HORNS (BoyXBoy)

Chapter 148

Warning: There's a small lemon near the end of this chapter. Read at your own risk.

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Chapter One Hundred and Forty Eight

I wanted the night to last forever.

It would have been amazing. I'd have been totally content to dance for eternity, locked in a bubble of time and space where I could completely be myself without any guilt, but sadly, all things eventually have to come to an end and my very first dance with other satyrs would be no exception.

Despite this looming knowledge, which was growing ever larger over my head as time wore on, I made the most of it because while it might not have lasted forever, it did go on for what felt like an eternity.

That alone was good enough for me.

And fuck, I was having so much fun, too. I'd already danced my heart out, got into horn-brawls with several of the other male satyrs while Luka, Pop, Sasha, the centaurs, and all the other fae who'd showed up loudly jeered us on--despite the fact that I had the extreme advantage of supernatural strength on my side, which I admittedly curbed and withheld and even tried to hide by 'losing' a few challenges to make it more fun for everyone involved.

It was a blast that had everyone laughing and cheering.

And, oh my God, the alcohol... it wasn't like the normal human-made crap that barely gave me a buzz unless I drank three times my body weight of it, no--the wine was supposedly made specifically for satyrs by faery clans and a variety of tribes from all over Eurasia.

I'll be honest. I got super, super drunk within the first two hours. Like, hardcore puking-while-laughing level drunk, and I fucking loved it.

Not once in my entire life had I ever been so smashed and carefree. I felt my age for the first time in my life, and it was awesome! Just a stupid kid getting drunk and partying, but so much better and a million times more satisfying because it was with people like me.

People who understood.

I felt weirdly validated and elated.

Even during the occasional puking fits that would hit me after a bunch of playful spinning with everyone else, I couldn't feel upset, because every time I upchucked the satyrs laughed and pranced over, slapping my back.

It wasn't just me, either. A few of my own dance partners wound up hurling a bit, too, but afterwards they would just wipe their mouths, wash their faces with wine, and whoop like brazen idiots before lunging right back into the fray, tails raised. Nymphs clapped in rhythm with the drums. Satyrs danced like something out of a fairy tale... wild, primal, like Native Americans, like African Pagans, like Greek paintings and sculptures come to life, tossing their horned heads before the flames and swinging their bodies and each other with screams of joy, of raw emotion, of raw life, flickering under the firelight.

Like demons before hellfire.

It was eerie and enchanting and arousing in the deepest of ways.

And I just kept going, spinning and dancing and tossing back mugs of wine and berries because everybody else was. My dad danced, too, for a long time... after I'd first dragged him into it, he'd paused after about fifteen minutes to throw his jacket onto a nearby log, followed by his shoes, and then his t-shirt. Words could never describe the feeling that flooded me when he'd willingly locked hands with one of the spinning satyr males and allowed himself to be pulled into the fray.