Work Text:
Crispin timed it just right so that he arrived at his garden just as the moon crested the jagged peaks of the Summerbrook Mountains. The small meadow was protected by the mountains on three sides, and by the Redwood groves on the other. It had taken him months to find this perfect spot, but he’d carefully tilled it and watched over it. He’d forgone the village celebrations so he could plant the seeds right at the peak of the spring equinox; he’d diligently fertilized the fresh earth with rabbit's blood and limestone dust just like his father’s old rune books told him.
The joybean plants had finally begun to sprout three months ago. Tonight, if everything went right, he’d get his first blossoms in exchange for everything he’d given them. Then he’d sell the blossoms to the witch coven the next town over for five times what he’d bought the bright blue pebble-like seeds for off of a vagrant who didn’t know better. Granted, if he did know what the seeds would grow, the vagrant had probably thought that Crispin was the stupid one and had been glad to be rid of them.
Crispin squared his shoulders and dropped his knapsack to the ground. Much as he wasn’t ashamed of his garden, stripping himself bare in the middle of the open meadow was always a little awkward. Looking up at the starry sky above him, he was reminded that he was glad the stars were his only witnesses.
He toed his shoes off and quickly removed his socks, breeches, and tunic before he could think about it. He ran his fingers over the hem he’d sewn into the tights he’d worn underneath; the first few times he’d come to feed his joybean plants, he’d found himself shivering from cold. Even if it was summertime, there was still enough of a breeze along the mountainside to make his bones chill. So, he’d found the tights at the tailor’s shop, and when he got them home, had cut a large hole in the front for his cock to hang out, and a large hole in the back for his ass, and stitched up along the edge so they wouldn’t fray too much. The smooth black nylon would keep him warmer, though, and would keep the dirt off of his knees.
He pulled his spade, gloves, and the little vial of rabbit’s blood fertilizer out of his knapsack and finally turned to look at his plants. They’d grown nearly four feet tall and waved in the summertime breeze like so many innocent strands of seaweed moving in a gentle tide. Crispin approached slowly, one tight-clad foot at a time in the soft grass surrounding the garden plot.
The plants hadn't noticed him just yet. Then, in a moment, there was just the slightest shift—from moving with the wind to bending against it. It was subtle enough that Crispin only noticed because he knew to look for it. They were keenly aware of his presence, and pretending not to notice.
He couldn’t help but laugh a little bit at their playful teasing.
“Hello, friends,” Crispin said as he reached a hand out to pet the pointy tips of the waving plants. “Don’t be shy now.”
He stepped forward between the rows and ran his hand through the rippling stalks as a quiet hello. He was careful to turn to his other side and pet those plants hello, too. They were getting old enough, he didn’t want to make any of them think he played favorites, lest they uproot themselves and move of their own accord somewhere they’d be deemed dangerous, rather than beautiful.
Some of the plants slid over his calves and ankles; some of the tips curled around his fingers as if to keep him close, but none moved so much to give the plants away.
They were still playing coy with him.
Tonight, he decided to start at the center and work his way out, then around. He dropped his tools to the ground, tugged his gloves on, and knelt between the furrows of earth to start his weeding. He hummed softly, a nameless tune he hoped the plants would like. With each small tug at a dandelion or clover that had sprouted up at the base of one or the other, the plants started to move with more purpose.
The plants shifted around him, draped themselves over his shoulders, and rubbed themselves up and down his arms. A few of them discovered his tights and tugged at them a little with curiosity. His cock was quickly growing fuller and fatter and harder in anticipation of what each stroke of their fronds promised.
As he pulled a large tuber of a weed with a root so long he was a little surprised, the plants around him shivered in ecstasy, and a few of them wrapped around his thighs to keep him in place.
“Not waiting very long tonight, hm?” he asked them, and tried to focus on the tight bundle of clover that had formed just a few inches away, even as a few of the plants slid over his backside and pulled his cheeks apart.
The faintest scent of sweet joybean oil was his only warning, then one of the plants was sliding up and down the cleft of his ass, smooth and slick from the secretions along the curved edge of the plant’s stem.
A shudder went down Crispin’s spine as more and more plants wrapped around him: around his wrists, his ankles, one daring plant wrapped itself around his neck, though it stayed loose and friendly. The plant rubbing against his hole was wringing itself back and forth, working its oil around his hole, getting him wetter and wetter with each pass. Another plant reached out and touched the tip of its stem to the tip of his cock, and then slowly slithered down the underside along his veins, spreading its secretions over him and mixing with the precome spread across his cockhead.
"Not long at all," he sighed and rolled his shoulders, planting his fists firmly in the soft earth. "There's plenty of me to go around—" Crispin cut himself off with a sharp gasp as two of the plants speared into him at once. The plant that slid inside the tip of his cock had curled one of its leaves into a tight, firm rod while its companions undulated around him in too-brief, too-soft touches. The plant inside his ass twisted from side to side, spreading as much oil around him as possible, to make him smooth and pliant before other leaves and stalks would join.
The one sliding in and out of his cock, though, already had him panting from how it was moving with sure, firm strokes.
"That's a bit much, don't you think?" The plant around his throat tightened, and Crispin tried to shake it off, even as he lurched forward, gasping as a thick bundle of leaves shoved their way into his ass. "Hey, now, lads, let's not—" A few plants that had been merely spectating until that moment lashed out and wrapped around his shoulders, his arms, and his neck. They wrestled him to the ground; he barely twisted his face just in time to not get a mouthful of dirt, and got a mouthful of joybean buds for his effort. Crispin tried to fight back, but the plants just gripped him tighter and tighter.
The leaf inside his dick brushed up against his prostate, and his whole body spasmed. It felt good, it felt wrong, it felt like what he wanted and what he didn't. The stalks playing alongside his shaft were growing bolder—sliding long, oily leaves twisted around him like a fist, pumping him at a pace that didn't quite match the leafy rod inside him. The contrast was making his mind reel, pulled from one focus to the next, never quite able to ground himself in knowing what touch was coming next.
The plants in his ass were pushing him hard. More and more of the plants tried to shove their way in to get a turn with him. They kept pumping oil into him with each thrust; his cheeks were covered with it, and he could feel his tights were soaked through. More and more plants kept trying to make the way that much more slick for their neighbors from the next row over that he could feel stretching across his back to reach his rim. Every leaf that pulled out of him was immediately replaced by a rival, making him feel like he kept being fucked into and never out.
Crispin tried to inhale, tried to scream again, and more of the tiny, almost bean pods shoved their way into his mouth until all he could do was suck at them, drool over them, and keep his eyes shut tight against the sweet-smelling earth. He could feel his orgasm building, knew it would come soon, and for the first time, he was afraid of how many times the field would make him come in a single night.
He cried against the fistful of bulbs in his mouth, and suddenly, the only stimulation to his cock was a few leaves holding his dick up, directing his stream of come to the base of a few of the plants closest by.
The plants wrapped around his shoulders slowly unraveled, seemingly satisfied with his gift for them. Crispin coughed as the buds in his mouth relented and the plants retracted from his ass with gentle pats to his soaking wet skin.
Crispin shivered as he slowly pushed himself up to his hands and knees. There was an eerie silence throughout the meadow. The plants a little further down the row seemed to turn to look at him expectantly—no more coy flirting now.
There were stories, Crispin knew, of arrogant farmers who thought they could cultivate sentient plants beyond their skill level. He knew what happened in the stories; he'd always thought they were only stories.
Choking back a sob, Crispin shook a few drops of fertilizer onto the stain of his come on the ground before starting to crawl forward through the dirt. As fresh, slick, wet stalks started to wrap around his body, he let them put him where they wanted—with his cheek pressed to the earth, and his mouth open to suck whatever they gave him.
He hoped the blossoms would be worth it.