Seven for a secret, never to be told - Part 1
A strange, yet familiar, tingling sensation slowly went up Dirge’s spinal strut. Something faintly warm and soft caressed not only the spot between his wings, but the wings themselves. Nearly from wing tip to wing tip he felt that soft warmth. Naturally he wanted more of his delightful feeling. How could he not want something that made him feel good without being followed up by jagged pain?
Albeit such things were from him eating ‘too much’ as others tended to tell him. What did they know of the pleasure he took having his tank, his abdomen, feel almost full and stretched. He loved having that appearance of a rounded abdomen. It made it feel more real to him. It let him know this wasn’t something fleeting that had slipped through his talons. He had a gluttonous feast. One, that if he had his way, he would have again.
Right now sounded good. His tank, while hardly empt, churned in it’s everlasting hunger. It was more mental than physical of course, but where was the fun in that? The thought was one Dirge didn’t mind not having since it ruined everything good.
With his thoughts going back on track, red optics finally opened to look for the source of such attention. Of course he wanted more of it. The words stopped before they ever escaped. For confusion set in and quickly began to make any thoughts a jumble.
Why was he laying on what looked, felt, like metal fingers. Dirge knew he had passed out atop his hoard of delights. Possibly even having drooled on some of them. This was not his magpie hoard of items. This was not even his berth nor the floor.
Such a puzzling situation until that gliding warmth moved over his wings again. They arched up, shuddering back down in delight of that unseen delight.
Dirge needed to know who, what, was responsible.
Talons gripped the metal digits, as if that is what the were, so he could shift around to look back at the source of his pleasure and confusion. Dirge’s jaw went agape as he stared up into the, oh so large, face of a mech he knew.
As if any could pull off the cheshire cat’s smile and not immediately look guilty.
“S-” Dirge got choked up on the first syllable. Failing that, he went for an old default. “Boss?!”