Archive of Our Own ^beta

Samot hummed, running his hands down Samothes's sun-warmed chest. Samothes was bare, spread out on the bed below him.

“You are a miracle,” said Samothes.

He looked up at Samot, his eyes as wide and wondering as they had been when they had first been married. Such a long time ago, worlds away from where they lay together now. Samot felt every minute of it in his body, the ache of it fighting with his growing arousal.

“I’m just a man, now,” said Samot. “We both are.”

“A man can be a miracle,” said Samothes. “You know that as well as I.”

Samot cupped Samothes’ cheek in his hand. Samothes let out a breath, but his eyes stayed open, fixed in Samot's. Samot understood the feeling - it was hard to fall asleep when you worried that what was in front of you might dissolve into dreams. It was reassuring, then, to see the signs that time had passed for Samothes since their time together in Hieron - the sight greying at his temples, the faint lines on his face. His mannerisms, too, had changed from time spent alone, as Samot’s had.

They had been slow to take one another to bed, after their reunion on the beach. At first Samot had been too injured and exhausted to spend enough time awake for the possibility. After that, there had been too much to discuss, too much of life to tell one another and mourn over together. The closest they had gotten in those first few months together had been the occasional afternoons where they had fallen asleep in Samothes’ sunroom, the warm air and the sound of the water reminding them both of long ago times.

Samot’s new body, too, made him feel… not shy, exactly, but unsure. It was a similar experience to his first time inhabiting a human form all those years ago, the limbs feeling unwieldy, as though they were getting as used to him as he was to having them. It was still a shock to look down while he was bathing and see a line of bright yellow dandelions or the thin leaves of a crocus sprouting from under his skin. He could feel them sometimes too, the roots uncurling and growing inside him, not overtaking him but becoming part of him, twisting around nerve endings and bone, feeling what he felt and creating new sensations of their own.

There was an ache to it too, bone deep and unwavering. Samothes tried to help where he could - the man’s love of inventions for the purpose of solving the smallest problem had not wavered with the years, it seemed - but Samot was doubtful that a cure could be found. He tried not to be too resentful.

“It kept me alive,” said Samot, “long enough to find my way back to you.”

Samothes frowned. Samot could almost see the parchments unrolling in his mind, the formulas half-sketched out and diagrams of healing machines. Samothes had only been at work on it for a few weeks and Samot already had enough canes and wheelchairs to open a market stall and enough heat-charmed braces and cloths that remained ice-cold in the sun to comfortably use as bedding.

He and Samot would lie down together and Samothes would massage everything from Samot's aching back to his stiff calves, his hands steady and warm. His fingers would brush against the petals that spouted from Samot’s body, the sensation of it sparking through Samot’s system, sometimes with pain but often with pleasure. Samothes kept a close eye on his reactions, again bringing Samot back to the early days of the courtship, where Samothes had - as he told Samot later in their marriage - been half sure that their nights together would end with his throat ripped out.

“And still you went to bed?” Samot had said, laughter colouring the words. “I had not thought that you were so lacking for partners.”

“It was not a lack,” Samothes had replied. “My desire for you simply outweighed my fear and good sense.”

Now it was Samot who feared that he might be split open, the thin wounds of the new spring opening wider as the plants of his body bloomed. That was more pain than pleasure, causing a frustrating delay in the proceedings on top of his other aches when it occured. Samothes would still stay with him on those nights, lying as close as Samot could bare - something next to him, sometimes on the long, curled couch by the window - waiting and watching, as steadfastly dedicated to Samot’s every whim as any follower Samot had ever had.

Still, there was something novel in being taken care of by his husband - it had been such a long time since either of them had been able to. No doubt in the future there would be times they would both chafe against it, but for now they had been apart too long for Samot to so easily cast such things aside. Samot covered Samothes’ hands with his, resting them on Samothes’ stomach. Samothes’ gaze dropped down, something flickering across his face too fast for Samot to catch.

“You are a miracle,” said Samothes again. “You always were. Doubly so, for you were never of my own making.”

He rubbed his thumb over the back fo Samot’s hand. Samot could feel leaves under the surface, pushing their way towards the opening on his forearm. Sometimes Samothes’ presence seemed to make them more active, though whether they were pulled forth by godly energy or simply Samot’s own moods he could not say. They left a warmth as they moved, as hot as blood.

He let go of Samothes’ hands, smoothing his palms up Samothes’ broad chest, rubbing his thumbs along Samothes’ neck before he bent his head to kiss Samothes. He could feel Samothes’ sharp intake of breath before their lips met, melting under Samot’s lips, letting Samot guide the force and motion of it. Samothes’ hands came to rest on Samot’s waist, slowly drifting down to cup Samot’s ass, encouraging him to move against him.

Samot could feel the ache build in himself, the roots under his skin flexing, curling. The sensation that shot through him this time was one of summer heat and arousal, the plants working in tandem with his own desires. He let his legs fall open, slotting Samothes’ leg between his and letting out a gasp at the sudden jolt of new sensation. Samothes let out a moan, muffled by Samot’s lips - Samot could feel him, slick against his leg.

He smirked. “Why husband, anyone would think I did not already have you once this morning.”

Samothes moaned again, his fingers digging into Samot’s skin. Samot shivered, grinding himself against Samothes before he leant back, his eyes following his hand down Samothes’ body, his touch growing lighter. Samothes squirmed, his back arching up as Samot ghosted a hand over him before lowering to run his fingertips along the damp skin of Samothes’ inner thighs. Samothes shuddered, his throat working as he swallowed. Samot ducked his head again, feeling as though his lips were drawn to the thin skin of Samothes’ throat. He held back on the impulse to draw blood but he was sure to leave bruises, each one drawing a moan from Samothes’ lips.

Samot felt the pulse of flowers blooming on his back, out from his thigh. His head buzzed with it, his pulse pounded with it. He could feel dew-cooled leaves unfurl from the deep wound on his chest, stretching out towards his husband.  He paid them no mind, focussing on the task of taking Samothes apart.

Samot lowered his head further, taking one of Samothes’ nipples into his mouth, nipping at it lightly with his teeth. Samothes shuddered, flinging his head back, his hands reaching out to grasp at the sheets. Samot chuckled, leaning back just enough to blow on the spit-slicked nipple before he moved to the other one. Samothes cried out, one hand still clutching the bedsheets and the other covering his face. 

Samot raised his head, pulling Samothes into a deep kiss, one hand tight in Samothes’ hair and the other sliding lower to touch Samothes again. His dick was just beginning to poke out from his folds, making Samothes let out a sob as Samot touched it. 

Samot could feel himself drinking in the sensation, the roots under his skin curling and twisting. There was another sensation too, as though his skin was too tight, too stretched over his body. He ground against Samothes, the sensation lessening slightly with the heat and the simple distraction of his arousal. Samot could feel how wet he himself was, sliding easily against Samothes’ thigh, both of them dripping onto the aheets underneath them. He moaned against Samothes’ lips, breaking off their kiss to look down at where Samothes was rutting against his hand.

He stilled - there was something else there too: a long, thin vine of ivy. Samot’s eyes followed the tendril back, up his arm, to where it was emerging from his own shoulder. Now that he was not so distracted he could feel the pull of it, slowly easing itself out of him, the leaves not damp with dew but with his blood.

Samothes frowned, his eyes fluttering open. “Samot?” He paused, his eyes following Samot’s gaze. “Ah. Does it… hurt?”

Samot took stock of it, a practise he’d begun since the bridge explosion at the University. There was a slight ache in his neck and lower back - a late night of reading, not the plants - and he could feel the slow pull of the vine as it pushed its way out of him, but this wasn’t true pain. 

“No, no I’m-”

The vine wrapped itself around Samothes’ wrist. Samothes paused, looking from Samot’s face, to the vine, and then back again. He laughed and Samot dropped forward, hiding his expression in the crook of Samothes’ neck.

“It doesn’t hurt,” said Samot, his voice muffled against Samothes’ skin.

Samothes hummed, amusement curled around the tone. “Yes, I gathered that.”

His arm shifted under Samot. Samot lifted himself up to see that the vine was the true cause, guiding Samothes’ arms above his head. It had been joined by a morning glory vine that had sprouted from Samot’s side, the tendril looping around Samothes’ shoulder and around his left arm before it met with the ivy, the vines twisting around one another. Samot could feel that too, his hips moving of their own accord to mimic it.

He felt Samothes’ hips shift under him, seeking sensation, and he slid his hand down again, his other hand braced beside Samothes’ head. Samothes bit his lip, not quite muffling his moan. Another ivy vine pushed its way out from Samot’s forearm, the sensation this time enough to make Samot gasp. He could feel Samothes’ skin under him as it wrapped itself around his chest, the dark, glossy leaves just brushing Samothes’ nipples. Samothes twisted in the sheets, too bound to Samot to move away even if he had wanted to.

The movement tugged at Samot - the sensation was like a hand tight in his hair, as though someone had gathered up the nerve endings in his body and pulled on them in just the same manner. He ground down against Samothes, finding Samothes’ lips amid the haze of sensation. Samothes kissed back with equal ferocity, his hands flexing in the sheets where they were still bound above his head. Samot drew back slightly and he felt Samothes attempt to follow only to be pulled down tightly by the vines that had tangled themselves in his hair.

“Let me just take a look at you my dear,” said Samot, his voice a great deal steadier than he felt.

Samothes squirmed, his hips barely able to arch up. His lips fell open, his breaths coming in short gasps, sweat glistening in his curls as he tossed his head back. Samot ran his hand over him, giving him something to grind against. He could feel the wound on his thigh open wider to accommodate the new greenery spilling forth, some of it joining his hand against Samothes. Samot could feel the sensation of it as though it was his own, as though Samothes’ slickness was against his cheeks, the taste of it at the back of his throat. He licked his lips. Samothes swore, his voice cracking.

“Samot- Samot, please -”

The morning glory tangled in Samothes’ hair began to bloom, their nectar sweet in the air, almost dripping from the blooms. Samot could feel it. When he kissed Samothes, the taste of it was in Samothes’ mouth. He leant back again, looking over Samothes, his eyes and the new tendrils of vines following the deep flush down Samothes’ body.

His eyes dropped closed - he could feel the plants emerging from his body, their roots still deep within him, pushing their sensations back into him. The feeling shivered up his spine, spreading out through his body before sinking back into the core of him, making the ache inside him spike towards pleasure. Samothes let out another moan, his wrist tugging against the plant’s grip. 

Samot opened his eyes, lifting a hand to trace over Samothes’ features, his fingertips brushing over Samothes’ lips before he pressed two fingers inside. Samothes sucked his fingers into his mouth, moaning around them as Samot began to move the hand touching Samothes in time.

“You’re a beautiful sight, husband of mine,” said Samot. “All tangled up like this, no getting away, staying just where I want you.” He felt a thin curl of the vine nudge at Samothes’ entrance. Samothes gasped, opening his legs as wide as the plants would let him. “Oh, and just how I want you.”

He could feel a vine against himself too, or perhaps he was just being given a direct line to Samothes’ sensations through it as the vine thickened against him, twisting itself with others. Samot could feel Samothes shudder once, twice, so close there were tears mixing with the sweat on his face. 

Samothes slurred something around Samot’s fingers and Samot drew them back. Samothes swallowed, opening and closing his mouth for a moment before he seemed able to speak.

“Want to stay like this for you,” managed Samothes. “Just- however you want, whatever you want, please, please, let me, I want, let me-”

Samot cut him off with a kiss, his thumb on the head of Samothes’ dick and the vine around him. Samothes came with a sob, breaking off the kiss to press his face against Samot’s neck. Samot could feel it through the plants, the sensation shuddering up the tendrils of vines, shivering in the leaves. Nectar dripped heavily from the morning glory flowers, the air around them sweet enough to taste.

Samot lowered his hand, still slick with Samothes, touching himself. He cried out at the sensation, easily sinking two fingers inside himself. He could feel the beginnings of the stretch at three, slowly slightly and opening his eyes.

Samothes was watching him, jaw slack and pupils blown wide. The vines were still tight around him but he made no move to escape, fixed in place as he watched Samot. Samot arched his back, feeling the vines around his body flex and shift with the motion. They tangled in his hair, tugging on it, and he gasped. He heard Samothes gasp too, his hips shifting under Samot as though the vines were connecting them, feeding one the sensation of the other.

He gasped, feeling the leaves shiver, feeling Samothes’ wrists under the vines, feeling Samothes’ slick thigh against him. He hung in the moment, for a second and forever, before he dropped into it, aware that he was curling against Samothes body and then not aware of anything at all.

Samot blinked back into awareness, Samothes’ arms around him, their bodies pressed together. The vines curled around the bed frame, separate now from his body though he could still feel their roots inside him, twisted around his bones.

“Very impressive for a man who doesn’t believe he’s a miracle,” said Samothes after a moment.

Samot buried his face in Samothes’ chest for a moment before he looked up, meeting Samothes’ gaze. Samothes’ eyes drew him forwards, the light brush of their lips deepening easily.

“That’s the miracle,” said Samot.

In response, Samothes kissed him again.