Beltaine: Bright Fire

[Author's Note: I had not planned to reprise my characters from the April Fools Contest entry, which I wrote as a standalone. However, any author can verify that one of the most enjoyable things about writing is how often your characters surprise you. When I decided to write a Beltaine story, they volunteered immediately and I was happy to see them. I hope some of you are too.]

Beltaine: Bright Fire [aka That Fucking Holiday]

Beltaine is one of eight main holy days for many pagans, including Druids and Wiccans. It marks the zenith of Spring and beginning of Summer; it's most often celebrated May 1 st with familiar rituals like the Maypole, as well as more taboo, ancient rituals centered around fertility. The birds, the bees, all of Nature in the mood for love. In other words, it's a holiday to celebrate Fuckery. All kinds of fucking is what's up.

Morgana struggled to shift the huge Ash branch she'd discovered on the forest floor that morning. It had broken off near the trunk of its tree and fallen after a winter of heavy snow punctuated by a thorough coating of ice during an early-Spring storm. It had already been stripped of bark by efficient woodland decomposers and was therefore a perfect candidate for this year's Maypole.

It was almost twice as tall as Morgana, which hampered her in maneuvering it. She and the others had already attached the cluster of ribbons at the top for the Maypole Dance the next day; that had been the easy part. She was now trying to slide its base into the slot carved out of an enormous foundational stone so it could be anchored properly.

Morgana cursed fluently as a playful gust of wind dragged the long pole off to one side again, and her with it, making the crowd of watching children giggle and prompting High Priestess Dionne Toussaint to rebuke her despite the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Girl, you better control your mouth around these kids before I slap it shut," the priestess said. "Leave some cusses for them to learn as adolescents, when they really need somethin to say that hasn't been echoing in their ears since they heard it roll out your filthy mouth at a ritual."

"This doesn't count, it's just prep. I would never sully ritual with cussing, Aunt Dee!" Morgana protested, her voice strained as she pushed and lifted simultaneously. For such a slender thing, this pole was shockingly heavy, she thought.

"Uh-huh. Course you wouldn't," Dionne said, each word dripping with affectionate sarcasm as she helped guide the pole into position above the slot. "Better cleanse the space again before we start, then. Gonna need Dragon's Blood, sage ain't enough after that nasty shit you just said. What you fussin about anyway, can't handle a big hard stick by yourself?"

The pole finally dropped into its appointed position, and Morgana let out a gasp that was part relief, part indignation. "As if!" she exclaimed, aiming a scandalized look at the elder priestess. "There's no stick in nature I can't handle with ease."

"That may be, but Dru tells me you up and lost your taste for every stick in mankind but one. Those trickster gods got deep in your business this Fools' Day, I hear. You ok to do May Queen after all that?" Dionne's deep reddish-brown eyes appraised the younger witch thoughtfully.

Morgana shrugged, blushing. "I'm fine. I promised Dru I'd fill in for her and do it, unless she got back on time from wherever she had to go," she said in a small voice, not meeting Dionne's discerning eye.

"Mm-hm," Dionne murmured, nodding as if confirming to herself a previously held suspicion. "Get on over to Costumes, then. You're done with setup, and they gonna need hours to clean you up right," she said, shaking her head pessimistically at the sweaty state of Morgana's red hair, sticking out from her scalp in wild tangles full of leaves and twigs.

"Yes ma'am!" Morgana said with a mock salute and a bright smile; Dionne was one of her most beloved mentors, and there wasn't much Morgana would not do cheerfully at a word from her.

***

It had been almost a month since Kenzo Futaba's life had changed forever; a mere few weeks. A new month was about to begin, and he was restless. He needed to see Morgana again; but she had left him no way to contact her.

Drusilla had approached him on the morning of April 3rd, just two days after Morgana had launched her surprise attack and conquered him; he was on his way to officially resign his position and renounce the priesthood. That would be easy to do apart from the nuisance paperwork involved, now that he finally acknowledged it had never been the right path for him. He already had a few leads on potential jobs with secular law firms, one or two of which were more interesting than anything he'd done with the Vatican.

It would be a lot more uncomfortable for him at dinner when he joined his adoptive parent, Cardinal Soria, to give him the news. He owed the man that much for raising him, he supposed; after that, he could sever all ties without a backward glance.

At least, that had been his plan before Drusilla intercepted him. She had caught him off-guard, lost in thought, addressing him unexpectedly in his native language.

"Futaba Kenzo-san," she began, stepping out from beneath the oak tree and offering a polite bow. "Hajimemashite! Namae wa Drusilla desu," she greeted him and introduced herself fluently, though with a slight accent from her native Creole-English.

"Drusilla-san, ohayo gozaimasu." He wished her good morning politely, measuring her with an assessing gaze. She was shorter than he, but not by much; that might make her about 5'9", a stunningly statuesque young woman with dusky brown skin and glorious dreads that hung well past her waist. And although Drusilla was almost Morgana's physical opposite, he knew intuitively that they were connected. It piqued his interest; he glanced at his watch, saw he was early, and asked if she cared to join him for coffee.

"Yoroshiku onegaishimasu," Drusilla accepted with another polite bow.

After they ordered and sat at a small table, Kenzo finally asked what he'd wondered from the moment she first spoke to him. "Do you have a message from Morgana for me?"

Drusilla blinked in surprise. "How did you guess that I know her?" she hedged, still a touch cautious despite everything Morgana had poured out to her in a tearful unburdening after the night of Fools that had unexpectedly reunited her with Kenzo.

He shrugged. "It wasn't difficult," he said, raising one dark eyebrow.

"Must be the family resemblance," she retorted sarcastically.

"No doubt," he agreed. "And somehow, I think you know there really is one. Blood doesn't always make a family."

"Well, amen to that!" she exclaimed with an infectious laugh, then quickly grew serious and leaned toward him, lowering her voice. "Listen, I know what you're about to do; quit the Church, quit your job, and walk away from all of it. I also know why. I'm here to ask you to change your mind on that for now."

Kenzo was glad of the reprieve when the barista called his name at that moment and he went up to get their coffee. This was unexpected as well as unwelcome. He always hated changing his plans once he decided on a course of action, and he was especially impatient to get on with the rest of his life after all the years of mistakes and wrong turnings.

"I trust you have very good reasons for such a strange, personal request," he said, handing her the latte she'd ordered and retaking his seat.

"Oh, I do," she agreed. "I know it seems rude and invasive; for that I apologize. I should also let you know that Morgana knows nothing about this; I haven't told her what I know about your plans or that you might be looking for her soon."

He wondered how Drusilla was privy to all this information, especially if she had not discovered it to share with Morgana - but decided to let that pass for the moment. "Aren't you betraying her wishes by asking me to stay in the Church she hates so much?" he asked instead.

"She might see it that way at first, but she would definitely hear me out before leaping to conclusions about betrayal," Drusilla replied, letting a rim of frost cling to the edges of her tone.

Kenzo narrowed his eyes at her and considered this for a tense moment. "I'll do the same, then," he finally agreed.

"Thank you." With that, Drusilla wove a quick spell into the airwaves to make their conversation impossible to understand for casual eavesdroppers. "We want you to be a double-agent," she began, holding up a hand to cut off his instinctive refusal. "I already know how much you don't wanna do it. I know you despise everything you were up 'til Morgana made you see sense the other night, and we won't try to coerce you one way or another - we'll leave that to her," she winked here, making him blush.

"That said, it ain't every day a chance like this comes around; we've never infiltrated as far up our Enemy's ranks as you are right now. If you want to show remorse, try to heal some of the damage you done, this is the fastest, best way to do it. I'll even be your wingman with Morgana if you do. I can help you win her trust, and this would sure help prove you deserve it."

"Tell me what you have in mind," he hedged, leaning toward her across the table. "Starting with how soon you could arrange for me to see her again."

"Oh, start there, huh? She got you hooked already, I see!" Drusilla laughed, tossing her head back. "That's my girl, all right. Assuming you agree, and assuming you make a good-faith first effort to get us what we need, which will prove we can trust you, you can see her again in a few weeks. There's an important holiday starting the night of April 30th, ending about midnight May 1st, and she's a big part of it this year. She needs a partner, though, and it's gotta be a compatible one - it's our holy day celebrating everything Sex."

Kenzo nearly dropped his mug, doing a sharp double-take to be sure he'd heard correctly. "So it's true, witches have actual orgies out in the woods?" he demanded, torn between his training and his wild streak.

Drusilla shrugged, teasing him with a grin. "Maybe, maybe not," she said. "Now don't go back to your old bad habits and judge what you know nothing about yet. I said it that way on purpose, to scandalize your fake moral standard. Beltaine is about bringing new life into the world, by sexual or asexual reproduction. We celebrate the cycles and seasons, the seeds we plant now that will bring in a harvest to feed us through the winter. Metaphorical, obviously, since most of us ain't farmers; a huge proportion of pagan ceremony is about the physical world reflecting the inner world, teaching us how to live and thrive." She paused to take several appreciative sips of her latte, then continued:

"'Course my heritage revolves around different cycles and seasons to what we have up here, but adaptation comes natural to pagans of all backgrounds. Locally we have a nice network of eclectic pagans who like to mix it up for at least half the shared holy days every year, so we got Asatru with the Norse gods, Wiccans, Druids with the Celtic gods, some Hellenistic Greeks, all mixed in with the likes of me - Hoodoo with Kemetic reconstruction."

"Kemetic - focused on ancient Egyptian deities?" Kenzo asked, fascinated despite himself.

"You got it! That's right, old Egypt and Hoodoo for me. We got some Hindus, Native People shamans, even some Buddhists and a few Shinto runnin around too - together we make a crazy, mostly happy tribe. Beltaine is one of the old Celtic holy days; since that's Morgana's heritage, she's often a main part of the festivities."

"And if I'm not there to partner her, she'll have all that fun without me," he murmured, rueful of the jealous pangs he suffered at the very thought.

"Yes, she sure will," Drusilla confirmed with glee.

"You're as merciless as she is, I see," he retorted, smirking despite himself.

"Worse," Drusilla agreed promptly, her smile darkening with menace.

"Tell me what I must do to see her again, including the exact details of whatever this ceremony is. I saw Midsommar; I don't plan on being the main course at some bloodthirsty witchcraft festival," he warned, half-serious.

Drusilla scoffed, brushing that aside as fearmongering bullshit the Church made up to scare people with. "Ain't nobody interested in eating your skinny ass anyway," she joked. "Not literally, at least."

"Can't blame 'em there," Kenzo laughed, mortified but somehow reassured despite the years of repetitive warnings against demonic pagan religions.

So Drusilla leaned in with serious answers. There was another round of caffeine before their consultation was finally over and they parted ways, both pleased with the results, though neither yet fully trusted the other.

Their collaboration over the next few weeks would go far toward forming the foundation of a friendship; he managed to satisfy the Coven's first request for information within several days of this first meeting, winning him entry to the group ceremony that would be held on private land - basically a green light toward Morgana.

Drusilla met him a few more times during April to consult generally, and to go over the script for the ceremony together; he was very much looking forward to surprising Morgana, though it would be far less of a literal ambush than her initial approach to him had been.

***

The Beltaine Fires were officially lit at sunset on April 30th, Beltaine Eve. Talented firedancers dipped their hoops, staffs, poi, fans, and other props into one of the two sacred bonfires atop the hill, having already warmed up for the ceremony; it reminded Kenzo of the much tamer, quieter River Lantern Festival he had seen in Kyoto while on a trip to visit his estranged relatives. Already he could see so many parallels between pagan faiths and customs the world over, it was becoming a new fascination for him.

The dusk gradually lit up as the fire spinners visited the fires in turn, offering thanks and reverence before dipping their props into the flames, most immediately moving into a spin or experimental leap. The air was alive with light; flaming shapes leapt and spun in elaborate patterns all around the clearing dominated by the central bonfires.

When the sun had dipped completely below the horizon, the subtle drumbeat he'd been mostly unaware of at the edge of hearing began to swell, louder and more complex as more drummers joined each of the two circles around the central fires.

The atmosphere suddenly gained a dimension of mystery, the air thick with ancient secrets and sacred magic. People to whom Drusilla had just introduced him transformed in the firelight under the starry sky from friendly, everyday humans in whimsical costumes to fey, otherworldly creatures possessing natural grace and a somehow mischievous dignity.

Again, and not for the last time, he felt ripples of the festivals he had attended in Japan when trying to learn of his native culture. He had done this discreetly, despite his strict upbringing in the Church that had demanded he abandon his heritage.

Some of the fire-dancers here carried flaming fans, their movements reminding him of the fan-dancers in Japan whose silk and bamboo fans were emblazoned with the sigil of the Rising Sun. The roots of these neo-pagan practices were ancient and universal, stretching throughout the world; the Norse World Tree, Yggdrasil, came to mind as he gazed at a group of dancers honoring an ancient oak of enormous girth nearby.

He felt both drawn into the center of it and simultaneously apart from it all, observing every fascinating aspect of this tribal celebration. He shuddered to think what the Church would do to get this information, and worse, what they would do with it if that ever happened.

He was honored that Drusilla had invited - even demanded - that he take an active part in this important ceremony, despite some visceral fear left over from Hollywood movies and years of brainwashing, but he felt more nervous than he had anticipated when he'd pictured something simpler, smaller-scale and less majestic. There had to be close to 300 people here. He was used to delivering speeches or giving lectures, but performance art was something new to him. Drusilla assured him that was the point; real people in all their awkward sincerity and intuition, not a polished performance empty of meaning.

"Behold, the May Queen!" someone called in the distance. With this announcement, the drums rolled out a booming welcome for the resplendent goddess stepping forth into the light, dressed only in what seemed to be a seamless length of gold silk artfully draped and wrapped around her enticing curves, off one shoulder, open at one hip and nearly floor-length on the other side. Spirals of golden foil and copper wire sprouted from her back and shoulders in a magnificent corona, catching and reflecting a thousand points of light. Her glorious masses of dark red hair were piled atop her head in loops and coils, held in place somehow by garlands of fresh flowers and long grass. Her skin glittered in the dancing firelight, painted in gold, silver, and bronze spiral patterns.

Kenzo's mouth fell open; he barely heard the raucous cheering that was the crowd's boisterous welcome of the May Queen, his May Queen. On one level he barely even recognized Morgana, never having seen her clothed before except in dreams, though at the same time he could never have mistaken her for anyone else.

He was unconsciously convinced for this one magical moment of the divinity in the woman before him. Her beauty was otherworldly, her grace swanlike as she dipped, spun, leapt, and swayed in a dance around and between the two sacred fires in an infinity pattern. The golden fabric she wore fanned out, tracing its own dance through the air behind her. The drums which had started solemn and slow began to increase their tempo as she moved faster, seeming to forget everything but the light and sound that carried her around and around the sacred fires.

Her dance was halted when she finished her third lap by the intervention of a tall woman robed in green, who stepped into her path to offer the May Queen a ram's horn full of what looked like liquid gold. Morgana took it from the priestess with a slight bow, then held it up before the fire.

"To the ancestors, blood and bone!" she said in clear, ringing tones as she tipped the horn over the flame, letting some of the honey-gold liquid pour into it with a great hiss and puff of steam as everyone echoed her words with one great voice. "To the land, wood and field!" she pronounced as she moved around the fire and poured once again. The people spoke and the fire hissed; she moved to stand almost directly in Kenzo's line of sight, then lifted the ram's horn once more. "To the cycles of Sun and Earth, Masculine and Feminine, the May Queen and King of the Wildwood!" she proclaimed, and this time took a drink from the horn herself.

"But where is my lover? Where is my Green Man, my Wild King?" she called out to the rapt audience, almost pleading.

Kenzo had not expected to feel stage-fright at a rustic outdoor gathering of pagans who wanted to celebrate an ancient fire festival by lighting a couple of bonfires on a hilltop. When Drusilla urged him into this, he had pictured something much smaller and more informal. He felt his pulse skyrocket, realizing this was part of the script he had taken pains to learn over the past week; the Goddess of Light calling to the Green Man, her lover. That was his cue.

Fortunately, Drusilla was there to lead him forward when he could not force his feet to take the steps on their own toward the fire. She took his hand firmly, then led him to the fireside where the May Queen stood in all her solar glory.

"I bring him forth to you, Queen of the May," Drusilla announced to the circles, her voice projecting powerfully around the space. Kenzo noticed with unease that his appearance as the Green Man, the Horned God of the Forest, was eliciting gasps of appreciation and whistles as Drusilla brought him into the light for the first time. He hoped he would not somehow disappoint them all, but the nerves were distant now, a mere thread in the vibrant tapestry he was weaving himself into in these moments.

A priestess had woven a garland of oak leaves into the crown made of stag's antlers before Drusilla had placed it reverently on his head; it no longer felt silly or awkward resting there, but right; the soft green tunic he wore, the shimmering green and brown paint applied in ancient patterns to his skin - they had all joked about it together beforehand, which put him at ease; but it gained dignified significance in the glow his May-Queen cast.

He understood now that there was no substantive difference between the Church and these pagans when it came to ritual observances; the Church had its costumes and props too, only theirs were costly and extravagant. The difference lay in the people at the top; these pagans were no less reverent, no less serious in their faith; but they lacked the arrogance to put themselves above humor. They enjoyed jokes at their own expense, as too it seemed many of their gods did. The Church as an institution could never laugh at itself or its trappings; the best of their priests and their people always could, yes, but never the Institution.

Beware those who can suffer no laughter at their own expense, he remembered someone saying to him once, though not who it had been.

Morgana gasped, bringing him sharply back to the present moment. She was genuinely shocked to see her mortal enemy, her soul-mate and lover, standing before her as god of the Wildwood. He wore the sacred antler crown bedecked with oak leaves as if born to it, his broad shoulders and slim hips enticing in their forest pageantry, his gleaming skin painted in swirling patterns of green and brown, his eyes ringed with kohl that enhanced their perfections. He looked regal, yet untamed - Herne the Hunter, Lord of the Forest, come to breathtaking life. The essence of all that was wild and free. She did not believe her eyes, but no matter how many times she blinked, they continued telling her the same impossible thing.

"Kenzo?" she almost squeaked, and he couldn't help but grin at her discomfiture, unaware of how this lit up his own dark, masculine beauty in a dazzling contrast with her feminine glory. There were many appreciative sighs, wolf-whistles, and catcalls from the crowd over both of them, but Kenzo was deaf to them all. Drusilla had been right - this was worth it.

"Not tonight, Queen of the May," Drusilla replied firmly, drawing Morgana's attention by speaking familiar words of the ceremony while lending them new weight and meaning. "Whoever he may be in the mundane realms, here and now he is your mate. The marriage of your light and his depth are our hope for the coming year, for a bountiful harvest and a kind winter." Drusilla, as acting priestess, joined their hands; he lifted hers to his lips and kissed it.

Morgana's eyes sparkled in a way that promised violence on them both later for surprising her like this mid-ceremony, but also glowed with pleasure and welcome that warmed him to his core. He had not been certain of her reaction, since Drusilla refused to give him Morgana's contact information on principle.

"You gotta ask a woman for that directly," she had pronounced. "But what I will do is let her know I touched base with you about the situation we discussed - which will prob'ly make her mad as hell, by the way, me goin behind her back to ask you to put yourself in a dangerous spot - and as a sweetener I'll add that I invited you to the Beltaine ceremony. So she'll be sort of expecting to see you, but shocked when she does."

"Shock can be good, or very very bad," Kenzo muttered, but his fiendish grin had told Drusilla the true story of his thoughts. The idea of giving Morgana a severe shock was not unpleasant to him in the least. He rather felt she had it coming, and was looking forward to delivering it.

The anticipation had paid off in full; given the way they had left things between them, he had not expected her to be either warm or welcoming, yet she was both. He wondered how much it had to do with the ceremony, the spirit of the holiday itself - and how much it had to do with their strange, beautiful, fraught relationship.

The Druid Priestess - Morgana's mother, Melissa - stepped forth to address the crowd.

"Welcome, all, to this ceremony of Beltaine," she said in a voice very like Morgana's at a lower pitch, and though she spoke softly, Drusilla's magic with sound waves enhanced her voice throughout the space. "We gather to celebrate the union of opposites in divine partnership: Earth and Sky, masculine and feminine, life and death and rebirth - all wrapped in the mystery of Love. The bee's love for the flower drives it to seek the sweet nectar hidden in the delicate center, as the flower's love for the bee leads it to unfurl its soft petals in welcome; each surrenders to the other, giving something up and gaining something new. And in their union lies all the power of the life-force of the earth.

"Our beautiful May Queen represents the joyous riot of passion in everything that lives; she is the power of Creation within us all, the drive to connect, to nurture, to blossom. She is our inspiration and our rest. She is the sensuality of skin upon skin. She teaches the inexpressible treasure of every woman's Yoni; for the vulva is the portal to life itself and the gateway to ecstatic pleasure."

High Priestess Dionne stepped up beside Kenzo and spoke in turn. "Our virile King of the Wildwood shows us the surging power of desire in all life on earth; he is the relentless strength of life and growth in everything around and within us, the burning need to protect, to cherish, to discover. He is our energy, our vigor. His is the gentle hand that moves upon the body of the Goddess; he teaches that the true power of his sacred Phallus is to protect and strengthen, not to destroy or abuse."

Kenzo felt himself blush scarlet; nothing in his culture or upbringing could have prepared him to hear such open and positive words embracing actual sex organs in a religious ceremony. Actually, he thought, reconsidering, there was the Shinto penis festival Kanamara Matsuri, celebrated during the first weekend of April in Japan; but the Cardinal would have burst a few blood vessels just hearing about that as a concept. How refreshing, not to feel obligated to be ashamed of the human body, but to embrace it unconditionally instead!

High Priestess Dionne continued: "Sexuality is sacred, not as a taboo, but as a unique treasure we each receive and use a little differently; its power is vast, though largely hidden - much like the clitoris, lying coiled around the female pelvis with thousands upon thousands of nerve endings awaiting the stimulation that brings them to full bloom with exquisite pleasure. If you believe in a creator, these dual gifts within the female human body tell you how much honor that being has bestowed upon womanhood. The power of Creation in our wombs, and the only human organ created exclusively for pleasure."

High Priestess Melissa spoke again: "Yet with any great gift comes the potential for equally great evil. Sex can create, but it can also destroy. Gossip about it fascinates even the shallowest mind, for it is the union of opposites, the alchemy of conflict and desire. It teaches the secrets of this Universe; the eternal dance of opposite partners stretching a delicate balanced tension between them where growth and transformation is possible."

Kenzo was rapt, absorbing all that was said; he'd been raised to expect unspeakable evil and horror from heathens and pagans, as if they were monsters of reeking sin that were a source of spiritual filth and contagion to god-fearers. He had never imagined their ceremonies would be as stately and dignified as any held in a cathedral, never mind that they'd hold lessons for him, and deep wisdom. He was embarrassed that he had been arrogant enough to think he had nothing important left to learn.

The two High Priestesses (who had in fact been a couple for nearly two decades), came together at Center Stage, eclipsing and separating the May Queen from her Forest Lord for the moment. They clasped each other's right forearms, and then Morgana spoke her next line.

"Wise Priestesses, tell us - who are the partners you speak of in the natural world that surrounds us, from whom we may learn this great truth?"

The priestesses arched back in unison as the drums rolled, then receded a little, setting the duo a stately rhythm. The priestesses' right arms stayed clasped as their bodies stretched, trusting each other to provide a counterbalance as they performed the slow, graceful steps of their dance.

"Day!" cried Dionne.

"Night!" echoed Melissa.

"Summer!"

"Winter!"

"Fire!"

"Water!"

"Air!"

"Earth!"

Dionne straightened, then spoke once more: "Life!"

Melissa echoed her movements, then called out, "Death!"

Hands still clasped, they spoke in unison: "The essence of life: it is Love!"

Then Melissa: "And the way of Love winds through vistas of unmatchable beauty and deep intimacy," followed by Dionne: "but also through bleak hellscapes of despair and betrayal."

Dionne stretched out her left hand toward Kenzo, who took it and knelt, while Morgana did the same with her mother.

Dionne spoke again: "The dance is like the seasons, like the days and nights of our lives; always the same, but always different. The pattern holds true, to best display each cycle's unique details to perfection. Every year, the May Queen weds the Green Man, and their union brings forth the harvest."

As she said this, Melissa joined Morgana's left hand to Kenzo's right, guiding them to entwine their forearms and interlace their fingers. So simple, holding hands; but Morgana's pulse skyrocketed. Dionne approached and wrapped a blooming honeysuckle vine around their joined limbs, binding them together.

"May Queen; Wildwood King; show us your dance now, through this sacred Summer, and deliver unto us the blessings of your particular harvest."

With these words, the Priestesses released the young couple, who turned as one in a circle to greet the audience. The crowd went wild with uproarious approval, making them blush; and for the rest of his life Kenzo would swear that something possessed him at this moment - probably the spirit of the Wildwood itself, which Morgana would tartly retort was very convenient - to snatch his stunning sun goddess close, then lean her so far back she squeaked. Morgana had no time to do anything but blink before he leaned in, claiming her lips for a deep kiss that made the air sizzle around them.

It was their first real kiss; she had purposely avoided kissing his mouth last time, for reasons murky even to herself (though they might or might not have included vague pre-adolescent memories of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, which was her grandmother's favorite movie). Morgana could not believe their first kiss had happened in front of 300 lusty pagans, but she had no time to decide how she felt about it. The crowd went wild; they loved it.

"Away with you both!" Dionne called, laughing.

"Into your forest bower for the honeymoon!" Melissa added with a wink, waving them away. Morgana's face burned, but she had no chance to reflect on her embarrassment even yet; Kenzo was leading her away from the fires, their hands still joined, though the honeysuckle wrapped around their forearms had loosened and was trailing a little.

They heard Melissa's voice over the raucous crowd once more: "Take the example set by the May Queen and her Green Man - away with you all, to make merry however the spirit of life moves you. Pair off, stay in groups, or wander solo - the one requirement is that you do whatever brings you most joy and fulfillment in this sacred moment."

"I know we sure will," Dionne said with a smoldering wink at Melissa, who laughed and kissed her soundly. There were more rounds of cheering and catcalls as the elder priestesses left with their arms around each other, to find their own private forest bower.

Kenzo had reconnoitered earlier and knew exactly where he wanted to bring his May Queen. Solar lanterns were planted along myriad pathways and hung from branches, so there was a dim glow throughout this part of the woods. His cock had not been this hard since the last time he had seen Morgana, but this time he could do something proactive about it.

"Do you actually know where we're going?" Morgana said, her voice strangely hesitant. Kenzo looked down at her and smiled enigmatically, then pulled her a little more urgently toward the river. "I'll take that as a 'yes,'" she murmured, a smile tugging at her lips.

They soon came in view of an enormous weeping willow beside the water, its long green fronds a dense canopy that provided at least a little privacy. It was a huge slouched shape in the dark, but strands of faerie lights lit up the lower fronds with a soft glow and lanterns hung from some of its outer branches, a few of them reflecting on the water.

Kenzo took down one of the lowest-hanging lanterns and opened the canopy to usher Morgana inside. She gasped when she saw on the mossy ground where the willow's roots twined in complex patterns a purple quilt, with three heaped cushions at one corner.

"This looks taken," she said, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

"It is," he told her, setting the lantern down on the ground near the great willow's gnarled trunk. "I staked my claim while you were getting painted earlier."

"So you - you really want to be here with me," she said, stumbling over her words and blushing like fire.

"Do you have a fever or something?" he demanded, then took her hand and placed it directly on the rock-hard protrusion of his cock through his tunic and pants. "Any other dumb questions, your Highness, or can we perform our royal duty now?"

She gasped, then laughed a little breathlessly. "It's not a dumb question, Kenzo, considering the circum -"

He wasn't going to listen to this; he took the back of her head in one hand, brushing her hair and some stray leaves away from her face with the other, and stopped her foolish words with his mouth on hers. She melted at once, her lips opening to receive his plundering tongue, meeting it with hers.

She made a small sound of awakening pleasure in the back of her throat, then put her arms around his neck and rose on tiptoe, greedy for more. He came up for air a minute later, and she nipped gently at his bottom lip with her teeth. He laughed, then pushed the gold cloth of her dress off the one shoulder it covered, exposing her breasts to the caress of the light breeze, which peaked her nipples instantly.

His eyes darkened with hunger, and he no longer felt like laughing. He buried his face in her soft flesh, tracing the areolae with his tongue one at a time, flicking her nipples with his fingers and making her gasp with delight. He grazed one nipple with his teeth, watching her arch her back and hearing her whimper with a predatory smile, fondling her other breast with the hand that was not supporting her as her legs went weak beneath her.

One of the spiraling copper wires in her costume stabbed his arm, reminding him of its existence, which he cursed in that moment, however glorious it had rendered her performance.

"Sorry, but if you don't have a fast way of getting out of this costume, whoever's up next year will have to make one from scratch," he warned.

Morgana laughed. "Rude!" she exclaimed, then pushed the gold fabric further below her breasts to reveal a kind of corset that closed in the front with hooks. "I worked very hard on this, and so did Dionne and Melissa and Dru -,"

"I don't want a comprehensive list of Costume Department members right now," Kenzo protested, then deftly unhooked the whole contraption with one movement, letting it fall with the cloth of gold in a shining heap on the forest floor. Her pale body gleamed in the dim light even where it had not been painted, and he drank in the sight greedily.

"Fine, but I'm not gonna be naked alone," Morgana retorted, snatching his pants down and nearly tripping him. They both laughed, feeling a little drunk despite having only a little ceremonial mead to blame for it.

She rose, and her face became solemn as she looked at the antler crown. "The crown of the Forest Lord is not so easily replaced," she said softly; he took the hint and dropped to one knee so she could lift it from his head and place it reverently with her golden costume, while he lifted the tunic over his head and tossed it to one side.

Her pubis, lightly coated with deep red hair, was at eye level. He did not hesitate, but grasped her by both hips and pulled her toward him, licking the tender flesh of her mons, then blowing on it lightly, making her gasp and break out in goosebumps. Her hips bucked a little, so he took generous handfuls of her buttocks and buried his face between her legs. He nosed her lips open, then took the tight, swollen bud of her pleasure in his mouth, gentle but firm as he tasted her most intimate flesh for the first time.

"Oh!" she cried out, throwing her head back as her hands instinctively pressed his head even closer. "Oh, gods, I can't stand up," she gasped a few delicious moments later, her legs shaking.

She fumbled behind her and was relieved to find a sturdy, low-hanging branch of the hospitable Willow there to brace herself against. The rough bark felt exquisite against the sensitized skin of her shoulders and back; she draped her arms across it to use it as leverage, lifting both legs over Kenzo's shoulders and making little mewls of pleasure while he continued to plunder the treasures of her Yoni with his mouth and occasionally his fingers.

Finally, Kenzo emerged from her center long enough to lift her off the accommodating branch and deposit her gently face-up on the quilt, placing one of the cushions beneath her hips to give him the best angle. "What, more?" she demanded, incredulous, as he bent to taste her again.

He gave her a predatory smile. "We've hardly started, believe me. I've been dreaming of this since you had me bound and gagged in my own living room. You can't stop me this time," he warned, and plunged back in to assault her innermost defenses.

She might have been a little afraid if she remained capable of rational thought any longer, but his talented mouth and hands gave her no respite. She tried to stay demure and quiet, but soon even that remnant of modesty was consumed in the fire of their passion; she shrieked his name with a string of hair-raising curses in the throes of her pleasure, quivering helplessly under his touch like the taut strings of a cello played by a virtuoso.

"The whole forest just heard you cuss me out," he said as he finally emerged from between her legs and collapsed beside her on a cushion. She put out a shaky hand and made a weak show of hitting him with it.

"Don't gloat, it's rude," she moaned, still trembling.

"Oh?" he retorted. "You're still bossy, apparently, so my work here isn't done," he declared, bracing himself on one elbow beside her while his other hand went back to work between her thighs. She made weak protests, then screamed almost immediately as yet another orgasm ripped through her nerve endings with catastrophic pleasure.

"Stop, it's your turn," she mewled, pulling him close to bite his neck and nibble his ear.

"I told you, you're not in charge this time," he retorted. He kissed her deeply as he fondled her breasts, letting her taste her own arousal on his lips and tongue, then opened her legs yet again and brought his head back down to taste her once more.

"Oh no, not again, dear gods, what the FUUUCK!" Morgana was nigh incoherent with pleasure, so much she started crying.

He came up for air again when she had fallen quiet for a few moments, and was shocked almost senseless to see her silently sobbing, tears streaking the glittering paint on her face. "Mo - Mo - what's wrong?" he stammered, panicking.

"N-n-nothing," she sobbed weakly. "Did you just call me 'Momo'? Never mind, I don't care right now. Nothing is wrong, and everything's right," she clarified after a moment, seeing the worry on his face. "I've just never... I just can't. It's so good I can't."

This was as close to nonsense as he'd yet heard from her, but it made him relax, and maybe gloat privately, just a little. "Never?"

"Not like that," she said vehemently, hiccupping now instead of sobbing. "And stop, I hate it when you gloat!"

"You can't possibly see or hear whether I'm gloating or not," he protested.

"I can feel it, though!"

"Is that one of your witchy powers you didn't tell me about?"

"Yes, it's called women's intuition. It tells us when a man is getting too full of himself, like an early warning system."

"How convenient," he murmured, letting a gloating smile spread over his face.

"And now I can see it!" With that, she made a scrambling attempt to sit up, but he prevented her with one hand on her forehead.

"I guess I'll have to make you forget about it, then," he said with delightful menace, and bent to seduce her with his lips and tongue along her collarbone, up one side of her neck, stopping at her ear to bite it gently. She moaned, her body thrumming with ripples of pleasure once more. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Is there something you want?" he murmured against her ear, making her shiver.

"You know there is," she whispered.

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do, but you're such an asshole you're gonna make me ask, aren't you?" she complained, one hand fisted in his long black hair while the other tweaked his nipple.

He hissed, then laughed. "Damn right I am," he said unrepentantly.

"Fine. Then please," she infused her voice with pleading notes, widening her eyes. "Please fuck me, Kenzo Futaba."

The smile fell away from his face, replaced with urgent need. He propped himself on one elbow above her, tracing her face with his other hand, then lifting her head a little so he could spread her hair out on the quilt like a corona of fire with flowers still tangled in its luxuriant tresses.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," he whispered, then wrapped his arms around her, careful to support most of his own weight as he thrust his full length into her dripping-wet pussy again and again as she clung to him, her slender limbs wrapped around him, tidal waves of pleasure cresting ever-higher until at last, he was consumed in a flood of annihilating ecstasy.

Once it was over, he groaned and rolled onto his back beside her. She immediately scooted over and pulled his arm out of the way so she could nestle her head on his shoulder, her body pressed against his, her leg and arm twined around him. He pulled her in even closer, unaware that he was smiling in contented euphoria.

It was not long before the May Queen slept in the arms of her Forest Lord, both of them sated with pleasure and glowing.

"Rest, young ones," the Willow dryad whispered, covering them gently with the long end of the quilt. "You've done very well," she assured them, brushing their faces gently with her long, slender green fronds.