"Sing," the elf said.   "Sing the sad one about the prince who drowns himself for love."   For incentive, he nudged his mossy head against Ares' naked hip.   "Sing, and I'll make you forget your name.   It's the only way I'll do it.   I need to be inspired."    He dipped a silver-nailed finger into the squat honey jar, then trailed it down Ares' flat stomach, gold on bronze.   "Sing."

"I don't know the words."   He growled it, eyes never leaving the finely-drawn mouth so close to his swollen cock.

"Oh, for the love of..."   With his free hand, the elf traced a symbol in the air, then squeezed his fingers tight.   Looking up at Ares, he brought the closed fist to his mouth, opened it, and blew.   Blue sparkles, like tiny midnight fireflies, danced in the green forest light, then dissolved over Ares' heart.    "Now you know them.   It's easy.    ‘In the dark wood of Alverden, a thousand moons ago, an elvin prince...'"

His tongue caught the tune and formed nutmeg-sprinkled words, then the low thrum of Ares' voice slid from his mouth down to the elf's pointed ears, across each flower petal and crushed leaf on the forest floor, then up into the open arms of pines and oaks, into the star-embroidered sky.

Between Ares' thighs, the elf heaved a tiny sigh that raised his smooth, narrow shoulders and opened that delicate mouth.   Ares leaned back against the rough trunk of a massive old oak, and the tree accepted his weight, while he kept singing the strange song, the words leaving his mouth like kisses.    His own pleasurable sigh added a melancholy layer to the tune as an impossibly hot tongue circled the head of his cock and squeezed.    Bending, his throat rumbling with song and pleasure, he watched the elf catch drop after drop of liquid on the pointed tip of his tongue, quicker as the heat melted his blood and turned it silver.

The fingers were in the honey again, only now they spread it over his balls, and the elfin tongue flickered over them like a candle flame.  Ares sang louder, about a young man who fell in love with a faun and took it gently one night by a riverside.   Something inside him protested, tried to fight the sickeningly sweet lyrics, but the low, rough melody, the rhythm of his own voice echoing in the tongue on his balls, twisted that voice shut.   It was too good to care about anything but getting more, and Ares began to worry that the song would end.   But verse after verse flowed from him, as the elf smeared the honey lower now, then higher and deep, one finger strumming against tight muscle, opening him for the persistent tongue.

While the faun pined for the prince who'd gone beyond the mountains, Ares bent his knees to take more of that hot darting tongue, his fingers threading through the elf's soft brown hair.  His cock jutted out, furious and red, a blue vein pounding down the shaft, demanding a tongue.   Instead, it got a layer of honey, rubbed slowly by a long finger, while that tongue kept learning him inside, flying against the soft sensitive skin there, and there again, and there again...

The song turned more passionate, and around them leaves rustled and flowers let out fainting breaths under bare, four-toed feet, as the elves gathered to hear their brother pleasure a god.   Ares saw them and didn't care, liked the watching almond eyes that never left his honey-covered cock.   Thighs straining, widened and taut, Ares told them how the faun took another lover, his voice low and haunting even to his own ears.   But maybe that was because the elf was playing the song on his body, with his penetrating tongue and his soothing, smoothing fingers.

His cock started to ache, raining thick cream on the pine needles at his feet, and then the fingers and tongue traded: two honey-soaked fingers slid up while that swirling tongue licked the swollen head, around the edge, faster and faster, then sank into the wet slit.   It fucked him there, while the fingers fucked his ass, fast as the words falling into the dusk, hot and desperate as they were.

When his cock disappeared into the elf's mouth, swallowed with burning reverence, the group around them sighed, and the leaves mostly hiding the watchers rustled as hands closed over hard flesh, stroking in time to the beat, deep voices joining in.   Ares arched, holding the elf's head, never forcing, only guiding himself down that tight throat, over the questing tongue that never stopped tasting him.   In the sky, owls soared, crying out as the betrayed prince returned and slid a knife deep into the faun's soft breast, while Ares' voice soared with them, his cock roaring with music then semen as he came in the elf's velvety mouth.

He was still shaking, still singing, when the elf pulled him down, laying him back against the soft mat of the forest, and raised Ares' knees, pressing his huge hard cock against Ares' slick ass, then entered him.   It flowed like a verse in the song, so smooth and good that Ares forgot to struggle, forgot to do anything but sing and wrap his legs around the narrow elfin hips, hands clawing the ground beside him.   Under his fingers, he felt the first rivulets of cream from the watching circle, and knew they were closing in.   His cock swelled again, just as they broke through the green tangle, and a dozen elfin mouths closed over his skin, some on his cock, his nipples, his throat, licking, sucking, biting.   The cock danced inside him, thick and possessive, and he came again, shuddering and almost crying, the song a ragged lament as the prince found the river and gave himself to it.

Afterward, the elves cleaned Ares with dew-wet leaves, dressed him, and took him to the village tavern, so he could learn more songs.