#dorito writes

[doritopaw101]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Enjoy~

[feralghxuls]

Quite A Scene

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dew/Aether

Tags: Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Tail Fucking, Reference to knotting, Overstimulation, Top Dew, Bottom Aether, Edging

Summary: Aether has a surprise planned for Dew. All he has to do is get to Dew's room, get himself set up and wait.

He gets a little more than he bargained for.

Words: 3,023

Thank you everyone who voted in the poll! Ask and ye shall receive.

Aether dips out of dinner as early as he can get away with. Hours ago he’d had an idea, and he just can’t wait any longer to put it into motion. He’s done his best to suppress his scent, and he’s reasonably confident that he’s been successful, because when he gets up from the table without a word, only Dew looks up and tips his head to the side quizzically. Aether panics for a second, freezing and glancing at the door, but he can’t come up with a lie fast enough, so he just doesn’t answer, simply spins on his heel and marches towards the door. 

In the hall, he lets out a breath, pausing to see if Dew decided to follow him, but when he’s sure he’s in the clear, he books it to Dew’s room, his veins on fire with hot anticipation. He’s almost giddy with it as he reaches Dew’s bedroom door, letting himself in and closing the door behind him with trembling hands. 

He stands in the middle of the room for a moment; it’s the same as it always is, immaculate with everything in its place, the bed perfectly made, complete with tightly tucked corners. Aether’s own room is quite the opposite, but he decides that Dew will appreciate it if he matches the atmosphere of the room, so he carefully shucks off his boots and places them precisely beside the door. It takes him a minute to get the buttons of his shirt undone with how his hands shake, but it’s not long before he’s sliding it off and folding it neatly. He sets it on the bed for now, stepping out of his pants next and folding those, setting them on the dresser and going so far as to line up the corner of the square of fabric with the corner of the dresser. The shirt he lays on top of that, and his socks and underwear neatly stacked atop the shirt. 

Aether doubts Dew will notice, but he might, and if he does, he will appreciate it. But he'll appreciate Aether’s surprise more. He doesn't have time to waste – or maybe he does, he has no idea when Dew might return here, if he had plans for after dinner or if he'd be coming straight back to his room; the uncertainty only adds to the suspense – so he plants his hands on his hips and glances around the room, deciding where to set himself up. 

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[feralghxuls]

Veil of Dusk

Rating: T

Pairing: Mountain/Dew. Also featuring Ifrit and Aether (and Zephyr for like, two sentences)

Tags: Dissociation, Emotional hurt/comfort (except he's not actually hurt, he's dissociating), Detailed descriptions of dissociation, Ghoul lore, Non-graphic violence, Polyghouls, Era III, mind chatter

Words: 4050

Summary: Ever since he was summoned, Mountain's had problems remaining present. He dissociates almost constantly, and Dew has figured out how to help ground him when he has particularly bad episodes. This is one such example.

(tagging @forlorn-crows as requested)

They've been on the road for hours by now. By the end of the first hour, Dew had allowed Ifrit to drag him up into the top bunk Aether had claimed, and there he'd stayed, sandwiched between them. Aether had purred happily at their arrival and promptly fallen back asleep, one leg thrown over Dew's hip and an arm reaching across him, snug around Ifrit's waist. Ifrit had nuzzled into Dew's neck and humped lazily at his thigh for a few minutes, but then his soft sighs had turned to snores, and Dew was left awake and alone, surrounded by their purring and snuffling and snoring. He doesn't mind. He likes the warmth and the quiet, when he has the opportunity to let his breathing match with theirs, to study the both of them without interruption and without being caught. He's always been drawn to Ifrit's high cheekbones, the heavy dash of his brows, the sharp squareness of his jaw, the elegant curve of his horns. All of it is such a stark contrast to the light in his warm eyes and his comfortable, easy way of being. And then there's Aether, nearly the opposite: strong bone structure, but a soft jaw, soft eyes, soft lips, even his horns curving close to his head seem gentle. 

Dew can stare for a long time. For a few hours, he can occupy himself watching the steady rise and fall of chests, watching heartbeats pulse in veins, listening to the way Aether snores softly and rhythmically, how Ifrit’s are louder and more sporadic, catching every so often. He dozes off a few times, but never for long. Eventually, the comfortable warmth starts to prickle, his muscles start to ache with the need to move. He gets restless. grows damp and sticky, and there’s pressure low in his belly. He has to piss. With little else to occupy him, he can’t ignore it for long.

He starts to wriggle out from between them. Almost immediately, Ifrit, still mostly asleep, clumsily reaches for his face. Dew rolls his eyes and leans forward so that his idly waving hand catches his cheek, and Ifrit immediately smiles, pleased with himself. Dew sighs, a disgruntled gesture that’s part pretense, though he won’t say how much, and lays his hand over Ifrit’s to give it a rudimentary pat. Dew considers slipping away, but his gaze is caught on the soft curve of Ifrit’s mouth, so he leans down to press a begrudging kiss to his forehead, and that stupid, sleepy little smile on Ifrit’s face widens. Dew lingers for a moment more, the corner of his own mouth turning upwards as he watches Ifrit’s expression slowly relax as he drifts off back to sleep. Finally he resumes extracting himself, climbing neatly over Aether, who doesn’t react at all, and dropping silently to the floor. 

Instinctively, he scans for Terzo, and ignores the twinge of disappointment in his chest when he doesn’t see him. He does see Zephyr, though, occupying the fold-out table towards the front of the bus, bent over a couple of books and a journal like the nerd he is. Sometimes his work is interesting, but that’s rare enough that it’s not worth listening to him gripe about being interrupted. Dew sniffs at the air; Terzo’s scent comes to him, muted. He must have been in the back room of the bus for a while, then. Probably tending to some boring bullshit. It could be entertaining to go and distract him, after Dew makes use of the tiny bathroom. He grins to himself and makes his way towards it.

He’s not surprised to come across Mountain on his way there, seated on the bench that runs along the side of the bus. He’d caught his scent first, earthy petrichor creeping in at the edge of his senses, but his gaze had drifted right over him at first. Dew has to look a second time and really focus to see him. It’s not that he blends in with the obnoxious diner-red vinyl of the bench; his black abbey uniform is stark against it. It’s that Mountain is unnaturally still, rigid, his eyes unfocused and locked firmly on middle-distance. Dew draws up short in front of him, watching. Even looking at him head-on like this, he seems a little fuzzy at the edges, Dew’s eyes wanting to slip right over him once again. 

It’s a long time before Dew sees movement. The very tip of Mountain’s tail, limp beside his ankles, flicks minutely. One claw scratches idly and slowly along the outside seam of his pants, the other draped unmoving in his lap. He’s not even blinking properly. Minutes pass by before he does, and his eyelids only flicker halfway closed. Dew lets out half of a tense breath, concern creeping through his chest. He should have known. He should have checked on Mountain earlier, before it got this bad. Still, he’s probably been like this for most of the bus ride, and it’s going to take a while to bring him back down to earth. He can wait a few more minutes for Dew to deal with him, until after he’s crammed himself into the cupboard they call a bathroom. It’s not like Mountain is aware of time passing, or of Dew standing in front of him anyway.

Mountain hasn’t budged a millimeter when Dew returns. He says his name. Out loud, because he’d learned quickly that trying to use the mental connection between them introduces panic into the situation, and it’s very fucking hard to get Mountain to calm down when he can hardly process what’s going on in the first place. He doesn’t respond to Dew’s voice, nor does he react when Dew waves a hand in front of his face. Dew frowns and snaps his fingers. Once. Twice. On the third snap, Mountain blinks. A real blink, eyes closing all the way, and then they track slowly towards Dew, still unseeing. 

Dew sighs and throws a glance back towards the bunk, wishing for a moment he’d never left it, but this is none of their concern. It’s unlikely they’ll notice his absence either, passed out as they are. They’ve probably already closed the gap where Dew had been, and if he tried to return he’d be left struggling to wrench them apart, or settle for being squashed against the wall, or trying not to fall off the edge. After another moment of deliberation, Dew concedes to the fact that he doesn’t get to return to that cozy bunk. He stalls for one more moment, glancing further down the bus towards Zephyr and decides it’s very unlikely that he’ll so much as look up from his books anytime soon. This isn’t the first time Mountain has checked out like this where someone else could see him, but it is the first time that Dew has been in a position to do something about it in front of anyone else. Not that this is exactly in front of Zephyr, not when he’s all the way at the other end of the bus, absorbed in his own task. Still, Dew has to swallow his pride before he leans down, moving Mountain’s arm out of the way to drop into his lap. He casts one last glance towards the front of the bus and firmly decides that he cares far more about fixing Mountain than he does about whatever Zephyr might have to say. If he sees. Which, again, is unlikely.

It’s going to be a while before Mountain responds, as far gone as he is. It’ll be faster with the steady rumbling of Dew’s purr, the louder the better. So he does, stubbornly ignoring the possibility of someone besides Mountain hearing him. He settles down with his ear pressed to Mountain’s chest, taking up his limp hand and threading their fingers together, squeezing it rhythmically while he listens to the dull thudding of Mountain’s heartbeat, the slow breaths in and out of his lungs, slower than if he were sleeping. It would be easy enough to doze off like this, like the dozens of other times Dew has curled up on Mountain for that very purpose. Dew closes his eyes, but stays awake. He listens for a change in the beat of his heart or the pace of his breathing, waiting for the signs that Mountain is starting to come back.

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[feralghxuls]

mountain/dew wip #947372

this time it's a piss fic. snip below (no actual piss in the snip, just part of the lead up to the main event)

roughly 800 words in the snip

Every once in a while, Mountain shifts, trying to stay comfortable on the floor, or seeking friction. Dew lets him. What he doesn’t let him do, is get up and follow Rain when he sets his book down and heads for the adjoining bathroom. 

Mountain whines in protest at the pressure on his shoulder and chest keeping him in place, his ears drooping as he watches the door shut behind Rain. He tips his head back to look at Dew, brow furrowed and his lips parted in a pout. 

Why? Even in Dew’s head, Mountain’s voice is a whine, drawn-out and plaintive. 

Cause. You’re sitting with me right now, Dew says, patting his chest amicably. Mountain seems nonplussed.

Gotta go, he tries, thighs squeezing together a little, hips rolling less than subtly. 

Dew suppresses the urge to grin, instead leaning his head back against Swiss. Aw. You can hold it.

Mountain’s scent surges hot and spiced so suddenly and strongly that it overwhelms Dew in a dizzying wave of heat; it begins as a headrush, and washes down his spine to pool heavy in his belly, and it’s then that he becomes aware of just how hard he’s gotten. His cock lays hot against his thigh, trapped in his jeans, and it’s a miracle Aether hasn’t tried to grope him. He could, if he wanted. Dew wouldn’t stop him. His focus is on Mountain, not himself.

Do I have to? Mountain’s voice threads into his thoughts, trembling and warm. He twists to look up at Dew with dark eyes, claws sinking into the edge of the couch cushion. 

Dew looks down at him through his lashes, considering. It’s hard to tell if Mountain is simply being a whiny baby, or if it’s possible he doesn’t want to do this right now. No. You know that. Do you want to?

There’s no hesitation in his reply.

Yes. 

Then yes, you have to. Are you gonna whine about it the whole time? Dew murmurs, letting false annoyance seep into his words as he drops his head back to Swiss’s stomach with enough force to push a little oof out of him.

Quiet? Dew can still feel Mountain’s eyes on him. He’d be lying if he tried to tell himself he didn’t want to listen to every little noise Mountain had to give between now and the time the urgency rises to danger. Mountain doesn’t need to know that, though.

Yeah. You’re not the only one here. No one wants to listen to you be a fucking baby about having to piss.

Mountain’s breath shudders out of him as he fights to keep from groaning, and eventually turns around and settles back down, drawing his legs a little closer to him. Rain comes back a moment later, gaze lingering on the two of them as he makes his way back to his spot beside Cumulus. 

There’s a stretch of quiet, in which Mountain squirms slowly and Dew grows a little harder, entertaining himself for now by playing back sounds of desperation he’s wrung from Mountain in the past. He focuses on the soft sounds of fabric shifting, of Mountain’s breathing, the aborted sounds catching in his throat, the weight of Aether’s palm on his thigh. His hands have rested there the whole time, but now the warmth of skin through his jeans is distracting, pulling his focus. And then Aether’s hand slides a little further up.

Just an inch or two. Testing. Waiting to see if Dew is going to admonish him for it. The heat in his belly tightens as Aether’s hand slips a little higher, and he makes no move to stop him. He reserves a small bit of focus on keeping his breathing even and soft as Aether’s thumb brushes over his cock, makes it pulse and leak. He’s unprepared for the way his head spins when the weight of Aether’s palm settles over him all at once, squeezing softly, and his breath catches in his throat. Just for a second. 

Dew isn’t sure if he’s hoping Mountain will notice or not, unable to tell if the pressure in his chest is disappointment or satisfaction when he sees Mountain’s ear twitch, his head turn a little, and hears the distressed groan he lets out. It’s a low sound, almost too low to hear, but it affects Dew almost as much as Aether’s hand. Beneath his head, Swiss stops breathing for a second, and he makes a loud, indignant noise at the same time his cock kicks hard. 

What, so I’m not allowed to think it’s hot watching you feel up Mountain, but Aeth is allowed to grope your dick? Swiss demands, his abdomen flexing as he sits up a little. 

Dew opens his eyes, tips his head back to stare up at him. Yes. 

Swiss stares back, seems to realize the fight is futile, and flops back down with a huff. Fucking favoritism, he mutters, and Dew doesn’t bother to respond. 

[feralghxuls]

Body and Blood

Rating: Explicit/Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings

Pairing: Swiss/Rain

Tags: Blood and gore, Blood, Biting, Dom/sub, Under-negotiated Kink, It falls within established boundaries however, Dom Swiss, Sub Rain, Subspace, Anal sex, Aftercare offscreen, Snowballing

Summary: Ever since Swiss bit Rain's throat while he was possessed, Rain hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. He needs Swiss to bite him again, this time without the possession. (Follow-up to Devoured by Shadows)

Words: 4,525

Swiss hasn’t seen Rain since the evening before, when Ifrit had poked his head into the common room and Swiss had bounced up from his seat and followed Ifrit to his room. He’d crashed there, though they hadn’t gotten much sleeping done, and the waking bell had come far too soon. Still, they’d made it to the dining hall in time for breakfast, and had parted ways; Ifrit off to his table with Zephyr and Ivy and Swiss to the room off the main hall where the band ghouls and Copia ate, separate from the rest of the abbey’s occupants.

 From the doorway, Swiss finds Rain immediately; searching for him in a room has been second nature for so long now he hardly realizes he’s doing it anymore. He’s at his spot at the table already, with Mountain and Cirrus further down, but it doesn’t look like he’s talking with them, just sitting quietly with his hands folded in his lap. His tail hangs down through the back of the chair, relaxed except for the quiet intermittent flicking of the tip, and his ears are limp, head tipped slightly down. Maybe Swiss should be concerned for his mate’s body language, perhaps worried that something is wrong, but he’s not. He doesn’t need to be.

There’s a thin band of metal around his throat, clasped with a small lock at the back of his neck. Swiss zeroes in on it, a rush of possessive heat and affection flooding him. He feels a little drunk on it as his feet carry him straight to the table, completely ignoring the other ghouls scattered around the room. Usually, he’d bounce around between the rest of them, greeting and chittering until the last second before the meal starts. 

Today, though, he’s got blinders on. The only thing in this room that matters is Rain and that collar around his throat and what it means to both of them. He comes to a stop behind Rain’s chair, leaning over him to press his cheek to Rain’s as he curls his body around him, arms crossing loosely over his chest as he presses a kiss into his hair. It could have been an innocuous greeting hug, but it’s not and Rain knows it. His tail curls around Swiss’s thigh almost before his arms settle around him, and Rain leans his head back against Swiss as he skims one hand up Rain’s body to splay against the front of his throat, the other flat against his chest, right over his heart. Swiss stays there for a long moment, narrowing his senses down until the noise in the room fades away and it's just the spiced, warm scent of a submissive Rain, collared of his own volition, his heartbeat hammering under Swiss's palm and the soft hitch of his breath, followed by his throat bobbing as he swallows twice in quick succession. Swiss is purring right into Rain’s ear, and just when the soft answering rumble starts up, he lets out a soft growl and drops his head down to ghost his teeth across the skin of his neck, deliberately catching a fang on the edge of the collar. A promise of what’s to come. When he draws back, it’s slow and lingering, letting his hands drift over Rain’s body, never fully retreating into his own space as he settles into his chair, leaving one hand to rest on Rain’s thigh.

Rain sways slightly in his seat, one ear flicking towards Swiss. Neither of them say anything, but Swiss takes a slow, deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent wafting off of him, subtle enough that it could be missed if you weren’t deeply familiar with it. Swiss, of course, could pinpoint this scent from his lifemate a mile away, and right now it’s taking all his willpower not to bury his nose into Rain’s neck again and drown himself in it. 

He'd caught a good noseful a moment ago though, and it's enough to make it easy to cling to that soft scent even through the haze of all the others, almost as good as straight from the source. Still, Swiss is aware of the coy little smirk Cirrus is directing at them and feels a spark of pride in his chest, feels the urge to pull Rain into his lap just to make the message absolutely clear. He doesn’t get the chance to show Rain off like this often, even more rarely when he’s not expecting it. He knows very well what a rarity this is, that Rain is broadcasting any of this at all, but he knows the rules and he won't push them. He’s already deep in thought, abandoning any attention to his surroundings in favor of planning out what he’s going to do to him later, so the soft touch of Rain’s hand on his wrist startles him. He looks over to meet Rain’s soft gaze, sees the intention behind it just as it clicks that he’s pressing something into the palm of his hand, something small and body-warm and metal. A key. The key to his collar.

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[feralghxuls]

Hiding From the Light

Rating: T

Pairing: Dew/Mountain

Tags: First Kiss, Fluff, Ghoul Lore, Breeding Mention

Words: 1,218

Summary:

Dew was Mountain's first kiss topside, and also ever.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Dew said, raising himself up on his toes and pulling Mountain down at the same time. “I don’t know what that is,” Mountain said, but whatever it was, he knew he wanted it, and he wanted it from Dew. He didn’t laugh. His thumb brushed slowly over Mountain’s cheekbone, and Dew said, “I’ll show you. Stop me if you don’t like it.” Mountain nodded, and let Dew pull him down further. Their faces were very close together, close enough that Mountain could count Dew’s eyelashes, and see the patterns in his irises, and the faint white freckles across his cheeks he’d never noticed before, and still Dew was moving closer.

When Mountain was first summoned, he had a very difficult time with the other ghouls. He didn’t understand why they were so friendly, he didn’t get the social cues, he didn't like the touching. Dew wasn’t like the others. He kept to himself, bright, intense eyes taking in everything before him, observing conversations and interactions, and when he chose to participate he was blunt and straightforward. He largely ignored Mountain for a good long while, until the day he strode up to him in that oddly precise way of his and asked what his problem was. Demanded to know why Mountain was always staring at him

Mountain didn’t realize he was staring. He felt inexplicably drawn to Dew. Where he came from in the pit, there was no friendliness. You met other ghouls only to chase them out of your territory, or to be chased yourself, and trying to befriend the others was a good way to get yourself killed. That wasn’t a threat here, though, as far as Mountain knew.

Dew had asked him two questions, so Mountain gave him two answers: it’s too loud and too bright; he stares because Dew is interesting to look at.

Dew barked out a laugh and took Mountain by the elbow, grip firm but surprisingly gentle, dragging him down a half dozen halfways and halfway across the abbey. He took Mountain somewhere he had never been before, where the air smelled of dust and the walls were old, uncovered stone bricks, and the next thing he knew he was being steered through a doorway and into a room. Just before Dew kicked the door closed, Mountain could see shapes covered by white cloth and a layer of dust. Then it was dark. And quiet. Quieter than anywhere in the abbey, except for two sets of lungs breathing and two hearts beating.

After spending an eternity in the pitch black, Mountain’s eyes only needed a few seconds before he could see everything in the room as plainly as if all the lights were on. He was only looking at Dew, though, standing in front of him. unmoving and staring right at him, his pupils reflecting the tiniest bit of starlight filtering in through the covered windows.

“Even in the dark, you’re still staring at me,” Dew said, tone flat. but then he laughed. It wasn’t the rough, caustic laugh he’d barked out earlier, or the bitter, scathing one Mountain usually heard from him. It was still rough around the edges, but it was warm. Sincere.

“I want to touch you,” Mountain said.

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[feralghxuls]

okay, okay. whiny trembly mountain coming right up

@kroas-adtam ask and ye shall receive.

(918 words)

Mountain draws another trembling breath. In through his nose, filling his lungs, expanding his chest housing his racing heart. Out through barely parted lips, a shuddering exhale that does nothing to calm the insistent tremors. Dew won't look at him. His eyes are locked on the TV, barely even blinking. He has an arm wrapped around Aether, tucked up against his side and snoring softly, barely audible under the sound of the television and the blood rushing in Mountain's ears.

He bites back a whine, almost too late; he'd almost missed it rising in the back of his throat. Dew had already snapped at him once to shut up, the only acknowledgement of his presence Mountain has received since he came slinking into the common room, seeking Dew. He knows Dew can smell him. The want. The need. The submission coiled in his veins, ready to bend to his word. If he ever gives it.

Mountain doesn't know how long he's been standing here beside the couch, half a step in front of it, where he'd put himself in Dew's peripheral. Something about the way his ear had twitched, or the way he'd pulled Aether a little closer, had rooted Mountain to the spot. His thighs ache, the muscles starting to burn with the tension they've held. His throat feels thick with the effort of keeping quiet, his trembling body taking the brunt of it. He watches the way Dew's thumb brushes across the point of Aether's shoulder and he wants so badly–

The sound of his own voice startles him, a high whine eking out from the back of his throat and pressing into his ears. Guilt unfurls hot and fast in his belly, his pulse leaping into overtime. He's not even sure what retribution he's expecting; it's not like this is any sort of planned scene. He doesn't have to do what Dew tells him. But he wants to. He'll do anything for Dew to look at him. To touch him. To run his fingers through his hair, to drag his claws across his skin. To hear the filthy praise and insults fall from his lips. But Dew doesn't even spare him half a glance. Ignores him completely.

Mountain's knees hit the floor. He doesn't remember going down, but the relief and the echo of the burn in his thighs tells him he must have gone down slow. Desperation builds in his chest, something heavy and insistent. His claws sink into the fabric of his pants at his sides as hot pressure seeps across the front of his skull, settling behind his eyes as tears begin to prickle. He doesn't remember what he'd come here wanting, not anymore. Now every molecule in his body is devoted to the need for Dew to look at him.

Eventually, years later, he does. It's a slow track of his eyes, a disdainful once over that drags down his body and back up again, spreading a tingling warmth up his spine, anticipation and hope picking up in his veins. And then Dew's attention returns to the screen, and its absence aches worse than when he'd never had it in the first place.

He can't help it. A long, pitiful whine spills from his lips. Dew continues to ignore him. His cock twitches in his pants, trapped against his thigh, leaking a slow, steady patch into the fabric. Surely Dew had to have seen that. There's no way he didn't. It makes his stomach flip, makes the heat in his belly coil tighter. He's close enough to the couch that he could reach out and touch Dew. Close enough that Dew could reach out and touch him.

He doesn't, though. Not until he's swaying on his knees, until his thighs give out and he has no choice but to melt down, weight settling on his heels. Only then does Dew move, hand lifting from its spot against the arm of the couch towards him, and he thinks, just for a second, that Dew is finally going to touch him, to slide his hand to the back of his neck and pull him close, but then he sees the way he has the middle two fingers lifted slightly above the others and knows what he's offering. Mountain's lips are parted before Dew's fingertips reach his mouth, and he takes them somewhere between greedy and grateful. Dew still doesn't look at him, not even as he lets out a derisive scoff. His tongue slides between Dew's fingers, his lips closing around them. His own fingers twitch, itching to reach up and cling to Dew's wrist, but he knows better.

Dew finally looks at him again, but it's only so Mountain can see the curl of his lip as he sneers down at him, and that's all he needs to know that this is all he's getting. Dew's fingers in his mouth and whatever friction he can get from his pants.

At least until after he comes, makes a mess of himself just the way Dew likes, trembling and gasping through an unsatisfying orgasm. Then Dew might let him crawl closer, rest his head on his thigh while his fingers comb through his hair. And if he's lucky, if Dew's feeling generous, he might fuck him into the couch when the movie is over. If he's lucky. If he's not, he'll be left kneeling on the floor, sticky in his own cum and grateful that he at least got Dew's fingers and two glances.

[feralghxuls]

big boy brain rot. big boy sandwich. aether/mountain/ifrit. make mountain tremble, absolutely keening, between them.

big boy brainrot INDEED. 970 words of it

Mountain is losing his mind. Pressed between Aether and Ifrit, their hands gentle on him, him clinging to them. Aether’s cock is already buried deep inside him, and Mountain rocks down onto it, whining. He bumps his face against the crook of his shoulder; all he wants is to bury his face against him, but he’s restricted by his muzzle, jutting out and keeping him far away from Aether’s skin. He whines louder, turning to Ifrit and dropping his forehead on his shoulder. Ifrit’s hand strokes through his hair, over the straps across the back of his head, lingering. 

Mountain lifts his head, pleading silently with him. Ifrit’s face crumples into sympathy and he leans forward, pressing his lips to Mountain’s forehead.

I know. I know, I wish we could take it off, but we can’t, Ifrit murmurs, stroking his hand down Mountain’s back. We’ll make you feel good, though. I promise.

He makes good on that promise, dropping a hand between them to take Mountain’s cock in hand, stroking him slowly. Mountain groans, rocking between Ifrit’s hand and Aether’s cock and it’s overwhelming, but it’s not enough. He chitters low in his throat, reaching to where Ifrit’s cock presses against his thigh, pitching forward and halfway pulling off Aether.

You want me too? Ifrit asks, his touch so gentle on Mountain’s cheek as he nods desperately. Behind him, Aether lets out a low groan, pressing closer as his cock twitches and he buries himself in Mountain again.

Yes. Please. Please, I– 

Okay. Okay, we got you. We’ll take care of you, Ifrit says, his voice soft and taking the edge off the burning desperation that fills Mountain’s entire being. 

He bows his head against Ifrit’s shoulder, trembling and whining softly as Ifrit shifts, moving him with little effort until the head of his cock presses against Mountain beside Aether’s. He can’t help it; his claws sink into Ifrit’s arms as he sinks in, the stretch sending hot pleasure unfurling up his spine. He’s begging wordlessly, clinging hard until Ifrit finally bottoms out. Mountain lets out a broken groan, melting back against Aether’s chest, turning to bury his face against him, but Aether’s hand catches his jaw before he can, redirecting him to rest his cheek against him instead, saving Mountain the frustration. 

Easy, we’ve got you, Aether murmurs, pressing his cheek against the back of Mountain’s head as he starts to move, to slowly fuck up into him. Mountain shudders, his whole body shaking with the overwhelming intensity of it, already feeling like he’s unraveling at the seams. 

Aether’s arms settle around him, holding him tight. Mountain melts into it, another broken sound falling from his lips as Ifrit starts to fuck into him too. It’s slow, the two of them settling into an alternating pace, dragging inside him, burning him up from the inside out. Mountain’s head lolls, dropping back against Aether’s chest one moment and forward to Ifrit’s shoulder the next. He can’t keep still, struggling to rock down onto them, to lean into the fullness and let it shatter him apart. 

Mountain, Aether’s voice filters in through the blood rushing in Mountain’s ears, and he manages to look at him. His face is flushed, lips parted and his fangs digging into his lower lip and Mountain wants to twist around and kiss him. He can’t, though, and Aether is asking him something. Do you want us to knot you?

Mountain just groans, low and long, heat flooding him at the idea. He needs it. He’s going to die without it, and it’s going to be his undoing. 

We need an answer, babe, Ifrit prompts, cupping Mountain’s jaw and leaning forward to kiss at his temple. 

Yes, Mountain manages, nodding, melting forward against Ifrit, bumping that damn muzzle against him and giving a loud whine of frustration. It burns more than the stretch of Aether’s and Ifrit’s cocks inside him, but Ifrit’s hand on him, his slow strokes of his cock distracts him, turns the whine into a moan. 

It’s not long before their knots start to swell, before Mountain is even more of a wreck, lost in the overwhelming heat twisting through him at every subtle move. Ifrit comes first, his hand on the back of Mountain’s neck tightening as he groans and shudders through it, filling him up. That sends Aether over the edge, his head dropping to Mountain’s shoulder as he gasps and twitches and adds to the mess. Mountain’s far too stretched out by now for any amount of knotting to keep their cum inside him, and he lets out a low groan as he feels it start to drip. He’s full, so full, so overstimulated in all the best ways.

Ifrit’s still catching his breath, panting against Mountain’s neck as he mouths at him and starts to stroke his cock in earnest. Mountain is sure that he’s going to shatter into a thousand pieces, but he just clings to Ifrit and Aether and loses himself in it. It’s impossible to tell where the edge is, but he knows he’s tumbling over it when all the heat in his belly tightens and unfurls. His vision goes white as he comes, ears ringing and every muscle in his body locking up tight, trembling.

The next thing he knows, his forehead is pressed to Ifrit’s shoulder, there’s hands on him, stroking over his skin so gently. He’s shaking, his chest heaving for breath. Ifrit and Aether are both speaking to him, but the words have no meaning. Their softness sinks in anyway, gently piecing him back together until the sound returns to the room, his heart slows to a heavy thudding in his chest, and he melts between them.

Good boys. Cumulus’s voice filters in from somewhere across the room, and Mountain just whines quietly.