Oberon began to pant. Ángel was barely holding on himself, his balls tight, his skin burning, his hand rubbing Oberon’s sex magic right into his skin while he drank him up, more and more. More. Oberon cried out and gripped his chair and began to come, his head thrown back, seed pouring out of him in a long gush. Ángel tried to take it in, choked, pulled off, pressed his face to Oberon’s belly as he came, sweet and piercing, onto the chair and Oberon’s legs. Oberon gasped, come surging out of him into Ángel’s hair, onto his neck and face. Ángel wrapped his arms around Oberon’s waist, and Oberon collapsed forward onto him, his cock still emitting spurts of come onto Ángel. By the time he was done, Ángel was laughing.

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “No one needs this much. You could fill a bathtub.”

Oberon murmured wordlessly, clearly dazed.

Ángel climbed into Oberon’s lap, straddling him. “This is the best part,” he said roughly, and grabbed his face and kissed him, open-mouthed, tonguing the taste of Oberon’s come into Oberon’s mouth. Their bodies ground together, tongues tangled. Oberon moaned again, and Ángel felt another pulse of semen surge out of him onto his own legs.

They stayed in the chair afterward, cuddling for a few minutes, until Ángel tried to mop the drying come off his face with his shirt, and found that it was already saturated. He began to laugh again.

“I have . . . In there . . .” Oberon gestured with an enervated hand toward a desk drawer, and Ángel opened it to find folded clean towels.

“I see,” he said, pulling one out and wiping his face and hands. “What do you do in here all day, Oberon?”

“I have sometimes amused myself.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve sometimes amused myself too.”

They tidied themselves and the chair and desk, but Ángel really needed a shower and a change of clothes. Te amo, he thought, kissing Oberon, before sneaking upstairs.

When he came back down, clean and de-jismed, he could feel a change in the air. Something was different, some sort of singing quality—not a sound or a smell, but a feeling, happy and electric.

“What’s happening?” he asked Lily.

She was making lunch: macaroni and cheese, and a salad with apples in it. “What do you mean?”

“Can’t you feel it?” he asked, bouncing slightly on his toes.

She shook her head. She’d been a little shy around him lately, probably not sure what to make of his relationship with Oberon.

“Really? You can’t feel that? It’s like Christmas morning.”

“It’s November eleventh.”

“No, I mean—” What did he mean? Was he actually feeling something real, some magical signal that Oberon was emitting? “I think something’s happening. Is he in his office?”

She nodded. “Lunch is almost ready. Wait a minute, I’ll give you a tray.”