The Hunter's Trap

If you read part 1, thanks and welcome back. If you haven't read part 1, you don't have to but I'd recommend it. As with the last time, this isn't the best story for a quick wank. A chunk of the story isn't that sexual and serves to build up the world or the characters. I give a lot of focus to romance and a healthy exploration of fetishes. If that's not your bag, I get it – no shame! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it – no more, no less, exactly as much!

Fetishes inside: Heavy teasing, denial, edging, and orgasm control; heavy male-on-male gay sex; heavy romance; heavy seduction; heavy consent and negotiation; heavy power games; ass and dicks; masturbation; oral sex; power games; domination and submission; pet play; twink bottoms and masculine tops; light bondage; light anal;

Enjoy!

~SubsNotDubs (SND)

*****

"Fuck me! Fuck me!" Tawn whispered in between quieted moans. He writhed his hips up against his satin sheets and ran a hand through his hair. His back arched in pleasure as he bounced h nearly bounced himself up and down the cock inside him.

His smooth cock slapped against his belly as his legs bunched together, muscles tightening. He was edging so close, feeling the orgasm sitting an inch away from him. His free hand drifted towards his cock, hovering near it. The intense pleasure made him simultaneously want to rub it, feel it, give it the small amount of attention it needed to explode and to hold back and let the moment go longer. He pulled his hands back, feeling around his hips instead, letting his cock and body sit stiffly at the edge of orgasm.

"Dennuuk!" He whispered, feeling himself so close that it hurt. Again, he wanted to stroke himself until he exploded but he relented, clutching his hip with one hand and running the other through his hair instead. He held on tight, feeling the hands on his body as the cock inside him pushed and pushed in a steady and deep rhythm. Each push got him closer and closer to plunging over the edge. At a point it tested his patience, feeling so close that his whole body was shaking and he wanted to change up the rhythm just to force himself over the edge. Thrust after thrust he felt himself stay right at the edge but he knew that just a few thrusts more and then...

"Ah please, Dennuuk..." Finally, the pleasure peaked past the edge and into the rush of a climax. All of the erotic pressure just barely held back finally burst out in a wave of electric energy that made him tighten his legs and rock his upper body in heavy undulations. A shot of his own cum leaped up and landed on his bare chest.

He sighed contentedly and sat still a moment before pulling the fake cock out of his ass. It was a nice piece of glass-work that he'd gotten in Ura and something he rarely used – until recently. It had only been a a bit over two weeks since his fateful encounter with Dennuuk but it had awakened a side of him he'd tried to keep sleeping. Every time he'd masturbated he'd felt a deep urge to fuck himself and each time he fucked himself he went over that last encounter, running over all the small touches and the little flirtations. Those moments, those small touches, felt as arousing and meaningful as the fingers pressing the stress of a rough day out of every pore on the back of his body.

More than anything, he ran over the teasing and the control Dennuuk had over him. The heavy flirtations and the explosive orgasm got him hot but they were a candle to an open flame when compared to the teasing and the control. Something about the way Dennuuk controlled him – no – the way he gave control over to Dennuuk drove him wild. He loved the way Dennuuk wrapped him around a finger and dictated everything right down to when he was allowed to cum. He loved how Dennuuk rewarded him when he did well and he was curious what Dennuuk would do if he disobeyed.

What could Dennuuk do with that large, muscular body of his? He could feel Dennuuk grabbing both his wrists in one firm hand and lifting him up like the rope had lifted him. He could feel that other hand have full reign over the rest of his body and the erotic tension that would come from such a deep unknowing and lack of control. Like he was there, living inside a memory, he could feel Dennuuk's massive cock press up against his ass. Then the memory drifted into fantasy as he felt it enter him and push him open again and again as that hand ran over his body, pushing into his mouth and lubricating with his saliva before mercilessly twisting his nipples.

He was rock hard again after having just gotten off all over himself.

This is too much. I'm losing good daylight over these fantasies.

Those fantasies of control played out all during the weeks that had passed since he'd seen Dennuuk. Even though Dennuuk was surprisingly respectful to Tawn and to boundaries in general, Tawn thought a lot about the man dominating him. Normally Tawn would've been relentlessly bothered by such fantasies – and he was still decently bothered - yet the fantasies that bothered him more were the deeper, romantic ones.

Sometimes he would sit over the thread and needle and dream of the strangest things. He'd dream of talking with Dennuuk; he'd dream of walking through the woods together; he'd dream of holding hands; he'd dream of falling asleep inside Dennuuk's arms. It was hard to reckon with. It would have been hard even without the shame and the frustration at himself for loving men in general because it was always hard to reckon with heavy romantic feelings.

For Tawn, most of them came with bad memories. The last few times he felt that nervous warmth and that magnetic draw to someone it was different men in the town and it was terribly awkward and impossible to express. Sometimes these were men with wives and families. He had to spend months or even a full year stomaching it every time it came. He wondered if Dennuuk wouldn't be like this; if Dennuuk wouldn't find a woman; if Dennuuk wouldn't disappear to somewhere; if this gruff but downright sweet man wasn't what seemed.

What if he's already forgotten about me?

Pain and pleasure rolled over Tawn like the wind and sun of autumn, like cold and warmth. He tried processing it while cleaning himself off and getting dressed again. When he was done he was still a little aroused, still warm in his chest and his groin.

Once he was alright with being seen by the sun and anyone walking underneath it, he went over and pulled the curtains away from the modest window in his bedroom. The sun was much further down than he wanted it to be, meaning he'd spent way too long in his fantasy.

Shit.

He still had two big projects to finish before the morning and he was only half-done with either. This was exactly the youthful irresponsibility that his parents tried to leverage against him to take the shop from him. If either of them were actually tailors and had a plan for the shop beyond selling it than they probably would've got some traction. He couldn't afford to miss these deadlines and put out any sign that he was slipping up. Thus far he'd managed well even in the face of rising demand from the growing village.

It would take his whole day but he'd need to work on these until they were done. There was no other option.

One of the projects was for Meila Mita, as close to a stuck-up noblewoman as the town had. Ms. Mita wanted a fine formal gown of classic ryoberry red and a thin shawl inlaid with false gold. The other was for Treeheart Touissa, one of the main Ancient Earth priestesses. Touissa wanted a unique item most of the higher priests, shamans, and clerics went to the cities to get: the leung sleeve. It wasn't named for its length, it was named for the resemblance it had to the legendary leungs – creatures like giant serpents that could fly through the skies, perform magic of all sorts, and even speak the tongues of the world.

The leung sleeve usually wasn't trusted to small town tailors because it wasn't easy to make. The fabric and design itself seemed tough but not unreasonable. It was a covering worn over the other clothing that had two sleeves covering each arm and a thin fabric line connecting them that covered the shoulders. It could also go longer on the back to form a small cape.

Making the garment look just right was tricky as it had a very specific style to it. It couldn't be too baggy or too tight and the ends had to threaten to overwhelm the cuffs but never truly bubble past them. Both sides needed to be perfectly balanced and the fabric needed to be measured and cut just right all the way to down to the exact spots it was supposed to descend to on the chest and the back. That would still be doable enough for Tawn and to tailors in a handful of towns.

What made the leung sleeve truly difficult was the enchanting it required. Any good leung sleeve had an actual leung that flew from arm to arm, across the shoulders. On top of that, the leung had to be decked out in the colors and with the symbols of whatever the preferred deity was. In this case, Touissa had requested the small cape which also meant that she'd certainly want a rotating cloud design over mountain peaks – a classic Ancient Earth symbol.

Tawn had already done the easy part of the job in form of the stitching, sewing, and dying of the sleeve. The enchantment was left and would take serious concentration from him.

He had a tough decision to make in which project to prioritize. He knew that Touissa's was the harder project and in truth the more engaging one. It was the one his heart wanted to prioritize not only because he'd been excited to try his hand at more complex enchanting but because Touissa was one of his favorite people in Mital.

She'd come up from the Southeast to help the town on request of the priesthood decades ago. The priesthood needed her help to lift a strange curse in the surrounding woods that was preventing fruit from growing and driving animals away. By the time she was finished with the task, she felt so acclimated that she chose to stay.

Tawn had known her since he was a boy just like he'd known old creeks that still ran clean water and old trees that still bore fruit. Though she was a small woman – as most partial Alofolk were – there was something large and indomitable about her. She didn't speak up often but when she did she always seemed to say the right words with the right confidence. He'd had a tremendous respect for her. In a lot of ways, he wished he was more like her.

Ms. Mita, on the other hand, was pretty awful. Terribly smug and terribly rude, she didn't treat any tradesman with real respect. Not to mention, Tawn's grandmother had started a feud a while back after banning her from the shop when she refused to pay for an order due to a small delay. That old conflict carried down to Tawn, with the woman seemingly trying to lure him out with passive-aggressive jabs at his grandmother.

As much as he wanted to prioritize Touissa's order, he had to admit it wasn't practical. Touissa and he had always been on good terms and knew each other as friends. Touissa had even taught him a lot of the enchanting he knew. She'd forgive him for most mistakes he would make and might not mind him pushing a project back a day or two. If he got on Mita's bad side she was likely to spend her whole unoccupied day badmouthing him and his shop. He'd just managed to get it off the ground and at minimum that would be another worry on his already weary shoulders.

In the end, he fell more to practicality but tried to follow a middle line. He would finish Ms. Mita's gown no matter what and he'd focus on making it perfect first and foremost. After that, he would alternate time on the shawl and the sleeve so that if he had to delay either it would only be by a few hours at most.

He'd truly underestimated the time it would take to finish even the gown and ended up working through the entire night. By the time he got to the shawl and the sleeve, it was becoming hard to stay fully focused and his hands felt as dull and numb as his brain. He had to cut well into his stash of freshleaf to stay up. Freshleaf's sharp, minty flavor always woke him up. Toissa told him it was more than just the mint that did it but he didn't commit much to understanding roots and herbs or why they did what they did.

More pressing on his mind was Dennuuk and the overwhelming sense of lust and romance that had colored his days and taken his mind away from work. He'd just started managing his time right and getting good at doing quick work without cutting corners. The only reason he was able to make that trip out for berries was that he'd finally been able to clear space for it. Now he was doing everything a bit slower, getting distracted, and even falling into holes of lust and losing hours of his day. He needed to find a way to put a stop to this.

Wouldn't it be nice if it didn't have to stop?

He shook the thought from his head, his messy and long hair ruffling around him.

This could be another thing I have.

He sighed. The thought punched through his mind like his needle punched through the shawl. He pulled his hands back and saw them shaking in front of him. Not all of it was from the freshleaf. He took a deep breath and let a big yawn crack his mouth wide open. The sun was already coming up and he didn't have time to sleep if he wanted to do this right. Still, he didn't think he could finish the inlaid pattern until his hands stopped shaking.

Instead, he turned to the enchanting. Enchanting didn't take as much dexterous precision as it did concentration. He was lacking the former and full of the latter and hoped they might counterbalance. Plus, there was a chance he could bring his mind in line where he couldn't get his hands to cooperate.

He smoothed out the sleeve and focused on the basic patterns that he had already dyed into the fabric. It was a matter of making the colors swim through the fabric on a set path by concentrating and feeling at a visualization. He would transfer the general motion lines of the leung from his mind onto the fabric by using the Neiisami needle – a family heirloom.

A sacred object helped the normal folk of the land work any sort of common magic. If you believed what most of the learned folk said, common magic ran in some amount through everyone and a sacred object helped to hone it. A sacred object could be sacred through a deity, through powerful materials, or through personal histories. The Neiisami needle was sacred in part because it had deep personal histories inside it, carried down a long thread of Neiisamis before him, and in part because it was made of star silver, a rare metal made from the moments where the stars fell to Alo.

Enchanting wasn't all ritual and concentration. A lot of basic enchantments were hardly anything but pure craft. This enchantment was complex because the movements of the leung would be complex and go over a lot of the fabric. If it were a simple movement or illusion then he'd simply etch an enchantment into the inner fabric and the leung would move to that enchantment like it were a track. The concentration and transferring of feelings that would take would be little compared to the pure work and craft of the matter. Since this enchantment required more dynamic motion the actual enchanting patterns weaved into the interior were simpler but transferring the motion with concentration and feeling was more complex. The patterns told the color to keep moving but the actual movement he had to dictate and carefully draw from a vision inside his mind.

It took him much longer than he thought it would because his concentration would break and he would have to stop and refocus. In the quiet morning noise, his mind regularly wandered off to thoughts of sleeping in. He was dreaming of yawning and stretching awake on Dennuuk's comfortable bed of pelts in the middle of the forest where not even the slightest sound of bustling people could be heard. He was dreaming of waking up with the chirping of the birds, pulling up closer to his lover, nuzzling deep inside his arms, and falling back into a short rest. Each time he fell into the dream it became a little harder to pull himself out of it.

Worst of all, sometimes he fell into those romantic feelings while enchanting and it pushed into the pattern of the fabric and the movement of the leung. It made him have to concentrate on undoing the enchanting and redoing it. All of this thought reminded him that he hadn't dated a woman for seven years. It really had been a long spell of a unique kind of loneliness. It was like he'd forgotten about it - like he'd patched over all the longing with work and friendships. Now it was all coming home to roost.

It was terrifying. He hated it. He just wanted to work – work until he dropped dead. His hands were shaking even harder now and the deadline was just an hour away. There was no way that he could finish Ms. Mita's shawl without doing a shoddy job. He would have to make her wait a few hours until he could calm himself and maybe get a nap in. He could still power through Touissa's sleeve as that wasn't far from done.

Somehow, someway he managed to pry his eyes open and put most of his mind on enchanting. Cradling the little needle carefully in his hand, he poured himself and his feeling into it and carried the leung down the last sleeve.

It was at times like this where the needle helped a great deal. It was rare that he ever used the Neiisami needle, keeping it safely stowed in a fine marble box with the family name carved on top. When he did, it felt remarkable. Physically, very little changed but something about it smoothed his mind and made every piece of fabric a few deft movements away from something fully and beautifully made. His mother said it came from the stories that Elira told him but he didn't believe her. When he held that needle there were times where he could see his ancestors pulling threads together as though it were his own memory and he was sure that was magic – profound magic.

This time around the memories didn't come right away. Each time they formed, his fatigue or distraction made them fall away. Once he established a rhythm he felt the hands of his ancestors weave into his own and his long, lithe fingers knit the magical pattern into the fabric. He felt a memory form of a small town surrounded by a thick forest and a wide night sky full of shimmering stars. Inside all of it there were two full-blooded Alofolk gleaming in the night, watching as stars trickled down from the heavens like silver tears. Two shimmering hands reached out in unison and melded together.

Tawn's hands moved in smooth and slow glides like they were reaching out for something, touching softly and dancing gently. He'd fallen into the motion and didn't have a fully conscious idea of what has happening yet he trusted himself. The feeling was strong, the visualization of the leung still dancing in his mind as much as the stars were. The last part of the job was to close the loop by uniting the last motion of the leung into the first and Tawn bled the last into the first like the stars bled into the earth or the hands bled into one another.

The clouds, the mountains, and all other things were finished. He even had a few blinks left before anyone should arrive. With slow steps, he brought the sleeve and gown out from the workroom and into the cluttered storefront. He placed them carefully on the counter before opening the door and flipping the sign on the front to read "Ready."

Once he got back behind the counter he leaned his tired body against an open wall and took in the bustling noise of a town now nearing noon. The soft bustle of the town matched the dark brown oak interior of his little shop. The front end was small and cluttered with two big shelves full of swatches of material for people to feel and even some small bowls of dye. He had some sample materials on the walls that showed off the enchanting and tailoring he could do. They could, of course, be purchased. He was proud of how he'd managed to set it up. It made it clear enough what he could do. There was so much he was proud of, and yet...