Page 39 of The Frog Prince
He threw his head back and reached his hand under his shirt, feeling overheated skin and gooseflesh under his fingertips. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pushed his hand into his breeches and gripped his hard length, trying to go to one of his generic fantasies, grasping for normalcy. He conjured up faceless bodies wrapped around his as they brought each other to ecstasy,memories of past encounters and very human limbs as they kissed and touched.
It wasn’t working. The skin melting into his turned green between one breath and the next. The hands touching him in his mind were damp and cold.
He moved his own hand over his length furiously, as if trying to get it over with so he wouldn’t have to admit to himself he was enjoying it. As if it was something shameful he needed to tuck somewhere deep inside himself before anyone noticed.
He tugged at the sensitive flesh harder and faster, until he could barely hold his moans in. His teeth broke the skin on his lips and copper spilled over his tongue.
He was teetering on the edge and desperately trying to hurl himself over it before the rational part of his mind woke up and made him realize what he was doing, and exactly who was starring in the fantasies that were making him this hot and bothered.
Images flashed before his eyes; ones he only saw in his dreams. Of lips wrapped around his balls. Of rounded fingertips pressing into him. Bulging eyes watching his every move as he fell apart.
It wasn’t enough.
The reality wasn’t enough.
He reached his free hand out and spread his palm over the cool window just next to the bed, his overheated skin making the glass fog and dampen.
The chill seeped into his hand, and when he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore, couldn’t hold it anymore, he released his cock and gripped it with the one he had held on the glass.
Now cool and damp.
Not the same as the dream, but close enough to finally get him to shatter.
He spilled all over his hand and stomach, panting into the darkness of the room as he tried not to let despair and shame crush him. He had never felt heat like he did thinking of the Frog Prince. It had never felt so all-consuming. He was never that desperate to finish, to climax with the Frog Prince’s name on his lips. A name he didn’t even know.
He gulped air like each breath would be his last, willing his heart to settle, to let him rest.
He cleaned himself up as best as he could then sank back into the mattress, running a hand over his sweaty forehead.
He was exhausted. And sated. And so deeply confused by his own mind and body he didn’t know what to do with it all. He realized he wouldn’t get any answers tonight, so he allowed himself to close his eyes and relax.
Allowed his mind to drift and blank until sleep pulled him under, covered him in black, and muted the sounds until Otto drifted and disappeared from his bed and reformed somewhere else.
Lush greenery surrounded him on all sides, bathing him in the scents of herbs and flowers. It was twilight, fireflies lighting up the darkness and meticulously tended pathways with a warm yellow glow.
The beautiful, sprawling garden held a tinge of familiarity to it, like he was walking into a memory instead of a dream.
Stepping onto the path, he began to follow it, admiring everything around him with wide, innocent eyes. He turned his head to face a gentle breeze and took a deep breath, tasting the earthiness on the back of his tongue.
He heard a soft croak.
He turned his head to look and saw a tiny pond frog hop into a nearby bush.
Another croak sounded from the other side, and he reached out to part the leaves, hoping to find it. He found his center ofgravity lower to the ground, and his hands when he looked at them were small and childlike.
He giggled, forgetting about the frog as a burst of energy set him running until he was out of breath.
Quickly, quickly. I must hide before Father finds me.
He ducked down behind a statue of a beautiful woman, a bed of cornflowers at her feet. He lay down on his front, uncaring about the dirt on his clothes, and tilted his head to examine them from all angles, fascinated by their shape and wondering at their details.
Even the simplest looking things can hold powerful secrets.
He put his head in his hands, wondering what secrets these could hold.
Footsteps drew his attention and he startled, peeking around the base of the statue and looking in all directions.
They seemed to be coming from the darkened entrance to a hedge maze, a subtle golden glow enticing him inside. The sight of it arrested his attention, making him frown.
