inch of him, making her lift herself up on her fingertips and arch her back like a cartoon cat. Feyre performed some neck-based gymnastics and took a look at where their meat was mashing behind her. 

That fairy-glow thing was going at it too, mingling and glowing and the metaphor was just too much, and she imploded in orgasm. Skewered, sweaty and screaming her lovers name.

Pretty good right? But this is some seriously magical realm stuff, so Rhysand, just keeps mashing. Pulling her up and fondling her breast with one hand; and playing Diablo III on her lady-mouse with the other. Orgasms merge into more orgasms and she thinks to herself she could die from this joyousness. Which is ironic because surely Rhysand is the one closer to death from exhaustion with this Herculean romp extravaganza he's putting on for her. Maybe that's how fairy's work? One and done kinda mating, like Salmon, or the brush-tailed phascogale. (seriously look up phascogale mating, just Google it. I'll wait...)

Rhysand pulled out and lay next to her, pulling her astride him. It was then that Feyre finally took a second to notice him wince in pain and she understood that he wanted to finish with her doing some of the heavy lifting. Which frankly was fair enough since she didn't have a bloody medal to pin to the guy for his mammoth fuck-a-thon, the least she could do was a little up-down electric slide.

She does the business nice and gentle now that she can see his fairy scar or whatever it is, and she unleashed yet more of her inner glow like a firefly, or that knobbly fishing-rod thing on the front of an Anglerfish. Turned out, lights-on was what Rhysand was all about, and after some heavy barking and thrusting he was unleashing his own course of mating-soup into her hungry innards. She stayed atop him, pawing like a kitten into his heaving peck muscles as the ever-thoughtful Rhys struck up another conversation about their future. Cramming in another 'hint' about the wall, Feyre managed to obtain a verbal contract from him that she would indeed get a vertical pounding in the near future. 

Satisfied, she allowed herself to be cajoled into one last lap (ay) with her wicked mouth.

The End

...Surely