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An early draft of a possible series? Let me know what you think? Written or podcast? More explicit?

Eternal Bonds: Mortal Threads

In a weathered stone cottage nestled in the misty folds of Snowdonia, three men share a life woven from ancient magic and very human fragility. One supernatural, two mortal - they form a gay triad bound by love, lust, and the endless quirks of coexistence.

Emrys, the sole supernatural: a wandering member of the Tylwyth Teg, the Fair Folk of Welsh lore. Exiled for forging unbreakable bonds with humans, he’s eternally youthful - tall, slender, with luminous pale skin, cascading silver-blond hair, and eyes that shimmer like starlit lakes and an arse that is forever hungry. His glamour conceals his true nature, and he sustains himself on intense emotion, particularly the fire of desire.

Aled, a rugged human hill farmer in his mid-fifties: broad-shouldered and weathered, with callused hands, a thick dark beard, and warm hazel eyes. He inherited the cottage from his grandparents, grounding the trio in mortal routines - mending dry-stone walls, tending sheep, and grumbling about rising fuel bills.

Rhys, another human, a former soldier turned artist in his late twenties: lean and tattooed, with cropped black hair, piercing grey eyes, and a quiet intensity born of old wounds. He moved to the valleys seeking peace, only to find it in the arms of these two men.

Together, they navigate the absurdities of blended existence: Emrys struggling with modern technology (he once accidentally glamoured the broadband router into thinking it was a toad), Aled dealing with nosy neighbours who whisper about the “odd lads up the hill,” and Rhys painting ethereal portraits that dangerously hint at Emrys’s true form. Their love is fierce, polyamorous, and the anchor that keeps Emrys from fading back to the fairy realms - while reminding the humans that life, even mortal, can feel eternal.

One rain-swept spring night, after a tense day fending off a curious folklorist who’d heard rumours of “fairy lights” on the moors, they stumble indoors, soaked and charged with adrenaline.

Emrys’s glamour flickers subtly, his lithe body already humming with need. “Mortals,” he purrs, voice like wind through reeds, “you both saved me today. Let me reward you.”

Aled growls, peeling off his drenched jacket and shirt, revealing his hairy, muscled torso. His cock strains against his jeans, thick and heavy. He grabs Emrys by the waist, slamming him gently against the kitchen table. “Reward us? You’ll be the one begging, fairy boy.”

Rhys follows, stripping swiftly, his lean frame taut with desire - cock rigid and leaking, veins standing out. He presses behind Aled, hands roaming the farmer’s broad back, fingers dipping to tease his arse crack.

Aled frees his girth, spitting into his palm to slick it before yanking Emrys’s trousers down. The fae’s pale, perfect arse is exposed, tight and eager. Aled lines up, pressing the fat head against Emrys’s hole. “Ready for a proper mortal fucking?”

Emrys moans, pushing back. “Always.”

Aled thrusts in deep - one powerful stroke burying himself balls-deep in fae heat that clenches like silk vice. Emrys cries out, glamour sparking faintly as pleasure feeds him.

Rhys slicks his own cock with spit, then aligns with Aled’s furred arse. He pushes in steadily, the farmer’s heat enveloping him inch by inch. Aled grunts, caught in the middle - thrusting forward into Emrys while Rhys fills him from behind.

The rhythm builds savagely: Rhys pounding Aled, each drive forcing Aled harder into Emrys. The table creaks under the assault, wet slaps echoing with grunts and gasps. Sweat slicks Aled’s back; Emrys’s slender fingers grip the wood, nails leaving glowing scratches; Rhys’s hands bruise Aled’s hips.

“Fuck, tighter,” Aled snarls, hips snapping brutally.

Emrys whimpers, his untouched cock dripping onto the table. “Harder - feed me your lust.”

Rhys reaches around, fisting Emrys’s elegant shaft, stroking roughly in time with his thrusts into Aled.

Aled comes first - a deep bellow as he floods Emrys with thick, hot ropes of human seed, pulsing endlessly.

The clenching heat tips Emrys over; he wails ethereally, spilling over Rhys’s fist in luminous bursts, glamour flaring as he drinks in the ecstasy.

Rhys follows, burying deep in Aled and unleashing - warm jets coating the farmer’s insides, drawing a shuddering groan.

They collapse in a heap on the rug by the fire - Aled’s solid warmth cradling them both, Emrys’s magic humming contentedly, Rhys nuzzling into necks slick with sweat and seed.

In this remote Welsh haven, where ancient whispers meet mortal heartbeats, their bond - raw, explicit, profound - makes the supernatural feel utterly human. And vice versa.