Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ཐི𓆩 ❖ 𓆪ཋྀ

The golden gloom the oil-lamps and torches cast hung over the bustling avenue leading to Silas’ favourite inn, and played with the fluttering signs, banners, and pennons hung to facades and balconies just like the late autumn breeze did.

Especially now, an hour after the sun had taken its daily dive beyond the horizon, the impending winter could be felt.

Silas pushed his way through the sea of chittering people clinging to their steaming cups of spiced wine for warmth, and couldn’t even muster his usual annoyance about the inconvenience of crowded streets keeping him away from his well-deserved ale for longer than strictly necessary.

It’d been like that for the past month since the final decree had arrived in Ludlow, and therefore the Border-Garrison, and had formally put half of the soldiers stationed there on temporary leave.

He didn’t mind it this time. After all, tonight was the night he’d fuck a Dragon.

Well, not a literal Dragon, those were freaking ginormous and dangerous as shit, but what he had planned came closer to that than one might think was possible for a mere human.

He’d never even seen a real Dragon, their categorical dislike of every breathing thing they didn’t like the taste of had seen to that, but going of what word of mouth told about their size, even the smallest iteration of a full-grown Dragon’s junk should still be about the size of an entire adult man.

Not that he’d ever be the one taking it, of course, or actually wanted to fuck a real Dragon. He did have a knack for seducing the exotic, but exotic meant, like, pointy ears, or shorter limbs. Not a literal, fire-breathing lizard the size of a small house.

The invisible wall of spend air that rushed over him once he finally made it inside of the Cowardly Lion, thick with the stench of booze, sweat, and the desperate cries of the perfumes trying and miserably failing to counteract the miasma, pulled a sigh out of him while he made for the counter.

As objectively not-very-pleasant as the odour of busy taproom was, he’d grown to like it over the years. Just smelled like home.

It wasn’t as crowded inside, but it still took him a moment to spot the object of his desire nestled within the convulsing mass of fabrics and moving limbs while he greeted Anna, the barmaid he’d known longer than most of his friends by this point, and collected the peeved looks he always got when she dropped whatever she was doing to get him the ale she knew he was yearning for.

Once he had his tankard in hand, he shoved his way through the crowd to get to the booth they always kept unoccupied for him, with his focus resting entirely in the corner of his eye, where he saw them, sitting around a table in the back, and talking amongst themselves as if they weren’t aware of the badly concealed gawking from half the people in attendance.

The Kingdom of Caerleon had always bordered with many a different culture it’d inadvertently build some matter of relations with over time, even if they lived under-day like the dwarfs, for example, who’d always preferred the cold caverns beneath the mountains they deified to a nice summers day.

Cultural differences or not, trade was a thing everyone was interested in, be that human, dwarf, elf, gnome— you name it.

At the end of the day, filling in the gaps left in one’s own day-to-day with the knowledge others possessed, and making everyones life easier in the process, was just too good a deal for most rulers to pass up on, especially when there was no real reason to deal in hostilities by virtue of inhabiting completely different parts of the same old world they all lived in.

No human wanted to live under a goddamn mountain, or be anywhere near the living forests the elves loved so much. They might have a sixth sense for the incorporeal forces that made freaking trees come alive and plug you with a dozen roots to suck you dry as if you were nothing more than a walking snack, but no one else did.

A very stupid King centuries ago had attempted to burn one of these forests down in a bid to avenge his niece having found her end there after an ill-fated liaison with an elf had gone awry, but that’d ended with a thousand men dead, not a single tree felled, and an exceptionally pissed off delegation of elves arriving in Ratherham not long after.

For the most part, everyone had their own corner to sit in and was happy with that, just like Silas sat in his favourite booth in his favourite inn, with cold ale to drink and a good pipe to suckle on, and was happy as long as no tried to claim his booth for themselves.

Well, on most other evenings, he wasn’t here by his lonesome. He always had company one way or the other, even if it was the two idiots who worked alongside him in the smithy he’d originally planned to work for for just a year or two to evade getting sucked deeper into running the family-business, but had never felt the need to leave since then.

He just liked the work, he’d found.

The heat, the smell, the forging and hammering around at a piece of molten ore for hours on end with no thoughts mighty enough to cut through the noise, and going home at the end of the day with a palpable result for his efforts on hand that he incidentally could also sell for good money.

He only manned the forge half of the year anyway because working a smithy in the summer was a death-wish, so really, these days, he saw little reason to end a good thing.

Wasn’t like he had any better prospects out here, far away from the capital and all the uppity scholars and nobles. At least none that wouldn’t require him to work more, and he didn’t want that because that would mean less time for him to tend to his other passions besides making the anvil sing.

Passions like travelling the lands and getting his dick wet, mainly.

Silas sipped from his ale once he sat in his booth and had gotten comfortable so he could join in on the badly concealed gawking. People gawked at one another all the damn time for a myriad of reasons, but tonight, he was definitely the one with the most outrageous intentions fuelling his contribution.

Out of the many peoples humanity had never had major issues with, there had been one that it did, in fact, have major issues with, for as long as the concept of this Kingdom had even existed.

The Drakvdeí; the ones of fire and scale, as they liked to call themselves.

For the amount of time their peoples had been at odds with one another, knowledge about their origins was remarkably sparse, or how they’d even come to their striking difference from any other race that walked on two feet, who all looked generally similar, lest for the aforementioned pointy ears, obscene amounts of body hair, or longer or shorter limbs respectively.

The Drakvdeí were only similar in so far as that they shared the general body structure. Two legs, two arms, a torso, and a head on top, hands, feet— the basics. Beyond that, nothing about them could be likened to their contemporaries.

Instead of skin, they had the leathery, scaled hides of reptiles, instead of normal faces, elongated, lizard-like snouts and muzzles. Even hair, they didn’t have, neither on their scalp nor the rest of their body, instead donning all manner of horns and generally pointy tips on their heads.

And of course, they had tails. Freaking tails; long enough to reach all the way down to ground, while also mighty enough to inflict a mean concussion upon collecting an unfortunate hit in the heat of battle.

All in all, the image the Drakvdeí presented to anyone that’d spent their whole life looking at the same iterations of smooth skin, comparatively delicate faces, and round skulls tended to cause an instinctual feeling of unease.

He’d only laid eyes on a combined number of four of them in his entire life, and all of them, he’d seen in the last week, reason being that the most recent escalation of the conflict had been followed by an unprecedented period of, albeit uncertain, peace.

More than forty years, the last major battle laid in the past now. Beyond the constant, perfunctory saber-rattling at the borders, of course. Only that the expected breaking of that peace had never come.

In fact, barely a year ago, both thrones had been succeeded by new Kings, and in what the populace on both sides had met with a resounding ‘They did fucking what?’, said Kings had met on neutral ground, and had declared for the hostilities to be a thing of the past, and for everyone to now live alongside each other in harmony now.

Objectively, the decision made sense; Silas was quite sure even the most well-versed clerk of the royal library in Ratherham would be hard-pressed to find a definite record of why the hostilities had even begun, let alone how they’d kept escalating into the bottomless well of death and destruction that’d cost countless good men their lives.

But the sudden, mutual heel-turn for actual, lasting peace had just come out of god damn nowhere.

The ranks of the nobility, who’d always so valiantly supplied the armed forces with famed generals and commanders, had even went so far as to come together to try and force the King to take back his decree, and re-establish the previous state of affairs, but unlike those that rarely paid for war with their own blood, the general population had quickly taken a liking to the idea of no longer having to sacrifice their sons to a cause that’d ultimately never yielded palpable results.

More meetings had been had, and more decrees issued, and then, just a month ago, the first Border-Garrison had opened its gates, the one that incidentally was located barely fifteen miles north of Ludlow.

From what Silas had heard, they’d made a big show out of the first trading-caravan leaving the capital and heading for Drak’Rava, but other than the perpetually profit-greedy Merchant-Guild’s and the odd, crazy scholar, no one had felt inclined to follow suit yet.

Desire for peace or not, you couldn’t just sign centuries of bad blood out of existence.

From eating babies to filling their bathtubs with the blood of their slain enemies, every heinous practice one could think of had been assigned to the Drakvdeí over the centuries, and Silas wouldn’t be surprised if the other side had done the same.

One didn’t just ignore that kind of history to go to visit their ancestral enemies’ lands without a real good reason to, and Silas had decidedly lacked one of those.

Ludlow was a decently sized provincial that’d only ever grown this big and wealthy because of its proximity to the border having inadvertently made it a prime target for the soldiers of the garrisons to come and get rid of their salaries when they had their free days.

Which now, where the war was officially over, had become much more free days than before. The garrisons remained manned for now, but there was a difference between awaiting an all out assault with little intelligence to go off of, and just taking precautions in case the recent developments were overturned again.

That first trading caravan had come through town just two weeks ago, and Silas had watched it go with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and he hadn’t been the only one.

He might’ve never fought in any of the wars himself, he was too young with his, come next year, thirty summers, but like every citizen of the Realm, he’d grown up with a constant stream of condemning sentiments about the Drakvdeí flowing into his ears.

In hindsight, he knew that many of them were too Machiavellian in the wretchedness they accused the Drakvdeí of to possibly be true, but he still hadn’t quite trusted the peace from the get-go.

They might not actually be baby-eating, blood-bathing demons, but they’d still fought many a gruesome war against mankind, and had always been feared for their ferociousness, and general lack of mercy in battle.

But then, last week, the first traders from their side had rolled into town.

Well, if they were traders or not was a bit of a mystery because like a trading caravan, the singular wagon pulled by two strange-looking, horse-sized, wingless lizards, hadn’t looked, although the wagon in an of itself had been impressive in size with a whole of three Drakvdeí manning the helm, which would make the tree out of four of them Silas had seen until earlier today.

Needless to say that every man, woman, and child living in Ludlow had sore necks now from gawking at the Drakvdeí taking ganders through the streets, having appearantly decided that they’d not let history stand in the way of them exploring the localities.

From what Silas had gathered, they’d been particularly interested in the cuisine.

They visited a different inn every night, ordered every manner of seared meat-dish on offer to take it back to where the major had told them to park their wagon to eat, just to return, and drink twice the amount of liquor— the taste of ale, they hadn’t liked— than any adult human could without passing out and pissing themselves in their sleep before wandering off to their wagon again to sleep with only minor sways to their step.

It was all a bit strange, so much was sure, but then again, their guests hadn’t yet tried eating babies like a significant number of Ludlow’s older population had prophecied they would, and their visible distate for the sharp, ringing voices of children didn’t make it seem like they would try anytime soon.

Thus far, Silas had stayed on the sidelines, had watched the Drakvdeí pass him in town on occasion, and although they’d indeed been a peculiar sight, he’d decided to just wait until he’d share a taproom with them before he’d make a decision on how he felt about their presence here.

From what he’d heard, they weren’t any less un-shocking to be around in an inn as they were in the streets, and earlier, on his way home from work, he’d seen them walk through the door of the Cowardly Lion on his way home from work.

All four of them, that was.

Appearantly, there’d been four from the start with one of them staying out of sight for whatever reason, and only tonight, that fourth one had decided to leave the wagon to join its colleagues on yet another venture to sample as many different meats and liquors as they could.

And it’d only taken Silas’ animal brain about ten second of him gawking at said fourth one before it’d directed his eyes toward its, for a male— the lack of tits was rather obvious— preposterously well-shaped backside, and looking at where that tail emerged from beneath its curiously cut garments for it to pose the question what manner of hole was hiding under there, and if he could stick his dick in it.

Which was, admittedly, a little crude, but Silas was a simple man, one that’d never dared kicking something pretty off the bedside, no matter what manner of junk it sported. Holes tended to be tight and a pleasure to dive into no matter on what end they were located, after all.

And also, he was a man that’d spend his first fifteen or so summers helping with the family business, meaning the fanciest brothel in town. So fancy that it even had a nice bar on the ground floor he’d been assigned to help run as a young boy for obvious reasons, but that didn’t mean that he hadn’t become familiar with literal fuckery of all kinds long before all other boys that age did.

He always liked to say that he’d fucked his first lass before he’d even kissed anyone, and although everyone always thought it was a joke, it really wasn’t one. There was only so much sex a prepubescent boy could indirectly be around all day before the boys mind got dead-set on finding out what the fuss was all about.

And he’d found out. Oh, he’d found out, the second he’d looked old enough to his parents’ employees to accept his money behind their backs, and enthusiastically support him on his honourable search for answers.

And then he’d found out again right after, because of course he had, and again on the very next day, and before he’d known it, his adolescence had kicked into second gear, and from there, he’d ventured to find more people to find things out with without bankrupting himself.

And from that point onward, he’d never stopped finding out again.

There weren’t many kinds of people he hadn’t felt the desire to try and stick his dick into since then, no matter if they had pointy ears or shorter limbs— although the latter tended to be a bad fit for his cock— and seeing as he had both the goods and the skills to back up the sweet promises he poured in any of his conquests ears, he’d been busy.

Busy enough to be able to proudly claim that he’d explored every different kind of sensibly approachable orifice on offer on this continent, although he really hadn’t expected that his libido would start considering the Drakvdeí too, not after having watched them in town, and having felt decidedly nothing in that direction.

That fourth one was different though. It looked like its colleagues of course, generally, but also, it looked completely different.

Any Drakvdeí’s face didn’t align with human standards, obviously, they were just too dissimilar for measures of beauty to translate, but this one? This one, Silas’ dick was more than clear on that it liked the sight of.

It checked out why the Drakvdeí declared themselves as coming from fire and scale, and likened themselves to Dragon’s in that regard, because they did really look like to some extent, Dragons had to have been involved in their creation, because all… that couldn’t just be coincidence.

Their faces, although they did retain a faint likeness to human’s or elves in that they weren’t overly big, and weren’t quite as elongated as most lizards’ were, were the most glaring signifier of their mystical origins, even this ones, bizarrely easy on the eyes it may be.

All of them had, albeit more sloped, foreheads and more pronounced brow-bones without the brows, with a set of angular eyes beneath those, but that was where the similarities already ended.

The lower faces were completely different.

Protruded in the general, angular shapes of a bigger reptiles’ snout with no nose or nothing, only two, horizontal, slitted holes located on the sides of the ridged tips of their muzzles. Their jaws followed that trend and jutted outward, sporting sometimes less, sometimes more visibly ridges and small horns themselves, especially where their equivalent of a chin sat.

Lips, they didn’t have any, only sported a row of smaller, faintly differently shaped and coloured scales along the edges of their mouths, which honestly couldn’t really be called mouths either.

Maw was a more befitting term, much wider than any mouth as they were, to such an extent that they almost reached from ear to ear. If there had been ears anyway, for the Drakvdeí, there were webbed, cartilage-looking, leathery flaps instead that stood backwards, or hung a bit to the side depending on the specimen.

The non-lips— if anything, one could call them flews— themselves pulled back a little when they opened their maws to speak or drink, and beyond waited two rows of short, but visibly razor-sharp and pointy fangs.

Combined with the lack of hair, and the horns and bumps and ridges and webs they had instead, Silas understood why most people got the creeps from looking at the Drakvdeí for too long, now that he’d had the time to observe them from not so far away for a while.

There was a distinctly inhuman, damn near monstrous edge to their features that was just too stark a sight to be easily glossed over.

And yet, on the one Silas’ dick wanted to be inside of, the martial nature of its features looked damn near elegant, which in no small part was due to the fact that it didn’t share the dull copper, brownish-red or equally muddy-green variety of scale-colour with its colleagues.

This one’s were paler, and neither red nor green at all. They were white. A rich, matte ivory with approaching fleshy undertones to the leathery hide around the throttle and the moving parts of the face, where its scales grew fleetingly small.

Without so much colour muddying the image, a faint mosaic of those small scales was clearly visible that swirled around its face in an absolutely mesmerising way, followed along the natural ridges and lines the underlying bone-structure painted, and highlighted, or made them look less prominent in all the right ways.

Actually, the lack of pigment of this ones scales did what a well-kept beard or skilfully applied face-paint did for humans. Pulled ones gaze in to the right places, and made them get stuck on an elegant cheekbone or a distinctly shaped jaw.

This Drakvdeí just looked handsome, Silas didn’t know how to put it any other way, and that meant something coming from him, who’d seen handsome in many forms in his time.

Beyond the peculiar handsomeness of its face, it was tall like all of the Drakvdeí seemed to be, solely going off the average size of the other three, but Silas was pretty sure he had an inch or two on it in height, and in brawn, he had it confidently beaten too.

It wasn’t lithe in any sense of the word, it had strong, distinctly virile shoulders and carried around some muscle on its arms and thighs as far as Silas could tell, but he wasn’t so well-liked by the submissive-natured crowd for nothing.

Coming from a wealthy family that’d always had much and good food on the table and hammering his days away in the smithy had awarded him with the kind of brawn usually reserved to professional soldiers, or the select groups of other men that did similarly demanding work to earn their fill.

It’d just been the luck of the draw for him that his fathers bloodline had also blessed him with the kind of frame where building such a physique upon resulted in the imposing image he presented nowadays, and not in the one Reiner, the blacksmith he worked for, presented.

Which was the one of a, for his age, ridiculously buff man that almost looked as wide as he was tall.

Silas was humble enough to recognise that he didn’t have one of the delicate, knightly faces the people in the capital were so obsessed with that they kept having them painted, but thankfully, he’d grown into a man around the kind of women for whom their beauty was their literal capital.

At him coming to them as a pimple-faced— back then already tall, but still desperately lanky— adolescent, and asking for their advice after a few months of secretly making use of their services, they’d taught him that for a man, taking good care of himself beyond brawn and muscles was what regularly made much uglier men than him look attractive.

Which was why he kept his black mane at shoulder-length, even though it was a constant fight that cost many a comb their life, and continuously emptied the flasks of rather costly hair-oil Marianne, the back then best earning courtesan in his families business, had showed to him, to keep it smooth and shiny, and not allow it to assume its true, horrendously wiry, thicket-form that made him look like he’d gotten struck by lightning for breakfast.

His beard, he trimmed regularly to keep it at an exact, two inches length, and he spent at least thrice the time most other men did in front of the mirror to keep the edges clean, and shave the hairs away from his neck that constantly grew back in in an attempt to ruin his work.

His nails, he did his darnedest to prevent the grime from the smithy taking hold beneath them, and combined with going to the effort of making sure his clothes were always clean just like his body was, he maintained what rarely disappointed him when it came to translating all that work into reward of the carnal variety.

All he need do was tug his sleeves around his elbows to show off his underarms, keep one more button of his tunic unbuttoned than was strictly appropriate, and keep his top hair fastened to the back of his head in a messy bun, and he rarely had to wait longer than an hour before he had a pretty thing in his lap he could ravage later on.

On some days, when he really didn’t feel like spending the entire hour it took to clean himself up before he could go get himself the ale he’d been thirsting for the whole day while he’d been sweating his ass off in front of the furnace, he wondered why he went to all the effort for.

Because he had an ego, sue him, but still. People tended to stop looking at his face entirely once he dropped his pants.

How would his Drakvdeí react? Would its eyes show eagerness, or concern? Or would it be both? Silas liked it most when it was both, especially when he bedded men. When they appreciated the gift they were about to be given, while also knowing that they’d need to put a whole lot of trust in him to know what to do so it wouldn’t hurt too badly.

Gods, Silas itched to know.

How would it feel around him? Would it be tight and fleshy? Would it be rougher, leathery even, within? Would it be hotter than a human man’s insides, or colder? How would its prick look? What parts of its body could he touch to make it shiver? Would its tail be one of them? He hoped it would we.

What would its pucker be like in the first place? The same as a human’s, or would it be different? Would it be scaly or fleshy? Would it be soft and malleable, or would he have to work it open slowly, and deliciously?

The possibilities were endless, and Silas would explore this Drakvdeí on his search for answers. He’d explore the literal fuck out of it, and if it was the last thing he did.

In theory, at least.

In practise, fuck did he know how the Drakvdeí felt about bedding bedding the same sex. It wasn’t a big thing for human-kind any more these days, but the gods knew the topic could still be a very precarious thing for certain other races.

He’d spent half a decade searching for a male elf who he’d been able to sweet-talk into spreading his legs for him, which itself had taken an entire evening of guided questioning of his peoples customs strongly forbidding any internal exploration of his body.

It was then that Silas had found out that most elves didn’t even dare kiss with tongue for fear of the woman’s tongue breaching the ‘holy barrier of the man’s skin’, or whatever the fuck.

He’d buried the dreadfully un-erotic lead-up beneath the far more enticing memories of Llithoven, that’d been his name, melting under him once he’d finally been speared on his cock after a full hour of preparation so he wouldn’t have pain bad enough as that he could’ve interpreted it as the penultimate warning-sign of whatever godforsaken tree his people prayed to to stop what he was doing.

And in this case, there was still the potential issue around him being sort of the Drakvdeí’s ancestral enemy just the same as they were his. He didn’t care about specifics once his dick was set on its goal, even though part of him sort of felt like he should, and these four Drakvdeí hadn’t shown any open hostility toward anyone here, but how they really felt, he had no clue about.

If the one he wanted gutturally loathed humans on principle, then that would pose a near insurmountable challenge that he would have to be really careful about overcom-

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed what he’d been sitting here and waiting for finally happening.

His Drakvdeí pushed itself out of its chair with an empty jug in hand, and approached the bar for probably the fifth refill, considering what he’d heard their merry little group drank on average, while his colleagues stayed seated, caught up in whatever conservation they were having.

Silas wasn’t shy about making his move with onlookers present, it was just that if the Drakvdeís’ culture had any of the aforementioned issues around him sticking it to the pretty one, it might very well turn him down on purpose to save face should he try anyway, even if it was interested.

Without wasting another second, Silas slipped off the bench, and brought his tankard along while he pushed his way past many a rowdy guest all over again.

A big group of them had taken to drunkenly dancing a merry jig around the tables in the centre of the room a few minutes ago while the more or less skilled musicians in the corner wrung a tune from their sort of pained sounding instruments.

The Drakvdeí’s advance for the counter went off much smoother than Silas’ because any attendee it closed in on naturally made space once they realised it was headed their way, consciously or not.

By the time Silas caught up, it’d already leaned onto the counter with one elbow, and was curiously eyeing Anna’s demeanour gaining a visible edge of unease, the longer the wordless, and rather senseless observation went on, seeing as she was busy filling an entire trays worth of tankards with ale from one of the barrels resting in a cut-out in the wall there.

Silas doubted she’d be more relaxed in any case. These four Drakvdeí hadn’t been perceived the way they had been because of their looks alone. Appearantly, they were startlingly direct, and took everything one said as literal as it could possibly be taken, with little to none wiggle room for metaphor, let alone humour.

To the point where even the most obvious attempt at the age-old kind of joke men of all other races liked to make amongst themselves an unfortunate inn-owner two streets down had tried to make with them had crashed and burned into a never-before encountered flood of awkwardness.

At their insistence, the poor man had ended up having to explain the raunchy nature of said joke to the Drakvdeí as if they’d never heard a joke in their entire lives while they’d stared at him with blank expressions, and not a snort or laugh, or even just a chuckle in sight.

But, and that was the important part, they’d not been shy about asking follow-up questions, and then, in a turn truly no one had expected, had started adding their own thoughts as if the joke ever been intended to be mused over before comparing its implications to how their own culture thought about the matter.

In a godlessly graphic manner.

Everyone within ear-shot had stopped and gawked at the merrily monologuing Drakvdeí in complete shock before scrambling to get any children’s ears covered up, and for the respective parents, start mentally preparing themselves to have some very unwieldy conversations around the dinner table that night.

The reason for why humanity had never learned much about the Drakvdeí’s culture in the first place had been their unwavering pride— the mercilessness they’d showed any still breathing soldier they might’ve found writhing around on the battlefield, and in turn, the way that every single soldier of theirs who’d found himself in that position having, without fail, rather cut their own throat open than face imprisonment and interrogation.

That kind of thinking seemed to have suffused their culture to the point where even just verbally beating around the bush was interpreted as weakness, and an, for human sensibilities, unfathomably frank and direct approach the norm, no matter how graphic the conversation got because of it.

With that in mind, Silas had devised a plan of attack that, if he’d devised correctly, would end with him balls deep in his Drakvdeí within the hour. If he hadn’t, he’d probably get punched in the face, or worse, but he’d rather take that chance instead of the abysmal one pussyfooting around had.

Silas shot the Drakvdeí’s backside another hungry glare while he rounded it— but really, why was that thing so plump— and then, without much fanfare, mirrored the way it’d leaned onto the counter, and intentionally denied it its continued observation of the by now visibly scrambling Anna.

And just for good measure, he got close. Not all up in its face, but he made sure to enter its personal space in a way that made it obvious that he’d done it on purpose, and not because he was just a drunken oaf who’d forgotten what good manners were.

“The names’ Silas,” he said before the Drakvdeí had a chance to react, and got comfortable.

For a long moment, the Drakvdeí looked mightily perplexed— probably was the first time anyone in this town had actively approached it with this being its first outing and all— and gave Silas an instinctual once over with its eyes that made the back of his neck prickle.

Those eyes were freakishly pretty, he hadn’t even noticed that from a distance.

Their iris’ were much bigger than a humans, so big that Silas barely saw any white around its edges, for one, but the pale, mauve colour of these ones was obscene to look at, in the best way possible. He’d never heard, or even thought of eyes being able to have that colour.

Although the much discussed, slitted nature of this Drakvdeí’s pupils wasn’t anywhere near as unnerving as the gossip had made it seem. Sure, they weren’t round, but the inhuman, shiver-inducing sight he’d heard them described as, they weren’t. Slightly oval, if anything.

It only took the Drakvdeí another heartbeat before its eyes zeroed in on Silas’ face. He let their gazes clash without batting an eye, resigned to observing the visible process of the Drakvdeí deciding on what it should think about what Silas was doing right now, and how it ought to react.

“Mavash,” the Drakvdeí said after another moment of staring, just that he— this was definitely a he, alright— didn’t just speak, he freaking purred, because for fucks sake, that voice went down smoother than liquor.

Why’d no one mentioned the Drakvdeí sounding like this? It’s voice wasn’t just simply deep, it was perversely sonorous. As if the organ producing it had twice the room to resonate than its contemporaries, and that caused every single syllable to pour into Silas’ ear like airborne satin.

His animal-brain almost threw off his game by immediately trying to imagine how it would sound once Mavash moaned into his ear, but for now, he pushed the thought aside, nodded, emptied the last of his ale, and put is tankard down upon the counter with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

He’d never forgive himself if he fucked it up now because he couldn’t keep it in his pants a little longer.

“You’re quite the sight, Mavash,” he said, and nonchalantly returned the favour of letting his eyes wander down Mavash’s frame, although he did it in the slow way, where it was all but screaming ‘I like what I’m seeing’. The second he arrived back at Mavash’s face, he added: “Couldn’t help but think how much better you’d look speared on my cock.”

Now, where this one of his usual conquests, this sort of approach would never work if his opposite wasn’t so drunk that the sex with them would be like running a marathon, only that it wasn’t a marathon at all, but rather a desperate dash for finish line before the ale inevitably started to yearn for a second go around.

It was just too direct, even for those who’d went out with the sole intent of finding themselves a warm body to share a bed with for a night, whether they were the hunter or the hunted.

It happened that someone approached him that way from time to time, of course, but even for Silas, who had to be in a rarely foul mood for sex to not sound like a nice distraction, it just took the fun out of the game. He wanted to do a little hunting, even if both parties were perfectly aware how the hunt would end.

It got his blood heated in the right sort of way, the one that could save even a rather boring round, and turn it into one of great excitement and passion.

This wasn’t the usual, though.

The subtle, flirty route would’ve either gone straight over Mavash’s delectably horned head— two wrist-thick ones that grew from right above his temples, and curled back up and over his head with a prominent ridge consisting of big, horned scales running across his scalp between them— or would’ve ended with him in a similar situation as the poor fella who’d had to give a detailed explanation of his joke, and that wouldn’t have read as very suave now, would it?

Mavash took his time blankly staring at him without even so much as a twitch of his non-existent brows giving away what train of thought he was currently following, save for the gratingly obvious, which was that he was clearly trying to determine whether or not Silas was out of his freaking mind.

“Is that right, Silas?”

Friggin’ bingo.

Well, not a decisive bingo, but bingo in so far as that he hadn’t yet caught a— now that he looked at the curious looking hand resting on the counter in front of him— clawed fist with his face, and that was a good sign that he at least had some manner of shot here, unlikely as it may currently seem.

But for heaven’s sake, the way Mavash’s tongue seemed to intrinsically prance on the sharpness of every sibilant damn near threw Silas off all over again. Talk about scratching his skull.

Silently, he thanked his parents for settling on a name for him with two sibilants to boast because he’d make this scaled tease whimper it into his ear until the cows came home.

“I wouldn’t be here talking to you if it wasn’t.”

It was harder than he’d expected to ignore his instincts, and allow the tension in the air to aimlessly thicken without him having any idea what outlet it would find once it reached its breaking point. Usually, he took control the second it was there, and subtly guided it where it needed to be.

For now, all he could do was to keep his face neutral, his shoulders relaxed, and his eyes attentive while he held Mavash’s piercing gaze, as if he was merely waiting for Mavash to acquiesce, and confirm the fact that this happening wasn’t even a question.

Because it wasn’t.

Mavash seemed to think otherwise, for now. He just kept staring Silas down with that uninterpretable look in his eyes, and… waited. But for what, exactly? For him to get even more literal about his desires? Surely not.

But wasn’t that just his own preconceptions talking? Maybe getting even more literal was exactly what Mavash wanted. Would certainly explain the lack of a real reaction as being less that, but more him waiting for Silas to give him a proper sales-pitch that would give him whatever his culture deemed as befitting to consider spreading his legs for him.

Silas felt absolutely ridiculous, preparing what he was about to say in his head. It was a good thing the general noise in the taproom would prevent anyone from eavesdropping, otherwise, this would’ve turned heads by the dozen.

“I’ve bedded far over a hundred people in my life,” Silas said, straightened his back, and raised his chin in what most others would’ve interpreted as an aggressive attempt at intimidation. “I’ll mount you better than any Drakvdeí ever has in your entire life, and you’ll be wetting yourself at the memory of how I took for the rest of your life.”

Silas felt sort of victorious at Mavash tilting his head to the side ever so slightly, and glaring at him as if he was evaluating whether to trust an overeager merchants claims about the unmatched quality of his wares. It meant he was moving in the generally right direction, if that was indeed what Mavash was thinking.

But he literally had no frame of reference for interpreting Mavash’s demeanour, and that continued lack of a reaction in any which way slowly began to make him think that Mavash was just fucking with him, and was merely waiting to see how far this silly human was willing to go before giving him a fist to talk to.

But then, he noticed it, in the corner of his eye. He couldn’t afford to break the eye-contact, but he saw it. The flash of ivory, each time the tip of Mavash’s tail flicked out from behind his leg. The way in which it flicked, that looked rather playful to him.

Mavash still didn’t speak, but something in his eyes changed ever so slightly. Something that Silas’ mind wanted to say was a first flicker of actual consideration, followed by a spark of interest.

He just decided that it was so. Because really, why else would Mavash stand there and look at him in a way that slowly started to silently scream for Silas to continue smearing honey around his maw in the crudest manner imaginable?

“My cock is big. I’ll take you until you’re begging me to stop, but I won’t. I’ll take you for another five minutes once you do, then you’ll be allowed to finish. After another five, I will, and I’ll spill inside of you, too.”

Yeah, those tail-snaps definitely looked enticed. Rather agitated now, especially the snap answering his last, lewdest promise yet, but still, enticed. Almost reminded Silas of a cat getting ready to chase the bump their owner’s foot created under the covers when they turned in their sleep.

But Mavash still wasn’t god damn answering.

Which meant one of two things: Either this vulgar, verbal dance truly was the Drakvdeí’s iteration of foreplay, or Silas was imagining things, and Mavash actually was just waiting for him to give him enough of a justification to kill him.

Depending on the person, how long they wanted the foreplay to last varied anywhere from ‘Spit in your hand and stick me with it’ to ‘Lets make out for an hour while you whisper sweet nothings into my ear’, and Silas was already running dry on finding ways to further escalate his promises.

‘I’ll fuck you up the ass until you cry and cum in you’, how much more perverse could words possibly get?

Was he supposed to just kiss him now? Not that he had any idea how he was supposed to make his lips and Mavash’s lip-less maw meet in an even remotely erotic enough way to cause a desire for further exploration.

You’re overthinking it, you dunce the what for others was probably the voice of reason said in the back of Silas’ mind, and for once, it was right. He’d made as much of a move as one could while resigned to verbal communication, and Mavash hadn’t stopped him, neither verbally nor physically, so what the hell was he still waiting for?

Silas moved, and emboldened by the immediate answer in form of another, agitated tail-snap, decisively planted his hand on Mavash’s hip, pulled him in, and slid down and back until he held a handful, and could give it a shameless knead.

And a handful it was, gods be damned.

“I’ll have you, Mavash,” he purred against Mavash’s strange cousins of ears, and slid further with his hand until he found the spot where his tail crawled out from beneath his tunic, and gave the underside, just where fabric swallowed it up, a beckoning caress. “Your call whether or not I’m taking you upstairs right now, or after telling you all the ways I’m going to play with your hole before I fuck it sore.”

Silas felt the eyes of a dozen people sizzle on the back of his head, and he couldn’t blame them— out of all the things the townspeople had observed the Drakvdeí do since they’d arrived, seeing one of them getting felt up by one of their own was by far the most outrageous development.

Thing was, Silas didn’t give an ounce of a fuck about who was watching him doing said feeling up because he had a reputation that really shouldn’t make this come as a surprise. But much more importantly, he didn’t care because finally, Mavash reacted, and oh, how he reacted.

He fucking growled, quietly, but still so full that Silas felt every inch of his body starting to vibrate wherever he was touching him, and shuddered in his grasp, prompting Silas to continue the languid caresses he bestowed on the underside of his tail.

That was definitely an erogenous zone, which hadn’t been a tough guess. That part of Mavash’s tail couldn’t be all that far from where the prize was located.

Another two lines, he let Silas draw, then Mavash snatched his underarm, and gave it an unmistakeable nudge.

Silas pulled his hand away, but back off, he didn’t, not a damn inch. Mavash ought to feel his dick coming to life, lest he got any ideas about just how serious Silas was.

And also, Silas liked how Mavash was radiating warmth like a living furnace, which was just another thing everyone he’d talked to had failed to mention about the Drakvdeí.

Mavash shot him a heated look at the debauched grin Silas pulled once the pressure against Mavash’s thigh had to have become noticeable enough to get the message across.

“Upstairs, you said?”

ཐི𓆩 ❖ 𓆪ཋྀ

Chapter Text

ཐི𓆩 ❖ 𓆪ཋྀ

The door slammed shut with a bang, courtesy of Silas having blindly kicked it closed, lest he missed a second of lathering the side of Mavash’s neck with messy half-bites and kisses.

Right where the more rigid scale on the nape fused into what he now knew was much more sensitive, and much softer feeling than looking, reptilian hide, he reacted most, and once more, Silas had to congratulate himself on his honed instincts for all things carnal carrying him from success to success with flying colours.

He’d already shoved an experimental knee between Mavash’s legs on the way up here— he’d gotten carried away staring at the prime specimen of an ass floating up the stairs in front of him and hadn’t been capable to not catch up and take a dive against his neck while copping another feel— and there’d definitely been something crowding things up there.

Also, Mavash had been getting busy roughly moaning preposterously voluminous symphonies against Silas’ ear, and just like he’d imagined, the sounds he made were fondling his freaking brains, so what was this, if not success on all fronts?

Being as dizzy with lust before either of them had even lost a single piece of clothing was the work of a mad-man.

After today, he’d sing the King’s praises to anyone who was willing to listen. That glorious bastard would end up in the annals of history as the trailblazing monarch that’d greatly enriched his fellow man’s lives by virtue of giving them sinfully hot Drakvdeí to fuck up their tail-hole.

“Why are you still dressed?” Silas rasped against Mavash’s incredibly warm, and by now quite slobbered up neck as if he wasn’t the one that’d refused to not have at least one hand kneading his ass since the door had closed, and still stayed pressed up so close that Mavash could barely walk while he kept driving him back towards the bed.

With all of his might, he detached his lips from Mavash’s flesh and pulled his head back once they got there, looked straight into the glossy, undirected eyes of someone who’d not been very present for a hot minute there.

“Do continue,” Mavash said with distinct drop in proper enunciation compared to before, and eagerly presented his neck to Silas again. “Those malformed flews of yours feel entrancing.”

Silas almost mocked him for the uppity choice of words, but he had more pressing matters to attend to. Mainly the discourteous state of affairs of Mavash’s clothes being still on him, rather than on the floor.

“They’re called lips,” Silas said, already fumbling around at Mavash’s lower back to get the important process of him loosing his pants started, but he swiftly met the obstacle of a second set of button’s there he first had to pop that were probably needed to keep the piece of clothing secure above the stitched cut-out for his tail. “And I’ll put them on all sorts of places, baby, don’t you worry.”

“I’m not a nestling,” Mavash said and shot Silas a deeply offended look.

“Obviously,” Silas snorted, said and gave Mavash’s bulge another bump with his thigh. “It’s just a turn of phrase over here, you know? Sexual partners calling each other that.”

Mavash’s frown only grew more pronounced.

“Why would you ever want to liken your inamorato to a youngin?”

“That’s not…” Silas said and had a hard time not scowling at running straight into the trap he’d tried to avoid without even realising it. Also, there was decidedly too much talking going on here, but he couldn’t just let this one stand either, could he? “It’s me telling you that I’m about to take real good care of you, not literally likening you to a child.”

Mavash did seem like he understood the intention a little more now, but also, he looked like he would continue talking, and Silas wasn’t having that.

“Otherwise this,” Silas added while he popped the last button, and gave Mavash’s pants a hearty tug downwards that needn’t have been so hearty, not with the ease with which they peeled off his ass with those extra buttons taken care of. “Would be extremely inappropriate.”

“You’re eager,” Mavash purred, and raised a hand to draw a finger donning a definitely more claw than nail looking nail along the underside of Silas’ jaw, right along the line where he trimmed his beard. “I didn’t know your kind vied for mine like this.”

“Most don’t, I’m sure,” Silas said, and shuddered at the shivers the lethally sharp claw scratching over his skin just softly enough to not break through sent down his spine. “I’ve always been a bit of a pioneer.”

With that, he grabbed Mavash’s asscheeks, dug his fingers in, and blindly parted them, exposing the treasure they harboured to the air.

Mavash growled again, audibly sucked in air in a way that almost made it sound like a hiss, and gave Silas’ chest a rough push with his hands to get himself the space he needed to loosen the strange-looking tunic he was wearing where it was bound around his hips, and shake it off his shoulders.

Silas salivated once Mavash turned, and gave his already barely clinging on pants the last nudge that made them fall to the ground.

Technically, some part of him knew that he should probably have some apprehensions about this entire thing, like, in general. The blood drawn from centuries of conflict had barely dried, and he was already in the midst of bedding the enemy.

It shouldn’t be that easy.

Practically, it was that easy.

At getting the uninhibited view of Mavash’s naked body, his junk started hurting from how hard his dick grew in seconds.

The interplay of heftier, diamond-shaped scales where any human’s skin tended to be tougher— the shoulders, the upper back, the arms, the sides of the thighs— with the vanishingly small, more delicate ones around where human’s had their softest flesh was breath-taking, and that wasn’t even accounting for the freaking shape of Mavash’s body.

Those wide and strong shoulders looked obscene when combined with the comparatively narrow waist below, which only exacerbated the perverse roundness waiting below that.

It entirely lacked the dimples nearly all muscular men’s asses possessed, so plump it was, and was covered in those delicate, miniscule scales, just like his skin was where the tail seamlessly grew from where in a human, the lower back ended, and their ass crack began.

Silas burned with the need to see, to touch, to feel every single inch of that body. And as if he wasn’t hard enough already, Mavash, with a last, hungry look over his shoulder, knelt onto the bed, got on all fours, arched his back, and whipped his tail up.

Silas didn’t know what suffering a stroke felt like, and he of course hoped he’d never have to experience what it was truly like, but what his blood did while he sunk to his knees, got on eye-level with, and glared at Mavash’s exposed backside, he imagined to feel like the precursor to one.

The skin in Mavash’s crack, up to the first inch or two of the underside of his tails’ base, was completely scale-less. Perfectly smooth like even a humans couldn’t be, and the prettiest shade of pale, lavender-pink he’d ever seen in his entire life.

And right there, just beneath where his tail grew, sat his pucker, and it looked so different, and so recognisable at the same time.

Different in that the muscle wasn’t round, it ran horizontally on top, and sported two prominent folds below that zeroed in onto the centre point of the one above, and in how it protruded every so slightly. Didn’t fully sit within the confines of his flesh and naturally had a beautifully puffy look, without having been touched for a second.

And yet, it was recognisable in the way that it was so clearly a pucker with its slightly darker shade than the skin framing it, the visible tightness of the muscle, and the vibrant flash of what waited beyond catching Silas’ eyes once Mavash slid his knees apart a little more, and flexed his hole to show it off.

Two strands of muscle became visible for a heartbeat then, running from the edges of the horizontal muscle on top up into the base of Mavash’s tail that’d flopped to the side a little, and laid over his lower back with the rest of it hanging off, and excitedly coiling in the air below his flank.

Without a second thought, Silas grabbed the tails base with one hand, angled it up a little more, and before Mavash could say anything, dove forward, and sealed his lips around his gorgeous, and gloriously hot pucker.

Mavash lurched.

Not away, but on the spot, produced a deliciously startled sound, and started trembling once Silas started sucking while painting the first, slow circle upon the plush flesh with his tongue.

“By Drakvitaé,” Mavash groaned, and arched his back proper, all but shoving his entire ass into Silas’ face. “Keep doing that, keep-”

Mavash’s words deteriorated into another, low groan at Silas grinning, and starting to go to town, sucking so hard that his lips hurt. Not that he particularly cared.

With his thumb roughly kneading the flesh where the base of Mavash’s tail fused into his asscrack, he sucked the clearly non-human, but somehow still distinctly brawny and manly tang out of his pucker, which now that he was working on it proper, had become so hot that it was just short of blistering his lips.

Emphasis on ‘just short of’. It was perfectly hot. So perfectly that it promised the most insane feeling in the world, hugging his cock once it was time.

Prompted by the thought, Silas detached his lips from Mavash’s pucker with a wet smack, lapped over the fluttering thing once or twice before sealing his lips around it once more, and this time, he snaked his tongue inside.

Okay, this was going to be a problem, because how in the seven hells was he supposed to last as long as he’d proudly claimed? It was just as hot inside, maybe even a little hotter, and-

“W-What the hell are you doing to me?” Mavash grumbled, and the mighty edge of shock stuck to his gravely voice was a strange thing to match with the complete lack of him changing his stance in any way that would imply that he wasn’t fine with what Silas was doing.

Only then, Silas considered that this may very well be Mavash’s first time getting his ass eaten. At least in this way, his kind still didn’t have any lips. Hell, even just him nibbling around on his neck had been a great novelty to Mavash, this was probably cause for something of a shock for the guy.

But that shock, Silas would turn into utter bliss, alright.

He removed his tongue just long enough to say: “What I got you up here for,” before diving right back in, and would’ve given Mavash his whole tongue if his pucker weren’t so tight that he barely got a third of it inside before the muscle had reached its limit.

Mavash flinched, and choked on something that definitely sounded like a moan. Instinctively, he clenched around the strange invader, but it only took a little swivel of Silas’ tongue-tip for him to shudder, and relax his pucker so he could get more of that strange, new sensation.

Silas didn’t hurry. In fact, he fell into a bit of a trance eating Mavash’s ass. He’d always been a proud eater of every manner of eatable orifice, and he was a seasoned veteran in the field, but this was a new experience, even for him.

Mavash’s pucker was very responsive, overreacted to every lap or stab with a quiver, a clench, or a flex that made it a joy to get to know its quirks, and with its unusual shape on top of that, it was almost like Silas was doing the making out he enjoyed before any fuck as much as the next person, and it was double the fun because this time, he was making out with the hole he was going to fuck until it gaped back at him right after.

And he would take his time here, both because he wanted to, and because by now, he realised that Mavash would severely struggle to take what he had to give if he didn’t. The peculiar nature of this sphincter went hand in hand with a tightness even greater than its human counterpart, and unlike that, it didn’t seem like it would soften up anywhere near as easily.

And it wasn’t like those softened up easy, at least not if its owner wasn’t used to taking it up the ass.

Even just getting properly in there so he could start stretching it, he couldn’t yet do, but he had no problem being patient. Slowly, he gave Mavash the tip of his tongue time and time again, pushed heaps of his spit into his pucker before sucking it out again, and slowly made ground, got a bit more inside with every third plunge.

Mavash was trembling all over by that point, and didn’t seem like he still had a mind left to start talking again. He just loudly panted in a deliciously overwhelmed sounding way, and roughly moaned with every slide of Silas’ tongue into, for now, only the shallowest part of his channel.

It took two or three minutes before Mavash’s pucker starting to suck the tip of his tongue in rather than instinctively trying to push it out, and lauded in the part where Silas gave his efforts a bit more force, and delighted at feeling that heavenly hole starting to reluctantly open up for him.

Only a few laps and twists, then it buckled, and finally allowed Silas to plunge his tongue into Mavash as deeply as he could.

Which he did, before flinching, and yanking his head back. A far too intense burst of flavour had exploded on his tongue, the second he’d buried proper, but even while he retreated, he already startled at the taste, because it wasn’t what his mind had been expecting for it to be.

Accidents happened when you dealt with assholes, any real man knew that it was part of the trade, particularly when they decided to go and make a move on someone who clearly hadn’t went to town expecting to get ploughed up there later on.

And although he obviously wasn’t happy about it when it happened, he knew better than to make a fuss, and shame the one he wanted to plough, lest the shame got to them, and they changed their mind.

But all of that would imply what he’d instinctively assumed had happened had actually happened, and now that he glared at the pucker he’d just fled from, and how it helplessly clenched and relaxed at the sudden lack of stimulation, he got a feeling that in actuality, he’d hit the freaking jackpot here.

Because with only the second or third clench, there was a gush. A trickle of pristine, translucent liquid that viscously dribbled out of Mavash’s quivering pucker, and took its sweet, sweet time crawling down his taint.

Which was fitting because it tasted like that too. Sweet. Fucking ambrosial, it tasted, not that Silas was swirling it around on his tongue, with an intoxicating edge of in-humanness, which was also where he got confirmation for what he’d started to suspect to be the case.

That imminently-not-so-mysterious-anymore liquid was clinging to his tongue, and was starting to slicken it up.

Which meant that the Drakvdeí’s males literally got fucking wet.

He was so bewitched by the sight of Mavash’s freaking goldmine of an asshole that he almost didn’t notice him having turned his head, and now glaring exactly to where Silas was glaring with shock-wide eyes, even though he obviously couldn’t actually see his own pucker like that.

The trembling hadn’t stopped either.

The image tickled something guttural in Silas. Before he could stop himself, he’d re-adjusted his grip on the base of Mavash’s tail, roughly pulled him closer, and dragged his tongue up his taint to catch every last drop of his juice before sticking it back inside, and rolling his eyes at the absolute pool of it his tongue dove into this time.

Mavash shook, and for the first time today, actually flinched away from Silas’ assault a little, although not very convincingly. It was glaringly obvious just how little his body actually wanted to get away from what Silas was doing to its permanent inhabitant.

“S-Stop,” Mavash rasped, and rarely in Silas’ life had a word sounded so little like the message it was supposed to convey. “This shouldn’t be-”

“Shouldn’t be what?” Silas husked, and gave Silas’ twitching pucker a playful lap without deepening the contact.

But oh, how he wanted to, and Silas’ body wanted it too. Even just that little lick had his back returning to the steep arch from before in no time, which was a maddening sight paired with the conflicted, but decidedly pleasure-drunken look in Mavash’s eyes.

Silas actually liked it more than he should, when they had some cultural or religious reason that forbade them from going all the way, but were so overcome with lust at what he was doing to them that all reason flew out the metaphorical window.

Mavash audibly swallowed.

“Feel so good that it precipitates my-”

“Doesn’t sound like a reason for me to stop, sugar,” Silas crowed, and pumped the base of Mavash’s tail like he would his own cock, making sure to draw his thumb over where those two strands of muscle had fleetingly emerged just a few minutes prior.

Mavash’s visibly liked that. He liked it a lot. And still, it wasn’t quite enough to stop him from pulling a face.

“I’m not a condiment, why do keep-”

“By the gods,” Silas grunted, and off he went.

Back into Mavash’s gushing pucker, that was.

Mavash attempted another pathetic protest that coughed and died, the second Silas’ tongue was coiling around in his channel, and started digging and lapping around at his inner walls, which was where Silas just decided to do what Mavash’s body told him it wanted, and ignore whatever the mouth that was part of it babbled.

If asked later on, he would have to admit that tonight, he’d had the sloppiest, and by far the loudest make-out session he’d ever partaken in in his entire life, though he’d probably have to omit that the other party had been a literal asshole rather than a mouth.

Over the course of the next however many minutes, meticulously, with one hand kneading Mavash’s right ass-cheek and keeping it spread for undisturbed access, and the other continuing to fondle the base of his tail, he sucked and kissed and slurped and swallowed every drop he could get out of his pucker.

Mindlessly, he did, his every thought reduced to chasing the— and doing anything necessary to get his— next, saccharine fix, and slowly sucking more and more tension out of the muscle while he was at it.

Mavash melted on his tongue, just kept murmuring and moaning on and on, and begging him for more even though he was getting it at every turn, and Silas sunk into the well of vocal ecstasy, did every flick, lapped every searingly hot, internal fold he could reach just so the needy deluge of both kinds wouldn’t stop coming.

By the time his tongue and every muscle in his lower face and jaw was burning from the tireless work he asked of them, and he let off his work with a last, wistful suck and smack to match, Mavash’s pucker, outwardly, looked like the wettest, most pliable thing in the world, but somehow, it still hadn’t lost much of its tightness.

He’d done everything he could think of, and he’d gotten results in all the other ways, but the inherent, constricting quality, he couldn’t beat. Which made part of him even more eager to finally go on and stick his dick in there, but the other, more reasonable part, was stumped.

It was such a gorgeous sight, though. Looked even better now, if one could believe it, slightly swollen as it was, and flushed a deep shade of glistening lavender that went exceptionally well with the immediate spurt of colourless slickness dribbling out of it, the second Silas’ tongue wasn’t lapping it all up anymore.

And only then, while he took in the fruits of his work, and wiped the generous covering of viscous wetness off his tingling lips with the back of his hand, his eyes trailed lower, and actually looked at what he honestly should’ve noticed much earlier, but hadn’t because it just wasn’t a prominent sight.

Curious, he reached out, towards the slit that’d opened up where in a human man, there would’ve sat the balls and the cock,—right from the end of Mavash’s perineum to the lowest point of his abdomen— found, slid his fingers under, and angled the fleshy appendage that’d emerged from there at some point back, and that’d evaded his eyes by virtue of tightly laying tightly back— or in this case, up— against Mavash’s abdomen.

Mavash violently flinched, the second Silas’ fingers made contact, and started shaking like a leaf in a way that would’ve made him think he was hurting him if it hadn’t been for the tight, wanton groan that accompanied the tender touch.

Yeah, well, that was a dick, alright. But a mightily strange looking one. And more importantly, it was just very small.

Silas wasn’t one to judge, although on more than one occasion, he’d been told that his opinions in that regard could hardly be taken seriously because he had the kind of rod that tended to prompt bouts of fear in his previously eager choice of partner for the night when they saw it in all of its glory, rather than worry about if it would be enough to please.

Which he understood, but also, personally, he just lacked the motivation to worry about dick-size of his male endeavours. The only orifice of his they would ever go into was his mouth, and fuck did he care if what he sucked on was bigger or smaller as long as he got his reward in the end.

Mavash’s was the first one where he actually raised a brow, but more out of a strange sense of curiosity rather than anything else, the fact remained, after all.

The biggest difference was that it wasn’t cylindrical in shape, not even a little bit.

It was almost triangular, elongated, of course, but still. Unlike any dick he’d ever seen on any of his partners. It didn’t have any tougher skin around the shaft either. Actually, it looked like it was entirely covered in the overly sensitive, exposed skin a man’s cockhead possessed, from top to bottom, which would explain the way Mavash was reacting to a mere touch, although it wasn’t exactly smooth in that way either.

On closer inspection, it looked as if it was a coalescence of a couple of soft, twisting muscles that’d fused into each other while they climbed, and just before the pointy tip, merged into something resembling a cockhead, but only by the faintly visibly rim around the very end alone.

Silas just kind of looked at Mavash’s peculiar dick, then to his gushing pucker, and back a couple of times before it clicked.

That leaning towards triangular rather than cylindrical shape seemed all but designed to slot into the exact shape of sphincter he had, and its lack of both girth and size— even at the base, it barely reached the circumference of two fingers at most— would explain why it’d been such a chore to loosen him up, if that was the average size of what he was used to.

So, the pussies of Drakvdeí females had to be generally similar to how Mavash’s asshole was constructed too, then? That was a strange image, although imagining a female Drakvdeí in general was tougher than one would think. Did they even have tits?

Silas pushed the thought away before it could get him off track.

Whatever female Drakvdeí looked like, around the chest area or otherwise, wasn’t important. Once a little more time passed, he’d surely get the opportunity to bed one of them too, for now, he should just be thankful for what he was given.

Which was an oversensitive dick on a man that got wet and had a superheated pucker to boast.

Silas gave Mavash’s a little bit oily feeling cock an experimental squeeze, and equally tender stroke, and Mavash, once again, shook, writhed around on his knees, and rewarded him with the most whorish sounding moan yet.

Once more led by curiosity, Silas kept softly stroking the squirming Mavash’s cock, finally let off his soothing toy— the base of Mavash’s tail, it just fit too perfectly into his hand— and traced the fleshy slit his cock was hanging out of with his fingers.

There had to be some manner of balls, right? Maybe-

For a third time today, Silas startled to halt mid-motion, because he did find the balls he’d been searching for, although they definitely didn’t dangle, more like tightly sat below the base.

Of the second cock that flopped out of the slit at him prodding around at it a bit and hardened in seconds, that was.

It was less textured, and much longer than the first, grew almost as long as Silas own at first glance, but it was also even thinner than the first. Barely more than a single fingers worth of circumference, really. Not that that was the part his thoughts were circling right now.

Before he could stop himself, he’d already blurted out an, to Mavash probably rather imbecilic sounding: “You’ve got two dicks?”

Mavash shuddered at his second dick hardening fully with a last twitch, and turned his head just enough to send a desperately bleary, but still mightily confused looking glare at Silas over his shoulder.

“Do you not?”

“No?”

“But how do you… You know?”

“How do I what?”

Mavash pulled an honestly kind of adorable looking face, which was quite the feat for a man who had the features he had, and how flustered he started to look at being subjected to Silas’ disbelieving glare, that was just hilarious considering the things Silas had said to him down in the taproom in the bid to get him up here in the first place.

“Fertilise.”

“Fertilise?” Silas echoed before reeling in his overdone reaction to Mavash’s absolutely demented choice of words.

Cultural differences were what they were, and technically, sticking one’s dick into the right hole and shooting one’s seed up there to create a child could be likened to fertilisation, even if it sounded completely wrong in Silas’ ear to say it like that.

“I mean, we stick it in and fuck until we spill,” he said at Mavash before the scowl he was sporting could grow too pronounced. “If the circumstances are right, it works pretty reliably. Too reliably, if you ask me, but what can you do, right?”

“And… So it just all just works with one?”

“Uh, yeah? What do you need two for, exactly?”

“One to induce flow, and the other for fertilising, obviously.”

Silas opened his hand, caught Mavash’s second dick with his fingers, and angled both of them back prompting another flinch and stifled moan, but after looking at them for a second, he released them to flop back up against Mavash’s curiously toned belly.

There wasn’t anything there that would prompt one to think he had internal organs, and neither were there any outlines of muscles. Just another, faint mosaic of small scales around where he should have a belly-button, but didn’t, and perfectly flat skin.

In any case, he’d get to know Mavash’s cocks more intimately on round two. He had a cruelly ignored, and excruciatingly hard cock crowding up his britches that ought to finally be paid attention to.

Even just another second of having that gorgeous pucker dangling around in front of his face instead of having it wrapped around his dick felt like a serious crime.

Also, this promised to be a delightful reveal if the size of Mavash’s cocks was anything to go by. As if he’d read his mind, just then, Mavash un-arched his back, turned on all fours, and shot Silas’ crotch a dazed, but decidedly hungry look.

Which was fair, he’d been investigated, literally inside and out, without having so much as seen the kind of cock he’d come up here to take.

Silas’ stood, straightened up, and without much fanfare, went for his belt, and undid the latch with the hands of a man who’d done this over a million times because he quite literally had.

Under Mavash’s watchful gaze, he pulled it free, dropped it, went for the button of his pants, popped it, didn’t drop them, went for his tunic instead, and took his sweet time pulling it over his head.

It went flying into the room behind him, and Silas keened at how Mavash had visibly planned to complain at first, but then completely lost his train of thought at getting the full view of Silas’ bulky chest, and the short but dense, sable curls covering most of it.

He could follow the trail Mavash’s eyes took; the pectoral muscles first, then his biceps, then back to his chest where it lingered before dropping, ever further down along Silas’ happy trail until he arrived where it disappeared beneath Silas’ waistband, and he looked so freaking hot once the at first startled look in his eyes turned voracious, the longer he looked.

And only then, Silas hooked his thumbs beneath both the pants and the britches’ waistbands, and did what he needed to do for it all to drop to his ankles.

Now, he’d imagined a bit of shock, but at watching Mavash’s features derail at watching Silas’ cock springing up, and proudly standing at attention, he realised that it would’ve probably been a better idea to ease him into it with a bit more care.

Compared to either of Mavash’s cocks, this one looked grotesquely huge, and just because Silas had encountered many a human cock in his life, and knew that there were others around who packed the same thing he did one way or another, didn’t mean that Mavash had.

Which was exactly why that previously unshakeable layer of carnal dizziness in his eyes was being actively suffused by what looked like proper dread now, and that, Silas didn’t like seeing at all.

Primitive haughtiness about the size of his dick or not, if the mere view of it robbed him of experiencing Mavash’s hole, then it’d failed its purpose entirely.

“W-What is that?”

“My cock?”

Mavash dryly swallowed.

“I told you I was big, didn’t I?”

“But I thought-”

“You underestimate yourself,” Silas said, reached out, and caught Mavash’s ridged chin with his fingers, slid them under there.

He nudged him to raise his head so he’d stop glaring at his cock as if it was going to go for this throat every second now, which he did, but the wide-eyed look he shot up at Silas remained just as frightful as it was charged with the lust the last half an hour had conjured in him.

“I don’t-”

“You haven’t even given him a chance, hm?” Silas said, running the fingers off his other hand down Mavash’s arm, and raising it up once he came up on the wrist. “Who’s to say you won’t like it if you’ve never tried something this size?”

Mavash did a double take, and almost instantly, his lids dropped by a mile. Curious thing, that, for the Drakvdeí’s men to be this vulnerable to the promise of pleasure, considering it would come in form of Mavash getting fucked instead of the other way around.

Not that he’d dare complain. If it hurt Mavash too much once they tried, he’d obviously stop, but letting baseless anxieties ruin a good thing to be, that would be a damn shame.

Silas slowly guided Mavash’s clawed hand forward, and gave it just enough of a nudge to keep moving until it met his cock, and like the cock-hungry thing he’d thought Mavash to be, his trembling fingers didn’t even fight the way they curled around, and took reluctant hold of his shaft.

“There you go,” Silas rumbled, and put this thumb to Mavash’s chin, guided it down until he looked at the thing his fingers had already decided was friend, not foe.

And this time, hunger flashed in his half-lidded eyes.

ཐི𓆩 ❖ 𓆪ཋྀ

Chapter Text

ཐི𓆩 ❖ 𓆪ཋྀ

“Get to know him a little,” Silas said, and manually gave his own cock a slow stroke with Mavash’s hand. “He’s different than yours.”

Mavash licked over his flews with, now that Silas saw it for the first time, one strikingly indigo-coloured— tapered, not forked— tongue, and repeated the jerking motion on his own.

This time, he frowned at realising that, unlike with his cocks, the skin on Silas’ cock moved, and straight up startled to a halt once his stroke got far enough to pull the hood of Silas’ cock back, and unveil his flushed cockhead.

It always got a little of an reaction because of its unusually dark colour, although that wasn’t the cause of the matter this time.

Still frowning, but with carnal fascination swirling in his eyes, he jerked again, slowly, up and back down, and intently observed the process of Silas’ skin sheating and unsheathing his tip once more. On the way down, he went a little too far, but he immediately understood that there was a limit to how much he could pull back Silas’ foreskin once he met resistance, and continued without going there again.

Silas quietly sighed, and met the next pump with a minor roll off his hips, gave Mavash an idea of how much pressure he could actually use without hurting or overstimulating him in any way.

Mavash shot him a heated look before focusing onto his new plaything again, and giving it a few more, rougher jerks before he angled it up, and brushed the clawed fingers of his other hand over Silas’ balls below.

This time, Silas moaned.

It wasn’t that Mavash’s touches themselves were anything special. The softer, almost scale-less skin on his palm and finger-pads felt quite similar to any humans, and merely having his junk played with had long become not very spectacular for Silas by virtue of having become a common occurrence years ago.

But this? This was different.

Somehow, watching Mavash’s eyes be consumed by sheer possibility while he did the same, interspecies investigating Silas had done with him before, it made every little touch feel incredibly intense, to the point where every point of contact prickled and pulsed, and only added to the fire of lust that was burning in his loins.

Well, part of that was Mavash’s insane body-heat also extending to his hands, and therefore Silas’ cock, but still.

“Careful,” Silas rasped at Mavash’s fingers crawling under and cupping his ballsack, and starting to feel it out. “Feels great having them played with, but they don’t like it rough.”

Without even looking up at him, Mavash nodded, and shuddered once his fingers found the distinct, round forms hiding in the malleable skin he was fondling, all while his other hand had long fallen into a steady rhythm of jerking Silas’ cock without Mavash even needing to pay attention to what it was doing.

“Why’s it all so big?” he mumbled under his breath while he rolled Silas’ balls around between his fingers.

“Its not on most people,” Silas rumbled, grabbed the wrist of Mavash’s jerking hand, and forced it to a halt. “Just a second.”

Mavash shot him a disgruntled look, but let off Silas’ cock. Not of his balls though. Those, he kept fondling.

Silas spat into his hand, and quickly gave his cock a few swirls with it before pulling it away again, and wiggled his hips a little, making his now wet and shiny cock dangle from left to right in front of Mavash’s face.

By that point, he was so hard that his foreskin just stayed bunched up around the rim of his cockhead on its own without sliding back over it again.

“Try it now, baby.”

Mavash raised one of his non-existent brows, wrapped his fingers back around Silas’ cock, and continued his work. Silas moaned again, because Mavash keened at the slippery ease, tightened his hold, and gave him a proper handjob, loud, slick sounds and all.

Silas let him play with his cock for as long as it took for the spit to begin to dry up, then he took hold of Mavash’s chin again, and tilted his head back until he detached his gaze from his cock, and looked up at him. Not that he took that as a reason to stop jerking him off.

“Wanna know how it’ll feel inside of you, hm?”

Both of Mavash’s hands seized up mid-motion, and he audibly swallowed at flicking his eyes down, and looking at Silas’ cock again. But this time around, there was far less trepidation in his eyes. That’d made space for the unmistakeable hunger.

The hunger to know.

“I’ll go slow,” Silas purred, and bestowed Mavash’s trembling hand with a slow roll of his hips. “Make sure you can feel and appreciate every single inch before I give you more.”

Another roll, another husky exhale from Mavash, and an instinctual tightening of the hold Silas was thrusting into. Mavash’s gaze got stuck, and he just glared at the cock sliding through his grasp.

In and out, in and out.

Once Silas stopped, he almost looked like he was about to start complaining, as if he couldn’t just continue jerking himself.

“Do you want that, baby?”

Mavash met his gaze again, and after just a moment of sizzling contact, he let of Silas’ cock, crawled back a little, and with a last, heated look towards what he was about to get to know even more intimately, turned around, and returned to the position he’d looked so good in while Silas had eaten him out.

On all fours, back arched, tail whipped up and back, and his gorgeous, still dripping pucker shining a supple, rose-golden colour at it catching the light of the oil-lamps.

Silas shuddered all over while he stepped close, crouched a little, and drew his cockhead up Mavash’s taint to catch his slick juices. With a low moan, Mavash deepened the arch of his back and slid his knees apart a little more to get to the perfect height for Silas, and that almost made him bust right then and there.

Pure-blooded slut, that one.

Silas’ breath came a little faster while he took hold of the base of Mavash’s tail again, and angled it back as far as it would go, giving himself a prime view to him sliding his now sopping cockhead onto Mavash’s pucker, and nestling his tip into its beckoning centre.

Even just the smallest little push was enough to make it flutter, and suck him in.

“Say it,” he rasped, resigned to giving Mavash’s pucker little pushes that didn’t go farther than awarding half his cockhead with searing warmth before faltering against the inherent tightness of it.

Mavash turned his head, and craned his neck to be able to look up at Silas.

With wide, wanting eyes that looked even bigger now, with how they caught and reflected the mellow gloom, and gods, if he didn’t look like the hottest thing in the world right now.

To see that literal monster of a man presenting himself to him like he’d never existed for anything else than taking cock, and then look up at him with that trepidatious, but at the same time pleading look in his eyes… The image just begged to be taken care of.

And Silas would take care of him real good.

With the blood thrumming in his ears, Silas watched Mavash’s throttle bop at him swallowing.

“D-Do you really want this?”

Dumbly, Silas looked down to where his achingly hard cock was only one roll of his hips away from heaven and back up at Mavash. His first instinct was to tease, because really, fuck kind of a question was that, but the earnestly fearful look in Mavash’s eyes chased the urge away quite effectively.

Maybe this kind of thing just meant different things to the Drakvdeí as it did humans.

So instead, Silas hummed, all the way down in his chest, and without even so much as blinking, he leaned in a little, kept his cock steady with his hand, and pushed while pouring all the desire and lust he felt directly into Mavash’s eyes, and something visibly untangled within them then.

Sometimes, actions spoke louder than words.

At first, Mavash’s pucker fought the girth trying for entry, and valiantly held against the steadily building pressure.

Silas just kept giving his advance a bit more force with every heartbeat that passed, used his hold on the base of Mavash’s tail to keep him right where he was, and kept staring into his eyes, both because it was really fucking hot to watch a man’s eyes while you first breached them, and to keep soothing the honestly kind of adorable worries the guy seemed to have about Silas’ commitment to wanting to go all the way with him.

It took another couple of seconds, but then, just as Silas began questioning whether or not his dick would snap in two before he’d get anywhere near the going all the way part, the resistance collapsed.

With a jerk, Mavash’s pucker spasmed, and because of the pressure needed to get to that point, swallowed up Silas’ cockhead and then some right along with it.

It was like stabbing into Elysium.

Velvety, scorching Elysium; tighter than anything Silas’ had ever had wrapped around his cock, and still so plush and soft that even the way Mavash’s pucker was clasping down on his shaft as if it wanted to clamp his dick in two felt maddeningly silken.

And that freaking heat— that heat was otherworldly. Silas damn near expected the blood in his prick to start boiling, so hot it was, and that might aswell be happening, fuck did he know?

It felt so good that his mind almost shut down from pure bliss, and the need to make that bliss complete was overwhelming.

But as much as he wanted to just follow the call of his animal brain screaming at him to bury himself to the hilt and start fucking into that hole with everything he had, he couldn’t, not with how he had a front-view seat to Mavash’s eyes flooding with pain before they squeezed shut, just as violently as his face scrunched up.

The sound Mavash produced, something between a groan and a choked gasp, sounded anything but blissful. Hastily, Silas let off his cock, caught Mavash’s cheek with his hand before he could drop his head, palmed it, and kept him facing back.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

It took a couple of soft pats of his cheek before Mavash fluttered his eyes open, and tried focusing them in on Silas.

“I-It… Drakvitaé, it hurts, Silas, it-”

“Breathe for me. Come on, in and out.”

Mavash did, stuttery and shallowly, but he did. Followed Silas lead doing it with him, and the whole way through, he visibly struggled to keep his eyes open.

“You’ll need a minute, okay?” he rumbled, and once more had to fight back the little demon in the back of his head whispering to him that Mavash could also get used to his size while he fucked him. “Just keep breathing, I got you.”

“Hm-hm,” Mavash pressed out, and kept drawing short, laboured breaths through his… well, his snout-holes.

“You’re doing so well for me,” Silas said, opting for the talking Mavash through it route, both to get him to stay present, and to keep his own mind occupied.

He didn’t want to have these careless and selfish thoughts coaxing him to do objectively culpable things, but at the end of the day, he was only a man. A man that currently had the most intoxicating hole he’d ever felt on his cock, with pleasures untold hiding in its depths to boast he merely had to thrust once to unearth, and claim for himself.

He just had to have a little more patience. Just a little more, and he’d get it all, and it would be even better because Mavash would loose his mind on his cock once he’d opened up for him proper, Silas knew he would.

Mavash just looked too right on it for that to not be the case.

Silas had never felt this right on top of anyone, in all the years he’d spent atop all kinds of people. If Mavash were a woman— and like, not half Dragon— Silas would’ve seriously considered abandoning his plans for at least another five years staying the bachelor he was at heart in favour of knocking him up for real, because hot damn.

If anyone was the right one to have his children, it’d be Mavash.

Which was, considering the bigger picture, a completely mental thought to have on too many levels for Silas to chew through right now, but the heart— or in this case, his animal-brain currently inhabiting his dick— wanted what it wanted.

Usually, that part of him rarely came to the surface, and it especially didn’t when his female conquests got a little too intense about the topic in the heat of the moment, and he made sure to pull out of the ones that did so and spill onto them or something, and made double-sure they drank their teas after.

Right now, his animal brain wanted to give it to Mavash so well that he’d start begging him for his children by himself, whether it was technically impossible or not.

“You feel so good,” Silas continued to get his animal brain to shut up already, leaned forward as far as he could without inadvertently stabbing deeper into him, and craned his neck to reach Mavash’s jawline, and pepper it with soothing little kisses. “Best hole I ever had, baby.”

Despite his searing pucker restlessly clenching and unclenching on his prick in what seemed to an involuntary response to the pain it was causing— and how that must make the pain even worse— Mavash shuddered, stumbled over his next inhale.

Would you look at that. Someone had a thing for praise, huh?

“Knew it would be, you taste better than the nectar of the gods,” Silas immediately added, let off the base of Mavash’s tail, and ran his hand across his flank and down his scaled abdomen. “Never loved eating anyone out so much, you hear that? I could suck on your pucker for hours and I wouldn’t tire of it.”

Mavash’s trembling changed. Stop radiating the pain and discomfort that’d originally caused it, and instead, became the kind of trembling caused by being flustered to a point where one didn’t know what to with themselves anymore.

“I’d drink so much of your ambrosia that I wouldn’t need a bite to eat that day, I swear,” Silas purred, found the slit where previously, Mavash’s cocks had emerged from, but now no longer did, and drew his fingers along its length.

His back already hurt from this awkward half-bend he needed to be able to reach without changing anything elsewhere, but that pain was miniscule compared to the exhilaration he collected once the touch of his fingers slowly parting the slit made Mavash jump beneath him, and sharply suck in air.

He could damn well feel it. How his pucker’s incessant contracting stumbled in its rhythm, and made way for short intervals of utter relaxation around him that seemed to beg for more instead of less.

“Can’t wait to feel all of you,” he husked, slid two fingers into Mavash’s slit, and it didn’t need more than a soft caress through the oily fleshiness within before it firmed up and engorged, and before he knew it, Mavash’s first cock was pushing his fingers back out while it grew hard again.

By this point, Mavash was groaning, and he started to sound ever more blissful, with every single one.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” Silas said, and drew a lascivious line along the underside Mavash’s pulsing cock once it was fully hard, and the moan that caused sounded like a symphony in Silas’ ears. “Gonna fuck you until I can’t hold it in anymore, and then, I’ll spill all the way up inside you, baby. Fertilise you real good, yeah?”

Mavash choked on his current moan, and flinched under Silas. Jerkily, he pulled his head back and met Mavash’s wide-eyed stare, thinking he’d crossed a line, and Mavash was looking at him completely differently than before.

But displeased, he didn’t look.

He looked shocked, yes, but he also looked… hopeful?

That.

That was certainly something.

Mavash continued to stare up at him, drawing only the most shallowest little breaths, but also, the fiery vice on Silas’ cock had instantly ceased its last attempts at choking him out right along with it.

Well, it was still chocking him, but that was just because Mavash was too damn tight for his own good.

Silas just kind of stared back— how could he not— and after a long moment of almost drowning in Mavash’s eyes, experimentally rolled his hips. Took and gave solely what’d already been given.

Mavash’s breath stumbled, and he expelled the tiniest little sound. Not even a vocalisation really. Just a high, stifled something that didn’t quite make it out of this throat, and beckoned the absolute fuck out of Silas’ most primal side.

And even though it visibly hadn’t quite stopped hurting yet, Mavash stayed.

In fact, he pushed back.

With his hold on his self-control approaching a dangerously brittle point, Silas rolled his hips again, leaned into it more. And almost lost his mind, because for half a heartbeat, he encountered unexpected resistance before his cockhead palpably punched through a second, gloriously tight ring of fleshy muscle inside Mavash.

Objectively, Silas knew assholes had another hole at the end of their depths, more than half the people he fucked up the ass were shallow enough for him to reach and even breach it every now and again, but this? He hadn’t even buried half of his freaking cock yet.

Mavash made that bloody sound again, in-between two sharp little breaths, and still just kept glaring up at Silas with those illegally pretty eyes of his, and by that point, Silas was pretty sure not even ten battle-worn soldiers could’ve physically pulled him off of Mavash if they tried.

Clawing the dredges of his self-control like he’d seldom clawed something in his life, Silas rocked his hips, gave him another inch with every return, and nearly lost his mind all over again because not far beyond the second one, he met, and soon breached a third tightening.

Just because he seriously struggled to deal with the overload of sensation bearing down on his cock at that, he stopped moving, and remained.

Just remained, and desperately tried to grasp the three different instances where super-heated, satiny vices where wantonly bearing down on his cock, and not stumble straight over the point of no return before he’d even gotten his dick all the way inside.

He still had, like, two or three inches to give, for fucks sake, and after that, he fancied actually fucking Mavash too.

He was so caught up in his fight for control that he almost missed Mavash visibly tensing up, and it was not in a way that would imply he was in too much pain, or something along those lines. Upon re-focusing his gaze, he watched the intensity in Mavash’s eyes waver, as if the mere act of him not continuing to go deeper was akin to a deep betrayal.

He couldn’t be sure, of course, but the panic he felt about accidentally doing something the Drakvdeí viewed as reprehensible in the bedroom made Silas choke out the adversary— being his own orgasm, in this case— tense his abdomen, and deliver the final roll.

This time, he was pretty sure he actually did loose part of his mind.

There was a fourth one, although it was completely unlike its brethren.

It was an incomprehensibly dense, and at the same time unbelievably soft cushion of scaldingly hot, wet flesh his tip sunk into, the second his pelvis perfectly slotted against Mavash’s backside and the underside of his tail’s base.

Whatever inhuman part of Mavash’s channel that was, Silas struggled to keep his eyes from rolling up into blasted skull while it both compressed and massaged the everloving shit out of his poor cockhead, the longer he left it where it was.

Never in his life, he’d felt something so tightly packed and unforgiving, yet silken and soft around any which part of his body, to the point where he’d probably not be able to go any deeper than this, even if he had more to give.

And Mavash?

Mavash whimpered.

Not moaned, not groaned, not even winced, he whimpered, and the sound was so ferally submissive and vulnerable that Silas almost passed out, hearing it out of the maw of this beast of a man, and not the tiniest, most demure lady any species in the world had on offer.

With his entire body shaking from the shudder than chased through him, Mavash whimpered, arched his back to a degree that Silas would’ve probably cracked his spine in two, had he attempted anything like that, and pushed back against him.

Maliciously ground all of his four-holed zion of a channel onto Silas’ cock as if the mere thought of not having every single, available bit of it inside of him was worse than death, and the animalistic ecstasy catching fire in Mavash’s eyes while he executed the manoeuvre, along with the general, pleasure-violation it inflicted on his dick, was too much for Silas.

Silas blew his lid like a kettle that’d been forgotten on the stove.

But also, he didn’t.

With the skin all over his body catching fire, the first, searing pulse he knew so well detonated just behind his cock, raced through him with reckless abandon, and… and just fizzled out.

There was no churning of his balls, no liquid fire shooting down his cock and out of him, not even a second or a third or a fourth pulse came, like every orgasm of his continued after the first, highest peak was reached, and blown past.

Just that one, violating wave that felt exactly like all of that was about to follow, and left him high and dry because it didn’t.

And while he was already there, his completely addled mind sorted through the facts, and realised that the complete overload of sensation that’d brought him here had gotten every damn muscle in his body seized up, to the point where he must’ve manually— but definitely not consciously— clenched his own fucking seed back before it’d even gotten the opportunity to get going.

He’d just cum, alright.

Dryly.

And something about that felt demonstrably wrong and unsatisfying, just like his flesh felt this whole thing had been at not getting to bathe in the glow of a proper orgasm, but also, his dick was still hard as a rock.

Was still marinating in Mavash’s gushing, unparalleled zenith of a hole and merily slid here or there within its embrace as if it was just waiting for Silas to start the show, which was the point where he realised that, however this had fucking happened, it’d saved his ass from spilling before the first thrust like a freaking teenager that’d got to finally stick his dick into someone else for the first time in his life.

Well.

What was the saying again that his father had said so often in his life that he probably shouted it in his sleep?

‘Luck happens when preparation meets opportunity.’

Silas snapped his gone rogue vision back into focus, re-adjusted his hold on the base of Mavash’s tail, and with a dirty grin playing on his lips, pulled back, and drilled back into him, and the feeling of those internal holes of his squeezing down, and then up his cock was freaking sensational.

And gods, sinking his tip into that incomparable end of Mavash’s depths, that wasn’t simply just the best hole he’d ever had, that was the best thing he’d ever felt, stat.

“W-What are you doing?”

Mid pull-out, Silas startled to a halt, flicked his eyes up, and met a completely distraught looking Mavash gawking up at him over his shoulder, and that was just about the last thing he’d expected him to be looking like right now.

Not that he’d expected anything from him, he’d gotten a little carried away there.

“Uh… Fucking you?”

“But you were already there,” Mavash uttered, and started to look actually upset. Like, properly upset, in the way that went horribly with the reality of Silas still having half his cock buried inside of him. “You were already in my reikvéna, you… You said you were going to do it, you… you…”

Silas watched Mavash start to breathe so heavily that he couldn’t continue speaking before the pin dropped, and with a bemused grin, he pulled back as far as he could without slipping out, before slamming back into him, with enough force to make it clap once his hips collided with Mavash’s backside.

In his enthusiasm, he overdid it a teensy little bit.

Meaning he straight up thrust Mavash off his hands and knees, and caused him to collapse onto the bed face-first with the appropriately muffled grunt, and Silas would’ve laughed, but his cock being robbed of its,as of today, favourite sheath of all time wasn’t a laughing matter.

At once, he jumped onto the bed and got on top the heavily panting Mavash, snatched the base of his tail and whipped it up, manually directing his body to arch his back again, and push his ass up by proxy.

“My cocks’ not all sensitive like yours are, Mavash, I don’t just come like that,” Silas lied through his teeth— he’d have to go to the temple later and thank the gods for their favour— lined himself up, and sunk back into Mavash until he was once again pressed flush against him.

And if it wasn’t a strange, but wonderful feeling, for the heated underside of Mavash’s tail to so snuggly lay against his abdomen where usually, there wasn’t even a point of contact, like, ever.

“We human’s need to fuck to get there. The harder the better, you understand?”

Mavash was panting and writhing beneath him with his clawed fingers fumbling to find hold on the covers, but he still got his head turned to the side enough to shoot him a disbelieving glare out of the corner of his eye.

“B-But you-”

“Don’t you worry, baby, once I’m there, I’ll fertilise the fuck out of you,” Silas purred, raised his hips, and slammed them back down. Mavash wailed. “Gonna go as deep as I can and shoot all my seed into you, all of it. Everything I have, just for you.”

One of Mavash’s hands was ripping literal holes into the covers, the second it found them, but the other flew back, blindly clawed Silas’ hip, and kept him from raising them again, lest his skin there suffered the same fate.

“W-Wait, wait, wait, just… I didn’t know you humans did it like this, I-”

“And?” Silas said, and shallowly ground against Mavash’s ass, sawed half of an inch or so into him, which did earn him five instances of shallowly perforated skin.

But he didn’t mind a bit of blood in the bedroom as long as it was drawn consensually.

“I said I was gonna fuck you until you begged me to stop, didn’t I?”

“You did, but-”

It didn’t quite work like with other human’s due to Mavash’s tail and all, but as best as he could, Silas put his weight onto him and leaned forward until he could playfully bite into the side of his scaled neck, which he hadn’t expected to be met with a wanton groan, but alas.

Who was he to complain?

“And what did I say I was gonna do after, hm?” he said once he’d given his bite a little more force— the nature of Mavash’s hide was excellent at taking it without getting anywhere near breaking point— and had collected an even more resonant moan as reward for his boldness.

Mavash swallowed, dryly, and shot Silas a somehow both lustful and panicked look. Well, as best as he could in the current position they were in.

“Does it feel bad when I fuck you like humans fuck?”

Mavash looked like he wanted to disagree out of principle, but at Silas giving him another shallow thrust, unperturbed by how Mavash’s cramping claws dug deeper into his flesh, he choked on another moan that got to smothering the last bit of reluctance in his eyes by force.

Tightly, he said: “I-It’s strange. It’s so much, your cock is-”

“That’s not what I asked,” Silas growled, gave yet another roll of his hips. “Does it feel bad?”

A long moment went by where Silas remained pressed flush against Mavash, and just stared down into Mavash burning eye while his glorious channel eagerly pulsed around him.

It didn’t take long until he half groaned, half whispered: “No.”

“Hm-hm,” Silas purred. “And what did I say I was going to do after you begged me to stop?”

Mavash blinked, and gone was the remaining panic in his gaze, replaced by something that looked as if he only now seemed to realise what he could get out of all of this that he previously hadn’t even known was a possibility.

Silas watched as his indigo tongue darted out, and lapped a shiny streak over his upper flews.

“You said you’ll fuck me for another five minutes, and that I would only be allowed to finish then.”

“And?”

“That you’d fuck me for another five after that.”

“That’s right,” Silas said, grabbed Mavash’s hand, and detached his claws from his flesh, one after the other. “And at the end, I’ll fertilise you. How does that sound, handsome?”

Mavash shuddered all over, tripped over his words, cleared his throat, made the Drakvdeí-equivalent of doe-eyes up at Silas, and said: “Good, baby.”

Silas shuddered all over, and pulled his hips back.

It was barely ten seconds before the cacophony of fast-paced, wet slaps, enticed groans from and grunts from Silas, and sharp, rhythmic whines courtesy of Mavash echoed through the room, and it was accompanied by a translucent plume of airborne, carnal sweetness sizzling the freaking hairs in Silas’ nose away on every inhale.

He could bloody taste it the back of his tongue, which was probably to do with the fact that from the third or fourth trust onward, on every second one, he literally fucked a gush of Mavash’s juices out of his hole on the pull-back, and then splattered it all over Mavash’s ass and his own abdomen on the immediate slam home.

Already, in the short instances between the base of Mavash’s tail covering his abdomen, Silas saw that his bush was stuck with countless little droplets clinging to it like the beads of morning-dew clung to every blade of grass when the summer was at its most humid, and gods, if he didn’t love it.

Whatever Mavash had thought getting a proper fucking would be like to have acted so precious before he’d started to get his first one, Silas was pretty sure he was seriously regretting his apprehensiveness now, and the centuries of war preventing this from happening earlier in his life as a whole.

Which was Silas’ goal, of course— like hell would he not stencil the owner of the quite literally hottest asshole of all the lands into the mattress so that the outline of his sinful body would be stamped into it for an entire week after, and pass up on the opportunity to have him five times a day from then on until he returned home.

Not that he still possessed the willpower to go for a slower start like he probably should’ve to last longer, dry orgasm getting rid of the worst of his arousal or not.

But seriously, what kind of man would’ve had the brains for sensuality with the view he currently had of Mavash writhing beneath him, the remnants of the shredded covers in his claws, the muscles in his back rolling beneath his scaled skin, the fabric around where he’d buried his face into the mattress slowly soaking through with drool— or tears of pleasure, who knew— and of course, his flushed pucker straining around Silas’ cock while he fucked it sore.

The view of that area in particular was obscene on a level that Silas’ hadn’t even known was achievable for mere mortals.

The recoil of every slam visibly chasing over Mavash’s gorgeous ass, the image of the underside of his angled up tail, and all the delicate skin of and around his pucker growing ever more inflamed-looking with every time Silas’ pelvis battered against him, and of course, the viscous film of his wetness covering all of that, along with every inch he fleetingly got to see of his own cock, and making it all shimmer and glisten— it was the kind of view one wished they could afford to hire a painter to immortalise onto a canvas.

And it somehow got even better with Mavash choking on a constant stream of high, pleading demands for more, for it to be faster, harder, deeper. Once again, it reminded Silas of just how much he loved them vocal.

Being told the unfiltered, deepest, darkest lusts of his conquests once they were high on pleasure he fucked out of them was the applause he needed to push through the strain his efforts demanded of his body.

Although paying attention to anything that was being said also became less and less of an option, because he was beginning to suspect that just like his pucker— which still refused to get even just a tad bit looser— Mavash’s channel and all his extra holes in there would continue to refuse to do anything of the like too.

Continuously diving into that unyielding, four-fold tightness was frying his goddamn brains in real time, which was only getting worse by the minute, because the harder he fucked Mavash’s ass, the harder it got to pull his freaking dick back to be able to keep fucking.

Every thrust he bestowed seemed to make Mavash’s insides cling to him with ever more enthusiasm.

So, in effect, as if it’d needed another instance for Silas to despair over at the prospect of not getting to have each day for the rest of his life, the bastard was getting tighter the longer he was being fucked.

“Harderharderharderha-” Mavash whined into the mattress, and just kept meeting every slam with a desperate attempt to raise his hips and push back into it, no matter how many times the force of Silas’ thrusts pushed them right back down. “Your seed, give me you-fuck, give it to-”

Silas stopped fucking just long enough to lean down and groan a low: “Keep clenching like that and you’ll get it soon,” against his ear before he decided to just trust into the structural integrity of Mavash’s tails’ base, detached his hand, and used it to steady himself once he leaned onto him proper, and started slamming into him at the angle that regularly made the men he fucked cry for real.

Mavash seized up at that first, mercilessly steep pierce into him, whined, and started to wantonly clench around Silas’ cock every time he bottomed out, and the additional, suction-like grip his insides inflicted on him with that made it a challenge to properly pull back at all.

Silas made it work by force, of course, not matter how brightly the muscles in his thighs and abdomen burned by this point. And how good Mavash’s insides felt with that extra layer of tightness, Silas couldn’t afford to think about.

He hadn’t even made it to the first five minute mark, for crying out loud.

“Drakvitaé, yesyesyesye-”

Silas only managed fucking into that for what couldn’t be longer than thirty seconds before he had to temporarily abandon ship.

With a strained grunt, he dug his knees into the mattress where he’d straddled Mavash, placed a trembling hand on his lower back, and harshly pushed his ass down while he receded.

He was pretty sure otherwise, that glorious slut would try and prevent him from pulling out by just following his hips with his own.

Mavash’s offended grunt didn’t managed to stand up against the— without a doubt— loudest, wettest, and absolutely filthiest slurp and pop Silas had ever heard any orifice produce at him removing his cock from it.

He freaking watched how valiantly Mavash’s pucker clung to the rim of his cockhead before being forced to let it go.

“On your knees,” Silas ordered even though he was already mid-lifting Mavash’s hips by the sides and basically did all the work for him. “Show me that fucking hole.”

Mavash fought to get his knees beneath himself, and immediately arched his back to the hells and back the second he got there while also keeping his tail raised, and shooting Silas a feverishly needy look over his shoulder.

Mainly, this was just Silas needing a minute to air his dick out and have no stimulation whatsoever on it so he could keep going a little longer, but fucking hell, was he happy that he needed that minute.

Not even five of those in, and Mavash’s pucker was freaking gaping a little.

Visibly swollen and flushed so deeply it almost looked bruised, it instinctively clamped down on thin air time and time again on its desperate search for friction, and on each relax, winked open ever so slightly, and expelled a frothed up gulp of his saccharine juices that gushed down his taint, and dribbled onto the covers in thick strands from there.

Reduced to his most basic instincts as he was, Silas swooped down, and planted his tongue against his taint, was immediately overcome by his greed, scrambled higher, closed his lips around Mavash’s so cruelly abandoned hole, and straight up sucked a mouthful of it straight from the source.

It ran down his throat like liquid gold.

Usually, freshly broken in assholes needed longer to get to this point, and they’d obviously lost their natural tightness by then, which proved just how much Mavash had been made to take the kind of cocks a hole like his bloody deserved.

After the third swallow, Silas had drunken most of the overspill, and pulled away so he could put his hands on Mavash’s cheeks, and spread them as far as he could.

His hole naturally opened up with that, and the sight Silas got of the intensely indigo flesh within— the same, vibrant hue as his tongue, but somehow even brighter— and the second hole just beyond the first doing the clenching he was currently preventing the outer one from doing was grotesquely depraved.

And so far beyond being called merely arousing.

He’d need weeks to come up with a new word that could even hope to measuring up to the task of accurately conveying the things he felt, taking in a sight like this.

“You’re so freaking hot, this can’t be legal,” Silas mumbled to himself while he traced the puffy rim of Mavash’s asshole with his thumb before giving it last lap, and giving his right asscheek a hefty smack just for good measure.

“Silas, please.”

The whiny utterance pulled Silas eyes away toward where Mavash’s face was lingering beyond his ass, with his wide, glistening, and begging eyes on full display.

That freaking apex of a slut had to know what he was doing, looking at him like that, because if he didn’t, he wasn’t even aware of how much raw power he held in his clawed hands.

If he pulled a look like that while asking for any single man’s cock, he’d get it, immediately and without questions asked. Out in the blasted streets for everyone to see, if need be, no matter race, history, or sexual orientation.

“I don’t want to be empty, Silas, it feels… It feels wrong.”

“By the fucking gods,” Silas uttered after gawking at Mavash for a second in utter shock, but then he grabbed him, and unceremoniously manhandled him onto his back. “You can’t be saying shit like that, have mercy on a man.”

For Silas, there was a line with talking dirty during the deed where what one was saying could sound so decrepitly debauched that it overshot the goalpost, and straight up killed his mojo.

What Mavash had just said had was flown to far past that goalpost that it’d somehow ended up hitting another one that’d stood so far off in the distance that Silas hadn’t even known it existed.

“But I-”

“Spread those legs for me, baby, we’ll have you full in no time.”

Shaking in the boots he wasn’t wearing, Silas leaned over Mavash, and fumbled for one of the cushions he folded and stuff into the gap between the bed and Mavash’s lower back. Without the extra height, the way Mavash’s tail grew would get in the way.

“Pull them up and back, come on. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Mavash snapped for air while Silas covered one of the hands holding his legs back by the back of his knees with one of his, and got himself lined up with the other.

Without wasting another second, he sunk back into heaven, keened at every single hole swallowing and rippling along his pulsing cock, and because it just felt too good, gave the last few inches an impatient snap forward.

Which was why he, again, almost passed out at piercing into that dense, scorching end of Mavash’s depths, far deeper than he had been able to before. His entire bloody cockhead and an inch beyond, it greedily sucked in to knead into oblivion, which it immediately did.

For the first time today, he saw the white in Mavash’s eyes at them rolling up into his skull, accompanied by him rearing up, clawing one of Silas’ wrists with one, and his upper thigh with the other hand, and holding on for dear life while he choked on a vocalisation so high and whorish, it barely had sound anymore.

And with it, his second cock, the longer one, jumped where it’d ended up, laying snug against Mavash’s belly, and spewed out a thin, pressurised spurt of thick, milky seed with so much force that it hit him against on the jaw, and splattered all over his lower muzzle— some of it straight up disappeared into his wide-open maw.

Mavash was strung to taut that he wasn’t even trembling anymore, reduced to choking on every moan that tried escaping him while more spurts pumped from his cock. But they were mere trickles in comparison that viscously pooled, and began their slow crawl down his flanks, depending where gravity pulled at them.

Silas wasn’t looking, he’d already leaned in, and was dragging his tongue over Mavash’s face, hungrily lapped every drop of his seed he could catch up, and loudly swallowed, the second Mavash managed to roll his eyes back down, and gawked up at him with visibly not a single thought left behind those pretty eyes.

Definitely closer to human’s in taste, that.

Silas licked the last bit off his upper lip with a flick of his tongue, swallowed that too, and smirked.

“Another five then, yeah?”

ཐི𓆩 ❖ 𓆪ཋྀ

Chapter Text

ཐི𓆩 ❖ 𓆪ཋྀ

Silas burned.

Inside and out, he burned, and never in his life had he burned so sweetly.

With every fibre of his being focused on the task, he fucked into Mavash at such a pace that he wasn’t anywhere near getting enough air to fund the exertion, but he simply didn’t care for the pain in his muscles, the ringing in his ears, or the pained pleading of his lungs to get more than what he was giving them.

He’d have time to pass out after he’d fulfilled his promise to Mavash, who was an absolute vision beneath him, and made it all too easy leave his own well-being bleeding by the wayside.

Legs spread to the high heavens, his inflamed pucker gushing around Silas cock, and tears of pleasure shimmering in his glazed over eyes, he snapped for air in-between expelling a constant stream of wrecked yelps, each time Silas slammed into the end of his depths, and just like the sounds he’d made before, Silas’ skin prickled from the goosebumps they gave him bloody everywhere.

Mavash wasn’t sweating like he was— by that point, the rivulets were running down his back and temples alike, where they eagerly caught ever more strands of hair to attach to his face— he just had his maw hanging wide open, with his tongue lolling out of the corner.

Silas might just be closer to properly passing out than he thought he was, but he swore he could see a faint column of steam wafting out of there before it dispersed in the mellow breeze blowing in through the windows, and stealing it off his saurian cousin of lips.

Five minutes, it hadn’t been once the fire in Silas’ loins burned too brightly to be contained any longer, but he was too high on sex to still put semantics over following the primeval call for release.

Mavash hadn’t been counting, so much was sure.

“Ready?” he wheezed out while he forced his overwrought muscles to pick up the pace even more, and pressure-pounded his cock into Mavash so harshly that, were he of sound mind, he would’ve probably worried about breaking his pelvis, and his own one right along with it. “Ready for your babies, yeah?”

Mavash came alive.

Snapped out of his discombobulated stupor with a sharp inhale, furiously blinked until the tears actually spilled from the corner of his eyes, and searched for Silas’, and by the gods, he looked so devastatingly hopeful— like there truly was nothing in this world that he wanted more than for Silas to impregnate him.

And Silas, for the first time in his life, mourned the fact that he couldn’t actually fulfil that wish they both shared.

“Ye-fuckyes, give me your seed, please fertilise me, pleasepleasepleaseple-”

Silas managed another five or so thrusts before his balls drew up so hard that it hurt, and with a last, vicious slam, he buried every last inch he had in Mavash, thrust into the dense pillow of searing tightness waiting for him at its end one final time, and came.

Just came, so explosively that he actually saw white— or black, he couldn’t tell— and struggled to not just collapse onto Mavash entirely before he’d even really started spilling his seed.

The high was so intense that it killed his ability to breathe entirely, and left him hovering there, in the weightless, matter-less eutopia of pure, sexual euphoria.

Robbed of both sound and vision, and his sense for his surroundings as a whole, he got to fully indulge the overstimulation he’d been wantonly inflicting onto his cock by mercilessly driving it into Mavash’s inhuman channel, felt every rhythmic contraction that rolled through it while he pumped every last drop of seed he had into its depths.

From one heartbeat to the other, it was over.

The last, involuntary tightening of his pelvis plucked him out of the clouds and send him tumbling earthward with nauseating speed, just in time for him to not actually pass out, and catch himself before he’d just flop onto Mavash like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Only the burn in his lungs existed for an excruciating moment where his throat hadn’t yet opened up, but then it did, and he heaved for it, filled his lungs with new life. It almost felt as good as the ebbing out pulses of immaculately pristine pleasure rippling through him while his orgasm fizzled out.

For a few seconds, he just sat there, slumped back onto his feet, and unwilling to let go of this release for good. This indulgence of his deepest desires as the man that he was.

He just lazily kneaded the back of Mavash’s trembling knee with one, and Mavash’s equally trembling hand holding the other with his hands, and breathed— breathed and breathed and breathed.

Only once the unintelligible, static noise of impending unconsciousness died down in his ears, he fluttered his eyes open.

It took him a moment to get his uncooperative eyes to focus, but once he got there, he dopily grinned down at Mavash still resting there with his half-lidded, glazed over gaze directed his way. Although he visibly wasn’t seeing much.

Silas couldn’t remember a time where he’d looked down, and had felt so accomplished at the sight of his pelvis snugly resting against another’s. Again, it just looked so right, everything about it did.

The absolute mess of colourless viscosity sticking to his bush and quite a ways up his happy-trail, the stark contrast of the sable colour of his pubic hair and Mavash’s scaled hide, and even the novelty of watching the slow process of both his by now limp, soiled cocks drawing back into sheath, it was all fucking perfect.

The last, shuddering clenches of Mavash’s channel around his spent dick sweetened the deal even more, though sweeter, it couldn’t possibly get. Just thinking about his load pooling in there now, that made his fuzzy mind growl with carnal satisfaction.

Now he could claim to have fucked a Dragon.

“There you go, baby,” he chuckled once he’d gotten the barely responsive Mavash to set his feet down.

He loved seeing them so out of it after. There wasn’t a better kind of feeling in the world, knowing he’d fucked them so good that more than breathing was out of the question for a while.

Just because he’d always been a little to greedy for his own good, he gave Mavash a last, barely there roll of his hips that didn’t change much about the resting place of his softening cock in either direction, slid one of his hands onto Mavash’s belly, caressed over the soft, vanishingly small scales there, and marvelled at the new kind of texture on his fingertips.

“All fertilised.”

Three things happend at once, the second the last word left his lips, and none of them made any freaking sense.

Firstly, Mavash flinched. Harshly. Decidedly not in the way someone flinched who’d merely needed another minute to return to himself after getting properly fucked for the first time in his life, and just startled at an unexpected touch.

Secondly, without him blinking even once, the glazed over look in Mavash’s eyes disintegrated in its entirety, and with it, his pupils twitched, and slimmed. From one second to the other, they became mere slits, the kind he’d expected to see down in the taproom after being told about their eeriness ten times over, but hadn’t.

And thirdly, far too quickly for him to react, Mavash reared up, and snatched Silas by the throat with one of his claws. Not playfully, not like he would pull him down to give him a little lizard-kiss to thank him for his efforts like he kind of should, whatever that was supposed to look like, no.

He clawed his throat with the kind of force that was just an ill-timed, aggravating thought short of overpowering the integrity of the muscle, cartilage, and sinew there, and tearing a gaping hole where previously, there’d sat his throttle.

The feeling of blood crawling down his neck followed swiftly.

And all of that was a very strange cocktail of things to come to terms with happening while he was still balls deep in the guy who was causing them to happen.

Mavash’s now actually rather unnerving looking eyes— bewitching mauve colour or not— were burning with cutting clarity now, where before, there’d only been his greed and lust. He dropped them at once, and glared down at his belly, where Silas’ hand had flinched to a halt, the second his throttle had been taken hostage.

For a few, excruciatingly tense moments, while he felt the air drawn with his most recent breath deplete slowly but surely, Silas mind tried, but utterly failed to assemble any of this into sense, and Mavash just continued to glare at his belly as if he wasn’t looking at it, but through it.

Another flinch, and his eyes snapped back up, and the way he bristled while he stared into Silas’ eyes didn’t help him with trying to figure out what the fuck was going on with him.

There still was the matter of Silas’ cock remaining buried in him to the hilt, whether its hardness was rapidly collapsing due to the most recent developments or not, and that didn’t help either.

The hairs on the back of Silas’ neck rose up on their own at the instant, wordless screaming of all of his senses. Danger, they screamed of, actual, lethal danger, despite the nature of their continuing connection implying anything but danger being the thing to feel.

And yet, it clouded the air around them so thickly that Silas was just short of tasting it in the air.

Slowly, and with a low, scintillating hiss reverberating in his throat that made every bone in Silas’ body vibrate, Mavash pulled him forward by the literal throttle until his face lingered only a few inches in front of Silas’.

“Get your fetid vitiation of a manhood out of my reikvéna, or I’ll rip your windpipe out of your soft-fleshed neck, and feast on it while I watch you choke on your blood.”

Silas had never pulled out of anything so fast in his entire life.

This time around, the filthy sound his limp cock produced at plopping out of Mavash failed to elicit any carnal joy, and it didn’t prompt Mavash to release him either. If anything, the seething look in his eyes only grew more lethal, the second the bond was severed.

“How dare you?” he hissed, and yanked Silas’ face so close that only a hairs breadth separated them. “How dare you put your stinking, human hands on me, you flea-infested gallow-rat?”

Considering how low on air he was by now, one would think Silas’ survival-instincts would take over and do something about it, but for some godforsaken reason, his stupid mind still hadn’t quite gotten past the ‘I just came in it, why is it trying to kill me?’ of it all, and Mavash’s words only made that whole mess worse.

He’d never heard someone say the word ‘human’ with that much palpable disgust lacing it, and although he might’ve expected to hear something of the like from a Drakvdeí under different circumstances, right now, Mavash might as well have punched him the face and that would’ve felt like less of an insult.

It wasn’t like they’d known each other before, let alone had shared some kind of personal connection, but sex also connected, if a bit differently. Good sex in particular connected, and up until thirty seconds ago, it’d been glaringly obvious just how good it’d been, for both him and Mavash.

Why the fuck-

“I asked you a question,” Marvash snarled, and somehow only then, the shock-freeze in Silas’ veins broke, and with a choked gargle, he hectically did as much pointing and gesturing he could realistically do in the position he was in to convey the message that he was about to meet his maker, and couldn’t answer shit even if he’d known what to say.

Marvash watched him squirm for a long, long second, then he showed his fangs in the manner predators did who intended to show a rivalling animal what kind of injury they were capable of inflicting, and finally let off Silas’ throat.

Before he could draw in the air he desperately needed, let alone move, Mavash’s heel caught his sternum, and kicked him back with so much force that skipped past the falling over, and straight up flew over the foot of the bed.

If he’d still had air in his lungs, the violence with which his back crashed onto the naked floor would’ve punched all of it out of them and then some. As it stood, his meeting the ground only caused a pandemonium of hurt in his spine, seeing as he’d landed exactly on top of it.

He couldn’t even groan.

All he could do was watch the dead-spaces of impending unconsciousness dance across the blurry ceiling and try for air, but every attempt of his spasming lungs to draw it in miserably failed, leaving him to soundlessly writhe around like a turtle that’d tipped onto its back until he actually passed out.

The back of his head hitting the cold, wooden floorboards instantly brought him back, but nothing had changed. His eyes still stung, his lungs still fruitlessly convulsed, his spine still felt like it was in the midst of crumbling into a million pieces, and he still couldn’t breathe, still couldn’t think because the fight for survival had consumed his entire being.

Just as he was about to pass out again, his lungs opened up, and he heaved the biggest breath he’d ever drawn, just to suffer the most diabolical coughing fit he’d suffered in over a decade.

Desperately, he coughed, breathed, coughed, retched, wanted to keep breathing, couldn’t because the urge to retch was uncontrollable, and the whole way through, he sounded like someone was standing behind him, and was rattling a set of heavy, cast-iron chains every time he coughed.

He wasn’t anywhere near done before fury wrestled for control, and with every ounce of strength he still called his own, he fought himself onto his hands and knees, punched his chest with a balled fist to get the phlegm out of his lungs, and wheezed: “What is your fucking problem, you-”

The foot caught the side of his jaw, right below the bone, kicked his head away, and snapped it around so harshly that he felt every single joint of his spine unhealthily pop, almost all the way down to his tailbone.

The whiplash once he, again, collapsed, whether this time, it was on his side or not, was stomach-turning, and even though objectively, he knew he should just stay down until the nausea wound down, subjectively, he’d rather die for real.

Because who did that scaly bastard think he fucking was?

With the unnaturally potent strength and ignorance to pain— or any other debilitating state of the body— only that kind of fury, or an actual fight for survival could conjure, he flew off the ground, overpowered his bodies fight for balance with sheer willpower alone, and straightened up.

From there, all he need do was turn on his heel to be able to start building himself up in front the still seething Mavash. Silas wasn’t that much taller than him, but he had a lot more brawn, and it wasn’t the soft kind.

For that, he’d spent too much time hardening it on his anvil.

Drakvdeí or not, Mavash’s claws wouldn’t be of much use to him if his head sat the wrong way around on his neck, and even though Mavash didn’t loose an ounce of the fury in his eyes, he took an instinctual back-pace at being made to consider what he’d be up against if he took this any further.

Like he fucking ought to, because if he dared taking a singular additional cheap-shot like that, Silas would break what needed to be broken for Mavash to loose any and all ability to lift another finger in his direction.

“I asked you a fucking question,” Silas growled, rolled his shoulders back while he drew long, forceful breaths through his nose, and mirrored Mavash’s step back with one toward him.

Mavash, now standing in a slight crouch with his tail lashing the air behind him, and that reptilian-sounding hiss still sounding from his throat, acridly huffed.

“Ask me one you don’t already know the answer to, and I might even consider responding, vek-rén.”

“So you’re insane, is that it?” Silas said without even so much as blinking, lest that overgrown dune-lizard jumped him again. He certainly looked infuriated enough to try, more than questionable odds of success or not. “One second, you lay beneath me and beg me for my seed, and the second you have it, you attack me, and ask me why I dared?”

“Stop playing the fool,” Mavash snarled, and pointed an accusatory, clawed finger at Silas. “Does your kind always take advantage of the vulnerable for your depraved, personal gain?”

“The vulnerable? Are you freaking kidding me, you were the one who almost choked me to death a second ago!”

“I see now that I should’ve finished the job while I still had the chance,” Mavash hissed. “And you should’ve expected as much, given what you did!”

“Then please, do enlighten me about what the fuck you think I did that was so horrible because I don’t see it!”

“Your lies won’t find fertile ground with me, filthy human!”

“How can I lie about something I don’t fucking know,” Silas said, and by this point, he maybe should just punch Mavash in the face a couple of times, and if only to get him to stop throwing accusations around as if they were candied legumes.

“Lies!” Mavash barked. “You sought me out on the exact day my reikvéna became fertile! You knew exactly what to say and do to abuse my state, and get me up here into your lair of depravity, what is that, if not intent?”

“Lair of… Look, whatever you think I knew, I didn’t. This was new for me just as much as it was for you,” Silas tried with a bit less anger in his voice, and his demeanour in general.

Mavash still wasn’t making any sense, but beneath all that fury of his, he was seeing something he thought he recognised as less that, and more panic, maybe even fear. Which would align with him seemingly thinking his life was over just because he’d let a human stick him with it.

“Lies, wretched spy!” Mavash barked again, sounding nowhere near taking Silas up on the non-verbal offer to take a deep breath for a change. “No human has been permitted to set foot across the border in centuries, and still, you knew my people’s customs, and used them to seduce me!”

Not the way Silas had expected to get confirmation that Drakvdeí foreplay truly was just verbally lobbing obscenities at each other until one was horny enough to take charge, but well. What else were you supposed to do when making out wasn’t really an option?

“I was winging it, okay? Do you think I spent the last decade crawling around in the dirt outside your people’s windows and y’all fuck to, what, exactly? Wait until I ran into you by accident to put that knowledge to use?”

“You have no wings, you ugly-”

“Turn of phrase, man,” Silas groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose with his pointer and thumb. After a second of thinking, he said: “What I meant to say was that I just went off the little I learned about your people in the last couple of days. There wasn’t any big conspiracy or something, it was just a man seeing something he liked, and wanting to fuck it, and I did what I do best to make that happen. That is all, got that?”

For the first time since this had begun, Mavash didn’t immediately answer, and just glared at Silas with pulsating eyes, as if he was trying to suck the truth out of the ones he was looking by physical means, and whatever he got out of that actually managed to stick the landing this time.

It didn’t curb his general agitation, but it was a start.

“But you knew,” he shakily said after a long moment of continued staring. “You knew, that’s why you made sure to keep stoking the flames of my gravidé to take advantage, and-”

“I don’t know what that is,” Silas calmly said. Well, he tried to sound calm as much as he could, seeing as he feeling anything but calm, but not meeting Mavash’s aggravation with his own seemed to be working, so. “All I know now is that your people’s way of courting each other is absolutely perverse, which I admit, I didn’t mind entertaining because like I said, the goal was having you.”

“M-My second gravidé,” Mavash said, and by that point, the murderous air around him collapsed, and left only a deep, deep unease radiating off of him that made Silas’ still aching spine prickle.

And also, it made him frown, because the way Mavash was talking would make one think he’d been a bitch in heat, and that would be very strange indeed, seeing as the average bitch didn’t have a cock, let alone two.

Well, he knew some real bitches that had cocks, but that was different.

“So, is that, like, mating season for your people?”

The way Mavash’s face dropped almost made Silas feel bad for his cluelessness, which was freaking ridiculous. Mavash had already said it himself, not human had set foot across the border in centuries and the other way around, how the was he supposed to know bloody anything?

“Look, I obviously don’t understand… you, or your people’s customs, or how your bodies work, for that matter,” he tried, raised his hands palms facing forward, and took an experimental step towards Mavash. “But we’re not in any hot water, right? We can keep a secret if you don’t want your colleagues to-”

The malicious sounding hissing returned, and prompted Silas to abandon his attempt.

Mavash only kept it up for as long as Silas needed to take the same step back again before he turned around and glared at the crumbled up covers, and the trail of clothing-heaps leading up to it, all while his claws flexed and relaxed by his sides with the obvious desire to perforate something.

“This can’t be fucking happening,” he muttered under his breath, so quietly Silas barely understood a word. “This is just a nightmare. Wake up, krék, its time to-”

“May I ask what the problem actually is?” Silas asked carefully, and did his best to look encouraging at Mavash whipping his head around, and shooting him the mother of all accusatory glares. “You’re not a woman or anything. It’s just some men fooling around amongst themselves. Different species’, yeah, maybe that’s a bit weird, but-”

“My kind does not have females, you brainless ape,” Mavash growled.

Silas spent a long moment gawking at Mavash without getting anywhere in deciphering the objectively very simple thing he’d just said before the air got stuck in his throat, and forced him to awkwardly clear it.

“C-Come again?”

“You’re all born either one or the other, but we aren’t, I thought your people had learned as much, given how much time you had,” Mavash said, and dragged both his hands across his face. “We’re all born the same, and where we end up after we sexually mature is determined by the choices we make, understood?”

“But you’re, like, a man,” Silas very intelligently said, and dumbly gawked at where Mavash’s cocks had long retreated back into their sheath, and left him looking rather sex-less, now that he took a proper look.

That slit where they hid in didn’t really differentiate itself from the rest of the scaled skin between his legs when it was closed, and with his junk being already small when it was all hard, now, it didn’t leave more than the faintest of bumps there.

“You’ve got, friggin’, two cocks, and I saw you have balls too,” Silas added, because surely, he was just imagining things. “You came all over yourself, you’re not-”

“I was at the end of my maturing process,” Mavash hissed, and began a slow, methodical prowl towards Silas that radiated so much seething hatred and accusation that Silas instinctively took a step back for each one Mavash took. “Just this last gravidé, and I would’ve finally become the rakkaré I ought to be.”

“T-The what?”

“The breeder,” Mavash bit out, and followed Silas’ retreat on impressively silent feet, given how jerkily he was walking with all that latent fury leading his steps. “The vrak, the giver, the one that fertilises, and doesn’t get fertilised. Do you follow?”

Silas knew he was about to meet the wall beside the door with his back, but the kind of fury that was spewing out of Mavash’s eyes this time was completely different than before, and it prevented him from even considering the option of standing his ground.

It wasn’t just fury for furies sake. It was pure, ice-cold malevolence, and combined with his general looks, made Silas feel like he was being predated on by an actual Dragon, and not one he could take on if worst came to worst.

“But I stuck it up your ass, right?” Silas said, and awkwardly laughed. “Just an asshole, all good, right? We all have ‘em, and they all do the same-”

“And what,” Mavash growled, and took the step that pushed Silas back against the wall. “Do you think a people born with only one orifice like that uses for mating, and to gestate and deliver their young?”

There was a lethally awkward moment where Silas gawked like a fool while a catalogue of impressions he’d picked up on during their ride zipped past his inner eyes, like one flipped through a book to find the right page to read from.

For one, there was the nature of Mavash’s cocks seeming all butdesigned to work with the same kind of pucker he had, and also, his reaction to Silas’ hitting that insane end of his depths, and pulling back again to fuck him like he understood the term.

Mavash had acted as if Silas had betrayed him by not finishing, the second he’d gone that deep.

What’d he said? One to induce flow, and one to fertilise.

One to ease the way for the other to get where it needed to go. Mavash had flowed. In fact, he’d gotten preposterously wet during the whole thing, which, now that Silas thought about it with a somewhat clear head, was an awfully unbefitting trait to have for a male.

What reason was there for a self-lubricating channel which technically served the sole function of expelling waste? Except for some godlessly callous iteration of naturally mandated constipation issues, he couldn’t come up with one, and that just seemed very unlikely.

Also, looking back at it now, he’d noticed Mavash acting a little dazed from the second he’d gotten his cocks hard, and from there, he’d, in fact, acted like one would expect a bitch on heat to act, singular focus resting on getting fucked and bred and all.

And that, if he thought about it for longer than a second, really didn’t seem feasible to be a fixture for a male, Drakvdeí or other, who were supposed to the breeding, and not spread their legs for other males to receive it.

Mavash having never been what humans understood as male in the first place would perfectly explain why he’d been so intense about the whole fertilisation business. Because then, it wouldn’t have been just about him having a kink Silas had happily entertained to keep the tension high.

And lastly, it was true that in all the scraps of information about the Drakvdeí the royal armed forces had painstakingly accumulated over the centuries, one of the most glaring gaps had been all about the complete absence of female looking ones, every child knew that.

It’d been brushed up to the Drakvdeí naturally having depraved breeding behaviours befitting of their fiendish nature which demanded for the females to have been kept far beyond the reach any spy-missions had possessed beyond the border.

There never having been Drakvdeí woman would certainly fill that gap.

The longer Silas thought, the more the pieces fell into place, and once they started forming something that approached a clear image, his heart started beating uncomfortably loudly in his ears.

In fact, in just a second or two, it was thundering as if a river was about to crash through the walls, sweep him off his feet, and drown him, which was also what he started feeling like once the he added the clear-as-day implications of Mavash’s last words into the mix.

“But that doesn’t work,” Silas pressed out, already starting to snap for air like a fish on dry land. “I’m human and you’re… you’re Drakvdeí, you can’t cross a cat and a dog, that’s not how it-”

“It already worked, you hirsute cave-maggot!” Mavash screamed into his face, at the top of his lungs, and made Silas flinch so hard that he bit his tongue. “I was supposed to have a month of suffering to go through until my final brood withered, and the flame burned out, and then, I’d gone cold forever!”

So harshly the bones in Silas’ wrist audibly complained, Mavash snatched it out of the air, and punched Silas’ palm onto his chest.

“Does that still feel hot to you, hm? Does it? Does it?”

Mavash manually yanked Silas’ palm from the left to the right, giving him the physical proof of the fact that he was, indeed, no longer burning up like he’d had, from the second he’d first touched him down in the taproom.

“N-No?”

“Well, there you fucking go, then,” Mavash barked and threw Silas’ hand back against his own chest. “I was so close! So close to becoming the cold-blood I need to be for any warm-blood to accept my seed, and further my fathers bloodline so the throne can stay beneath his foolish, old arse, and mine when the times comes!”

In the grand scheme of things, Silas currently had a whole lot more pressing things to worry about than to what kind of social cast Mavash belonged to, but in all of his shock, getting the information dumped on him that Mavash was appearantly supposed to be a freaking prince gave him the rest.

“The throne?” he wheezed out accordingly, and Mavash only startled for a heartbeat before he failed to stifle the most joyless snort Silas had ever heard in his life.

“Right, I didn’t even mention that, did I? Silly me.”

Mavash acridly cackled, and spread his arms wide in a mocking caricature of preparing himself for a grand declaration, and delivered just that. With the least bit of elation about it as was humanly— or in this case, inhumanly— possible.

“Mavash Sohma Ra’Obéron at your behest! The heir to the brainless old fuck who thought making peace with the hairy scourge of the south was the correct choice to make when his rule already stood on unfathomably brittle foundations!”

Silas gawked at Mavash with a wide open mouth, and this time, his mind’s attempt of catching up with what Mavash was saying, and what that meant when considered along the avalanche he was actively getting buried beneath anyway, coughed and died before it’d even really started to work.

It was just too much.

Mavash, on the other hand, seemed to only really get going now. Loudly heaving for air, he stomped the ground with his naked heel with every sentence he spoke, and once more looked like he was about to go for the kill.

“I only stole myself away to this wretched place to absolutely ensure that there were no cold-bloods around to get the scent of my last gravidé into their noses,” he hollered, and began stabbing his finger directly onto Silas’ sternum to underline his words, uncaring for how the claw at its end ripped his skin, and drew blood. “You know, to stop them from worming their way past every gate and sentinel like they always seem to be able to when someone’s future depends on them not becoming a warm-blood, prevent their taking advantage of my mindless state to fertilise me, and bump me out of the line of succession by making me their whore!”

It stung like hell, each time Mavash’s finger returned and deepened the score, but Silas was too flabbergasted for simple pain to still make it through to him, at least not as something he should be paying attention to.

Not even once Mavash skipped the next stab, slammed his palm against Silas’ chest, and nailed him back against the wall, he managed a more substantial reaction that the grunt that involuntarily produced from him.

“You ruined everything!” Mavash screamed again, so loudly that it made Silas’ ears ring. “It won’t even be a week before my spills become seedless duds that can’t even impregnate the most fertile fresh-blood in all the lands! And worse, I’ll never stop smelling breedable once that really kicks in because that’s what I’ll be from now until fucking forever!”

And then, despite the ungodly malignance of Mavash’s fury raging in his eyes, his angrily contorted features took on a look of raw, unadulterated pain that didn’t need human features for Silas to see, and to feel a dreadful pang of guilt over.

“And the worst thing about this mess is that I didn’t just fail, I’m about bear the throne the ugliest, bastardous half-hatchlings my entire race has ever had the displeasure of having to lay eyes upon, and considering how you look, they’re probably going to be fucking hairy!”

The silence that fell once the echo of Mavash’s last word had ebbed away was deafening. The sounds of him snapping for air remained, but apart from that, there was freaking nothing, and in some inexplicable way, that was even worse than just listening to him scream his lungs out.

So, technically, in his heart of hearts, Silas knew that this absolutely wasn’t the time, and he should just keep his mouth shut, and give Mavash the space he desperately seemed to need to collect his bearings.

But also, practically, the inside of his head felt like the kind of lukewarm sludge that a dirt-road turned into after a mid-summer thunderstorm had rolled through, and was slowly getting cooked by the sun burning down on it right after, and there was a glaring issue in assumed responsibility in whatever the fuck this whole thing was that’d been bothering him from the start, and Mavash constantly ignoring it was getting to him.

Still, he should just keep his mouth shut. Problem was, Silas had never been good at doing that.

So, while Mavash had already dropped his gaze, and was visibly looked right through him while the worst of his fury bled away from his eyes, Silas cleared his throat, and opened his mouth.

“I feel like we’re majorly glossing over the fact here that I had no idea about any of this, and I also feel like you could’ve made use of one of the two dozen opportunities you had to clear things up, and prevent all of this from happening in the first place.”

The lack of a real reaction should’ve told Silas that whatever came now wouldn’t bode well for him, but yeah.

The sludge was sludging.

Marvash slowly raised his eyes back up at him, and after only a second of glaring, he smiled a sickly sweet smile, and leisurely put his hands on Silas’ shoulders, one on each.

“I’m glad to have confirmed that your kinds’ testicles hanging outside of your body myself.”

“What?”

Mavash’s knee thundered up into Silas’ naked crotch with the kind of force a scorned housewife swung her pan at her adulterer of a husband with. And just like one of them did when their wife scored a hit against their head, he fell to his knees, folded over, and hit the ground Mavash had graciously freed up for him by stepping aside to watch him go down.

It hurt so bad that he straight up whimpered, and bid control of his body goodbye for now.

He just shook and writhed around, clawed his tenderised balls with his shaking hands, and soundlessly choked on thin air, desperately hoping for the pain to subside soon, but in the back of his mind, already knowing that such a courtesy wouldn’t be bestowed upon him for a hot minute.

Both aim and execution had just been too maliciously perfect for that.

“My servants will come and collect you in front of this pig-pen of an establishment an hour after dawn tomorrow,” Mavash said somewhere above him before the sounds of his naked feet told of him moving around the room, and stopping, each time he fished for another piece of clothing Silas had ripped off of him in the heat of the moment.

Mavash didn’t even bother putting them on, he just stomped straight for the door, but not without stopping by Silas’ side, and quietly hissing down at him again.

“And do me the favour and pray to whatever cursed deity your people revere that the royal physician in Obéron know off a way to cleanse my body from what your soiled seed has set into motion. Otherwise, the second the public finds out about me truly bearing your offspring, the throne will be usurped, and you can rest assured that whoever succeeds it will make sure there is hell to pay for the King who allowed one of his title-less street urchins to defile who’d once stood to rule over all of Drak’Rava.”

With that, he marched past Silas, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut so hard the hinges screamed out in fear for their lives.

Silas didn’t even have it in him to flinch from the bang.

He just remained where he was, still incapable of doing anything but praying to the heavens for the pain to end, and tried what he could to keep the imminent implosion of the dredges of composure at bay.

But without Mavash present, there was nothing to keep his mind occupied.

And so, before he was even granted the relief of the worst of the pain drying up, his mind imploded.

ཐི𓆩 ❖ 𓆪ཋྀ