A mlm exophilia blog. 18+ only. I'm here to catalog a buncha male reader exo stories for your reading pleasure. I'm mostly trying to focus on archiving the explicitly mlm stories, but I'l make some exceptions. I.e. if the reader has a wang but no specified pronouns or if it's a really good GN story. Icon was drawn by the wonderful @teratophelia. If you have any suggestions or complaints or blogs for me to check out for mlm stories, just send an ask about it!
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Relationship: Male Centaur/Male Centaur
Additional Tags: Exophilia, Centaurs, MLM
Content Warnings: Amputee, Amputated Leg, Prosthetics
Series: Part 12 of Monster Lovers: Shelter Forest
Words: 4,101
Yew finally gets his own fic! Yew makes his very first rescue: a surly centaur dumped on the side of the road. Please reblog and leave feedback!
Ethari was losing his vision rapidly. He hadn’t eaten in days, the fever was taking over his entire body, and the blood loss had rendered him extremely frail. The ranch hands had dropped him on the side of the road somewhere, but he wasn’t sure where. He kept trying to stand, but in his delirium, he forgot that his left foreleg up to the knee was now missing and unable to take any weight, so he continuously stumbled and fell into the mud of the roadside.
He fell for a final time, completely sapped of strength, and as he was losing consciousness, he heard a voice call out.
“I knew it! I saw someone! Mama, hurry!”
In his dimming perception, he saw a dark face with green-blue eyes and a fluff of white hair haloed around their head.
“You’re gonna be alright,” They said softly. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
And Ethari passed out.
When he awoke again, he was inside a stall lying on rough burlap cushions instead of hay or straw and was covered with several blankets to guard against the winter cold. Panicking, he began kicking the walls with his back legs. He had been conditioned not to scream or yell, so kicking was the only means of rebellion or dissent he was capable of. So he kicked hard over and over, making a lot of noise in the process.
“Oi, oi!” A voice called. Ethari saw the face of a handsome man look into the open upper half of the stall door. He had blue eyes, tanned skin, and dark hair. “Could you keep it down? My wife is resting.”
“Who are you?” Ethari asked aggressively, his voice raspy and harsh to his own ear. “What’s going on, where am I?”
“Ugh, I hate dealing with pissy, angry males. Yew! Would you come and deal with this, please? I need to look after Hazel.”
The handsome face disappeared momentarily, and the full door swung open, revealing that the handsome face was attached to a brown centaur body with black socks and a black tail, which flicked back and forth in agitation. He wore a bright red winter coat on his upper body and a matching riding blanket on his back.
Seeing one of his own kind, Ethari relaxed slightly without realizing it.
“I thought she was feeling better,” Said another voice, almost chirpy sounding, and a beautiful, slender, black-and-white piebald centaur entered Ethari’s vision. Ethari recognized him as the person he’d seen when he was blacking out on the roadside. The skin of his upper torso was so dark that it was nearly black, contrasting starkly with his pale eyes, curly mop of white hair, and long, feathery lashes. He wore a black winter coat and riding blanket, both with intricate white stitching.
“She still needs rest,” The other centaur said, annoyed. There was a knock that came from somewhere in the building, and Birch’s head swiveled sharply to look in that direction. “Keep this guy quiet, would you? If she takes a bad turn, I’m taking it out on him, I don’t care how hurt he is.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Yew said, waving him away.
The brown centaur dashed off, disappearing from view, and the black and white centaur came into the stall, which was spacious enough to allow him inside with Ethari comfortably.
“Sorry about him,” He said, and it was then that Ethari realized he was carrying a tray with fruit and vegetables on it on one arm and a simple brown wool coat in the other. “He’s really touchy when it comes to Hazel. You shouldn’t move around so much, you know, since you were a proper mess to clean up. You've lost a lot of blood; it took my mother ages to stop the bleeding. There were bone fragments in the stump that had to be removed, too, and you’ve got a nasty infection. You’re gonna feel like pounded garbage for quite a while, so try not to reopen the wound and make it worse.”
“Where am I?” Ethari repeated. “Who are you?”
“I’m Yew,” The centaur said, setting the tray on a low table nearby. It was one of several items of furniture that seemed designed with four-legged folks in mind. “You’re in a guest stall at my parents’ farm, the barn specifically. You’ve been out for a couple of days. Mama was worried you’d starve. Here, put this on. It’s cold.”
He held out the coat for Ethari to take, which he did, snatching it out of his hands roughly. Once he had shrugged it on, Yew reached out to touch Ethari, and Ethari flinched, slapping his hand away.
“Relax, I’m just checking your temperature,” Yew said, knocking Ethari’s hand aside and placing his palm on his forehead. “You’re still feverish, but you’re not boiling like you were two days ago.”
Ethari swiped at him, his anxiety spiking. “Get off me! What are you people going to do to me?” He asked indignantly, trying to back away from Yew but not getting far.
“Nothing?” Yew replied, tilting his head. “Other than overfeed you, maybe. My papa is always encouraging people to eat more. Speaking of which, you must be hungry, right? Eat.” Yew motioned at the tray. “Don’t try to stand up yet. We’ve contacted my brother, Cetzu; he’s really good at carving. He may be able to fix you up.”
“What are you talking about?” Ethari said distrustfully. “What do you mean? What do you people want from me?”
“Like I said, nothing,” Yew said, moving toward the door. “Eat your food before you pass out again. Keep the noise down, though. Birch’s threats aren’t empty. If you disturb Hazel at all, he’ll knock you on your tail.”
“I’m already on my tail,” Ethari said sarcastically.
Yew laughed good naturedly.
“I suppose that’s true. Eat.” And with that, Yew closed his door.
As soon as there was no one in sight, Ethari began wolfing down the food that was offered. He knew he would make himself sick doing that, but he couldn’t control himself; he was literally starving. Thankfully there wasn’t too much on the tray, perhaps because they knew he would have gorged himself if there was, so he wasn’t grossly over-full. There was a jug of water on the table and he drank deeply from it, not even bothering to use a cup.
After he finished, he made an attempt to stand, only to stumble and fall immediately. Groaning in frustration, he thumped his hands against the floor. Unable to move and suddenly exhausted, despite his anxiety and fear, Ethari passed out once more.
When he woke up again, it was dark. His stall door was open and there was a candle burning on the frame of the door. Yew was kneeling on his belly just outside of his stall door, knotting cord by candlelight.
“What do you want?” Ethari snapped.
Yew looked up. “Ah, you’re awake.” He set the cord aside and got to his feet, bringing in another tray of food and taking the empty one.
“Why didn’t you just let me die?” Ethari asked. “What do you get out of helping me?”
“Why would we need to get something out of it?” Yew asked, tilting his head again as if he didn’t understand. He reminded Ethari of a puppy he once knew, ages and ages ago. “That’s not something we care about around here.”
Ethari grunted distrustfully. Yew knelt down next to him and regarded him thoughtfully. Ethari leaned back, glaring at Yew.
“Am I allowed to leave?” Ethari asked.
“Well, sure,” Yew said. “If you really want to leave, we won’t stop you, but I… can’t imagine you’d get far at the moment. You can’t even stand up yet.”
Ethari couldn’t argue with that, but he wasn’t about to say it out loud.
“You’re from a ranch, too, aren’t you?” Yew said suddenly.
Ethari blinked. “Too?” He echoed, surprised out of his wary demeanor. He didn’t need to ask what kind of ranch Yew meant.
“Yeah,” Yew pulled his curly hair aside and showed Ethari the ear with the puncture hole in it from where the cattle tag had been. “My brother, Birch, and I escaped from one years ago when I was seven, from the big continent north of here. Did you escape too?”
“I don’t know you. I don’t have to tell you anything,” Ethari said hotly.
“No, I know that,” Yew said, but he waited expectantly, his expression open and curious.
“I didn’t escape,” Ethari said eventually, if reluctantly. “There was… an accident.” He shifted his missing leg, and then stopped and winced when the pain got worse. “I couldn’t work anymore, so they were sending me somewhere, but I don’t know where. When they realized I was dying, they dumped me on the road.” He peered at Yew. “How did you know?”
“You don’t have a tag like Birch and I did, but I can tell. You’ve got whip marks on your flanks and I saw what seemed like shackle marks on your back legs. I’ve seen enough of those in my youth to know exactly what it means.” Yew sighed despondently. “I didn’t realize there were slave ranches here.”
For the first time, he looked sad and disheartened. It didn’t suit him, Ethari thought. He looked better when he had that big, dopey smile on his face.
“Officially, there aren’t,” Ethari told him. “It’s operating illegally, I gather. That’s why they were sending me away. I heard that legal ranches have to report accidents to the local lord, for compensation. I can’t collect compensation as a slave, and the owners can’t report and out themselves for owning slaves illegally. So they had to get rid of me. I don’t know what their original plan was. I shudder to imagine, though.”
“Are there others? I mean centaurs, like us?”
Ethari shook his head. “Only me and two others. They’re still there. They were sold to the ranch from the colosseum in the big city, what’s it called? Dunmountain? Around there. They have debts to pay, so they’re indentured. My mother was also enslaved there, but she died four winters back. I think she was indentured, too, but we never talked about it. She didn’t like to bring it up. But when she died, I inherited her debts, so…”
“Are there others besides centaurs? How many?”
“A dozen, I think? There could be more I don’t know about, I was confined to the fields and the barn, so there were places on the ranch I’d never seen or entered.”
“Where is it? The ranch, I mean,” Yew asked, a strange glint in his eye. A hint of anger, perhaps? Another emotion that didn’t suit his face.
“I don’t know,” Ethari admitted. “I was born and raised there. This is the first time I’ve ever been off the ranch in my life.”
“It feels weird, huh?” Yew said with a sad smile. “Like you should be doing something. You’re not used to sitting still in one place, right?”
Ethari paused and nodded, grimacing. “I feel… off. Out of place. The ranch was terrible, but… it’s familiar. I know what to expect there. All this…” He waved at the stall and gestured at Yew. “I don’t know what any of this is.”
Yew nodded. “It’ll feel strange for a while. Don’t worry. Everything will be alright.”
Ethari couldn’t help but allow the corner of his mouth to go up slightly.
“You sound so certain of that.”
Yew grinned. “I am.” Yew got to his feet and made to leave. “Eat and rest. Don’t worry about a thing. Mama will be in in the morning to check on you, but don’t be rude to her; she saved your life.” He pointed a finger at Ethari in warning, but Yew looked so unserious that Ethari nearly laughed. “One thing you gotta know about me: I’m a mama’s boy through and through, so don’t you go disrespecting my mama.”
Ethari snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The next morning, Ethari was awoken by the door of his stall opening and an older human woman with greying hair entered, wearing a blouse and sensible trousers and carrying a bag.
“You’re not a centaur,” Ethari said.
“Well-spotted,” She said with a lilt in her voice. “You’ll be hard pressed to find many of your kind on this continent. There are only a handful or so that I know of, besides my boys, and that includes you.”
“You’re Yew’s mother?”
“The very same,” She said, reaching out her hand for a handshake. “I’m Ryel.”
Ethari didn’t take her hand, simply glared at it distrustfully, and she eventually dropped it.
“I’m here to change your bandages,” Ryel said. “Are you gonna let me do that?”
“Just don’t do anything funny,” Ethari said, leaning a bit so she could get to the stump.
“I don’t have a funny bone in my body, child,” She said with a chuckle. Ethari suddenly saw where Yew got his sense of humor.
“So, Yew’s adopted, then?”
“Of course,” Ryel said, pulling off the dirty bandages. “All of my children are adopted. My husband and I can’t have children, so we opened our home to the ones who need one.”
“How many kids do you have?”
“Certainly more than most, but we like it that way. There are always more kids that need homes, and we like being that home. We’ll likely be taking them in until we die, and our kids will continue the tradition. That’s why we started this place.”
“Hmm,” Ethari hummed, and then winced when she began cleaning the wound. “Is that big brown asshole yours, too?”
Ryel laughed. “Oh, yes, he’s mine. Don’t take his current attitude to heart, child. He and Hazel got married recently, and Hazel’s been in delicate health lately, and he’s a little frazzled. He’s normally more level-headed.”
“I don’t care,” Ethari said. “I’m not going to be here long enough to find out.”
“If you say so,” Ryel said. She began rewrapping the wound. “Although, I’d wager you’ll be here for quite a while. Cetzu, another of my sons, will be here in a few days. He runs an orphanage in Coleville and he hates leaving it for too long, but he’s agreed to help fit you with a prosthetic. You’ll have to wait a few months for your stump to heal before you can even start to get used to using it, but there’s no reason not to start making it now. It can be adjusted once you’re able to wear it.”
“And how much is that going to cost me?” Ethari asked bitterly. “What am I going to have to do to pay you back?”
“Well, that’s not necessary, but hands are always helpful,” Ryel said. “Besides, it’s the chilly season, so there’s really nothing to do at the moment. All the canning and jarring is done, and there are only a few winter crops out in the fields right now which they don’t need much tending to and pretty much grow on their own, so there’s not really any need for you to do anything besides recover.”
He grunted, not sure if he believed her.
“And more to the point,” She continued as she packed up the medical bag. “You’re not in any condition to be doing any paying back, as it is.”
“I’ll accept that,” He said begrudgingly. “I guess I don’t need to worry about it for a while, then.”
“No reason to worry about it at all,” Ryel said with a laugh. “Listen, son, I get why you’ve got misgivings, but really, we don’t expect anything from you beyond getting better. Whatever you want to do once you’re up and about is your prerogative.”
“If you say so,” He replied.
“You don’t have to believe me, child,” Ryel said, standing. “Rest. Yew will be in soon with your breakfast.”
“Why him?” Ethari asked peevishly.
“I suppose he feels responsible for you, having been the one to find you. You’re his first rescue, after all.” Ryel sighed. “You don’t have to like him, you know, but he’s just trying to help.” And she left.
It wasn’t so much that Ethari didn’t like Yew, it’s just that Yew… was too perceptive. He saw more than Ethari wanted him to see. It made him uncomfortable. And he was too… happy. Ethari was used to being surrounded by those who were beaten down by their lives and circumstances, so he assumed most people were like that. He’d never met anyone who could brighten a room just by walking in it, the way Yew could. It almost hurt to look at Yew. He was like sunlight, but the kind that suddenly flooded a darkened room that light hadn’t touched in years, blinding and painful.
Soon enough, Yew arrived with another tray, just as Ryel said, but Ethari was squirming by the time he showed up.
“What’s up with you?” Yew asked, noticing Ethari fidget. “Did you eat something bad?”
Ethari growled. “I… have to…”
“Hmm? Speak up, I can’t hear you.”
“I need the privy!” Ethari said loudly, embarrassed.
“Oh!” Yew said, seemingly unfazed. “No problem, I’ll help. Here.” Yew held out his hands. “Stand up. You can lean on me.”
Still distrustful but slightly desperate, Ethari took Yew’s hands and, after some struggle, managed to haul himself unsteadily to his feet. Yew swung around and used his own body to support the length of Ethari’s body. Slowly, with a lot of help from Yew, Ethari was able to limp out of the barn. Some of the other stalls also seemed to be occupied, but the doors were closed so Ethari couldn’t see inside.
“Are there other four-legged folk here?” Ethari asked.
“There’s Reed. He’s a deertaur, really rare. He’s smaller than centaurs, but he’s got antlers, so he needs as much room as we do. I’ve never even seen another person like him.”
“Neither have I,” Ethari said, surprised. “I wasn’t even aware there was such a thing.”
“There’s one more, I fibbed. Reed’s daughter is half-deertaur, but she takes after him and has four legs. She got her own stall recently, just turned thirteen. She’s at that age where she doesn’t want to share a room with her parents anymore, you know.”
“I don’t know, actually.”
Yew laughed. “His son, River, has two legs, like his mother, but he’s got hooves, too. He’s really unique. Lymera has hooves too, but she’s a fawn, so that’s not unusual. She used to stay in the barn, as well. She liked it better than the house.”
Ethari made a face. “Why are you telling me all this?”
Yew laughed again. “Because you asked?”
“I didn’t ask for the roster of your family, I just asked if there were four-legged folks besides you and your surly brother.”
“True, but it doesn’t hurt to know. Besides, talking takes your mind off the pain. Hurts more when you’re quiet, doesn’t it? Talking distracts you.”
It was excruciatingly slow progress, but finally they reached the latrine at the edge of the treeline. It was far enough away that the smell didn’t reach the house of the barn, but that meant getting there was an undertaking for Ethari. He was exhausted by the time he got there. He was able to enter by leaning his body against the walls of the latrine and limping inside, but once he had finished his business in there, it took all his strength not to collapse.
“I need to rest for a moment,” Ethari said, breathing heavily.
“Here, let’s get away from the latrine first,” Yew said, swinging around to support him again. Yew managed to get him to a patch of moss before Ethari practically fell.
“I feel like I’m gonna hurl,” Ethari said, his upper torso bent and resting against a nearby tree.
“Try not to, it’s not good for our kind to vomit,” Yew said, holding Ethari’s hair. “We’re too similar to horses like that.”
“I’m fully aware of that,” Ethari snipped. “But that knowledge doesn’t help me in this situation.”
“You want a beer?” Yew asked. “Birch always drinks when he feels sick. Counter-intuitive, I know, but it seems to help him.”
“A beer would be amazing right now,” Ethari admitted.
“Be right back,” Yew said, and dashed off.
Ethari tried to breathe through the nausea, willing himself to keep his breakfast in his stomach, and heard four legs trotting up.
“I had to fight Birch to get it,” Yew said, handing Ethari a wooden cup. “He really doesn’t like you.”
“I don’t like him either,” You said peevishly, taking the cup and gulping swallows of the beer slowly. “Don’t you drink? I’ve never met a centaur who doesn’t drink. We were allowed beer even on the ranch.”
Yew shrugged. “It’s just not for me. I can supplement what I need from alcohol with other things. Besides, I prefer wine, but it’s hard to store wine here. I get it every once in a while as a treat, but I don’t need it all the time.”
“And you call yourself a centaur,” Ethari said, snickering.
“Hey, don’t tease, I already get enough of that from Birch.”
You drained the cup and handed it back. “Is Birch the only one who drinks around here?”
Yew nodded. “Afraid so. If you need more, you’ll have to go through him.”
“Can’t I just go through you? Wouldn’t he give you some if you asked?”
“Well, sure, but he knows I don’t drink. You might want to work on getting in his good graces.”
“Ugh,” Ethari grunted. “I just can’t wait to kiss that guy’s ass.”
Yew laughed. “All you gotta do is be nice to Hazel. That’s his softest spot. He really loves her.”
“Hmm,” Ethari hummed, pensive. “I wonder what that feels like.”
“Me too,” Yew said wistfully. “I’m kind of jealous of them, to be honest.”
“You’re too young to think that way.”
“Am I?” He said, tilting his head again. “I don’t think so. I think it’s normal to think about things like this. Being in love with someone is nearly impossible in a place like a ranch, where people are just trying to survive, so I think it’s normal to wonder about what loving someone feels like. Didn’t you just say that?”
Ethari snorted. “I guess I did. You’re still too young. You’re not even twenty yet, right?”
“So what?” Yew said, shrugging. “I’m old enough to get married, so I’m more than old enough to wonder.” Yew looked up toward the house. “Ah! Cetzu is here. I expected him to take longer, but he probably just wants to get back quicker. He’s another one who’s a fool for his family.”
“The orphanage director?” Ethari asked. “And wood carver?”
“He’s really a jack-of-all-trades type. He’ll fix you up. Do you think you can make it back to the barn?”
Ethari sighed heavily. “I’ll try.”
“Let me know if you can’t. I’ll get the boys to lift you like we did the day we found you.”
Ethari grimaced at the thought. “No, on second thought, I’ll make it. If it kills me, I’ll make it on my own.” He peered up at Yew in an unfriendly way. “Well… help me up, would you?”
Yew laughed again. “Yes, yes, come on.”
With Yew’s help, Ethari managed to return to his stall in the barn, though he was so exhausted that he hit the ground as soon as he entered it. He was breathing hard, his heart beating out of his chest. He was in immense pain from that small amount of physical activity.
“I think I’m dying,” He wheezed.
“No, you’re not dying,” Yew said, helping him out of his coat and covering him with blankets again. “But maybe we should see about fashioning you some sort of bedpan, so you don’t have to move again.”
“That sounds like a nightmare, but let’s do that,” Ethari said. “I don’t think I can move again for a while.”
Yew laid his body down next to Ethari, covering him with blankets and using his own body to warm him.
“You’ll be alright, Ethari,” Yes said softly, patting his back. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you die. You’ve got your whole life left to live, now that you’re out of that place.” He pulled Ethari’s sweat drenched hair away from his face. “Don’t worry,” He repeated. “I’ll take care of you.”
Ethari lost consciousness, the last sensation he felt were Yew’s fingertips against his forehead.
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Fourth commission for you! [insert Fourth Wing joke here?]. This one is for @chroniclesinlacuna - so thank you!
(reposting because of some weird formatting shenanigans on the first attempt - sorry. Please reblog this instead of the other (deleted) one).
Content: (cis) male knight is sent to kill an injured dragon, and finds himself sequestered in the mountains with a beast of far greater intelligence and empathy than anyone had imagined. Non penetrative sex happens too, and bonding if you squint.
Wordcount: 8938
“Boy, what’s going on?” Aneirin barked, grabbing for the arm of a page boy as he scuttled past in a slightly rumpled tabard.
He could have been a little gentler with the scrawny kid, but the corridors in the castle were roiling with a heady mix of unease and excitement, and that was rarely a good thing. Added to that, Aneirin had only just left Prince Ruairí in the hands of the next shift of Crownsguards, but if there was even the faintest whiff of trouble, he’d be back on duty in a heartbeat.
“Sir,” the boy chirped, bobbing a bow when he looked up and discovered that he’d been hooked like a minnow out of the flow of people by a knight of the realm.
Over six feet tall and still wearing his armour, though his helmet was tucked under one arm, Sir Aneirin Pendræd cut an imposing figure, and almost everyone in the castle recognised the Crown Prince’s personal guard and close friend, even if he did have a tendency to keep politely to himself for the most part.
“Well, lad?” he asked with just a hint of a growl in his usually soft baritone. “What’s got this place clucking like a hen coop?”
The kid grinned suddenly, all previous unease forgotten as his blue eyes began sparkling. “Dragon!” he beamed in breathless wonder. “There was a dragon sighted! Out by Icetide Pass! Lord Mortingale’s soldiers shot it down on their way through the mountain pass but they had to leave it there so they could take him to the Temple of Healing. His illness is bad, apparently. That’s why they risked coming across the mountains even though it’s going to snow soon. A dragon, my lord! A dragon!”
Aneirin chuckled when he learned that there hadn’t been an attempt on the life of one of his royal charges, and released the boy. “Go on,” he said, waving him away, and the page belted off in the direction of the kitchens.
With a sigh, the knight turned and headed back the way he had come and nodded politely at the guards flanking the entrance to the royal apartments.
The prince met him in the corridor with almost as much delight in his features as the page boy Aneirin had just released back into the wild. “Nye!” he chirped. “I was going to send for you. There’s been —”
“A dragon, I know,” he said, raising a dark eyebrow. “Is it true?”
“Sir Mathis heard it straight from Lord Mortingale’s lips himself,” Ruairí said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder to get his friend to follow him.
Aneirin fell into step beside him, and bit back a yawn as he followed him through a concealed passage, out of the prince’s chambers and towards the adjacent apartment which belonged to his parents. In the darkness though, the prince paused and put his hands on Aneirin’s breastplate, tapping the cold metal a couple of times in his excitement. “A dragon, Nye!” he practically giggled. “Can you believe it? The magisters say they all migrated in to the frozen north a thousand years ago! What do you think drove this one south?”
“Maybe it’s fed up with all the snow,” Aneirin deadpanned, and the prince snorted a laugh and turned away, moving with easy familiarity down the dark corridor until he popped the latch on the door at the other end and they stepped out into the king’s empty study.
“Mother and father are in their sitting room,” Ruairí said, adding with a heavy grimace, “Magister Ferrar is in there too.” The much-hated former tutor of the crown prince was a truly odious man; pompously pious, deeply disdainful of those who wielded a sword instead of a stylus, and rake thin because he thought that consuming food with actual flavour was a grievous sin. Unfortunately, he was one of the most learned scholars in the country, so it was hardly a surprise that he had been summoned upon a credible report of a dragon reaching the king’s ears.
So it was that Aneirin found himself with the command of a small group of riders the next morning, heading north-east towards the belt of mountains that sheltered the kingdom’s fertile plains from the worst of the wild winters, and charged with finishing off the downed beast. A larger party would follow behind to collect the corpse for study and preservation, apparently, but his focus was killing it.
Aneirin also had a grinning crown prince on his magnificent bay stallion at his side, despite his protests that a fire breathing lizard the size of an average cattle barn was probably quite dangerous, and putting the heir to the kingdom within a twenty mile radius of the thing was a colossally stupid thing to do, but the prince had insisted, and his parents had never been able to tell him ‘no’. To be fair, he was irritatingly charming.
“What do you think it will be like?” Ruairí asked as they trotted at the head of the column.
Nye looked around constantly, and even though the prince was dressed in sensible clothes for once, rather than showy silks designed to accentuate his fashionably fit figure and draw the eye of everyone in the room, he couldn’t help but feel the immense responsibility of guarding the crown prince out in the open like that. “Big, probably,” he mumbled. “And pissed off.”
The prince barked a laugh. “You’re funny, Nye. People think you’re grumpy, but you’re not. You’re just quiet.”
“You talk enough for the both of us,” he scowled, squinting at a shadow by the road a few hundred paces off. It was just an old tree stump, but he still glared at it like it was an assassin crouched in ambush all the same.
Somehow, the prince was still in a blindingly good mood as they walked their horses up the twisting, mountain road four days later, the breath of man and beast billowing in the air as they climbed higher. Everything was an adventure to Ruairí, and Nye couldn’t help but twitch a little smile as he watched the way the soldiers leaned closer to their prince in the firelight at camp, drawn like moths to his radiant joy instead of the flames of the campfire. Nye made one more round of the perimeter guards, greeting each by name and earning an earnest salute as he left them to their duties, and went to lie down on his own bedroll while the prince kept talking late into the night.
On the following morning, they reached the mouth of the canyon where the dragon was supposed to have gone down. According to Lord Mortingale’s soldiers, it had swooped overhead from a lower peak of the mountains, then swept down the narrow gorge like a hurricane, which spooked the horses to a white-eyed panic and caused the archers on the ground to nock arrows. When they’d loosed at it, it had wheeled away suddenly, and only to catch a wing on the bridge, colliding with it and disappearing into the depths of the gully. The soldiers had been forced to keep going, given the fragile health of their lord, and hadn’t been able to report accurately on the status of the dragon when they’d left the pass.
At the head of the canyon, a huge waterfall roared over the edge of a ‘v’ in the ridgeline of the mountains and plunged down out of sight into the bottom of the gorge. In the spring this road was only just passable because of the sheer volume of meltwater, but now at the tail end of autumn, the road was only misted by a constant spray. On either side of the gorge, the rocks rose into steep pinnacles, and in front of the waterfall, bathed in a sheeting mist, the stone bridge spanned the canyon and connected the road from one side to the other.
The walls that made up the protective sides of the sandstone bridge had been punched out in places by a the collision of something enormous, presumably the dragon as it fell, and all up the far side of the steep slope the trees and scrub had been singed to charcoal.
Aneirin held up a gauntleted hand and the riders halted. Taking a deep breath of damp, freezing air that burned his lungs, he listened. Behind the constant roar and rumble of the waterfall, a deeper sound filtered up through the scorched trees and scattered rocks. Low frequency, like two blocks of castle masonry grinding together, the rumble of a dragon reached his ears.
“Sir, that bridge looks like it’s about to go,” the captain of the unit muttered from Aneirin’s left and he nodded.
“We need to get a better look at what’s down there, but the scree slope on either side of the bridge is too dangerous to go near. I’ll dismount and go on foot.”
“Nye, you can’t go onto the bridge!” Ruairí exclaimed, wheeling his horse around to face his friend. “What if it gives out?”
“One man isn’t going to tip the balance,” he said. “But you stay here. You hear me? Stay…”
“I’m not a dog, Nye,” the prince pouted, but he did stay put.
Aneirin nodded, swung down from his horse and petted the placid gelding’s neck. The black horse twitched his head and stretched happily when the knight let go of the reins, but otherwise remained steady.
After only a couple of steps, he heard another rider dismounting from behind him, and turned to find one of the soldiers hurrying after him. “Captain said you shouldn’t go alone,” she said. “I volunteered.”
Aneirin shot the captain a level look, but didn't protest. He wasn’t sure what difference one extra person would make, but he wasn’t one for causing social friction when there were bigger problems to face; namely the dragon lurking in the steam at the bottom of the four hundred foot drop.
Stones and grit skittered away audibly under the arch of the bridge as the two of them stepped cautiously out onto it, avoiding the missing chunks and making their way to the middle where the wall was still intact and they could peer safely over the edge into the abyss. A flash of movement out of the corner of his right eye caught his attention, and Nye turned sharply to find the soldiers they’d left behind had dismounted and were loading bolts into crossbows. The grinding of the windlasses had dissolved into the noise of the waterfall and they were nearly all ready to loose.
Frustration flickered through him. If he shouted a warning from right above the dragon though, it could alert the beast to their presence, but if those fools shot down at it now, it could take out the entire bridge while they were still standing on it. Heck, if the dragon wanted to, it could probably start a landslide and suck the whole damned road into the gorge as well. Grinding his teeth, Nye waved and exhaled in relief when the captain responded in kind, and when Nye gave the signal to hold, the captain nodded and barked something to his soldiers that was lost to Nye behind the pounding waterfall.
Satisfied that they wouldn't endanger the crown prince or the volunteer soldier who’d come with him, Nye leaned over the edge and his breath caught. There at the bottom of the gorge was indeed the dragon.
A myriad of golden scales glittered in the water like a treasure hoard itself as the creature basked in the flow of water, seeming to enjoy the feel of it caressing the spiny ridges of its back. He frowned though when he realised it was slowly swinging its head back and forth through the water just downstream of the waterfall’s plunge-pool, jaws slightly open, and it appeared to be… catching fish? Somehow the image didn’t align at all with what he’d expected for a beast that big. Had it just been sitting in the river for a week catching salmon and trout like a fat lordling on a vacation from court life?
Before his bafflement could truly sink in, the sharp clunk of a crossbow loosing somewhere to his right jerked his attention away from the dragon, and before he could react, a thick, oak bolt sank deep into the creature’s shoulder just above its wing membrane and it gave a screeching roar loud enough to make Nye’s eardrums hurt and his mind go a little bit blank from the sheer, unfamiliar dread of it.
With a wild thrash, the dragon erupted out of the spray from the base of the waterfall and sent its tail and powerful hind quarters arcing around like a battering ram while remaining on the ground. The whole structure of the bridge swayed and shuddered as the beast collided with its footing piles, and both the knight and the soldier froze in place with their hands clutching the stone wall.
“Run!” Nye yelled at her, shoving her in the direction of her comrades gathered nervously on the road to their right. If he survived this, he was going to see to it personally that the one who’d loosed without a direct order was on latrine duty for at least six months.
The desperate beating of wings as the creature floundered and screamed again filled the air and the bridge gave way beneath them with a thunderous clamour.
Nye found himself sucked downwards amid a cloud of masonry and dust and the woman beside him screamed and floundered for the remaining edge of the bridge but it was too late.
Amid the clouds of choking dust, gold flashed and flickered, and something incalculably enormous barrelled out of the carnage at them with the force of an avalanche. Talons snatched for him and Nye found himself borne upwards while the scaly foot of a dragon closed around him. The brief thought that he would be punctured and crushed like an egg in his steel armour flitted across his mind as the dragon lurched upwards with a knight in one hand and, to Nye’s relief, a soldier in its other.
It struggled to escape the blocks of sandstone as they rained around them, but despite the bolt in its shoulder, it cleared the wreckage and swooped over the road, but as it banked, the soldier slipped from its grasp and plummeted away. Nye had the vague impression of her bouncing once and sitting upright while crossbow bolts buzzed through the air like summer flies until someone obviously yelled at the soldiers to stop in case they hit Nye.
The last thing he saw before they wheeled away into an open sky was Ruairí’s horrified expression peeking out from the visor of his golden helmet and the sword falling from limp, shocked fingers as his friend was snatched away by the dragon they had been sent to kill.
He wasn’t sure how long they flew northwards along the spine of the Icetide Mountains, but the dragon eventually began to tire, swaying and weaving, sometimes dropping a horrifying ten or twelve feet between wing beats, until a shivering Nye looked up and realised that a wide, snowy field was rapidly coming into focus through the oncoming snow that had started to fill the air perhaps an hour earlier. At the end of the long meadow covered in a perfect layer of deep snow, Nye could just about see a gaping hole in the cliff-face, and realised it must be a cave. Dimly, his mind supplied that this was probably the dragon’s home, and he was probably either about to be eaten or stored for later like a woodlouse in a spiderweb.
As the ground rushed up to meet them, he tried to thrash free of the enormous, curling talons, but he was held firm, and there was no freeing himself. When the dragon didn’t slow down nearly enough though, another thought crossed his mind. They were going to crash land, and he realised this might be it. Death by high-velocity impact with a mountainside wasn’t on the list of ways the Crownsguard knight had ever thought he would perish, but he didn’t have any more time to ponder it as the dragon twisted at the last minute and collided with the ground in a spray of snow, and Nye was tossed from its talons to land in a heap thirty feet from the point of impact.
He struck his head, helmet clanging once, and his consciousness winked out instantly.
Warmth was the next thing he felt, and he blinked his eyes open to find that he was lying on his back in the snow, and above him, a dragon was squinting against the onslaught of a full storm, its ochre eyes fixed on him as it tilted its head this way and that to get a better look at him, and it exhaled again. Its warm breath washed over him and he realised his clothes were soaking wet where the heat of its breath had melted the snow.
Aneirin’s first thought was that he was about to be eaten, but instead of floundering away or reaching for a weapon, he just froze.
“You’re awake,” came a rich, rumbling voice and he blinked. Nothing in the tales he’d ever heard had suggested that dragons were capable of human speech. They were wild, savage beasts that burned the land below them in great swathes and snatched people into the air like owls hunting vermin in a cornfield. “Thank goodness,” the dragon went on, and then sat back on its haunches like a dog to regard him at a bit of a distance. A huge, golden dog, partly covered in snow and bleeding from a barb in its shoulder, but still, the resemblance to a dog was remarkable.
“How… How long was I out?” Aneirin rasped, sitting up. When he didn’t feel sick and his vision didn’t warp, he felt a degree of relief. The concussion he’d suffered wouldn’t be bad.
“Only a minute or so,” the dragon said, lowering its muzzle a little and puffing out again. “But you should get inside before you freeze. The temperature out here is too low for human survival.”
“How would you know that?” he groused as he struggled to stand and then gave a yelp as his ankle gave way beneath him in a hot flash of pain. In all the shock of coming round and finding a dragon in his face, he’d not noticed the pain in his leg.
The dragon caught him in its claws and tightened its hold just enough to hold him steady and he clutched at the tiny, snake skin scales that covered its hand more out of reflex than anything else.
“Come on,” the dragon muttered, and he could hear the bellows of its breathing clearly this close up. The sheer presence of the creature was astonishing, overwhelming, and he swallowed, trying to process everything that had happened that day.
Using three out of its four legs, the dragon ploughed through the deep snow, keeping him aloft with its right front foot, and then it ducked its head and slipped into the cave like a snake disappearing into its den.
Aneirin blinked slowly, looking around. It wasn’t a cold, empty cave littered with carcasses and bones, but instead the walls were smooth, ashlar masonry, and adorned with tapestries. In the far corner was what appeared to be a great nest on a stone platform made of silks and furs.
“This… This isn’t what I’d expected,” he whispered, wondering if he was hallucinating all this.
The dragon chuckled, low and warm and oddly friendly before he sat the knight down on the bed of fabric and stepped back. “I’ll find you something to wrap your ankle. I don’t think it’s broken, but it might like some support…”
“How would you even know that?” he asked again, ignoring the pain and staring up at the creature.
Its sunset orange eyes seemed to laugh and the pupils dilated just a little as the dragon stared at him. Then it cocked its head a little to one side and laughed quietly again. “I have an interest in human scholarship, though I admit, my sources may be a little out of date now…”
“You… what?”
If dragons could look embarrassed, this one managed it, so much so that Nye felt a prickle of shame creep in behind the slightly hysterical exhaustion that was making his body heavy, his mind a bit slow, and his dark eyes incredibly gritty.
Clearly seeing as much, the dragon sighed, a sound like wind moving through woodland, and then said, “Why don’t you rest and we’ll talk more tomorrow?”
“I thought perhaps… uh…” Nye faltered, the shame intensifying.
“That I was going to eat you?” the dragon said, one brow-ridge rising with disconcerting familiarity into a dryly sarcastic expression. “Please, all that pretty, etched steel of yours would give me terrible indigestion.”
“Says the dragon that was gorging on fish in the river like a grizzly bear.”
“Well we don’t exactly have an overabundance of trout up here on the mountaintop,” the dragon retorted, puffing smoke out of its nostrils. “Excuse me for wanting to broaden my diet and make the most of an unfortunate situation. Until you lot came back and shot at me, I was actually enjoying myself. They weren’t the mountain goats I’d been looking for, but the fish were fun to catch and tasty to eat.”
At his words, Nye’s brown eyes slid to the bolt that was sticking out of the dragon’s shoulder still, like a bee’s sting, and his gut twisted. “You want me to take that out for you?” he asked, jutting his chin upwards to indicate the bolt.
“If you would be so kind,” the dragon admitted. “Though I’m surprised you’re offering, since you seem to have been sent to finish me off. It does hurt rather…”
“Here,” he said, and gestured for the dragon to lower its body down, which it did with surprising grace given the close confines and evident discomfort. “My name’s Aneirin,” he added.
“The one with the gold on his helm shouted something different at you as we flew off,” the dragon said as it got settled on the stone floor in front of its nest. “He seemed particularly distressed.”
“‘Nye’, probably,” he said as he reached for the oak bolt and braced his other hand on the scales of the dragon’s shoulder. The body beneath him was solid and warm, and the scales had the most beautiful iridescence to them over the gold lustre beneath. “The prince is the only one who calls me that, except my sister. What should I call you, by the way?”
“My name is —” the dragon began, but grunted and bared its teeth when Nye drew the bolt out. A little blood trickled down, but it wasn’t much, and Nye pressed a wad of clean linen from the pile beneath him to the wound, and the dragon went on. “My name is Vulfuri’ik.”
Nye scowled. “Vul… fury… ick?” he repeated, butchering the syllables and the glottal stop even while they were still fresh in his ears. “Never been much good with languages,” he added with a wry look at the dragon, who was regarding him sidelong with a flat, unimpressed sort of look at his poor efforts. “How about I call you ‘Fury’ instead?”
Indignant, the dragon’s head lurched up and the movement pulled the makeshift dressing away from the clotting wound as it fixed the knight with a scowl of outrage. “Fury? Fury?!” it repeated. “My name means ‘peaceful wanderer’, you know? It’s a name that’s been carried by many of the noblest males of my line!”
“I’d been wondering if you were male or female,” Nye mumbled. “Well, I can certainly try to pronounce your name — what was it again?”
“Vulfuri’ik,” he said with exaggerated pronunciation, huge teeth clicking when he snapped his jaws shut at the end of the word and glared down at the knight.
“Vool… fur…eek…”
“Oh for the love of the sky, no. No. Just stick with Fury. That’s fine. You’ll only be here for one night anyway. Once you’ve healed up and I’ve convinced you to tell your kind to stop shooting your nasty little bolts at me if I ever need to venture down into the valley, I’ll take you back to the road and I’ll never have to hear you spoil my sacred name with that tiny little tongue of yours.”
“My tongue’s had quite a few compliments, you know?” Nye shot, not entirely sure where the bout of playful innuendo had come from. Perhaps it was exhaustion and the fact that he was trading gentle insults back and forth with a creature that was only supposed to exist in legends now anyway.
“I’m sure,” Fury said dryly. “But until you decide that I can test that claim for myself, why don’t you take your little metal shell off and I’ll find you a goat or something you can eat, and then you can rest.”
Nye had to smile. The creature was supposed to be intimidating, and in a way he supposed he was, but the sense of humour was not something he’d been expecting. As he stripped off the various pieces of his plate armour, he felt the dragon’s curious eyes on him and turned to meet his gaze. In the stillness that swung between them, Nye sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, gaze snagging on the scab that had formed over the hole where the crossbow quarrel had sunk into his shoulder. “When we’d heard that a monster from the mists of time had crashed down on the border of our kingdom, we only thought to protect ourselves from you. Clearly, you were just… raiding our larder…”
The dragon laughed, deep and rumbling like a rock slide, and something shot through Nye that he wasn’t expecting to feel. He didn’t often seek out the company and touch of others, despite his momentary brag earlier. It just wasn’t something he felt the need for, but in that moment, the way the dragon’s voice rippled through him and his supple lips pulled back to reveal a maw full of sharp, white teeth, and his talons flexed on the stonework floor and his wings drew a little closer to his muscular, lithe body… Nye felt his cock twitch and decided he might actually have a concussion after all.
The dragon left not long after that, and returned with a neatly butchered and roasted goat, which surprised the knight, who had been poking around the large, chilly cave and hopping awkwardly to avoid putting weight on his sprained ankle.
“You shouldn’t be up,” the dragon purred as he landed and held out the goat on one talon. “Here.”
“You want me to eat out of your hand? Bold. We’ve only just met.”
The dragon’s laugh sounded again, only longer and louder this time, and he looked at the steel hanging on Nye’s hip. “I thought you could use that. It’s not the most elegant of solutions, but I don’t exactly have a full dinner service here. I don’t collect crockery like an old lady.”
It was Nye’s turn to bark a laugh at that, and he shook his head. “Alright, I’ll use my castle-forged steel sword as a carving knife, but just this once.”
“I hope it’s clean,” the dragon grimaced.
“I take good care of my weapon,” he said, and then hoped the dragon wouldn’t notice the flush in his face at the horrible and actually unintended innuendo. Definitely a concussion. He was never this bold or unguarded with people ordinarily.
“Glad to hear it,” Fury muttered dryly.
Fury let Nye sleep on the pile of fabric that night while he curled up on the floor like an overgrown, gold-adorned house-cat, and Nye found that he had no trouble drifting off whatsoever, and woke to find the snowstorm raging outside the cave entrance when he woke the following morning.
Over the next three days, while his ankle healed and the snow piled up, he and Fury talked. The cave he was living in was the remnants of a human outpost from the time when dragons and humans had apparently once lived in peace. “This cavern was actually where the dragon would have lived, while their rider would stay in a small room below — through that tunnel,” Fury said, astonishing Nye with the information.
“Their… ‘rider’?”
“Mmm,” the dragon rumbled, puffing a small flame over his tongue to ignite a torch on the wall beside an opening large enough for a human to walk down. “Every room in this little termite mound of an outpost is accessible to my kind as well, though I have to go outside and back in again. Something to do with the structure of the rock not being sound enough to tunnel down from here. There are other rooms below.”
“Yes, sure, but… rider?”
“Oh. Has your kind forgotten that?”
“Forgotten what? All we know about dragons is that you’re deadly, fire breathing lizards who —”
“Reptiles, yes,” he growled. “But not lizards. Lizards do not spit volatile compounds which ignite when combined.”
“That’s how your fire is made?”
“Yes, it’s a simple bio-chemical reaction. Don’t they teach you anything these days?”
“I… You know what, no. Dragon biology wasn’t covered in my training to become a knight.”
“No, but they do cover how hard you need to hit a fellow man and where to cut him open to make him die… Very refined.”
“You’re one sarcastic lizard, you know that?”
Instead of taking offence, the dragon grinned at him. “Gosh, it’s wonderful to have company,” he sighed. “I know I shouldn’t enjoy it too much, since you’re only still here because you’re hurting and there’s a snowstorm and all, but I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve actually… you know… exchanged words with someone. I talk to myself all the time, but it’s not the same.”
“When was the last time? Are you the only dragon in these parts?”
“I’m the only dragon for at least five hundred miles,” he sighed. “And she’s a big, grumpy elder dragon who thinks I’m still a hatchling for goodness sake! A hatchling! I’m very much an adult, and I’m sorry my gizzard isn’t saggy enough for her tastes, but there you have it.”
Nye laughed and then rolled his ankle around experimentally. “I think it’s basically healed,” he said. “But it’s been an unexpectedly nice change from castle duties. Keeping the prince from falling down a staircase because he’s too busy flirting with some lording’s son has it’s own challenges, sure, but this is a nice change of pace.”
“You and the prince are… close?” Fury asked carefully. “But you are not… mated?”
“Mated? Gods no. They wouldn’t let him ‘mate’ his Crownsguard. He’s expected to continue the line, and I know you know enough about human biology to know that wouldn’t happen with the two of us, even if we wanted it.”
“Oh. Yes,” he said. “Is it… acceptable for two of your kind to mate though?”
“Yeah, when the future of a kingdom doesn’t hang in the balance,” he shrugged. “You?”
He nodded. “Dragons do not dictate with whom another may mate, though I admit, I’ve only ever met one of my kind. There are so few of us left in these parts after all.”
That rather dampened the mood, and they spent the rest of the evening discussing lighter topics. Nye told him about his twin sister and the work she did in the Temple of Healing, and how he had always felt like she was the smart one out of the two of them. He told Fury of her passion for healing and helping, and how he felt that his role as a knight in the castle, training younger soldiers and protecting the crown prince, was barely halfway as useful as Seren’s work, and was surprised when Fury reassured him that helping to ensure the longevity of a ruler he valued was just as important.
“I realise I don’t know you all that well,” Fury said, “But I don’t think you would stand behind a ruler who did not care for their people.”
Nye looked down at his rough, scar-flecked hands where he had cradled them idly in his lap. “Ruairí is a good man,” he said with quiet certainty, thinking of that fire-lit camp and their warm smiles and boyish laughter. “The soldiers love him, and the people adore him too. You should see the way they cheer for him at the tourneys…”
“Tell me about them?” Fury asked, his eyes lighting up at the idea of more knowledge.
“The tourneys or the people?”
“All of it…”
So he did.
While the snowstorm continued to whisk the world into a white haze outside, Nye told the dragon everything he wanted to know about how humans in his kingdom lived these days, and in turn, Fury curled around him to keep him warm with the heat of his enormous, golden body.
Nye talked late into the night, and he only realised that the dragon had fallen asleep when he noted the regular rhythm of his breathing had slowed even more than usual. Turning, he stared at the dragon and marvelled at what he was seeing. The light of the nearby fire in a niche in the wall caught the iridescence of his golden scales, each one unique and perfect, and Nye reached out and ran his fingertips over the dragon’s brow-ridge and around the base of the horn that curved elegantly backwards over his head. The dragon let out a long, low, sleepy rumble of pleasure and Nye gave a sigh.
Conflicted about his feelings for a creature that was about as far from a human as it was possible to get, he curled up against the dragon’s side that night, and woke in the morning with the dragon’s arm snugging him close to his warm body.
Sliding free, Nye stretched and walked easily across the cave floor towards the entrance; his ankle was healed and he would have to return home soon, lest he be pronounced dead and the modest estate he owned outside the city be turned over to someone else. His sister must be beside herself with grief and worry too, if the prince had done what Nye was sure he would, and informed her personally of what had happened to her twin brother.
The wind had lost its vigour and now the little flakes drifted gently down like the pattern on a lace curtain.
A warm breeze wafted over his neck and he turned to find that Fury had come to stand behind him. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he’d not heard the enormous, golden dragon moving behind him, and he exhaled too. Fury nuzzled him gently and crooned softly. “You are thoughtful,” he said. “Even… sad?”
“Just thinking about what my sister must be going through right now, thinking I’m dead.”
“I will fly you back today,” the dragon replied immediately. “The weather is not ideal for you, but I have a human friend who keeps horses on the plains below these mountains. You can borrow a mount from her and ride to the capital. If I try to approach, they’ll shoot me down on sight without realising what a precious cargo I would be carrying,” he added, and huffed a breath out that made Nye shiver again. “You’re cold standing here on the threshold, come,” Fury added, scowling.
“Not cold,” Nye said, his voice cracking just a little. “It’s nice.”
“Oh. You had but to ask,” he smiled, and sighed out another deliciously hot breath in the cold air.
Nye brought his hand to the delicate skin between the flared nostrils and Fury jolted and then relaxed in almost the same heartbeat. “You like that?”
“Mm, very much,” he rumbled, eyes rolling slightly as he closed them. “Your touch is… wonderful.”
Nye moved his hands along the dragon’s head, taking his time to feel the contours beneath his hands, and Fury gasped and lay down on his belly, allowing Nye to touch him wherever he pleased. “You’re so beautiful,” Nye murmured. “Your scales are like coins… You’re like a treasure yourself…”
“Oh,” the dragon sighed, shuddering bodily.
“What?”
“That’s… That’s quite the compliment among our kind… calling someone — ah — a treasure…”
“You are,” he said, leaning closer and kissing him just in front of his closed eye. “You’re rarer than gold, too.”
“Charmer,” the dragon rumbled, but he sounded pleased. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”
“You… You want… more?”
Fury opened his eyes and regarded Nye. “I don’t want to hurt you…”
“You’re careful,” Nye said. “And clever. I’m sure we can figure something out.”
Fury let out a long, low-frequency growl that Nye felt in every fibre of his body, and then licked his lips. “I want to use my tongue on you,” the dragon rasped. “I want to taste you. I want… I want you, human. Like I’ve never wanted anything before.”
“So long as you’re careful, you can have me,” Nye said, stepping back and undressing slowly.
The dragon watched, as though Nye were a priceless statue that was being unveiled just for his pleasure. He rocked his hips from time to time against the floor, and Nye realised with a jolt of satisfaction that the dragon was as aroused by the situation as he was. “Fuck, you like this, don’t you?”
“I like you, human,” he said with a bit of a snarl to his tone. And when Nye’s dark, linen trousers and underwear hit the cave floor beside his shirt, the dragon raised his head and exhaled to drive away the goosebumps that had prickled over Nye’s skin. “Let me pick you up?” he breathed.
Nye inclined his head, and the dragon’s claws closed around his naked body. He’d never felt so vulnerable and cherished and so turned on in all his life. He went limp in the dragon’s grasp even as the sharp teeth and lashing tongue descended, seemingly to devour him. Somehow, he trusted that this was not the way he would die.
Fury parted his jaws and let his searing hot tongue lave over Nye’s entire torso and down to his groin where his cock was straining and leaking already, and when the heat of Fury’s mouth washed over him, his mind went blank with pleasure. “Gods, that’s good,” he gasped, bucking weakly in Fury’s careful hold.
“Now who’s a treasure, look at you,” the dragon purred, his deep voice skittering through Nye’s body and setting every nerve ablaze.
His tongue pressed against his cock, the friction perfect, and Nye tumbled towards his release with a shout, arching and writhing helplessly in his hold as the dragon worshipped him. When he came against his tongue, Fury gave a great groan of pleasure and Nye’s hearing warped for a moment.
When he came back to himself, Nye found Fury’s tongue gently cleaning him, and he glanced dazedly down the dragon’s belly to where he found his hard cock dripping freely onto the floor. “You can… Use… me to make you come, if… if you like…” he said vaguely.
Fury laid him down the bed and lined his hard cock up with the knight’s thighs. He was far too big to enter him, but the feel of Nye’s legs around his hard, slick cock was enough to send a rumble of ecstasy through Fury and he gasped, tilting his head up to the ceiling and rutting against him. His hips moved desperately and a constant, low-frequency growling rippled out of him.
“You’re going to make me come,” Fury groaned. “Oh I’m going to come, I’m coming… I’m…”
He lifted Nye up in his talons while his back legs pistoned helplessly, and he spilled over the silk sheet beneath him and halfway up Nye’s legs and torso. His hot come covered Nye’s skin despite the dragon’s best efforts to raise him out of it, and the feel of it around his cock and over his abs nearly made him come again right on the heels of his first orgasm.
When the dragon finally stopped, he lowered Nye to the cleaner part of the bed and let out a long, rumbling purr. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Nye chuckled. “Fuck, that was hot.”
Fury gently cleaned him and he dressed in one of the finer silk shirts from the dragon’s collection.
“Is this what you hoard then?” Nye asked, plucking at the sleeve of the garment.
“Mmm? Oh, no,” came Fury’s sleepy reply from where he’d curled up on his nest after discarding the fabric that had been ruined by his release. “I just collected it for my own comfort over the years. Come here.”
Nye lay down with him and let the dragon’s warmth seep into him while the world passed them by for another day. They made love again later, and Fury took his time to take Nye apart a second, third, and even a fourth time before the sun set on their secret lair.
The following morning though, Fury woke to find Nye dressed in his armour and ready to leave. “Wait,” the beautiful, gentle, golden dragon said. “Before you go, I want you to see something. Go down that staircase, and I will meet you at the other end.”
Nye nodded and headed off in the direction the dragon had pointed, turning down a switchback staircase cut into the rock. He came out in a pitch dark room with no idea how large the echoing space was until a warm light trickled around the edge in a creeping tide. He looked and found, astonished, that a channel of oil had been ignited, and the light was racing around the perimeter of a massive chamber, at the centre of which were rows and rows of… books.
Kept at a safe distance from the fire, the books were stored on stone shelves, and he stepped out to find ancient tomes, perfectly preserved by the stable atmosphere and humidity of the chamber. From behind him, he heard the steady footsteps of the dragon, and turned to find him rounding the corner, scales shimmering in the low light.
“This is your hoard?” he asked.
“Mm,” the dragon nodded. “Silly really, but your kind are fascinating to me. The way you chronicle everything… Look there,” he added and pointed to a nearby shelf. The two approached it together and the dragon raised a talon to a particular tome.
Nye drew it off the shelf and realised it was a tome dedicated to healing.
“That might help the lord you told me about. The one who was travelling to the capital for relief from his illness,” Fury said. “When you described his symptoms to me, I thought of that book. Take it with you today, and it might save him if your sister can prepare the necessary tinctures for him.”
The knight looked up at the dragon and his eyes brimmed with quiet tears. “You’re not at all what I thought you’d be,” he croaked.
Fury lowered his head and exhaled just to make Nye shiver. “Nor are you, human.”
With a heavy heart, Nye let Fury pick him up, and they began their journey southwards in silence. The wind roared in his ears and he curled up in the protective embrace of the dragon’s claws, enjoying the ride but wishing he had warmer clothes.
Eventually they dipped low over the landscape and Fury touched down in a snow-dusted pasture while a few horses scattered and whinnied indignantly at their arrival.
From the small farmhouse nearby, a middle aged woman emerged and put her hands on her hips when she saw the dragon.
“Your friend?” Nye asked as he was set gently down in the snow and Fury stepped back.
Eliara was wary of a stranger at first, though not of the huge, golden dragon it seemed, but when Fury vouched for him, she lent Aneirin a horse on the condition that he would bring the mare back to her in the same condition when he was able. He swore an oath to do so, and she seemed satisfied.
“Will I ever see you again?” Nye asked Fury while they stood on the snowy road outside the barn where some of the less hardy horses were kept.
Fury bit his lower lip and then said, “If you wish it, I can give you a gift that will allow you to see me again.”
“I do,” he said. “I… I want to tell Ruairí that you’re not an enemy to the kingdom but an ally. I want him to meet you. I want… I want you to be welcome in our lands. Providing you don’t eat our sheep…”
He rumbled a low laugh and dipped his head to nuzzle Nye’s side. The horse seemed completely unbothered by his presence. “No, precious one. I will not eat your people’s sheep. There are plenty of wild ones to sustain me.” He drew in a deep breath and held it before rising up to reveal his chest and exhaling gently. Taking his talons like two pincers, he plucked free a single, golden scale from right over his heart and held it out to Nye.
The knight took it like it was a sacred relic and held it in the palm of his hand. Its warmth was surprising, and he closed his fingers around it before looking up for an explanation.
“My magic will allow me to feel what you feel when you hold it against your skin, Nye,” he said. “If you wish to see me, I will know it, and I will come.”
Nye squeezed it tight and tried to ignore the ache in his chest. “I wish you could come with me now,” he said, “But you’re right. They would attack you this time.”
“Perhaps in the future,” Fury smiled. “Don’t be sad… It… I do not like to feel you sad…”
Nye kissed the smooth scales between the dragon’s nostrils and tucked the gifted scale safely into the pouch on his belt. “I’ll have it made into a pendant that I can wear around my neck, always.”
Fury swallowed thickly and looked away, but he was obviously deeply moved by the promise.
Eliara’s palomino mare might have been alright with the dragon’s presence, but she was not at all happy at the prospect of a ride in the snow. She did allow Nye to mount, though only after making her sentiments known with a hefty nip on his arm. With an oath to return the mare and a promise to the dragon to summon him when he was first able to, Nye set off for the capital.
Eliara’s stud was only a day’s ride from the city walls, and when Nye trotted in near sunset, the first place he went was the Temple of Healing. Seren screeched when she saw her brother and flew at him, looping her arms around his neck and sobbing. “I thought you were dead,” she cried. “The prince said…”
“Hush,” he smiled, holding her too. “It’s quite the tale, but first, this is for you. It is for Lord Mortingale.”
Thanks to the lost knowledge in the book, the lord was healed within in a month, and Nye returned to his life in the castle. Ruairí begged him to tell every detail of his time with the dragon, and while Nye was a loyal servant to the crown, he felt justified in not telling his prince quite everything… Magister Ferrar seemed to suspect a deeper bond existed between the two of them than simple friendship, but if he did, he kept that to himself.
When spring melted the snow and the crocuses pushed their bold, purple spearheads through the frosty ground to liven up the pastures, Nye took the mare and his own black gelding which Ruairí had led back to the castle when he’d been snatched away by Fury, and he returned the mare to Eliara.
Then, in the privacy of the deserted, wildflower meadow, he took the silver pendant that he had had crafted for him and cradled it in his hand, closing his eyes and trying to beg the dragon silently to come to him.
He waited in the pasture for an hour before he heard the beating of wings and when he looked up into the clear, spring sky, he saw a flash of gold and his heart leapt. The dragon banked, showing his gleaming wings, and a huge gout of flame burst from his maw across the sky like a pennant before he turned, tucked his wings, and made a peregrine dive towards the meadow.
He barely stopped in time to avoid crushing Nye beneath him, and when he nuzzled him like a cat over and over, rumbling and purring and crooning, Nye laughed and kissed him. “I missed you too, Fury,” he said.
“You have no idea,” the dragon replied. “Gods, you have no idea. Are you well?”
“Can’t you tell?” he asked, only then releasing the large pendant to dangle back against his chest.
“Yes,” Fury laughed. “Yes, I can. My most precious treasure, you are happy and I love it. I missed you. Will you fly with me?”
Nye turned and looked back to find Eliara standing at a polite distance. The horsewoman nodded once and called, “I’ll keep your gelding for you til you return.”
“Thank you,” he said.
And with that, the dragon picked him up and thrashed his wings hard, taking off and soaring up into the clear sky.
Nye spent a week at Fury’s home, and after that, he returned to the capital with Fury this time.
Ruairí was the first to greet the dragon, and he swore that Fury could come and go from their city in peace, so long as he respected the same bargain. Fury solemnly gave his oath in return. The second human to greet Fury was Seren, and the two spent a solid three hours talking about healing treatises until Nye and the prince interrupted politely with an offer of refreshments. Fury had no time for Magister Ferrar, apparently.
Thus, the ancient alliance between dragon and human was reforged by a knight and his golden dragon, and Nye spent the days when he wasn’t at his prince’s side in the loving arms of his dragon.
__
I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, and you made it all the way to the end, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.
Sheesh, these characters have existed in one form or another for more than a literal decade now. I wrote this as an anniversary present for Mason last year, so it’s full mushy - but it seems fitting for these two to be the first ones I post here.
One day I’ll make the unfinished project they originated from, but it’s unlikely that it’ll be anytime soon. I just can't resist revisiting my dearly beloved gay immortal steampunk werewolves every so often.
—
Looking out at the empty planetarium is almost eerie, with how devoid of other signs of life it is in the otherwise populated museum housing it.
Though, it’s made less unsettling knowing it is only this empty because you've bought out every other ticket for the rest of the evening. Normally you would avoid such a flagrant, wasteful show of your wealth, but in this case, you only had your beloved's happiness in mind.
After a full day of city sightseeing, you wanted to ensure he would be relaxed enough to truly be able to focus on this experience - to really drink it in. Something that simply wouldn’t have been possible for someone of his disposition in a theatre packed full of people.
…And, perhaps a bit selfishly, you wanted to have the privacy to watch his reaction to something this precious, completely unimpeded by the presence of random strangers.
"Oh, what a grand room this is…" August wanders down the aisle between rows of seats ahead of you, looking around at the open space in the middle when he arrives there. “Some sort of theatre?”
True to his inquisitive nature, he’s been trying to piece together what you’ve had planned since you mentioned you had a specific activity scheduled this evening, whereas the itinerary has been loose for the rest of the day.
"Very spacious in the middle. If it weren’t for the seats, it almost resembles a ballroom…" His voice trails off with a hint of suspicion as he glances back at you.
“Do not fret," You chuckle. "I would not dream of asking you to ballroom dance again."
"I would hope not, not after last time." He turns to face you and his eyes glint mischievously before his expression softens. "Though, I don't think I would decline, when it's just the two of us to ourselves like this…"
Reassured he won't have to stumble through stiff and jerky ballroom dancing, August defaults to what he does best.
"So, not a ballroom, not an average theatre as it lacks a stage… I would think it must be some sort of playhouse, but there is no stage."
"No, neither of those. Though it is technically a sort of theatre."
“Hmm… And for what function would the floor be made of glass, exactly?” He strokes his chin in thought, the way he often does when he’s deep in analysis, his hooves making light clicks against the surface as he wanders. “It seems a strange choice for purely aesthetic reasons…”
“You will see very shortly.” You say, stealing a glance from the pocketwatch in your breast pocket.
Right on time.
As if checking urged the minute hand to finally lurch forward, the overhead lights click off in unison.
Spooked at the sudden darkness, August reaches for your hand, slightly hesitantly in his lack of vision, whispering your name softly for reassurance.
"Everything is okay. The darkness is part of the experience." You give his hand a squeeze.
"O-oho- You haven't brought me here for anything untoward, have you?"
"Hmh. No, though now that you have put the thought in my head, it sounds like an excellent plan for a later date."
Before he can make the playful response you are anticipating, the ethereal, electronic music starts filling the room, signaling the start of the presentation.
Typically during shows like this, there is an announcer reading off a script of helpful information about the cosmos. You had suggested they take an extended break when you unofficially reserved the planetarium for the time slot.
You're sure they're skilled in their own right, but August could surely run circles around them, just based on the limitless time he now has to devote to his precious interests. Moreover, you knew that the majority of August's enjoyment of this would be bubbling over with information to share with you.
The glass wall wakes up from its dormant, translucent state, now shifting between deep,velvety dark blues and cold violets. Astronomical bodies of various sizes dot the space- Stars, planets, comets - a reflection of all of Hearth's cosmos moving in a slow arc around you, spinning gently on an axis as it does around the actual planet, impossibly far above you.
“Oh…!”
The reflected light of a shimmering asterism passes over his face as he looks up in awe, making his golden eyes almost sparkle like stars themselves in the night against the indigo-hued shadow of the theatre.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? It is called a planetarium."
"Planetarium, planetarium…" August repeats, committing the word to memory. "I- I've never seen a place quite like this before... It is almost beyond comprehension, just how glorious it is. It's like an orrery, but an illusion across the entire room?"
"An interesting comparison. I suppose it is simply a large, intangible orrery - at least in principle."
"But however does it work? It must be magical in nature, surely!"
"Thread-based illusion, cast upon a Ley grid within the glass."
"How marvelous!" August gushes. "I never would've thought to apply Thread to Ley in such a manner… But now I have quite a few experiments to try when we get home, hah-"
He looks down for a moment to cradle his chin in thought, then recoils.
"Ah-!" August yelps in astonishment, seeing that the projection extends over the glass surface of the floor as well, producing a weightless effect. "That's why the floor is made of glass!"
His hand clutches your arm for stability. Even with your firm constitution, the illusion is tricking your body into feeling the sensation of floating weightless, out in space - or at least, what it might feel like, so you’re sure it’s having a similar effect on him. You place a supportive hand on the small of his back, in case the sudden impression of free floating makes him unbalanced.
Soon, your protective hold has let August relax, and he’s become completely enthralled
“There’s the Elven Diadems, northern and southern; and there’s Rowena seated on her throne, then the Chained Prophetess is over there…”
His eyes sweep the artificial sky, looking for something specific.
“Ah, there they are. The Warg and the Hunter’s Hound.”
“One of your personal favorites, if I recall.” Your hand squeezes the dip of his side affectionately.
“Yes. They were my favorites before as well, but now they seem to have a lot more of a meaning, coincidentally…” He chuckles, leaning into your touch. “Oh, look at that!-”
You continue listening to him gush about the various heavenly bodies for quite a while, completely smitten by his passion for the subject, as you always are.
Eventually, his voice grows hushed, his commentary spacing out until eventually you’re watching in silence. After a while just taking in the splendid view together, you realize that the end of your allotted time is drawing near.
“It will be time to depart, soon.”
He blinks, seemingly startled out of his awe-struck trance by the deep timbre of your voice. He’s had the tendency to falter at loud, booming voices for as long as you’ve known him, and while you’ve made a lot of effort to soften your voice over time, the ingrained projection needed for your orders to be heard over the tumult of battle is hard to fully tamp down, even after all this time not needing to use it.
“Have you enjoyed it?”
“I… I have. Everything that you’ve shown me today has been so new and bright and… simply stunning… I’ve had a wonderful time.”
He is being genuine in his appreciation, but even the small mask of a smile can't hide the streak of melancholy in him - not from you.
"What is vexing you?"
“It’s just… It’s all a bit…”
His voice wavers slightly before his thought fades into nothing.You patiently wait for him to continue, but when he struggles to find his words, you offer the next word for him.
“Overwhelming?”
He nods in affirmation, looking more guilty than anything else as a set of tears streak down his cheeks, brows furrowed and soft lips pouting.
“Take a deep breath, and then another.” You direct, and he complies. You use a calloused hand to wipe away his tears, then graze over the golden smattering of freckles on his cheek, then finally to gently tuck a strand of loose golden hair behind one of his gracefully pointed ears. “Good. Now, tell me what is haunting that lovely mind of yours.”
“I could have gone my whole life without ever encountering something of this nature if even the slightest thing had been different. How many other precious things are out there that I’m completely unaware of? That I’ll never discover- That I don’t even know exist to look for? Let alone things that are truly unknowable to us in the first place… Must I always be in the dark about something or another? It… It’s a terrible, hungry thought.”
You wrap your arms protectively around him and draw a hand across his back in soothing strokes.
Living one’s entire life on Rowena Isle was as an insulating experience for him as it was for you, after all. The culture shock when you started to learn what the rest of the world beyond the sea had to offer was a truly harrowing experience, so of course it would be for him, as well…
“My apologies, beloved. I did not consider how taxing all of these new experiences at once would be for your psyche. I should not have rushed the process.”
“N-No, you needn’t apologize! You've done nothing but try to share something very special with me, and I am truly thankful.” August sputters, his hands finding the fabric of your shirt and clutching close to you for comfort. His bright eyes turn up to gaze at you once again, still glassy with emotion but at least no longer spilling with tears. “Everything you've shown me on this trip has been so amazing! I don't regret it at all, even if I was uncomfortable at times. I’m simply… not expressing myself well, is all…”
“Still, perhaps it would have been more wise to introduce them to you at a slower pace. It was never meant to bring you to tears; at least no ones of sorrow.”
“It is… not a bad sorrow.”
You allow him the time to gather his thoughts, holding him secure in your arms.
“It’s true that it’s all new and… and the ramifications are so frightening to me, and yet… There is something about that which is so absolutely marvelous.”
The familiar spark of curiosity is clear in his voice once more.
“Oh, is it?” You realize you haven't given your lover enough credit.
He may be of a gentle and timid disposition, but he is by no means a fragile soul, and he's proven that to you time and again. To be that stunned by something so foreign and immediately bounce back with renewed interest and vigor - that is the August that you know.
“Yes. For the longest time I thought the stars were completely out of reach to someone like me, and yet- in this room someone has managed to capture their very essence and hang them on the walls.” He lets out a shuddering sigh that morphs into a bewildered laugh. “I am a small speck in this dark endless sky, but it means there will never be a shortage of new, bright things to come to know- to grow to love.”
"You undervalue yourself. You are worth every star in the sky to me."
“Whether I am worthy or not is… debatable. More importantly, though I am small, I am not alone.” He says, voice barely louder than a breath, and his slender, soft fingers graze up the sides of your face, affection clear in his touch. "You are here with me."
“That I am. There is no place I would rather be.”
“It’s such a shame it was a short visit.” August sighs again, this one much lighter, as he hugs you tightly. “I think I could stay here in the dark with you for days on end.”
You can’t help but feel validated that your idea to bring him here was so successful in the end.
“I will build you one at home, if you would so like.” You whisper into his ear.
He looks up at you and his eyes grow wide - they might as well be twinkling in reverence.
You feel his body press flush against your solid trunk, guiding your head downward with his gentle hands at the back of your neck, to press loving kisses to your lips.
“I will take this as a glowing endorsement.” You chuckle low between each peck.
Clearly swept up in the emotion, it doesn’t take long for the kisses to deepen, his fingernails lightly digging into your neck. He groans a soft, sweet noise of desire against your mouth.
It takes all of your self control to not sweep him off his feet and start groping him right here. He seems to be thinking much the same, the way he’s rubbing his torso against yours.
He says your name, the quirk of a naughty smile on his face.
“You know I only have one thing to offer you in return.” Signs of lust creep into his excited expression, his desperate grip, his breathless voice; but most of all, the thick, pheromonal scent hitting your nose. “Will you have it?
“I would take you right here, if I were a more reckless man.” You growl deeply, feeling the words rumble out from your chest. “But the evening grows short, my love; The moon is almost seated in her throne. We’ll need to get back to the hotel first, lest some poor museum worker get the shock of their life.”
“Hhm-” August huffs an affirmative laugh against your lips.
Luckily, you had the foresight to book a hotel only a brisk walk away. The nagging pull of the nearly risen full moon is still able to be squashed down - you've been doing this a very long time, after all. So, despite your skin itching and muscles straining, you're at least able to keep yourself restrained - for now.
You're barely inside the privacy of your hotel room until your mouth has found his, and your hands have found his body, creeping up under his buttoned shirt to feel the soft skin of his sides. Your fingers clench against his flesh, threatening to elongate into savage claws.
Neither of you bothers with flipping the light switch; not only is it not needed given the fact that you both have the ability to see in darkness, but because the room you booked has a glass ceiling designed for stargazing, letting more than enough late dusky light into the room to see what you’re doing. The convenient view of the night sky was a major contributing factor in your decision, and it provides more than enough lighting for this.
"Mmn." August hums in appreciation of the pressure in your grip and places both of his palms on your chest, feeling your hard muscle through the knit of the sweater you wear.
Those dexterous hands of his move to the hem and pull it up, a lilt of amusement in his voice against your lips as he continues.
"Firstly- I enjoy the look of this sweater on you far too much to see it torn to shreds."
You pull the garment up over your head, tossing it to the nearby wardrobe. August shifts his hands’ attention to unfastening the shell buttons on the crisp white shirt underneath.
As soon as he's gotten your shirt open, he lets out a pleased sigh, lovingly appreciating the carved lines of your chest and torso with his hands. He traces his fingers along scars old and relatively new, causing your nerves to prickle from the dulled, numb sensation of the various pinkened streaks on your flesh. The sensation clashes loudly with how eager your skin is to change, itching to sprout fur.
"And we can't forget this." August's hands raise to the sides of your face, gently hooking under the strap of your eyepatch and smoothly raising it off your face. He tosses it onto the wardrobe with your sweater. Fingers gently touch the scars around your ruined eye as well, softly kissing your cheekbone, before trailing down your jawline to your mouth, slowly speaking how much he adores you through tender action.
His tongue sweeps yours and you feel his attention shift to unbuttoning your trousers. Even the graze of indirect pressure on your groin is almost unbearable, every nerve ending in the area lit up and overly sensitive. Before he can fully unfasten the fly, you interrupt him.
"Undress." You break the kiss and command with a growl, through quickly sharpening teeth. You release your hold on him to allow him to do so. "I do not trust they will stay whole if the task is left to me."
August says nothing in response but moves out of your grasp, towards the bed, turning to face you when he gets there. He smiles coyly, unbuttoning his own shirt now, much more leisurely than he had yours. You watch with intense interest as more of his bronze skin is gradually revealed, barely keeping yourself together. The cold light from above glints off the metal ring of the collar on his neck.
He lets the dress shirt slip from his shoulders and fall to the floor, then continues working at the many buttons of his well-tailored, high-waisted trousers.
You're barely hanging on as you watch - between the pull of the imminently rising moon and the strong sense of desire for your partner pooling in your core.
After a torturously extended period undoing them, they crumple in a pool at August's hooves, along with what's left of your composure when you take in the sight of him, completely bare save for the collar around his neck and the strappy black underwear he's wearing. He looks at you expectantly and beckons you with a flick of his finger, a bulge of arousal clear through the minimal fabric left covering him.
You stalk forward, not yet creeping on all fours, but certainly more predatory in stance than is the norm for your normally immaculate posture. You seize him by the hips and forcibly move him backwards onto the bed. You stand at the foot of it, looming over him.
August lets out a huff of air from the impact, but it's quickly replaced by small noises of pleasure as you lean over to kiss and drag your teeth down his chest, down to his soft stomach and along his cut line. You grip the back of his legs possessively and press his flesh harder against your mouth - hard enough to leave marks, but not nearly hard enough to break his skin.
Your teeth snag on one of the straps at his leg, and you rend it in two, the stretchy fabric retracting with a snap against the soft fat of his thigh, causing August to yelp. The noise incites you further, and you completely obliterate the remainder of the garment without a second thought, fiercely ripping it from his body, the sound of tearing fabric making your skin tingle and pupils constrict. He’s rendered nude, nothing left providing him any cover save for the shapely, warm gold ombre of fuzz framing his cock and thighs.
“C-Careful.” August breathes, more of a feeble request than a command as he looks warily down his torso at you, the threat of your pointed teeth dangerously close to his delicate, now very exposed dick. Given its engorged state and the needy, familiar expression of excitement on his face, you take the statement as a friendly reminder more than one of true concern.
You draw yourself up, pulling one of August’s legs up with you with ease, hooking his calf over your well-built shoulder. He’s held aloft, his upper back and forearms the only points of contact with the bed. His loose golden hair tumbles downward around his face, pulled by gravity.
With his leg secured in your thick palm and the weight of his body stable, you rummage through the pocket of your trousers until your hand finds a familiar glass vial.
One of the unexpected benefits of having so many magically-inflicted scars is the salve you use on them to reduce the lingering pain of mana burn also doubles as an excellent personal lubricant - it differs slightly from the silky, floral scented formula you typically use in the bedroom that August is so fond of, but it’s far from the first time you’ve used this as a replacement in a pinch, and it’s not drawn any complaints so far.
After popping the top off the vial, you smear the oily substance onto the cold metal of your prosthetic hand. You don’t use it for this every time, but it keeps things interesting when you do; moreover, with your state as it is, you feel it’s the safer option to avoid any unfortunate slips of your restraint that would result in a sharp claw in such a critically vulnerable area.
August helpfully opens his unsecured leg wider, watching you prep your hand in obvious want. Once you’ve sufficiently slickened your fingers, you recork the vial and toss it aside.
You take an indulgent moment to tease your finger at the base of his spaded tail, relishing in the small noises of mixed pleasure and ticklishness he makes, and the way his body squirms at the sensation. Then, two smooth, slick metal fingertips easily sink into his entrance, drawing a gasp from him. You can feel the tremor run down his body through his legs from the sudden shock of the unwarmed metal.
“Yes-” He sighs in appreciation and presses back against your encroaching touch as best he can despite his awkward positioning, immediately seeking more.
You draw your fingers out and press them back in, getting deeper with each repetition. Working him open, you spread them apart and swivel them, set on touching every little space of his inner walls.
It only takes a bit of stroking and stretching his insides for him to be relaxed and whining in need, likely due to the sheer amount of training you've done with him over time.
He groans pitifully, wriggling his hips to try and get your now thoroughly warmed fingers even deeper, to no avail. Knowing him, if he had any ounce of leverage in this situation he’d be trying to climb on top to ride you by now.
Instead, he whimpers and resigns himself to his fate, wrapping the hand that’s not stabilizing himself on the bed around his cock and beginning to stroke himself.
"Oh, is that how it is? We have just barely gotten started." You huff, critical. "You are in for a very long night if you cum this early, August."
"Nnh-" He trembles at hearing his actual name from your lips and looks up at you with pleading, glassy eyes, his breathing already to the point of panting. Precum dribbles down onto his stomach. "It'll be- Mmngh- be a long night either way…"
“Just look at you. Greedy.” You chide in a low growl and press a particularly hard prod against the fleshy bulb inside of him. “Absolutely lecherous, as is usual.”
“Mmhm-” After an open-mouthed, full body shudder, he smiles, complicit and smug, and bucks his hips forward into his hand. "I think- ahh- you quite enjoy it."
His adorable ears flick, turning more canine as his arousal heightens. It becomes difficult for him to resist shifting form in response to strong emotions, rather than him being bound to the pull of every full moon, as you are. Despite this, he's never been the best at practicing self-restraint…
“Indeed,” A smirk forms on your own face, as a lustful groan builds in your chest, watching the sight of him pleasuring himself while your fingers plunge inside of him with the same goal. “You must truly want a planetarium all to yourself.”
Your words are just barely intelligible at this point as your grasp of speech unwinds. It’s usually the last thing to go, and given the full claws on your hand now digging into the flesh of August’s leg and the restlessness coiled in your body ready to snap- the itching, burning rippling through your veins, up to the surface of your skin - your full change could happen at literally any moment, now.
“I do- I want everything you have to give!” He cries needily, his now pronounced fangs a flash white between his dampened lips. ”Give me everything!”
You make an affirmative noise somewhere between a grunt and a growl, in place of what would normally be a ‘Very well’ from you.
You pull out your fingers, making August whimper weakly in protest, and hastily push aside your already partially removed trousers and the soft fabric beneath, freeing the heavy girth that’s been straining against its confinement since you set foot back in private.
Once your hips align with your target, you push your cock inside of his prepared hole - he does deserve it, after all.
“Uungh!” August groans loudly in pleasure at your intrusion stretching him, letting his full voice out. He’s come a long way from the timid, excessively shy person that wouldn’t make so much as a peep the first time you had sex. “Nnngh-”
You cradle the arch of his spine, firmly keeping up the leverage taut as you begin to pump inside of him. As soon as you start a modest rhythm, his hand completely forgets its task - both of his palms move to the bed at his sides, balling fists in the sheets.
Painted nails lengthen into a long pair of glossy claws of his own. You can hear the sound of tearing fabric where they pierce the mattress.
It’s difficult to start slow. He’s so soft and welcoming, and warmer by the second. His ass pulls you in as much as you’re pushing into it. The pressure of his walls is sublime, squeezing tighter around you every time he clenches - a small pocket of personal hellfire.
Wisps of blue have cropped up in the darkness, casting ghostly, flickering cold light below.
“S-Spirits, that’s so good!” He moans, his brow knit in effort, and sweat starts to visibly bead on his forehead. His voice echoes slightly now, in the ethereal way it does when his demonic nature asserts itself. “More, more!”
Appeasing his request, you pick up the pace and force of your thrusts, increasing in intensity until the wet sound of your flesh slapping against his pervades the room.
Your senses are so heightened from being close to your change that you can feel every minute sensation in a concentrated manner. The way he feels, the sounds, the sight of him, his thick, pheromone laden smell, the consuming heat of his body- The rising level of your excitement is seemingly the last straw, pushing your restraint to finally snap.
You’re unable to resist the urge any longer, now being under the light of a risen full moon. Your body starts to transform in totality. The pain of the situation is mercifully lessened to nagging discomfort by just how many moons of this you’ve endured.
Silvery grey fur sprouts on the back of your hands first, then runs up the skin on your limbs before spreading out over your body, the itching finally assuaged. Your muscles swell and twist, your joints snapping from the pressure. Your spine extends into a full, bushy grey tail, and your ears stretch and raise, two furry, perked triangles. Your nose and mouth grows and splits into a fully lupine maw - long and full of razor sharp fangs, frothed slobber already dribbling from your pulled lips from being so worked up. Your bulk nearly doubles as you reach your fully monstrous werewolf size - everywhere - shredded off what was left of your clothes that hadn’t managed to be disrobed.
You can feel the inside of August’s body tighten around your thickened, elongated cock, the organ filling him further to make room for its mass. You’re stopped from plunging to the hilt by the quickly swelling bundle of flesh at the base of your phallus. It grinds wet against the tense ring of muscle at August’s entrance.
“Aaangh- B-Big-!” August throws his head back, all attempts at eloquence abandoned as he grunts and gasps, trying to adjust to the sudden change in girth inside of him. His forked tongue hangs out of his parted mouth, the shock of blue complimenting his tan skin beautifully. “Al-Always S-So big- Mnngh!”
A growl escapes your chest through your bared newly minted fangs, so aroused and driven on by primal lust that you’re unable to slow your pace even slightly. Your clawed mitts grip him tighter, and your robust, furry quads thrust your throbbing cock into him harder and faster, as deep as the tighter fit and the sudden spherical flare will allow.
Your mechanical claw moves from the small of his back to the crook of his knee on his free leg and pushes upwards, spreading his legs open as far as possible, trying to facilitate cramming your knot inside him.
After a few more ragged pumps into him, you can feel some progress. August’s hole stretches in small increments, taking more of the swollen bump bit by bit. Deep growls escape your throat with each savage thrust.
With a particularly strong jerk of your hips, the resistance finally yields. Your fat, over-swollen knot pushes past the fleshy ring with a pop, quickly sucked up into August’s body.
“O-Oh- Nnngh-”
You’ve barely been moving a few moments before your lover tenses below you and his hole contracts around you as hard as it can, preventing you from pulling out of him.
"Aa-anngh-!" August's body is wracked by tremors below you, his voice broken by intensity as he cries out, and his claws puncturing the bedding. He hits his peak fast, cum streaking out of the tip of his swollen head.
Because of the steep angle you're holding him at, his spunk lands on his own face and hair, some even getting into his open mouth where his tongue lulls out. Given his dreamy, blissed out expression, and the frantic heaves of his chest, he doesn't seem to mind much at all.
He watches you with the same glazed, reverent expression, keeping himself clenched and you tied to him as you continue. You thrust ferociously with a primal lust, despite the lack of room to draw out.
The tight squeeze feels divine - every slope of August’s inner walls bearing down and rubbing you in a sweet embrace. You chase down the building feeling of pressure in your lower spine, still growling low. Your movements become harried and wild, and finally, your balls tense up. The growls in your chest turn into a full blown snarl as you spout a fountain’s worth of cum inside of him, continuing the movement of your hips as you empty your load.
After the spasms subside, you use the increased amount of lubricant to draw yourself out of him, an overflow of your own seed filtering out in absence of your cock.
“Aaah-” August groans breathlessly, wincing at the lack of fullness as he holds his undoubtedly sore abdomen. “U-Uh?”
He lets out a noise of surprise as you use your grip on his knee to flip him over, shoving him farther up the bed, so that he’s chest down, on his knees- his round, perfect ass propped in the air.
“N-Not finished, huh?” He pants breathily, lust rising in his voice again. “Go ahead, use me as you see fit- Nngh-!”
He’s cut off as you grab his hips and sink your still rock hard cock into him to the hilt once more, the force knocking the air out of him.
You continue to wildly rut into him, filling him with more rounds of cum, then repeat several times over. You carry on long after he passes out and the gathered wisps have extinguished themselves, using his limp body for relief far into the wee hours of the morning. Eventually you fully exhaust yourself, and pull out of him one last time before collapsing to sleep beside him.
Some hours later, you wake to golden morning light beginning to filter in from the glass ceiling, a man once more in the warm rays of the sun.
You sit up and roll one of your shoulders tentatively, your weary bones creaking with your movements. In your stirring, you notice your lover is also awake, watching you groggily from his position laying on his back next to you.
“How do you fare this morning?” Your brow knits in slight concern, always worried that despite him assuring you otherwise, that one day you will physically hurt him beyond repair. “Sore, I assume.”
“A little sore, yes. And quite sticky…” He laughs, noticing your look of concern and countering it with a loving smile of his own, reaching out to grab your hand. He places a light kiss onto your hardened knuckles. “Moreso hungry. Absolutely ravenous.”
“We shall have to fix that, then. I have a few places in mind for breakfast, but it seems whichever is the closest one is in order.” You shift your weight to rise out of the bed, when you feel his palm catch your forearm.
“Wait,” August says softly, pulling you back before you can leave the bed. “Lay with me a bit longer, if you would.”
“... Of course, my beloved.” You settle back against the headboard, shifting to hold him in your arms, his warm skin soft against yours. You could never fail to oblige him. “We can have something delivered, if you prefer.”
After sorting out the food order, a few minutes of tired quiet pass. August sighs a contented, thoughtful sigh, his body still limp and relaxed as he draws a hand slowly across the soft hair on your chest.
“Mmm, now, that is the sound you make when having a particularly poignant thought.“ A husky, affectionate chuckle rumbles in your chest. “Just what topic has you pondering this deeply so early, my dear?”
“Oh, nothing too philosophical, truly. Mulling over all the things I experienced on this trip.” He laughs lightly in response. “Everything is so new, but most of the things weren’t so different from those at home; just some minor permutation on the same idea. Even that beautiful glass room that holds the night sky - the planetarium - is still the same night sky I’ve seen while stargazing so many times before, just seen through a different lens.”
“That is true. Living long enough reveals that very few things are completely original. Especially when home is particularly stuck in its old ways… so much of the outside world has taken and improved upon what is there.”
“Yes. But how beautiful it is, that there is still a vast unknown that remains to be found in things that are so familiar, just by turning them in the light.”
“You know,” You say and lay soft, venerative kisses on his face and neck, drawing a sweetly affectionate, drawn out hum from him. “Perhaps you should take up poetry - I think you are simply a natural.”
Content Warnings: Astraphobia, Spawning, Slit Fingering, Oral Sex
Originally I planned on posting this for mermay, but the passage of time is my greatest enemy. :')
Well… This is about as prepared as you're going to be for this cyclone.
You've battened down every hatch. You've checked and double-checked the stabilizing wards. You’ve readied your backup generator, just in case a rogue, magically charged wave manages to overload the ship’s ley grid.
You’ve convened with your singular, unwaveringly faithful employee, Rosing - whom could care less about the coming storm, which she referred to as a ’drizzle’.
Ah, to have the calm confidence of a middle aged kobold woman…
But most importantly, you've assured your passengers that you've run this open ocean route through heavily stormy conditions hundreds of times before and are well equipped to handle it, so they don’t need to worry.
That didn't stop some of them from continuing to fret - landlubbing tourists in the above deck rooms, of course. The merfolk occupying your various submerged rooms below deck haven't expressed so much as a peep of concern. They never do.
Now watching the heavy rain start to roll in, you can't help but think of how difficult it would be to swim in those storm churned waters.
You're at full capacity now, and you had expected your merman friend to stop and rest as he usually does during his longer courier runs, but you haven't seen head or tail of him yet.
You have found yourself looking out at the water more than once, absentmindedly scanning the spaces between white caps for his bright blue dorsal fin cresting the surface.
Eyes skimming the water one last time as the downpour becomes unbearable even for you, you sigh, and head back inside to your cabin.
He probably just didn't need to stay this time, you assure yourself. You just hope that he’s somewhere safe from the impending storm.
You strip out of your rain gear in the open bridge area before walking into your sleeping quarters, so as to not make any puddles on the floor. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep after climbing into bed, more fatigued than you realized and rocked to sleep by the familiar roll of the ocean.
You wake later with a start to the sound of something heavy thudding loudly on the deck above you, audible even over the howl of the strong winds and pelting rain.
What was that?
Probably equipment or supply crates bumping against the gunwales from the force of the storm. Usually nothing to worry about, but that sounded louder than normal, and something may have broken loose despite your detailed preparations. At worst, a thrill-seeking passenger decided to take a stroll in the storm and is in grave peril…
Caution wins out, and you rouse yourself from your comfort.
Hurriedly, you jump out of bed, pull on your raincoat and the pair of waxed trousers you have set out for tomorrow, and step into your boots. You have the foresight to grab your handheld spotlight as you head out of your cabin to go investigate.
The raging winds whip about you as you take a step out onto the open deck of your ship, shielding your face from sea spray with your forearm, your free hand holding you steady. Your eyes follow the beam of light through the poor visibility, searching for the source of the noise.
A lone crack of lightning streaks across the sky, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.
It doesn’t take long to locate a familiar pop of vibrant color. Beautifully reflective azure scales illuminate under the focused beam of the spotlight, stark against the greyed out haze of your surroundings.
Sprawled out across the wooden planks is your dear friend - mostly limp and listless, being tossed around across the slippery surface with the force of each strong wave. He's managed to wrap the guide rope up around one of his hands, holding on for dear life as he's pelted by the elements.
"Noa!" You shout to the merman over the tumult of wind and rain and thunder, your body rushing into motion without active thought.
He weakly lifts his head at your voice, but if he responds, it's completely drowned out. He’s not shifted his tail into legs for some reason - so you steel your resolve to carry him in.
After stowing your spotlight in your pocket and waiting for a break in the onslaught of waves, you heave the merman’s body up with a grunt of effort. There is a surprising density to his athletic, piscine form, like that of most merfolk.
The motion of hauling heavy loads of fish may still be second nature, but you've grown a bit soft in the middle since your fishing boat days. Life as a ferry ship captain carting tourists around the various island chains of the Indra-Thalassic isn't anywhere near as physically grueling - something you're thankful for, even if it makes this situation slightly more challenging.
You wobble slightly on the path back, your boots threatening to lose traction on the slippery deck from the uneven weight.
Much more distracting is the feeling of his damp, smoothly scaled body against your fingertips. You can’t help the way you feel about him, despite how much you’ve tried to quash it over the course of your friendship… And you certainly don’t think it’ll ever be reciprocated, so you’ve resigned some time ago to continue to keep it to yourself.
He would have to be the one to initiate a relationship anyway, due to Orcish standards…
But now is not the time to ponder this. So you brush those thoughts away, and try hard to focus on getting you both back to safety.
Luckily, you know your ferry ship like the back of your hand, and you manage to navigate back into the main cabin despite the treacherous weather and low light.
You carry your friend across the threshold like a prized catch. The heavy door shuts on its own behind you with a thud.
“Can I get a room?” Noa asks wryly, his voice tired.
You can't help but laugh.
"Boat's full up." You say simply, and then think to clarify as you glance out the porthole; "But I’m not turning you away in this mess. You can share my cabin for the night."
“Thanks.”
“You alright?”
“I’ll live. Just… too tired for legs right now.” He weakly motions to where his tail sways beneath your grasp.
"Got it. ...Now where to put you, then…" You wonder aloud. “Ah, I know.”
You enter your personal quarters, pass the alcove where your bed is, towards the head. The compact corner tub seems a good enough place as any to store a merman that’s physically incapable of shifting at the moment, so you carefully deposit him there.
“Huh. Neat.” Noa remarks, leaning back against the broad edge of the tub and removing his waterproof courier pouch. His bright eyes run over the bathroom fixtures in interest, his coiled braids quivering softly with the slight movement of his head.
From what he’s told you of his life, he hasn't spent a lot of time on land, so you have to wonder if he’s ever even seen a bathtub in person before.
“You must be cold and sore after all that.” You sit on the edge of the tub and turn the faucet, letting comfortably hot water rush over his flank and begin to fill the tub.
“Ah… That’s… nice.” He relaxes considerably.
"Why on Hearth were you out swimming during a cyclone?”
"Couldn't pass up the job, the gold was way too good." He sighs, holding a spread hand to his brow. "But the storm came in too fast, even for me."
He always seems to be working himself too hard. It makes you worry for his health…
“Mmn. How’d you get up on deck?”
“Jumped.” He says, far too nonchalantly for the impressive feat of agility he’s describing.
"Ah." You chuckle in admiration. “You’re amazing.”
“Keep telling me that and my head will get fat.” He smirks.
“Where were you going that was that important, anyway?”
Noa simply growls, throwing his head back in frustration and scrubbing his face with his palms.
"Sorry. That bad?"
"No. Just- don't worry about it." His brow knits, and his tail slaps the edge of the acrylic in irritation with a hollow thump. "I just… had a second stop there’s no way I’m going to make now. Stupid delivery held me up…"
“Hmmm. That’s rough.” You rub your beard, steering the conversation to a topic that will cause him less distress. “...You know, I don't think I've ever seen your colors like this. Did you always have so much purple in your scales?"
Noa’s scales are usually a gradient of blue and white, with stark white horizontal stripes lining his sides. But now his fins are an almost ultraviolet purple, with the darkened shade of his blue scales making the purple accents pop. The small, thin fins on his hips flutter rhythmically under the rising water.
"No, it's… seasonal."
That makes sense, you suppose. You don’t see him much at all during the migratory months.
“Suits you, is all.”
You chat a bit more, until the tub has sufficiently filled. You cut off the flow with a metal squeak of the knob and rise to your feet.
It’s difficult to pull yourself away - you would spend so much more time with him if you could. And you may or may not be enjoying this view… as guilty as you feel for it.
"I should get some more rest before daybreak. But I'll be right over there if you need anything." You motion to where your bed is nestled into the wall.
"Thank you again." Noa nods, the grateful smile and sense of relief in his body language more than enough gratitude. "For always being here when I need you."
"Haha, not a problem at all, my friend."
You second guess stripping back down to your underclothes now that you have company, but your desire for comfort wins out. The humid air from the storm all but requires it.
So you do, and quickly switch off the lights before returning to your bed for some much needed rest after all this excitement.
You hazily wake up what must be a few hours later, to the sound of water sloshing and wet footsteps. It'd be irritating being woken up for the second time in one night, if you weren't used to it coming with the territory. Something always needs attention on a boat.
More than anything, you're confused. Then, you remember - Noa is in your cabin tonight.
"Nnnh-?" You go to say his name, instead being abruptly silenced by the sight you register.
Noa is standing on his own strong legs at the foot of your bed, water rapidly wicking off his completely bare skin. The saturated color of his scales is even more apparent in the brief flashes of light from the storm outside.
"Cold." He says simply, quietly, staring you down with a strangely intense look in his eyes.
Ah, the tub water must've gone cold.
You grunt in acknowledgement, holding up your quilt and motioning for him to join you without putting too much thought into it.
Noa doesn’t seem to need an explicit verbal invitation, climbing up onto your raised bed without a problem.
But rather than the slightly awkward warmth of sharing a blanket at a platonic distance you were expecting, you get something much different.
He straddles you, his weight pressing sweetly against your groin. From this angle you have a clear view of the pink flush on his lower stomach, framing his swollen, needy genital vent, even in the low light.
“Noa?” You finally inquire, your voice still froggy as you let the raised quilt slip from between your fingers. Certain parts of your body are waking up faster than others.
“I was going to Spawn. That's where I was headed,” He finally admits in a pained, breathy response. “Thought I could make it in time… But…"
Well, the subtext there is pretty clear.
You’re stunned for a moment, unsure that this is really happening, or if you’re still dreaming. It’s not every day the object of your unrequited affection crawls into your bed and essentially asks for sex.
Noa presses his hips flush against yours and grinds, restless and agitated in his movements, as if you needed any more confirmation of what he wants.
Your body has taken little time to react, given your pre-existing affection for him. You can feel the persistent throb of your newly erect cock as it prods against Noa’s pelvis.
You know you shouldn’t… that this will end in heartache, like it normally does for you… You’re fairly sure Noa isn’t typically into men and is just desperate, and that never ends with anything that lasts longer than arrival at the next port.
…But it’s him.
The rubbery soft skin gliding against your own makes your head empty of any other thought, valid concern or not. Not to mention the pressure and movement against your loins starting to let it take the helm over your brain.
“You know I need something a little more direct than that to work with.” You say, the taboo of initiating on your end the only thing still holding you back.
“Please,” Noa all but begs, his voice shuddering. “I need… Nngh… Help.”
Thunder cracks outside, breaking the silence, followed by a flash of lighting illuminating Noa’s form on top of you.
Ultimately, you are weak. You can’t resist, and start rubbing yourself against him in turn from beneath.
An excited, ragged sigh escapes Noa’s chest in response.
Oh. You definitely need to hear more of that.
You reach down, drawing a line with a finger along the edge of his swollen slit, enjoying the way he squirms at the sensation. Then you press your finger inside, immediately sinking in deep from the copious amount of natural lubricant.
Noa gasps in surprise and a brief look of panic flashes across his face, before it’s completely obliterated by an expression of enjoyment, his eyes glazing over from watching your fingers thrust in and out of his own body so easily. The muscles around his opening start to contract rhythmically around the intrusion, squeezing you.
You pull your fingers out when you feel Noa’s phallus start to emerge, rigid but still slightly squishy to the touch.
Noa shifts to hover over you, balancing his weight on his palms and knees, and you allow yourself to be pressed back against the bed. The ends of his braids tickle your exposed chest.
“Aah- Never done this out- outta the water.” He chokes out in warning. “Or with a man-”
You want to reach upwards - hold the back of his neck firm and kiss him - and for a moment you’re tempted to act on the impulse. But, you resist.
"It's not all that different." You reassure him. “I don’t have any lube at the moment, so my mouth will have to do.”
Noa grunts in approval, clearly fine with whatever he can get at this point.
You hook your legs on the edge of the bed and shift your body downward using your calf strength. Your mouth trails down Noa's chest and torso as you go, until you're at hip height, staring down his now throbbing cock.
Grip firm on his hips, you guide him into your mouth. Noa, unsurprisingly, tastes a bit like the ocean, a subtle hint of salt pooling on your palette..
He immediately lets out a shuddering gasp that morphs into a groan, hips bucking forward in automatic, biological need.
Your curved tusks press against the firm muscles of his inner thighs, his skin soft and ticklish against your facial hair.
After adjusting his knees into a position at your shoulders slightly more conducive to pumping, he tests the roll of his hips. You grunt encouragingly, sucking and pressing your tongue along the underside as he moves, pulling an eager groan out of him.
It doesn’t take long for him to become comfortable with the motion, and he starts to shamelessly and forcefully thrust into your mouth. The tip of his cock repeatedly jabs at the soft flesh at the back of your throat. The urge to gag is strong, but you manage to tamp it down and relax your throat. You dig your calloused fingers into the side of his thighs, bobbing your head against his strokes.
Despite being fit and having enough stamina to swim cross-ocean for a living, Noa is clearly already worn down from his recent ordeal; already at his limit barely after starting.
In what seems like no time, Noa lets out a string of breathless grunts and his struggling thighs tremble around your jaw. You’re nearly blinded by his vibrant colors that seem to literally light up the dark cabin - The stripes on his sides flicker in phosphorescent white, like the streaks of lightning outside.
Cum shoots down your throat without you even needing to swallow, completely coating it. The subtle salty taste from before is a full-blown brine now.
Noa rolls off of you and limply collapses onto his back against the bed, chest heaving for air so deeply you can see the pink flash of his gills peek out between his ribs each time his lungs expand.
“T-Thanks- Sorry? Nngh-” He gasps in shame, looking like all his life force has left his body.
“No problem at all.” You say, a bit hoarse, rubbing your throat.
By the time you’ve fully caught your own breath and propped yourself up, he’s already out like a light, fast asleep exactly where he landed.
You let out a sigh of a laugh, and get up to lumber into the head to take care of yourself.
Not the least sleep you’ve gotten in one night in this line of work…
Hi! I've got a few little dragonborn x dragonborn stories on my blog under the "my writing" tag if they would be the kind of thing you're looking for! They've got a vague chronology to them that I can go more into if that would be needed :P
They absolutely were what I was looking for, and I'm love your bois 🥺🥺🥰🥰. Thank you so much for sending in an ask about your stuff!!
After five minutes of exasperated sighs and a tapping that was steadily growing in intensity, Lore finally decided it would be cruel not to speak up.
“You’re overthinking it.”
Ralehaut stopped drumming the side of his head with his index finger long enough to send an indignant glare at his boyfriend before returning his attention to the board.
“You’re trying to trick me into making a rash decision,” he said with unfounded certainty.
“I’m trying to keep this game moving,” Lore huffed, pressing his cheek to his hand and leaning on the table. “Asking if you wanted to play a match is not an action that should have decided the rest of my afternoon.”
“I’m going to ask one more time,” Ralehaut hissed through chattering teeth, “you’re sure that Adrex didn’t set this up as some sort of messed up joke?”
Lore sighed in mock exasperation, the red dragonborn managing much better than his bronze boyfriend as they trekked through the late autumn chill that had fallen over the city of Waterdeep.
“Despite my apparent failure to convince you that my sibling is not evil the last three times you’ve asked that, yes, Ral, I am sure Adrex did not give us their invitations to “Song of the Summer Court” as part of an elaborate (and fairly expensive) prank.”
“I never said they were evil, but you even told me that as kids Adrex was the quintessential middle child.”
“The Instigator,” Lore whispered dramatically.
“And besides,” Ralehaut continued, trying his best to bundle himself up in the itchy doublet Lore insisted he looked good in, “they didn’t seem to take to me particularly well the other day. They haven’t tried to mess with any of your relationships before?”
“That’s not the kind of person Adrex is,” Lore said a bit more seriously than intended. “They’re...just a bit suspicious of new people, not one to assume good intentions. A little like a certain someone else, hmm?” Ralehaut turned away from the knowing look Lore was giving him as he felt himself blush and tried to appreciate the momentary warmth it brought. He would have been feeling regretful that he had implied something unkind about one of Lore’s siblings—he had hardly met each of them more than once before—but the realization that he was losing feeling in his fingers was taking up the majority of his mental processes. His now uncontrollable shivering had not gone unnoticed by Lore.
“You know, I know that the list of benefits from having a fire-breathing boyfriend is quite extensive, but there’s one particular item on it that should be quite applicable to the current situation.” Ralehaut turned and saw Lore’s arm already raised to receive him.
“Oh my god, thank you.” His words trailed off into a euphoric sigh as he pressed himself deep into Lore, the red dragonborn helping by pulling him even tighter to his side. The warmth radiating from Lore was heavenly, Ralehaut swore he could hear a deep rumbling within as he let himself sink into the soft muscle of his chest.
“A little eager, weren’t we?” Lore laughed, paying a bit more attention to where they were walking as he was now steering for two. “Feeling a bit better now?” The smaller dragonborn at his side was too enraptured by his newfound source of heat to manage more than a muffled “Mm hmm”. He chuckled and gave a quick wave to a passerby who gave the two a chastising look.
“I’m starting to feel like I should have worn something a bit less flattering, I might be too much of a distraction for you during the show.”
“Good, those playwrights can eat their hearts out,” Ral turned to Lore, “they couldn’t in a hundred years come up with anything that would pull my attention away from what I’ll have next to me the whole time.”
“Sounds like a bit of a waste of invitations, considering you can get that whenever you want,” Lore whispered, leaning down.
“Would it be corny to say you’re super hot right now?”
“Absolutely.” Lore lifted a hand to Ralehaut’s face and pulled him into a kiss that he gladly received. Time seemed to slow as for a blissful moment the only thing the two of them felt was each other, and then as they pulled away it seemed over too soon. Ralehaut felt his face flush and he tried to hide an embarrassed smile.
“Sorry, it’s just still...strange, to do that in public.” Lore nuzzled the top of his head.
“You’ll get more used to it, and think: in half an hour we’ll have a literal audience to practice in front of.”
Ral let out a sharp laugh.
“Oh, we are going to make those people hate us.”
* * * * * * *
I've been sitting on this and a few other shorts a while, wasn't originally gonna post it but I'm currently working on a much bigger project for these two so I'll just put this out in the meantime. Yesit'scheesyIdon'tcare
“For the last—augh!” Ralehaut slammed his free fist against the cot as a shock of pain ran up his right shoulder. “You’re not even trying to be careful anymore!” The physician in the middle of wrapping his arm in a sling gave him only the slightest glance of indifference before returning to his work. Ralehaut sat back with a grimace, trying to ignore the throbs wracking his broken arm.
“Please, Ralehaut, don’t break your other one too,” Lore chuckled while trying to give him a reassuring smile. The gold designs he had painted on his red scales earlier that night shifted as he did, their flame-like curves glinting in the glow of the room’s single lantern. He had drawn similar designs on Ralehaut’s face for the holiday, though his were in silver. Ralehaut mustered a smile back to him as best he could, which ended up as more of a flat line across his face, and glanced away. Though Lore had clearly been looking sympathetic towards him, Ralehaut couldn’t help but read disappointment in his expression as well. It was certainly how the bronze dragonborn was feeling.
There was nothing more harrowing than waking up to a scream. Ralehaut could have sworn he had only collapsed onto their bed seconds ago when tore him back to consciousness, and threw him immediately into the prepared-to-fight state of mind that he had already spent a fair amount of the day in. His leap off the bed proved a bit premature as he immediately became light headed, and had to catch himself on the bedroom’s door frame. Ralehaut had no choice but to let the feeling run its course, every wasted moment worsening his fears. There was a crash from downstairs, it sounded like it came from Lore’s workroom at the back of his store.
“Lore!” He forced himself out of the stupor, and grabbed Conduit from where he’d left it in the corner, the half-staff, half-glaive’s blue gem glowing at his touch. He invoked his Rite of the Flame with hardly more than a thought, and the weapon’s blade ignited in a fierce blaze. He leapt for the stairs leading from the upper floor’s living area down into the storeroom of Lore’s shop. Their steepness made them much more closely resemble a ladder, a benefit now as Ralehaut hurtled down them, hardly even touching any of the steps. He knocked into one of the many shelves on the way down, toppling a collection of spare and replacement parts for Lore’s tools onto the ground. The shop itself was dim. The glow of the setting sun illuminated the glassworks inside, which scattered the light into hundreds of glinting stars throughout the room. It would have been a beautiful sight, but Ralehaut could not spare a single second.
Heads up! This is a direct continuation of the previous prompt, so make sure to check that one out first!
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Ralehaut deposited the mouse a few blocks away. One of the alleyways had been a dumping ground for some food vendor’s spoiled goods, Ralehaut set him right next to a browning apple as a reward for the little show he’d put on at their home. As he got back to the shop he saw Lore’s shadow still moving in the light of the workshop’s furnace. He passed the shop’s counter and saw a small brush for sweeping dust behind it. A devilish idea began to form in his head that involved the bristles on that brush and how similar their feel might be to the skittering of little mouse feet. He discreetly grabbed the brush and peaked his head back into the workroom.
Lore was there, facing away from him as he worked on something that was sitting in the fire. Ralehaut’s gaze focused on his tail swishing against the ground in slow intervals, what he had come to recognize as a tell of irritation for Lore. He crept into the room and stayed low, reaching out with the brush towards the tail. He stopped when Lore let out a frustrated huff and threw down whatever he was working with, sending a flurry of sparks throughout the room. Ralehaut hesitated. What he had done earlier with the mouse had been a joke, had it really bothered Lore this much? He looked down at the brush as a feeling of guilt settled in his gut and quietly set it to the side. Now wasn’t the time.
On a good day, Shrike’s Keep could be described as a drab husk of a building. On a bad day it would be described in the same fashion, for nothing as simple as pleasant weather or an upbeat attitude could remedy the somber shroud that hung over the fortress that housed the blood hunter order. When compared to Blackstaff Tower, a seemingly three-storied cylindrical tower of intricately designed black stone, the annex’s counterpart and the base of operations for Force Grey, one may even think Shrike’s Keep’s contrasting simplicity was purposeful.
As it turned out, that was exactly the idea. The most powerful magic at the hands of the blood hunters may have paled in comparison to the capabilities of the senior wizards and sorcerers of Force Grey, but there were other things they chose to take pride in. The blood hunter understood that they were the only ones who would do what was necessary to protect the civilized world from fiends and beasts that looked to bring it to ruin. It certainly could have been said that it was a matter of ego, then, that led the first blood hunters of Force Grey to construct Shrike’s Keep in such a brutalist fashion. To them, it was a statement that they did not hold themselves in the same lofty regard as the mages, that they understood their purpose was to serve and to fight.
It was still dark out when Lore opened his eyes. The dream he had just risen out of disappeared, leaving him with only a nostalgic memory of relief. Outside the window he could see the moon shining bright. It was impossible to tell what time it was, only that it was still the dead of night. The whole room was eerily quiet, like it was holding its breath. Lore jumped as he heard a clatter from above, in the attic, and realized the same sound had been what had woken him.
“Ral?” he whispered, but found nothing when he felt the other side of the bed. His boyfriend’s side was empty, the sheets deliberately pulled away. The spot was still warm when he felt it. “Oh no. No, no…” Lore shot out of the bed for the door, almost getting tripped up in the bed sheets, and hurried down the dark hallway. He tried to be quick while not sounding like he was charging through the house, something that would undoubtedly make things significantly worse. He reached the stairs that led up into the attic, saw that it led into pitch black nothingness, then doubled back to grab a lantern. When he found it, Lore swelled his chest and spit a glob of flame onto the unlit wick. A bit of liquid fire splattered onto the floor, and he smothered it quickly with his foot before turning back to the attic’s stairway, lantern in hand. If there had been any other noises from upstairs, he hadn’t heard them. He took a deep breath, knowing how important it would be for him to be calm up there, and climbed the first step.
Ralehaut & Lore, Dragonborn Boyfriends | 6. “Drawing on Skin” | Pride 2021
Note: This story takes place before 1. “First Kiss”
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Lorelax’s shop often stayed open late into the evening, so Ralehaut was worried when he arrived in the mid afternoon and found Dragon-Tempered Glass locked. He’d received Lore’s letter asking him to come by the shop that very day, and had hurried from Shrike’s Keep down into the market district to try and arrive before everything closed. He’d had to push his way through streets that were brimming with activity, and realized he’d forgotten that it was the night of the Grand Revel.
Waterdeep’s celebration of…well, ‘celebration’ was just one of the many holidays Ralehaut had never seen outside of the Southern Ward. There were many facets of it that were familiar: the stages built for performances and dancing, the caravans that would arrive and set up shops for trinkets and sweets right out of their wagons, and the traditional colors of Lliira, the goddess of joy who the celebration primarily venerated, covering the city in decorations of red, orange, and yellow. The festivities held in the Southern Ward, however, seemed paltry compared to the displays put on in the heart of the city. Even at this time, crowds had already begun gathering to see the acts that troupes of musicians and dancers had prepared for them. He passed by at least half-a-dozen extravagant magic shows, pausing for a moment at each, and eyeing the magicians closely. With Force Grey, he’d only ever seen magic used for purely practical purposes, ranging from grabbing a teacup on the other side of a room to flying, and combat. The idea of magic for the sake of spectacle always had a hitch in it: nobody studied the arcane arts just to shoot colorful sparks from their fingers and make a cat appear out of thin air. There was always another goal, and whatever that might be for each mage was enough of a reason as any for Ralehaut to keep up his guard around them. His hand had twitched towards his dagger, standard issue for potential inductees into the Blood Hunters, any time it looked like the casters were about to lose control of their magic, but each time his instinct was instead proven wrong.
Their bedroom was still dark when Ralehaut woke up. Despite the cold that had come with the night, the bed sheets on his side had been pushed down by his feet again. When he realized he was shivering, Ralehaut told himself it was from the chill that had settled under his scales. He knew that was not the full truth, though. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d woken like this with the taste of bile in his throat and his heart beating hard enough to hear it in his eardrums.
He couldn’t remember what he had dreamt of, and though that may at first seem like a comfort it was often the opposite. It was easier when he knew exactly where these midnight terrors came from. He could eventually rationalize that there was no actual danger and hopefully find rest again. On nights like tonight there was nothing he could attach that fear to which meant it instead came from everywhere. That dreadful chill washed through him, not from the cold but from the unwavering feeling in the back of his mind that something was hiding in the dark. He couldn’t close his eyes and he couldn’t move, terrified that the slightest sound may draw its ire.
A soft snort to his right jolted him from his paralysis. The hint of soft blue light that was coming through their windows outlined the brawny dragonborn laying on his side next to him. Whatever Ral had done in his sleep to push his covers away had pulled them down past Lore’s waist, uncovering his heavier red shoulder scales and the softer tan ones of his chest and stomach. Even though Lore was nearly as exposed to the night air as Ralehaut, his melodic, heavy breathing revealed him to still be sound asleep. Even for a fire-breathing dragonborn, Lore had what seemed like a supernatural resistance to freezing temperatures.
Ralehaut watched his fiancé for some time. There was just enough light for his eyes to trace over Lore’s boxy snout then follow the harder ridges that ran up around his eyes and eventually into his horns. Lore’s mouth hung open slightly, and his head was resting on his left fist with his elbow pointed at Ralehaut. He could tell from how Lore’s eyelids flickered that he was dreaming, and Ral hoped his love’s dreams were better than his own. He knew that he was doing this to distract himself from the darkness and that feeling still in the back of his mind, but it was easier to ignore that now. Ral had developed a habit of stealing glances at Lore when he wasn’t looking. Even though he knew Lore would probably laugh and act flattered if he caught his smaller boyfriend’s enamored gazing, part of Ral was still embarrassed by it. It was why he couldn’t help himself now from drinking in Lore’s features while this close to him. Part of it was certainly just from how handsome he found Lore, but the thought that kept repeating in his mind was that this was the person who had chosen to love him.
It was only a few years ago that Ralehaut had believed he was devoid of any redeeming qualities. Even before the blood hunters had beat any remaining sympathy out of him, Ralehaut had spent most of his life distrustful, distant, and quick to lash out at any perceived slight. He certainly hadn’t been that way because he enjoyed it, but any time he tried to change it just led to him hurting more than if he hadn’t made the effort. His life’s meaning was to fight, and he had found a place where that was useful. It wasn’t until a red dragonborn had shown him an undeserved generosity and kindness that he realized how big of a piece of himself he was missing. The subsequent years had revealed the true gentleness of Lore’s heart, but they had also done something that Ralehaut never would have expected. He began to understand why Lore loved him, and why he was worthy of being loved. It was a realization that took him a very long time to accept, and even to this day Ralehaut can still hear that voice that says he’s deluding himself and simply ignoring how terrible and broken his soul truly is. When that happens now, he just thinks of Lore and knows that he believes in Lore’s love more than his own self-hatred.
A slight stir from Lore brought Ralehaut back to the present, and he worried for a moment that he had somehow woken him with his thoughts alone. He let out a silent sigh as Lore’s breathing remained unchanged, his eyes still lightly dancing beneath their lids. The distraction suddenly made Ral realize how much he was shaking, this time truly from the cold. He moved for a moment to carefully pull the sheets back over himself, then paused. Without even touching him, he could feel the heat emanating through the air from Lore like he was laying next to a bed of hot coals. The urge to try to share in that warmth was overwhelming, though he was still held back from the thought that he shouldn’t disturb Lore’s rest just because he’s cold. Ralehaut grappled with the conflicting desires long enough that his fingers and the tip of his tail began to go numb. Finally, he gave in. He knew Lore would chastise him for his hesitance if Ral’s shaking woke him anyways.
As carefully as he could, Ralehaut slowly began shifting himself towards the larger dragonborn. He winced with every unintentional noise the bed made, but the draw of Lore’s body heat was enough to keep him from withdrawing. Eventually, Ralehaut was close enough that the only thing separating the two was Lore’s right arm, which was laying over his stomach. This close to him, the difference in size between the two dragonborn was accentuated. Lore had nearly two feet in height over Ral when standing, and his shoulders were wide enough to match the bronze dragonborn’s own a time and a half over. Ralehaut certainly had plenty of muscle, but he would be considered wiry compared to most dragonborn. Lore on the other hand had a proud, brawny frame that could overshadow even a goliath. His chest and arms were stacked with muscles, but a paunchy stomach and broader complexion added to his impression of being a friendly giant rather than intimidating.
Ralehaut lifted Lore’s right arm with great care and slowly draped it over his own side, giving him room to close the distance between them. It took actual willpower for him not to make a noise as he gently pressed himself up against Lore’s soft chest and stomach. Warmth radiated into Ralehaut’s scales and made him forget about the cold immediately. It was like he had just submerged himself in a hot spring. He brought his arms and legs in, trying to get as much of himself closer to Lore as he could. Making sure not to scrape him with his horns, Ral finished by tucking his head against the small, soft scales of Lore’s neck. He finally let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His success was cut short, though, as he felt Lore quietly clear his throat and move his arm to press against the small of Ralehaut’s back in a way that couldn’t be involuntary. A feeling of guilt squirmed into Ral’s throat.
“Sorry,” he whispered, almost pulling away, but Lore’s arm hugged Ral tightly to his chest.
“What for?” Lore breathed with a small yawn, more as a statement than a question. Ralehaut felt him begin rumbling in his throat, and his chin moved down to more snuggly hold Ralehaut’s head. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Ralehaut still felt bad about waking Lore, but it would be useless trying to apologize further. “Just dreams.” Lore made a sound of acknowledgement, and it was a few moments before he responded.
“You want to talk about them?” His voice was soft and sincere, but Ralehaut shook his head the little that he could.
“Not really.”
“Okay.” Lore adjusted himself and Ralehaut could feel his warm breath running down his neck. Lore’s left hand moved from his own head to Ral’s and cupped against his cheek.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Ralehaut wasn’t able to fully catch the whimper that escaped his throat. His face flushed, and he pressed it into Lore’s warm palm, willing himself not to start crying. He focused on the smell of embers that still clung to Lore’s hand. The first words he wanted to say nearly came out but Ralehaut held them back.
I don’t deserve you.
No, maybe he didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. He had said things like that so many times, and it always came from the doubts he had of his own worth. Lore never wavered though, each time he would insist Ralehaut was wrong. Maybe then, it was time that Ralehaut started believing him.
“I am too.”
The rumble in Lore’s chest deepened, and Ralehaut smiled.
Alright, so I’ve gotten a decent collection of stories archived, but I’ve pretty much gotten all the mlm stories that I know of. That’s where you lovely folk come in. If you know of an exo blog with even one mlm story, if you have an exo blog with an mlm story, or if there’s one that I missed from a creator I’ve reblogged from, drop me an ask or DM. The quality or length of the story doesn’t matter either. It could be the first story you’ve ever written, it could be a 5 sentence drabble, if it exists, I wanna archive it. It doesn’t explicitly have to be an exo story either, if it’s more of a xeno, sci-fi, mass effect fic type thing, that’s fine too! And if you’ve got any suggestions to improve the blog, recommended tags for me to use, anything like that, again feel free to speak up! Thanks in advance!
Featured Characters: Male human and an alien of ambiguous sex/gender.
Description: Gaige is concerned when his workaholic friend and coworker Syren fails to show up for multiple days. He goes to their quarters to demand answers, discovering a needy alien with an unintentionally self-inflicted backup of eggs that they just can’t seem to release on their own. Luckily, Syren’s problem can be solved with a little hands-on lesson in Nynryll anatomy.
Gaige had not experienced true concern for a long time. In all of the years that he had worked at the repair station, Syren never missed a single shift. So it was strange enough that his work partner had failed to be there for three consecutive days.
Syren was good at their job, easily one of the best. An elite in that neck of the star system. If anyone at the station was dealing with a particularly troublesome craft, they would be the one to come along and know the exact course of action. It was almost scary sometimes. Annoying at others.
They were a talented, devoted mechanic and quick to snatch up any overtime. But there was such a thing as being too married to a job and Gaige figured that Syren was finally paying the price. A little sickness might inspire them to slow down.
That was until he was approached by his boss on day three and told that Syren would be on sick leave for the next little while. Sarah couldn’t give any details other than that they would be leaving for Nynryllad in the morning. Gaige felt his stomach drop then; whatever this was, it was bad enough that Syren was going home.
