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Bunching his brows in confusion, Ryland quickly shut the door. He considered yelling your name but he decided against it. You were obviously here, there was nowhere else for you to be, so you must’ve been the one making the noises, but he just didn’t know what you were doing that could make such a noise. Washing the dishes maybe? Cleaning something? He couldn’t help but think that the noise sounded familiar, and in the couple of seconds it took to toe off his shoes, he had a hunch.

Shrugging his cardigan off his shoulders, Ryland hurried to the living room where the sounds seemed to be the loudest. His cardigan fell to the floor and his jaw dropped alongside it when he turned the corner.

You were home alright, alongside the two other members of your family- your mates, as they insisted you and Ryland call them. Rocky and Adrian had decided to stop by while Ryland was gone. And, apparently, they couldn’t keep their claws to themselves.

Adrian sat on the floor- a looming presence in the room considering their sheer size. Ryland often thought it was a miracle they’re even able to squeeze through the front door. Adrian was using three of their arms to tilt themselves back enough to expose the ventral seam on the underside of their carapace, which was gaping wide, oozing silver and had a long, meaty appendage snaking out that ran up and disappeared in your ass. 

Adrian’s ovipositor was a deep, navy blue and almost three feet long when fully unfurled. Obviously, only a fraction of that was used during sex with you and Ryland, but the girth of it wasn’t any less intimidating. Ryland still struggled taking it when he and Adrian partnered up.

The first time seeing the sex organs Eridians carried was terrifying and a little off putting. Rocky had been a nice, gentle introduction to the appendage on the Hail Mary- only sporting just over a foot of length and on the skinnier side. It was something you and Ryland could handle after minimal preparation and found to greatly enjoy it with time. Once on Erid and seeing what your new gigantic mate had? It took a while to get used to. 

You were next. Held in Adrian’s two remaining arms, the large turquoise Eridian held you against their carapace, your back pressed to the hard rock while their claws clasped under your knees to pull them back and spread your legs wide. A position one might find themselves in while giving birth. Except you most certainly weren’t giving birth. You weren’t even touching the floor, body suspended a foot away from the tile thanks to the strength of the Eridian behind you.

Rocky completed the Eridian sandwich at your front. Two of his legs held him upright, lifting his carapace just high enough to be level with your pussy. Rocky’s ventral seam, which was also open and exposing his fleshy interior, pressed nearly flush with your sex. Ryland could only see about an inch or so of space between the two of you, and could only see a tiny portion of Rocky’s meaty pink ovipositor, but he could guess where the rest of it was hidden.

The two Eridians were harmonizing together in such a way Ryland couldn’t understand what they were saying, but they were undoubtedly speaking praises to you.

You looked absolutely exhausted.

Pinned between the two, it was obvious the three of you had been at it for a while. The silvery fluids splattered between your legs and your overwhelmed, pinched brow was also a big tell. As the two tentacle-like organs with minds of their own battered your holes, the rest of your body wasn’t left alone either. 

The blue claws that kept your legs spread were gently kneading the flesh there, a constant pulse of pressure to your thighs courtesy of Adrian. Human’s squishy, fleshy bodies still enamored your mates; they found any chance they could to hold, knead and press against yours and Ryland’s softer bits.

Rocky was also kneading your skin with a claw, focusing on your stomach this time to feel the softness and the slightly raised protuberance where his ovipositor curled inside your cunt. His second free claw was pressed to your tongue, coaxing drool from your lips to wet the rock while his third claw rubbed rough circles over your clit. Your mates knew you derived most of your pleasure from stimulation there, so they made it a point to make sure the bundle of nerves wasn’t ignored.

Ryland popped a boner almost immediately.

In the almost year of being mates, this was the first time he’d walked in on such a scene. It wasn’t the first time he’d sat out while you had your fun with Rocky and Adrian, that had happened plenty of times, but Ryland was always there to watch. Something must’ve happened to get the three of you so amped up that you couldn’t wait until he returned home. 

Rocky and Adrian seemed… much more passionate than they usually were too. They usually tried to be very cautious with their fragile mates but that didn’t seem to be the case today.

Ryland took only one step towards the trio before Rocky’s familiar trills demanded something from him.

“No. Grace stay away until mates have finished.”

God, he couldn’t even get closer to watch??

Ryland was stuck on the sidelines, watching the obscene fucking happening in his living room and not able to do a single thing about it. He wanted to come to your side and kiss you stupid- he wanted to take your chest in his hands and give your peaked nipples some attention. Your eyes had been screwed shut ever since he walked in, a stream of garbled moans escaping you at the undoubtedly overwhelming rush of pleasure you were receiving from every angle. He wanted to be a part of it too but apparently he wasn’t allowed. Ryland just resorted to palming himself through his pants.

A couple of minutes passed before a visible shudder ran through you and your head flung back to knock against Adrian’s carapace. That couldn’t have felt very good but you made no indication you’d even felt the pain. Your legs seized around Rocky’s body, toes curling as the two Eridians prolonged your orgasm with their prehensile organs and rubbing claws until you finally began to slump, muscles relaxing. 

You and the scientist learned the hard way that Eridian’s stamina was much more impressive than a human's. It took several orgasms (or the Eridian version of an orgasm, anyway) for them to even begin to feel tired. The true peak to an Eridian’s pleasure was during a mating season of sorts as a mated pair (or group) prepared to lay their eggs together. Their sex organs became extremely sensitive to stimulation. It was a sacred time for Eridians and one that only came around every couple of years. 

Ryland suspected that time was approaching. He noticed a couple of days back that Rocky and Adrian became much more… clingy than usual; overly physically affectionate and touchy. Rocky would rub against your legs like a cat, winding an arm around your thigh to stroke the flesh and make you trip over your feet. Adrian wanted to have the two of you in their arms as much as possible. For the past three days, both Ryland and yourself woke up in the cradle of their arms instead of the comfort of your bed as they watched you sleep.

Walking in on a scene like this just solidified to Ryland what he theorized.

For the first time since Ryland joined the stuffy room, the thrusting slowed to a stop. The ovipositors stuffed inside you stopped their visible pulsing. Your chest was heaving in the air, breath ragged as you fell limp. The metallic fluid that dripped out of your core when Rocky slowly retracted his appendage (with some difficulty, as the organs had a nasty habit of trying to stay seated) fell in rivulets down your slit, splattering on the living room floor and painting it silver. 

You whimpered when the almost foot long of soft, pliable flesh slipped free of your heat, leaving you empty and raw. Adrian made no move to retract theirs from you, but they did ease up their hold on your knees, cradling you against them a bit more comfortably to give your tired legs a break from being in such an uncomfortable, exposed position.

“Couldn’t have waited for me, huh?” Ryland grumbled, tugging his t-shirt off his body.

Both Rocky and Adrian chirped a firm, “No.”

Ryland looked at you with concern. You were slumped against the turquoise rock, eyes still closed and breath beginning to even out. Just how long had you three been at it? Judging by the state of your pussy; swollen and red underneath the smattering of silver and milky white release, he could only guess.

Rocky skittered up to Ryland’s side and tugged on the leg of his pants.

“Ready for Grace to join now.”

With Rocky’s unneeded help, Ryland was bare in no time and finally took the brief opportunity to kneel next to you, brushing the damp hair from your forehead. Your eyes peeled open and you gazed up at him 

“H-Hey baby.” It was the first time you acknowledged that Ryland was even in the room.

“Hi, sweetheart. You look tired. How many times have they-”

“Mate achieve sexual climax seven times,” Adrian hummed, arms lifting you a little like they were proud, claws gently stroking your calves. 

Ryland choked on his saliva. “Seven?”

Rocky pressed close and lifted his carapace higher, like he was proud too. “Yes.”

“Guys, humans need breaks-”

“Mate never said word,” Adrian chirped. All of you had a safeword just in case your couplings became a little too overwhelming and someone needed to take a breather. Apparently, you hadn’t deemed it necessary to say it. Or maybe you were so fucked silly, you couldn’t remember what it was.

‘Did give breaks’ is what Rocky chipped in. You lifted your hand and pinched two of your fingers together with a millimeter of space between them. Little breaks, is what that communicated to him. Probably barely a minute a piece.

“Ok, well I think we should wait before-”

“No. Must do now. Statement.” Rocky began trying to herd Ryland between your relaxed legs, which was commonly where he wound up when all four of you were having sex. Ryland brushed him off.

“Why?”

Rocky seemed hesitant to answer, and Adrian chose to stay quiet. “...just must.”

“Is it that time of year that you told us about? The egg season, or whatever you call it?”

The shoves from the brown and light green Eridian became firmer and Ryland had no choice but to move where he was pushed. Rocky was incredibly strong. The blond knelt between your legs, Adrian lowering you close enough to the ground so you were almost sitting. The looming turquoise being kept you slightly elevated, given the girthy protuberance still buried up your ass. It wouldn’t be very comfortable for either of you if you sat on it.

“Yes,” Adrian finally answered. “Clutches almost ready. Want mates ready to receive them.”

“Woah, woah! Time out!” Ryland made a T with his hands. Adrian’s carapace tilted at the gesture. Rocky made an annoyed noise. “We still need to have a discussion about that! We haven’t agreed to house any eggs.” You didn’t look like you were listening to a word he said, instead looking like you were about to fall asleep. “Besides, your clutches don’t need a host to thrive, they’re just fine staying in a regular nest. You guys want to include us in the process which is sweet and all but… can’t we just babysit them or something?”

“Could. But clutch much safer and warmer in mate.” Adrian seemed pretty set on this idea. Ryland wanted to argue that human bodies were not warm compared to an Eridian, but someone was getting impatient.

Claws shoved against his back, knocking him forward to nearly topple onto you. He stopped himself with his hands just in time, planting them on Adrian’s carapace. Their body thrummed at the contact. You blinked up at him with a smile.

“Do you need to switch positions, sweetheart?” Ryland whispered. “Or need a pillow or something for your back?” Adrian wasn’t very comfortable to lay on without some sort of padding, especially when naked.

You shook your head. “I’m ok. I’m more comfortable laying like this anyway. It hurts to squish my face into Adrian if I turn onto my stomach. I can last a little longer.”

If you say so. Ryland took great care when he guided his tip to your drooling cunt, being as gentle as possible as he slid inside. Your throat bobbed but you didn’t protest, only sighing through your nose with a grunt. Compared to Rocky, Ryland’s dick didn’t hold a candle. He wasn’t small by any means, but he also wasn’t a foot long and have a cock that could twist and curl against your walls. You weren’t complaining though.

Speaking of Rocky, he didn’t waste any more time to press Ryland’s torso closer to yours in order to bare the scientist's ass to the room.

One thing Ryland still couldn’t get used to, even after a year and then some of having this weird, gross alien sex, was the heat. Eridian’s ovipositors are hot, and every inch that snakes into you is an inch of fiery warmth that could become borderline uncomfortable at times. 

Ryland’s forehead hit your sternum as he felt the molten heat beginning to creep through his intestines. Usually, Rocky would take more time to get Ryland prepped but given how wet Rocky already was thanks to you, he slid in easily.

Once Rocky was fully seated and Ryland could feel the bumpy underside of his friend scrape against his ass, the Eridians didn’t hesitate to start rutting, tearing moans out of your throats. Ryland didn’t have to thrust into you at all, Rocky’s pistoning doing all of the work for him by moving his hips to and from your pelvis.

Your hands, which had been gripping the turquoise arms that kept you elevated, moved to tug Ryland’s face down into a sloppy kiss. There was no gentleness to it, just a desperate clashing of teeth and tongue. You swallowed Ryland’s yelp of surprise when he felt a claw clamp around his balls. Rocky’s small hand rolled the heaviness between his rough fingers, fondling the sack and coaxing the first odd spurts of cum from his tip. Your gummy walls squeezed around his shaft and Ryland could feel the rhythmic drag of Adrian’s ovipositor against your walls from the inside. 

It was hard to feel where Eridian began and human ended.

Your feet hooked around Ryland’s waist to squeeze him closer, a strangled sob escaping you when the coarse pubic hair at his base scraped against your raw clit. Ryland kissed your tears away.

Ryland came first. With your heat hugging him so tightly and Rocky’s ovipositor twisting and writhing deep in his gut, bumping erratically against his prostate, he had no chance of lasting more than a couple of minutes (the Eridians always complained that humans cum too fast). While he filled you, Adrian came next. You felt them pulse, quake and another fresh load of hot, silvery fluid filled your ass. Your vision turned white soon after and your depleted body found a weak, pathetic finish.

You presumed Rocky eventually finished after a couple of pumps because you felt Ryland’s navel get warmer against yours and he groaned against your jaw. The four of you sat, soaking each other in and coming down from your combined highs. Ryland was the one that moved first.

“Alright, (Y/n) is tapping out. I’m tapping out for them.”

“What mean tapping out, question?” Rocky asked, bracing his claws on Ryland’s hips to pull his vent away. His ovipositor tried everything in its power to stay buried but with some tugging and a wet shlop, the organ fell free and plapped to the floor. A rush of silver followed. 

Ryland gently eased his cock from you. “They’re done for the day. They need rest.”

There were some low grumbly notes of protest.

The blond sat back on his heels to help you stand but Adrian beat him to it. The big Eridian softly pulled the navy ovipositor from you and the rush of shimmery cum that followed was immense and sticky. Cradling you in their arms, Adrian stood and brought you to the corner of the room where a giant makeshift nest lay. When the Eridians wanted to stay in the beach house instead of leaving the biodome, that’s where they bunked. They said the eggs they lay will go there too. Apparently, Adrian wanted you in there for the time being.

“Such good mate, get rest now. Ready for eggs very soon,” the alien cooed. You didn’t have the energy to argue. 

Nestling you into the pile of Eridian and Earth fabric replicas, Adrian tucked you in all nice and cozy with a deep, resonating hum of song before turning to scuttle back to the two sitting in the middle of the room. 

Ryland watched your eyes seal shut in exhaustion and gulped when Adrian scooped him off of the floor. 

It was his turn now.

alright everyoneeee get up and get dressed, it’s time to go to church! I really made up some total bullshit about eridian mating culture and biology for this. inspo for the anatomy came from this tumblr post and this reddit post! team huge adrian forever btw, this is an art piece for reference on how big I picture them! as always, thank you for reading :)

Sitting together on the floor of the Hail Mary, Ryland and yourself watched in awe as the rocky seam on his underbelly opened. The Eridian had laid himself down to properly expose himself, and his claws clacked together in nervousness at what his friends might think.

It was hard to really understand what you were looking at. A couple of inches in, there was just a jumble of pink flesh and a couple of what looked like small openings that were sealed tight.

With a technical claw, Rocky pointed to each section to explain it’s function. Once he pointed it out, it made sense. It really wasn’t all that different from a human’s body, except all of Rocky’s openings were nestled in one spot. A direct line to his stomach where he transferred food (his ‘mouth’), a spot where waste was released, and a squishier looking pink rim that Rocky described as his reproductive opening.

You’d discussed Eridian reproduction before- Eridians had both male and female gametes. Each housed an ovipositor to transfer eggs outside of their body, as well as an egg sac to keep eggs in. It was a mating group’s preference on whether to lay the eggs and have them fuse outside a body or store them in one of the partners to have them fuse there.

Ryland’s scientist brain and your generally curious brain wanted to get up close and personal with this system.

“Permission to touch,” Rocky noted, an octave lower than normal. Nervous. “Must be gentle.”

With his go ahead, Ryland carefully reached a hand in and brushed a curious finger over the hole that was Rocky’s mouth. Rocky didn’t really react besides tapping a couple of claws on the floor. Rocky’s… asshole (?) was subject to touch next. This time, he did make a little humming noise. It must be more sensitive than his mouth.

When Ryland’s finger finally reached Rocky’s reproductive rim, the Eridian’s body jolted. Ryland pulled away. “Sorry-“

“Not pain. Good feeling. Need word.”

“Pleasure,” you answer.

“Pleasure,” Rocky parrots.

Ryland dives back in to prod at the puckered rim and makes a sound of surprise when a tiny dribble of silver leaked from it.

“What is this? It looks like your blood.”

“Not blood. Similar but different. Liquid to moisten and help during reproductive process.”

“Natural lubricant?” You question, leaning forward on your pockets to study the glistening fluid on Ryland’s thumb.

“Must be.”

Ryland started playing with the droplet between his fingers, testing it’s viscosity and watching it glisten in the light. You left him to it and brought your own hand into Rocky’s seam.

The swollen hole was pulsing against your hand, darkening in color as blood rushed to it. You teased the rim with a pinky, testing the strength of it as you eased the small digit inside. It was warm and soft in the cavity, wet too, likely thanks to that metallic stuff.

You blinked in surprise when something touched your finger beyond the rim, pressing against the tip. Something was trying to come out.

Pulling your finger away, a fleshy pink tentacle like thing followed. It only peaked out at first, testing the cool air. You instantly wanted to hold and squeeze it. When you touched it again, it reacted to your brushing and slid out for more.

The slender limb was hot to the touch, but not so hot it hurt. As it carefully inched further and further from Rocky’s body, beginning to weigh heavily in your palm, it danced over your fingers and glided around your wrist like it had a mind of its own. There must’ve been some biological reasoning for the movement, like a reflex, to contract around anything that touched it. Probably some kind of reproductive means, twirling the ovipositors together or something.

Squeezing it gently, you found it to feel slimy and squishy on the outside but have a definite firmness on the inside. Rocky made a noise he’d never made before when Ryland made a sound of awe and reached over to gently rub the tapered tip between his thumb and forefinger.

“S-sensitive,” he trilled.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

A sticky, silvery fluid began oozing from the slit at the end in droves, coating your forearm and Ryland’s fingers. While it squeezed and undulated around your arm, you free hand played with the rest if it.

The further down it went, the thicker it got. The base (or what you could see of the base) was as thick as a baseball and his rim had stretched open to accommodate it.

Rocky was purring.

Ryland studied the slit on the end with curiosity, brushing a thumb over it to pry it open a touch. Rocky chirped.

“Your eggs come out of here?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Amazing. It’s so small. And your egg sac is further in?”

Rocky paused like he couldn’t think for a moment when you twisted your fist around his shaft. “Yes-s. Pocket inside, just above breeding organ.”

Ryland didn’t think twice about prodding at that spongy rim again, coaxing two fingers inside along Rocky’s ovipositor and trying to find what Rocky had described. Rocky cooed and cooed and cooed, tentacle squeezing the life out of your arm to keep himself in the now.

Ryland was knuckle deep. “Oh, woah! Is this it, Rock?”

Based off the noise the Eridian made, it was.

“It’s like… way squishier here than the rest of your ventral cavity. Kind of plush, like padding.”

“Purpose to keep eggs safe from outside movement.” Rocky was weeping silvery cum everywhere. One of his claws found Ryland’s wrist. Not to pull him away but to keep him firmly in place.

“More more more,” Rocky pleaded.

Ryland slipped a third finger inside while you curiously licked at the tip of Rocky’s ovipositor. The silvery cum didn’t taste as metallic as you’d expected- it was salty and tasted more like minerals. The Eridian trilled, claws grasping at your clothes to bring you closer.

While you suckled the first couple of inches of Rocky’s ovipositor into your mouth (the couple of inches you were able to pry from your arm), Ryland worked his deliciously long fingers against Rocky’s sensitive walls.

The pink tentacle danced with your tongue, swirling around the muscle and exploring the rigid hardness of your teeth. He was pretty skinny at the tip, so you barely gagged when the curious thing tried to go deeper into your throat.

You weren’t sure if Eridian’s came like humans do, but if they did, Rocky was getting close. His carapace was vibrating, a slurry of notes erupting from him and after another minute or so, you tasted the first of his release.

Not wanting a hot load of mineral cum shooting down your throat, you pulled away and let the organ around your wrist paint your jumpsuit silver. You could actually feet the load as it flowed up the shaft, pulsing until the pressure released out of the tip.

Ryland adjusted his glasses. “Interesting. Your egg sac didn’t squeeze my fingers at all, Rock. Human’s reproductive cavities usually squeeze tight when reaching a certain peak.”

Rocky sounded like he was wheezing when he spoke. “Can’t squeeze eggs, could rupture shells. Eridians not evolve with that biological response.”

Made sense.

You watched fascinated as Rocky’s ovipositor loosened its vice grip on your arm, going lax in your palm and slowly beginning to retract. It unwound, spreading cum as it did, until it fell free and slipped back inside Rocky’s rim but not before giving Ryland’s fingers a cursory brush of gratitude.

Ryland pulled his hand away and Rocky’s seam sealed shut to hide away his most vulnerable parts.

The Eridian shakily righted himself, scooting closer to where you and Ryland sat to cuddle between you.

“Thank thank thank. Been so long without mate. Needed that.”

Rocky had a thing for your tits.

As a being who’s only squishy bits were encased in a shell of hard rock and mostly untouchable, meeting a new species of alien where practically the whole body is soft and pliable, he was very interested in studying human anatomy.

It had started innocent enough. A touch to your arm. A poke on Grace’s calf. Then your faces- three-fingered claws brushing over your cheeks, gentle brushes over your eyelids. The curious ruffling of your hair.

The more time you spent together in space, the more comfortable you became around each other. You and Grace started to be less and less careful with sex, forgetting there was another person in the ship who could hear and ‘see’ everything you were doing to each other. Then Rocky asked to observe from up close. He then asked to study the parts of your bodies that were usually buried under clothing. All in the name of science of course.

It didn’t take long before the line between platonic and sexual attraction blurred and Rocky became an active participant in your sex lives.

You explored Rocky’s vent. Rocky wrapped his claws around Grace’s cock. It was fun and kept the three of you from boredom.

Your tits were something the Eridian was especially interested in. Grace didn’t have them, or at least not as big of ones, and they were soft. Globes of plush roundness that held no purpose (from what he understood) besides simply being. The only thing he did know for certain about them, was that they were sensitive and both you and Grace enjoyed having them touched.

The scientist would suck the flesh into his mouth sometimes and twirl his tongue around the little bulb in the center. It always pulled a melodic reaction from you and Rocky started to get a little jealous that he couldn’t do the same. Or so you’d all thought.

Once, as Grace languidly rutted into your sex as a nice ‘good morning’ treat, Rocky was quick to clamor his way onto Grace’s sleeping pod to stand next to you.

“Rocky join?”

Grace’s hips slowed to a stop, pelvis pressed tightly to yours and cock reaching a depth he hadn’t been before. Your back arched an inch off the bed with a soft groan. Grace responded for the both of you.

“Sure, Rock. Do you want to take over here or use her mouth-“

“No, Rocky want these.”

You watched with hooded eyes as the Eridian stepped over you and brought his already leaking ventral seam right above your chest. Swallowing a mouthful of saliva, you questioned him.

“And what, exactly, are you planning on doing with them?”

“Suck them, statement. Like Grace does.”

Both you and Grace blinked in surprise. The scientist spoke up first.

“But… you don’t have a mouth?”

“Try anyway.”

This was new. But, whatever. Wouldn’t hurt to let him give it a go.

With a shrug, Grace began his thrusts between your legs again, picking up his previous casual pace to slowly tug on that string in your gut.

Rocky didn’t immediately try his hand at sucking your tits- he started by just feeling them, pushing and pulling the soft flesh in his claws. He did this often, kneading them much like a cat would. Rocky was always gentle too, never pressing too hard. You moaned at his touch and mewled when they found your nipples. 

The engineer toyed with the buds for a while, pinching them, tugging them, until they peaked in the recycled ship air. 

With Grace in your pussy and Rocky worshipping your breasts with his hands, it was hard to focus. When something hot and damp enveloped one of your tits, your attention snapped downwards.

Rocky’s ventral seam had opened, and he’d lowered himself to press the globe of flesh into the opening.

It was an odd feeling. It had the similar feel of a mouth but bigger. Grace could only hold so much of your breast in his mouth at once- Rocky held three times that. Too bad Rocky couldn’t suck on them, that would be-

The Eridian’s fleshy walls began moving in a undulating motion, pulling your flesh and for all intents and purposes, ‘sucking’ your tit. And it felt amazing.

Each draw of his walls against your nipple felt stronger, like the vacuum of suction was increasing. Rocky purred when he realized his hypothesis was correct! He could do what Grace did with his mouth. And from the way you were arching into him, he was doing it even better than Grace!

“R-Rock!” You moaned. Rocky didn’t leave your other breast to sit neglected either, claw coming to rest on it and feel it’s weight, twiddling the bud there between his digits.

Grace was stunned at what he was witnessing- so much so, his thrusts stilled again. Rocky didn’t have a mouth, yet he was sure making it look like he did. The suction his body was creating, as well as the metallic fluid beginning to drool over your breast, was creating an obscenely wet noise that had the scientist harder than he had already been before.

He had meant to wake you up with lazy morning sex, but seeing this had his heart racing. It was hot as fudge. 

Grace’s cock jumped against your walls and you felt the man grip at your thighs. You couldn’t see him, since Rocky was obscuring your view, but you did hear his groans. You also felt his tip begin to brutalize a spot deep in your cunt that had you seeing stars.

With an Eridian on your chest and a Greek God-esque teacher kneeling between your legs, it was impossible to keep your noises contained. Rocky’s carapace was tough under your arms when you moved to grab at him for some kind of physical anchor- a complete contrast to the softness he held. He leant into your touch with a churr of happiness, body vibrating as he spoke down to you.

“So soft! Feels good, question?” When you didn’t answer him, he squeezed at your breast a little firmer. “I say, feels good, question?”

“Y-Yes, Rock. Yes! It feels g-good.”

“Rocky try something else.”

Just like that, the suction around your tit released and Rocky’s vent was gone. You whimpered from the loss of contact and the cool air suddenly blasting your damp skin where Rocky’s arousal was spread. Your disappointment didn’t last long.

Rocky carefully grabbed both of your tits and squeezed them together just enough that your nipples were somewhat near each other- and dropped his body down over top of them.

When he started sucking both of your nipples with his walls, you jumped in his hold. Grace struggled to keep your hips pinned to the bed and thought the whole scene was so hot he nearly came right then. He held himself back though, eyes beginning to tear up. Grace never had an easy time edging himself- he tended to get worked up to a overstimulated frenzy when he did.

The room was filled with noise. You made a mental note to cut this out of the ship’s surveillance memory. You didn’t need this to be broadcasted to whatever was left of humanity when you sent the Beetles back with all of the Hail Mary’s data. 

You were moaning without abandon, Grace was whimpering, Rocky was humming. The wet slurps from the alien and the plaps from Grace’s skin against yours was music to your ears.

Gathering Rocky as close to your chest as you could, you wailed when a free clawed hand brushed over your pubis and began massaging your clit.

“Grace not doing a good job.”

The scientist didn’t even have it in him to argue, sucking a breath through his teeth and bruising your thighs with his fingers.

Grace came first- a garbled moan his only warning as he shot a load deep into your pussy. All thrusts afterwards were sloppy and weak as his high slipped away. With Rocky’s help and a final firm tug against your tits, you came all over his fingers. The Eridian held your body while your vision cleared, kneading again at your breasts like a kitten. 

“(Y/n) ok?”

You didn’t respond, just nodded against his carapace and tucking your face against the rough surface. Grace wasn’t ignored either, staying seated where he was as you wrapped your legs tightly around his hips and squeezing in thanks.

rocky is an alpha (or whatever the eridian version of that is) obviously, grace is an alpha who doesn’t necessarily fit the normal alpha standard but he does have a knot, and you’re whatever you’d like to be

eridians don’t evolve to have knots because there’s just no need for them, so when rocky observes you and grace fucking for the first time and he sees the man’s cock begin to swell at the base to lock the two of you tightly together, he’s fascinated. (“amaze! what that for, question?!”). you have to hazily explain what a knot is while rocky is gingerly touching the protruding skin where grace is connected to you, feeling at your navel where all of the trapped cum is pooling. (“anatomy to ensure proper breeding? is good!”)

OR ALTERNATIVELY human life doesn’t evolve to have knots but eridians do- so when you’re on the receiving end of rocky’s ovipositor for the first time and start to feel something catch at your entrance, you’re terrified. rocky has to talk you through it while that bulb bullies into you and expands to the point where pulling out is an impossibility. he says its to tie two mates together and to keep both parties immobile as eggs are transferred between them to ensure the egg’s safety.

OR ALTERNATIVELY rocktiz. both of your species evolved similarly so you already know about knots. you assume rocky’s is no different than grace’s until the eridian is trying to fuck a knot that is way bigger than what you were prepared for. when he succeeds, you’re filled with so much boiling hot cum, you start to sweat. you also learn firsthand that these eridian knots take 3 times as long to go down compared to a human’s. rocky has no issue picking you up off the bed and keeping you pressed tightly to his chest so he can walk over to his workbench and get back to tinkering- all while you’re seated firmly on his lap with no escape.

If Tsunotarou—Malleus, you reminded yourself with a fizzy feeling like soda pop bubbling in your tummy—if Malleus had been sticky before the whole ‘held hostage by dragon slayers’ incident, then now he was the clingiest monstrosity to have ever existed in all four realms.  

“What can you do?” Lilia had hummed indulgently upon seeing you struggle under the weight of an entire ass dragon head. (You had lied down, and then Malleus had lied down. And now his giant, frilled, maw was no better than a paperweight. With you of course being relegated to the role of some very flattened paper). “It’s the honeymoon phase.”

“There is no honeymoon to phase,” you spluttered out, as if that made even a lick of sense.

The demon? Fae? Monster? Horror beyond your comprehension? dainty gentleman just shrugged. He wasn’t always around—only occasionally slipping out of shadows like some creeping wraith. But when he was, he seemed incredibly fond of just propping his pointy chin against his palm and watching the pair of you. Like it was his favorite play, or some gaudy theater production he just couldn’t get enough of.

“I’ve never seen him so happy,” he cooed, crimson eyes soft and smitten. “What a time to be alive, hmm?”

The Gargoyles, as silent or huffy respectively as they often were, seemed to rumble their agreement.

“I won’t be alive for much longer if he keeps squashing me,” you threatened.

“Nonsense,” Lilia chirped from somewhere overhead. He dipped close enough for a moment that you were able to catch a brief flash of pink out of the corner of your eye, but little else. As much as the little monster enjoyed basking in his ward’s romantic endeavors, he seemed particularly cautious about maintaining his physical distance—especially when it came to the towering nest that had long since swallowed up most of the grand ballroom. “I’m sure all his coddling is doing wonders for your constitution.”

Despite his guardian’s cheery reassurances, Malleus rumbled low in his throat at your complaints, and you felt the vibrations of it all the way from your head to your toes. He lifted his huge head, instead plucking you from the hoard of bedding by the scruff of your collar and depositing you into the warm hollow beneath his wing. He curled his head around to tuck up against you—burrowing his scaly cheek against your outstretched legs like a cat making itself comfortable in the sunny spot on a windowsill. A compromise to your aching bones, at least. Even if it was really no less claustrophobic than being used as a chin pillow.

You sighed, hoping it sounded far more put upon than you were sure it actually did, and reached out to trace the grooves in his horns.

“You’re lucky you’re comfortable,” you grouched with no real heat, and he warbled contentedly as he settled in to continue his afternoon nap.

.

.

When your next mealtime rolled around (breakfast, lunch, dinner? Who had a concept of time anymore? Not you, that’s for sure), you plopped yourself at the little, makeshift, table you’d managed to construct out of some debris, and waited patiently for whatever culinary monstrosity was about to grace  your palette this fine day.

Malleus claiming that he’d been going to see Lilia to ask after your ‘delicate, human, diet’ because the little demon ‘knew what he was doing,’ had turned out to be the worst joke ever put into existence. Made worse yet by the fact that he didn’t even realize it until one of his Pseudo-Parent’s oozing, tar-like, dishes had brought literal tears to your eyes. From the smell the alone.

So now, the quieter and more sensible of the Gargoyles—‘Silver,’ as the Angry One had called him—would duck out on occasion and return with something more or less edible. Fruits budded off near mystical plants that would glow ominously in the soft gloom of the castle’s interior. Strange roots and herbs that sometimes danced on your plate, like them waving around their little, planty, arms would make you not want to immediately murder them in coldblooded terror. The freshly carved meat off of animals you’d never even heard of before.

It was all certainly An Experience, but none of it had poisoned you yet. So you’d make do with what you had. Plus, a little sprinkle of Prestidigitation did wonders for making it all a bit more edible.

Malleus stepped forward, a suspicious lack of trays, or bowls, or anything else in his hands. Your brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before you shrugged—unbothered—and moved to lean your weight back on your elbows. Because Mister Clingy, Clingy, Clingy very much enjoyed using your mealtimes as an excuse to drape himself across your legs like an overgrown cat, and it was easier to just invite him in at this point than it was to wait for him to find a way to curl himself into your personal space.

But then, rather than plopping himself across your lap, Malleus knelt down and very pointedly swept you up into his. You definitely did not squeak, or flail around, or lose face in any sort of way. Nope. Not you. And when he settled back against the stone floor with a low hum and began to contentedly rub lazy circles into your hips, you most definitely did not melt.

Sure, it was a bit of a deviation from his usual brand of smothering, but it was far from unpleasant. And really, it would have been perfectly sweet and all. Except for that teensy, tiny (but not really ‘tiny’ at all, and holy fuck you were not going to let your brain go there), totally not something to immediately freak out about, problem. Which was, of course—

“You’re not wearing pants,” you entreated. “Or anything.” But the pants. The pants were the big issue at the moment. Because yeah. His chest was all fine sculpted planes of ivory and natural, aesthetic, perfection that would make the most accomplished artists weep with envy. And as distracting as all that normally was, the area below said spread of chiseled, lithe, muscle was what was setting off sirens in your brain.

His chin dug into your shoulder and you felt his cheek rub along yours as he ducked in closer to make eye contact.

“I am aware,” he said, arching a brow. “We’ve discussed the matter extensively.” And then a pout. “You told me to do what I found to be most comfortable.”

“This is comfortable?” You managed to squeak, incredulous. Because you knew that there were parts of you touching parts of him that surely could not have been—have been—

He hummed and tugged you closer.

“Of course,” he rumbled on the tail end of a contented sigh. “You’re so wonderfully warm. And besides, how else should I feed you? I doubt you’d appreciate me kneeling after you like a child.”

What.

“Feed me?” you spluttered.

“Of course,” he continued, nonplussed—like the idea of pressing dainty, bitesize, treats to your lips while you were stretched out across his very naked thighs was not a setup straight out of some terrible, trashy, erotica. “And while I admit the concept on its own is a temptingly enjoyable one, I’m only trying to maintain decorum.”

“What decorum?!” you wailed.

Tsunotarou went quiet then, almost like he was hesitant. Or… no—like he was preparing himself to launch into one of those grand, immortal, monologues of his. Usually they were about architecture, or the strange difficulties of tending to rose bushes. He took a soft, low, breath that whistled past your ear, and then his lips quirked back into a smile.

“Unique circumstances of our meeting and your species aside, I have decided that you deserve a proper courtship nonetheless,” he responded merrily, in the tone of someone who very much believed such a declaration deserved all the head pats. “I spoke with Lilia about the matter, of course, because while I am well aware of the concepts of such an endeavor, actually putting the ideas into practice is… unfamiliar to me,” he huffed, almost embarrassed. “And I wanted to ensure that despite our differences in culture and ancestry, that I could find a way to ensure you would enjoy our draconic customs as well.”

Which was—was—

It was certainly one thing to hear Tsunotarou make casual declarations of ‘bestowing titles’ and whatever other romantically archaic gibberish made it past his fangs, but to just sort of BAM. Lay it all out. Right there. With a ‘you deserve a proper courtship’ and everything. It had heat rising high along your cheeks and something light and bubbly dancing through your stomach.

“…That’s sweet of you,” you managed to get out, so thoroughly twitterpated that for half a second you even managed to forgot that you were having this whole conversation while you were sitting in his very, very, naked lap.  

“Sweet?” he repeated, so openly bewildered it made you laugh.

“Yes,” you hummed, regaining a teeny bit of your courage, and let your head fall back to rest against his shoulder with an affectionate lil’ bonk. “Very sweet. The sweetest.”

“…I do not think I have ever been referred to as such,” he mumbled, sounding torn between being content at the compliment, and baffled over its existence in the first place. And yeah, objectively speaking, there were plenty of more fitting, much grander, descriptors you could attach to such an ancient, all-powerful, creature. Majestic, incredible, intelligent, awe-inspiring, handsome—

Tsunotarou made a strange sort of strangled sound from behind you, and you realized in horror that you’d been rambling all that out loud.

That brief spark of courage vanished even faster than it’d come, and you dropped your head forward to hide in your hands.

“I did not realize you regarded me so highly, Child of Man,” he crooned, puffing up in pride at your back.

You buried even further into your palms. Maybe if you pressed hard enough, you’d manage to lobotomize yourself. And then you’d never have to worry about being embarrassed ever again.

“How could I not?” you complained, sounding smooshed and pathetic behind your fingers.

“In my experience, most creatures tend to feel quite the opposite when I am involved,” Malleus mused, sounding far too soft. “But I suppose you have always proved to be the exception in many things.”

You could feel the familiar, firm, warmth of his fingers curling along your wrists as he gently tugged you out of your impromptu hidey hole.

“Humans are many things, and you certainly continue to surprise me. But I don’t think you’ve yet discovered how to eat without using your mouth.” He gave your palm a light squeeze before letting it drop back to your side. “So unfortunately, trying to hide your face away in shame isn’t productive at the moment,” Malleus grinned, sharp with humor. “But perhaps later, if you are still feeling too overwhelmed by your sentiments.”

“I’m not overwhelmed by my sentiment,” you grumped.  

He hummed, low in his chest and terribly fond. And clearly not buying your bullshit for a second.

“And there’s not even any food for my dumb, human, mouth to eat,” you continued petulantly.

“Is that so?” he mused.

“Yes. Is so,” you snipped.

That little, happy, grin of his grew a bit too wide, a bit too pointy at the edges. And then he was reaching up with one hand to cup your chin and hold your jaw in place. Softly, carefully, in a way that certainly wasn’t uncomfortable, but with a firmness to it that definitely made it feel like you weren’t going anywhere.

“Open,” he ordered—kind as always, but with a haughty sort of authority that had heat rushing to your cheeks so quickly you realized that hyperbole of your earlier ramblings aside, you may actually be having a fucking stroke.

The dragon pinched his fingers at the corner of your lips, the sharp tips of his blackened nails bumping up along your canines, and your mouth fell open like your jaw had unhinged itself from your face. His other hand reached around you deftly in a grand show of ridiculous sparks and mist. And then there was something small, and warm, and mouth-wateringly savory pulled from thin air and tucked up between his fingers. He leaned over your shoulder to take a pointed bite out of the creation, chewing slowly and exaggeratedly, before moving to hold the remaining piece up to your parted lips.

Your mouth was more or less hanging open like you were trying to make a career out of catching flies, so he didn’t have much trouble setting the delicate, little, morsel atop your tongue. The burst of flavor was instantaneous, intense, and part of you wished that your brain wasn’t so high on its ‘what is HAPPENING?! AHHHH!’ madness so that you could better appreciate the taste of the ethereal treat. But it was. And your head was broken. So here you were—sitting in a handsome dragon’s naked lap, with some kind of mystical food in your mouth, and your tongue practically lolling out of it like you had brain damage.

“Aren’t you going to eat it?” Malleus asked, brow furrowing at your continued paralysis. Like you refusing to do anymore than sit there like a human vegetable was another one of your attempts at petty resistance.

And okay. Really. You weren’t trying to be a little brat. Your brain had genuinely fled the building—packed its bags, flipped your empty skull the bird, and sailed off into the sunset to find someone who might actually try and make use of it. There wasn’t enough ‘rational thought’ left for you tomake the decision to be a sassy little shit.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed at your completely unintentional obstinance and the pointed ends of his claws flexed against your cheeks.

“Swallow.”

You gulped, out of habit if nothing else—the rest of you spiraling away in a long line of holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck—

“There,” he purred, and you were having a heart attack. “Was that so difficult?”

He loosened his grip enough for you to softly shake your head back and forth, and his countenance brightened once again at your assent.

“Excellent!” he beamed, and conjured up another one of those tiny bits of ambrosia. “What is that expression humans are always using…” he mumbled to himself, brow furrowed as he pondered. “Oh—that’s right.” He cleared his throat and pressed the next morsel back up your mouth. “Say ‘Aaah.’”

The choked off, gurgling, noise that tore out of your throat must have been an acceptable substitute, because he nodded and pushed the treat past your lips.

“Good,” he hummed, low, and rubbed more of those little circles into your hip with the clawed fingers that weren’t busy feeding you all kinds of magical nonsense. “Lilia did mention you might be adverse to this for some reason,” he muttered to himself, dragging his cheek along yours like an overgrown cat, before turning that indulgent, deadly, smile back on you with all the cutting efficiency of an assassin’s blade. “But I knew you’d do well.”

You were going to die.  

“This food is made with my own magic,” he explained, proud, and definitely at least partially oblivious to the fact that you were one-hundred-percent having an aneurism. “And I would love to feed you nothing but these creations of mine, but unfortunately, Lilia was not entirely certain how much sustenance it would actually provide to a human body,” he sighed, practically pouty.

“Is that so…” you wheezed.

“Hmm,” he rumbled, and snapped another mouthful of arcane wonders into existence. “Would you like some more?”

You looked up towards the grey ceiling and the infinite, uncaring, void of space somewhere beyond. You prayed to every God, Demon, Deity, and half-baked Patron that you could think of for mercy.

.

.

“What did you tell him?!”

“Oh?” Lilia hummed, lazily glancing over his sharpened nails. You’d found him dangling upside down from a banister in one of the sparser hallways, like that was a perfectly pleasant place to relax for the afternoon. “Did you not enjoy it?”

You squawked like the world’s most indignant chicken, and Lilia had the absolute fucking gall to laugh at you.

“That’s not the point!”

“Is it not?” he chirped, looking beyond pleased with himself.

“NO!”

He trilled merrily nonetheless and floated down to stand before you.

“I’m sure this is all still a bit confusing to you, little one. But,” he smiled, positively doting, “a smidgen of embarrassment is certainly a fair price to pay for so many future years of happiness, don’t you agree?”

“That’s not—I’m not embarrassed,” you settled on, which was a lie.

Lilia grinned at you like you were something fascinating. Or like he was a cat, and you were a very funny little mouse who’d managed to trap itself under one of his paws. After a moment, he chuckled softly under his breath and reached down to fish about in the pockets of his robes.

“Perhaps this will help bolster you courage, hmm?” he hummed and slid a strange, glass, flask into your hands.

You glared at him cautiously for a moment before uncorking the potion and taking a swig. It settled along your tongue, heavy and fruity, with a soft, herby, aftertaste. Grandiose nature of its presentation aside, the concoction was actually pretty familiar.

“This is just wine!” you complained, and Lilia laughed harder.

.

.

When you ate your (assumed) dinner for the evening, Malleus took his usual spot draped across your lap and seemed happy to let you feed yourself. You stared down at the dragon cautiously, eyes narrowed. Suspicious.

“Lilia said it would be best not to overwhelm you with too much too quickly,” he said after a few long moments of your apprehensive silence, burrowing his nose against your thigh.

“I see,” you droned, still more than a little irritated at the tiny man’s meddling, but thankful enough that he at least seemed to understand that your fair constitution was not built to survive an onslaught of draconic ‘courting.’

“Unless you would prefer that I—”

“No!”

That night you collapsed atop your blanket nest like a log—physically and emotionally wrecked from trying to survive your first ever encounter with Seduction. (And wasn’t that a trip? A fully fledged Bard, stumbling over their own tongue and shriveling up like a pious little maiden at the first inklings of Romantic Intent. What a failure you were. ‘Fuck around and find out?’ Ace used to mock. ‘Nah, get fucked and find out, am I right, Bardy?’ And you’d laugh. Like you were some suave, sexy, master of love. And not just some moron who could sometimes talk their way in circles well enough to get their friends out of a tavern brawl.)

You squeaked out a yawn—some lazy, tired, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you burrowed deeper into your plush fortress. You were going to go to sleep and stay asleep for hours. Days. Months. You were going to make that ‘Sleeping Beauty’ chick look like an insomniac.

The blankets cocooning you dipped with extra weight, and you blinked your eyes back open to see Malleus looming over you, his neon eyes illuminating the dark and casting odd shadows over his cheeks.

“Are you cold, Child of Man?”

Huh. Weird. But whatever.

You hummed and burrowed deeper into the blankets. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Sure, the castle was gloomy and dank even when the sun was at its highest, let alone in the black of night. But you had a literal furnace camped out next to you, and no natural chill was breaking past that space heater. You yawned again and rolled back onto your side with a comfy little stretch. You were just about to sink back into the soft, foggy, cloud of sleep when—

“Are you certain?”

You sighed and scrunched your nose irritably. “Yes, Tsunotarou.”

A pause.

“Are you… too warm, then?”

You groaned.

“I’m fine.” And then, pointed. “Just tired.”

“I see.”

You waited, frowning sleepily into your pillow pile. When after a solid two minutes the dragon had made no further comments, you let your eyes slip back closed.

“But are you positive?” he asked again, and you wanted to scream. “There’s nothing troubling you about our nest? Nothing at all?” You smashed your face into a duvet and felt a panicked set of claws flutter along your shoulders. “I would only hope that you’d feel comfortable enough to inform me if there is anything amiss. If there is anything that I might do, to correct any inadequacies—”

“Malleus,” you interrupted, and you felt him freeze. Perhaps using his True Name out loud for the first time in a fit of overtired petulance was low, but come on. What else were you supposed to do? “The nest is perfect. You’re perfect. Can we please just—go to sleep?”

“Oh,” he breathed, and you watched the soft, emerald, glow around him pop in and out of existence as he blinked his wide eyes at you. The sharp, reptilian, lines of his pupils shrank to pinpricks—swallowed in a sea of green. “I see.”

You weren’t sure exactly what this great, eldritch, monster was ‘seeing,’ but he did shut his mouth with a content little rumble and haul you up against his chest to finally settle in for the night, so you couldn’t really find it in you to care about the particulars.

.

.

The next morning, when Malleus tried to feed you breakfast, you had prepared yourself enough to not keel over on the spot. You very respectably accepted his tasty treats and only thought you were about to pass out, like, three times. So overall, an improvement.

That is, until you dutifully swallowed the last of the tiny morsels he’d pressed to your lips, and he smiled at you like you’d hung all the stars in the sky.

“You really are such a good little thing, aren’t you?” he sighed, and you had to bury yourself in your blanket nest like an ostrich with its head in the sand for a solid half hour before you were ready to be a functional person again.

But other than that brush with near death, you were doing great! Great enough that you were even willing to indulge the angrier Gargoyle as it huffed and puffed about whatever had managed to ruffle its feathers that day.

“I still cannot believe you thought to steal from my master! TO STEAL!” he repeated. “FROM HIM!”

You sighed and rested your chin in your palm. “To be fair, we didn’t exactly know anyone was living here. It’s not like we intentionally tried to tangle with a dragon.”

“Well, you would have lost,” Sebek sniffed, indignant.

“We did lose,” you huffed, amused, and Lilia’s snicker echoed from some shadowed corner of the hall. “But I promise, if we’d known that we would be trespassing into someone’s actual home instead of just breaking and entering an abandoned castle, I never would have come.”

Malleus warbled out an unsettled sort of sound from his place resting at your back, his snout bumping up against your shoulder in an inquisitive little thump.

You reached out to give his giant, scaled, nose a pat.

“But I’m glad I did,” you promised. “My friends’ idiocy worked in all our favors, I guess.”

“You ought to thank them when they return next month, your grace,” Lilia called to his ward, still too entrenched within the darkness to be visible as anything other than a glinting, halfmoon, smile. “For ensuring your lovely human’s arrival.”

Malleus hummed and shifted his wings to settle back more fully once again—whatever unpleasant sort of discontentment brewing about him having clearly been assuaged.

“THOSE WHO WOULD ATTEMPT TO BURGLE MY MASTER DO NOT DESERVE GRATITUDE!” Sebek yowled, arching up like a pissy street cat.

“To be fair,” you said, “there ended up not being much actual theft involved.”

Sebek gasped and ducked in to complain straight to your face, like that extra foot and a half of distance would somehow make all the difference in his lecturing. But then, as he swung in closer, his stone talons brushed up against the edge of your mattress-nest. It was just a little thing, barely even enough to put a nick in the rippled corners of the more delicate fabrics. But with that movement, the atmosphere of the chamber melted from its usual pleasant haze into something cold, and dark, and heavy that pressed down on your shoulders like a tangible thing. Within the next moment, Sebek was falling back in a panic to avoid the set of massive, black, jaws closing around him.

Malleus reared forward with an absolutely blood curdling snarl—curling down from his perch at your hind to spit and lunge at his servant with all the terrible ferocity of the ancient beast that so many accused him of being.

Sebek reeled away in an absolutely manic frenzy, twisting from death’s maw with a slew of panicked squawking-slash-sobbing that sounded an awful lot like he was begging for forgiveness amidst his harried attempts at escape.

And as much as you certainly hadn’t wanted to be lectured for the umpteenth time about some trivial garbage, the blind rage twisting your dragon’s face was… definitely unfamiliar.  

You reached out nervously to rest a hand against his flank, and instantly Malleus was back at your side—curling the entirety of his bulk around you and only unfurling the long, slim, stretch of his neck to hiss a low, threatening, sound in the direction Sebek had fled.

“Tsunotarou…?” you called hesitantly, letting your fingers twist against the slippery smooth surface of his scales.

He lowered his head, and you could see each and every one of those sharp teeth of his glinting in the lowlight. He kept his neon-green glare locked at the corner of the hall with that same, startling, intensity, but the simmering rage that had been sparking along his canines dropped into a softer, more reassuring, rumble.

“MY DEEPEST APOLOGIES, MY LORD!” Sebek wailed, popping up stupidly from behind the pillar he was using as a shield. “I NEVER MEANT TO—”

Malleus snapped at him again—his teeth closing around empty air with an echoing clack. The Gargoyle ducked back down with an ‘EEP!’ and the dragon curled his lips in distaste. The heavy scent of smoke and sulfurpooled from his maw, and emerald sparks danced dangerously up from his throat.

Lilia materialized then from the shadows, slipping forward from the darkness with a deep bow that nearly had his nose pressed to his knees. He hovered over the pair of them—the cowering, stone, monster and the fire spitting dragon that was seemingly determined to rend his faithful servant into pebbles.

“My Prince,” Lilia coaxed, composed and crisp in the face of his hissing ward. He started to straighten himself again cautiously, only to freeze half-way when Malleus started up his grumbling again. “Malleus,” he tried instead, voice stern and gentling. “It’s alright. I’m sure it was only an accident.” Crimson eyes flicked pointedly to the rafters. “Wasn’t it, Sebek?”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Sebek absolutely sobbed. “I WOULD NEVER DISRESPECT THE YOUNG MASTER SO!”

“What the fuck is even happening?!” you gaped, beyond confused.

“Little one,” Lilia began, only to pause when Malleus curled his lip threateningly at him. “If you wouldn’t mind, please inform your dearest companion that you’re perfectly well and unharmed.”

“What?” you frowned. “Of course I’m unharmed!”

“Once more,” Lilia chirped, without any warmth to it. “If you’d please.”

Your brow tugged together tight in bewilderment, but you turned back to face the heaving hide of the dragon that was currently wound around you tighter than a bow string.

“Malleus,” you tried, perhaps far too quietly all things considered. But that terrible, earthquake of a snarl of his broke off all at once—like you’d dropped a cone of Silence over the whole of him. His great, green, glare cut down to you and instantly he was lowering his sneering maw to blow misty smoke rings over your head. “Malleus,” you said again, running a hand along his scales. “It’s alright. I’m fine. Nothing’s happened.”

Tsunotarou blinked at you, tight and fast. And then after a very, very, long moment of that sneer twitching on and off his face like a flickering light, his pricked pupils relaxed back into something curved and long—still thin, but no longer constricted to the point of near absence. He lowered his head to crash into the heap of comforters, and pillows, and soft, cozy, things. The sigh that blew past his fangs was all kinds of exhausted—sounding like it’d clawed its way out from the very marrow of his bones. The little lick of green flames that accompanied it was a teeny, bright, thing—lacking that sharp bite of heat and sulfur.

Lilia sighed too, like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Silver relaxed from the perch where he’d tucked himself away at the start of it all (high enough to be out of range, but close enough to dive in if needed), and Sebek nearly doubled over in hysterical tears.

The strange, little, demon turned then on the spiked Gargoyle with an unhappy click of his tongue.

“Sebek,” he huffed. “You should know better.”

“I know,” the Gargoyle hiccupped, uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“Would someone please tell me what that was,” you begged, running nervous hands along Tsunotarou’s purple crests like they were a giant, wavy, set of stress balls.

“Drakes are naturally protective creatures. There’s certainly a reason that so many tales of our Lord’s ancestors stalwartly guarding their hoards have passed into legend,” Lilia explained, some of that black severity finally seeming to fade from his soured expression. “And, of course, when one is partaking in an event as monumental as the courtship of a perspective mate, they can understandably be… particularly tetchy about their territory being disturbed.”

“But it’s not like you’re intruders or anything! He’s known you all for ages,” you frowned. “And this is just—you’ve all been in here plenty of times before. It’s just a pile of pillows.”

“Not to him it’s not,” Lilia mused, soft.

You worried at your lower lip, and your gaze slipped back to the dragon pressed up against your side. He was busy fanning his tail out, carefully smoothing the fabrics that had been disturbed in his upset—fluffing up the blankets that had fallen out of place and rucking all those comforters up around the both of you.

‘A perfect nest,’ you had called it. For a perfect dragon.  

Oh.

You cleared your sticky throat and patted reassuringly at the softer, more delicate skin at the base of Malleus’s horns. He paused his fretting to glance back down at you.

“Why don’t we hit the hay early today, yeah?” you offered, and he let out a relieved sort of huff as he settled more heavily at your side. His eyes slipped closed like they were physically weighted down, and his tail whipped up and around to encircle the two of you in a set of soft loops. Lilia sent you a look that was half-appreciative, half-outright fond.

“We’ll leave you both be for the next few days,” he said, before gesturing for the pair of Gargoyles to follow him out the door.

You nodded, and then called out just as the more haggard of the duo was about to slip past the threshold.

“He probably didn’t mean to get so mad,” you offered as kindly as you could, and you weren’t sure if a Gargoyle could actually get misty-eyed (what with the whole ‘entirely constructed of stone’ thing being a bit of hindrance), but Sebek was certainly putting the effort in to try.

.

.

Not that this whole thing had been entirely one-sided, but as you laid there in your nest with your dragon—carefully carding your fingers through his black hair and along the divots in his horns—you couldn’t help but feel like he’d been putting a whole lot more effort into this ‘fairytale romance’ of yours than you had.

Okay, granted, you were apparently the one being courted in this whole situation. Which theoretically meant that you were also the one who was supposed to be getting spoiled with attention, and food, and… whatever that whole territory debacle had been. But still… It felt a bit selfish not to be doing something for Malleus in return. Particularly seeing how much of himself he was putting into all of this. And again, sure, you were technically originally a hostage or whatever. Sure, not a few weeks ago you would have laughed off this entire thing like it was a bad joke. But now you were… sort of in it for the long haul, weren’t you?

Because Malleus was kind and startling intelligent, even if that big ol’ brain of his sometimes stumbled over the silliest things. He had a wickedly dry sense of humor and an inquisitiveness that was entirely endearing. And on top of it all, he was ungodly attractive and a motherfucking dragon. What sort of fool would turn that down? Idiot you may be, but man, even you weren’t that stupid. Deuce, maybe. But not you.

So you sighed, feeling very much like a haggard old maid doing their best to walk some moron through their own burgeoning romance—except in this case you were both the old crone and the idiot, and—Ugh. This metaphor was too much for your brain. You carefully slipped out from beneath Malleus’s arm, and man, if it didn’t say all the more about just how much he’d exhausted himself the other day that he didn’t immediately spring awake to demand to know where you were sneaking off to. You patted his silky hair and tucked him in a bit tighter before carefully making your way over to the corner of the nest where you’d stashed your travel pack.

You knew better than to try and start your own fire at this point, and while heating a kettle with the lingering, wispy, sparks of Prestidigitation was a bitch and half, you did it. Because you were—ugh—in love. Or at least getting there. And people who were (maybe) in love did all sorts of ridiculous, taxing, nonsense for the sake of making their Person (dragon) happy. You brewed a pot of warm tea, tossing in all the fancy, dried, leaves that you kept bundled in the little side pockets of your bag. Chamomile as a base, to settle his nerves. A pinch of lavender to aid that calm. A sprig of lemon balm for tartness and… also calm. Everything you had for relaxation. Just. Dumping it in the pot. You were halfway through debating if adding a bit of Passionflower would just make your already questionable concoction taste absolutely vile when a sleepy grumble dragged you out of your musings.

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Tsunotarou complained, head only just poking out from the mound of blankets you’d buried him in. And, wow, he must have been… He hadn’t even scuttled his way down to latch onto you like the leech he normally was.

You gingerly climbed your way back up the pile, balancing the mug of tea in your hands so, so, carefully—making sure not to spill a single drop.

Malleus had sat up fully by the time you arrived, and he was busying himself with rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He still looked a bit woozy—a bit out-of-body. You leaned forward and pressed the warm cup into his clawed hands, only pulling back once you were certain he had a good grip on it.

“I made tea,” you said lamely. “To, uh, help with… To help. Tea helps,” you finished, more lamely.

And then, because you never knew how to stop when you were ahead (and to be fair, you were never really ‘ahead.’ And your dumbass bumbling certainly didn’t land you anywhere near that), you leaned forward, valiantly fighting the butterflies having an all out rave in your fucking intestines, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Erhm,” you mumbled as he stared up at you with wide, wide eyes. “Feel better.”

Malleus gaped at you, and then slowly—like his limbs were moving through a vat of honey—he reached up to rub at the skin you’d just pecked.

“What was that?” he asked, bewildered but not… unhappy. No. Definitely not unhappy. 

“A kiss?” you squeaked, warring with all Seven Levels of Hell that were fighting for real estate in your cheeks. “It’s… uh. It’s something humans do to… show our affection?” It wasn’t meant to sound like a question, but the statement twisted up high-pitched and thready at the end either way.

“I see,” he murmured, gaze still a bit distant. Though perhaps not for the same reason anymore. He blinked a few times, as if to clear away that cloudy haze, and then smiled one of those heart-stopping smiles of his. “May I have another?”

You spluttered, and fought the urge to bap him over the top of the head like an unruly bar patron.

“After you finish your tea,” you managed to squawk. “Maybe.”

And so he went about sipping at the concoction you’d brewed for him with all the steadfast determination of a good student. By the time he reached the bottom of the cup, his eyes were drooping all over again and he was stretching out to lounge back against the pillows with a sleepy little sigh. He slipped back off to sleep quickly enough, but you leaned forward anyways to give him a peck on the cheek—as promised.

.

.

“Tell me more about your human courting traditions,” Malleus demanded the next morning, clearly feeling well enough again to be back to his usual, sticky, habits. He had situated himself with his head in your lap—bumping his forehead up pointedly against your navel until you sunk your hands into his hair.

“I thought Lilia told you plenty,” you grumbled. “You just want me to kiss you again.”

His eyes sparkled with mischievous mirth. “Perhaps.”

You sighed and fought the urge to titter into your palms in embarrassment. You were a bard, goddamn it! And you would not shame your profession further!

“Well, from what I understand, one doesn’t exactly see their intended in your sort of state until much later in the proceedings,” you sniffed petulantly.

“My sort of state?” he repeated, canting his head.

“Naked.”

He laughed, sharp and loud.

“Of course,” he trilled, twisting to bury his nose into the seam of your thigh and sending shivers all along your spine. “I always forget about your antiquated sense of modesty.”

“My antiquated—?!You’re thousands of years old!”

“And yet, you are always the one so caught up in the notion of my propriety,” he sighed, that clever smirk still tugging at his lips. “Trying to defend my honor, perhaps?”

“My honor,” you hissed, giving into the urge to burry your head in your hands. “What do you do then, huh? What do dragons do if they don’t kiss each other?”

“Bite,” he shrugged, and the spark of something that shot through your gut like the first sparks off a campfire was entirely fucking unfair.

You swallowed.

“Like—erhm. When you’re like this?” you asked, gesturing awkwardly to his human-fied form.

“I suppose some must,” he hummed, eyes going lidded and dark as he pondered your inquiry. “But most prefer their scales, I’m told. Mating bites are a fairly universal practice—both in their practically of providing a physical telltale for differentiating those who have been claimed from those who have not, and also as a… more romantic overture.”

“How is biting romantic?” you huffed, only to immediately regret the question when the dragon’s eyes lit like firebugs.  

Tsunotarou sat back on his haunches, dislodging your hand from his hair in the process.

“It’s all very poetic,” he enthused, face awash with genuine fascination. The same sort of way he got when he was talking about his precious gargoyles or the wonderful uniqueness in flavor of the different variations of frost giants. “It leaves the impression of a mortal wound that was, of course, in reality anything but. The careful curation of allowing one’s life to fall so easily into the hands of another. It really is all very lovely.”

“But dragon teeth are…” you trailed off, debating if you were just regurgitating the obvious. “It must leave some pretty nasty scars, at least.”

“Of course it does,” Malleus hummed. “That’s certainly the point of it. And usually, the goal is to bite deep enough that the scales can never regrow.”

“But, that’s—!” Again you tapered yourself into silence. He wasn’t saying that like it was bad thing. In fact, he sounded a bit dreamy. “Isn’t that dangerous?” you asked instead, quiet. “To lose some of your armor like that?”

“Oh, certainly,” he crooned, reaching out with one, clawed, finger to trail the tip of a blackened nail along the hollow of your throat. “The most common sites are here.” You gulped, and he dragged that talon of his down to rest at the center of your chest. He tapped at the skin there slowly, lightly, like the rhythm of a ticking clock. “And here.”

“I—uhm.” You swallowed. “That just seems more dangerous.”

“The hope behind it is to show your unwavering conviction—your faith,” he explained, his nail still tap-tap-tapping just above your heart. “That the one you’ve chosen to entrust yourself to will be the one willing to protect those delicate places instead.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, eyes wide. Because… alright. That was a bit—It was at least a little…

The hand lingering over your ribs reached out to tangle with your own, and he brought your palm up to rest against the soft, alabaster, curve of his neck. You could feel the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your fingers.

“I know your teeth aren’t quite strong enough to scar a dragon’s hide, but I’d be happy to gift you my scales, if you asked them of me,” he sighed, content. And woah. Holy fuck. Holy fuck— “Perhaps you could fashion your own armor from them,” he mused, looking far too invested with that burgeoning idea for it to be something he’d just magically thought up on the spot.

“I’d rather not do anything to hurt you at all,” you rambled, because your brain had evaporated.

“Oh?” he droned. “Even if I asked you to?”

And fwoosh went the ashy remnants of your intellect, completely blown out of your head.

Malleus leaned forward into your little bubble of space—the one that had more or less popped out of existence the moment he’d decided that he would very much like to keep you at his side. But somehow, despite all the times he’d crowded in on you before, this time felt… more significant. He kept your palm pressed into the hollow of his throat and ducked down to press his nose into the sensitive nook of your own. You could feel the whistle of his breath against the thin skin there—warm, and slow, and with just the slightest bit of humidity that pulled goosebumps up all along your shoulders.

“Of course I would never mark you while in my scales,” he assured, like that was even an option to begin with. “Your flesh is far too delicate. And while I know I could heal the damage, it’s not something I’m keen to inflict in the first place.”

You shivered and tilted your chin—away (exposed), not down. Not into the protective little bow you ought to have.

“H-Hypocrite,” you spluttered, and Malleus chuckled, delighted.

“I suppose so,” he hummed. “But it does make me wonder, what could we do, hmm? In these forms?”

You could bite me like this, you almost said. Like an absolute, suicidal, maniac.

“Oh?” he trilled, enthusiastic. “I could, couldn’t I?”

Holy fuck you needed to get your rambling under control before it killed you.

“I do hope you keep at it,” he mused, tilting forward so that you could feel the brush of his bangs tickling along the back of your neck. “You say the loveliest things when you’re not burdened with those poor attempts at filtering yourself.” His lips curled up into a smile and you could feel it pressing into your throat like a brand. “Incredible, you called me. Do you remember? Majestic. Handsome—”

“Yes, yes,” you spluttered, head still tilted way too far back for someone putting up any kind of token protest. “Mock the afflicted.”

“Afflicted?” He grinned. The points of his canines dipped past his lips to skim along your skin and leave the teeniest, little, divots in their wake. Never pushing forward, never breaking that soft barrier at your throat. But there. “With what, dearest?”

“Don’t make me say it,” you begged. Because you were already likely to keel over twitching from a stroke at any moment now, let alone if you tried to say—if you actually admitted out loud that you—you were—

“Should I, then?” he asked, a streak of something stalwart and genuine mixed in with the teasing.

And then, like a horribly unwanted Divine Intervention, Ace’s voice flicked through your thoughts with all of the stereotypical ridiculousness of a beam of sunshine parting a cloud covered sky.  

‘Fuck around and find out?’ he’d laughed. And then you’d laughed. ‘Nah, get fucked and find out.’

And goddamn it all, you would never, ever give that smarmy, ginger, bastard credit for anything—let alone bestowing you with sage life advice. But, well—

“Fuck it,” you gasped and you threw yourself forward to tangle your arms around Malleus’s neck and pull him into a kiss.

It was perhaps the most inelegant smashing of lips ever put to record, and you immediately nicked yourself on one of his fangs. But after a moment of working past that driving ‘get as close as you can, get so, so, so close—’ you managed to maneuver things into something that was more a wave of particularly enthusiastic kisses than just outright gnawing at each other. Malleus didn’t seem particularly put off at your messy attempt to jump his bones, and leaned into whatever you were throwing at him with ardor.

You parted your lips and Malleus’s own opened immediately beneath yours. His tongue flicked out and you felt it run along the fresh cut there—tracing the little, red, graze and soothing the sting. It was a little longer than you were expecting, a tad thinner. Not quite reptilian, but different enough that you recognized it as something alien. But if there was any apprehension to begin with (hint: probably not. You were too far gone on this idiot), it was wiped clear when he tilted his chin forward to harshen the angle and attempted to plunder your mouth in earnest.

There was still all a bit more teeth and biting than the glorious romances heralded in all those garbage tavern songs, but for someone who’d only just yesterday been asking you ‘what’s a kiss?’ this felt like great progress. And honestly, there was something better about this too. Maybe because the feel of his sharp canines dancing so perilously close to your sensitive skin was a bit thrilling. Maybe the mess, and the heat, and that ‘closer, closer, closer’ made it feel more real. Or maybe it was just the simple fact that this was your Tsunotarou.  

Eventually the kisses tapered off to dot along your cheek—with another long, slow, lick along the barely-bloodied nick in your lip for good measure—and then down the curve of your jaw. Malleus pressed forward, and you could feel the sharp intent there as he meticulously began to cover every available inch of your throat in little, stinging, love bites. His clawed hands began to work their way under the hem of your shirt, rucking it up along your abdomen until the fabric caught just beneath your ribs. He dug his thumbs into the newly exposed skin, and you fought through a wave of shivers to reach down to help him pull it the rest of the way off you.

The brief barrier of your shifting clothes cut you off from the world like a blindfold, and when you were back again, facing the softly lit gloom of the familiar cavern, you realized that you were staring down a fully naked dragon. Who, yes, was technically always running around in his birthday suit. But now—I mean—if you were doing this sort of thing with him, and he was really courting you and all… You could look now, couldn’t you?

So many painful hours you had spent counting pebble piles, and reciting mostly made-up religious verses, and smacking your cheeks like a school matron threatening rowdy teens. So ceaselessly hard had your poor eyes worked to never just look down.

And finally, you let yourself take in the entirety of him.

Woah.

And thank fuck he didn’t lurch forward with that wide, self-satisfied grin of his, because at least that meant you’d managed to keep your internal ‘!!!’ to yourself for once.

Malleus had always been unfairly pretty. Because naturally, if you were one of the most powerful creatures to ever walk this planet, you also had to be one of the most beautiful. It was the logic of fairytales and mythos only, and now all that ethereal allure was staring you down almost like a challenge. Like, ‘see? You thought people this stupidly hot could only exist in your dreams? Hardy, har, har. Have fun with your hypertension and newfound inability to feel anything below your navel.’

And now he was just there. All sculpted planes of white marble that cut sharp angles at the jut of his hips, and then the rest of him. Which was equally as well cast and pale, with just enough of a pink flush to look like something alive rather than some untouchable statue in a museum.

You averted your gaze with a self-conscious little ‘eep!’ Because surely being leered at like a slab of meat had to be all sorts of unpleasant. I mean, if Tsunotarou had been looking at you like that, you’d—Well. Actually. Maybe it wouldn’tbe that bad. But either way, you were practically drooling over the guy, and that self-indulgent ogling had to be at least a teensy bit embarrassing.

Instead, when you finally managed to lock gazes again, the dragon was practically preening.

“Do you find me pleasing, Child of Man?” he asked, eyes half-lidded and dark.

You looked back up at the ceiling and cursed all those stupid deities that had never deigned to grant you even a single sliver of that mercy you’d ask for.

“You know I do,” you finally said, fighting a losing battle against the rampant heat overtaking your entire face.

Malleus leaned back in to press a drawn-out peck to that same little cut, letting that thin tongue of his peek out to clean around your swollen lip one more time. You could see his pupils jumping within his irises—shrinking to tight, tiny, pinpricks before rounding out into something nearly human. The gaping black there practically swallowed the neon, green, sea of his eyes whole.

“You can take from me whatever you’d like,” he hummed, reaching out to drag the hand that had caught at his ribs down to rest along the sharp dip of his hipbones.

“You are literally going to kill me,” you hiccupped, cheeks burning like you’d just taken a merry jaunt through all Seven Halls.

His brow furrowed loosely in the familiar start of that ‘I am an Immortal Drake King and Have No Real Concept of Over Exaggeration as Comedy’ bewilderment of his, and you leaned forward to press a kiss against that little crease.

“In a euphemism sort of way,” you clarified with a flustered grumble. “I promise.”

“Of course,” he nodded, in a fashion that made it very obvious that he didn’t really get it, but also easily acknowledged that now was neither the time nor place for a lesson on human vernacular.

Instead of focusing on your so-claimed impending demise, Malleus leaned forward and picked up exactly where he had left off—even taking the time to pause over the last of his little love bites to soothe at it with his tongue and get it darkening up all over again. As he trailed those sharp, sticky, kisses down your front, you felt your own fingers begin to slip further south—naturally skating down deeper along the slope where he’d placed them.

Your knuckles brushed against sleek, near silky, skin and the shudder that worked its way up the dragon’s back had the teeth he’d buried at your collarbone near vibrating into your skin. Which was… probably good, right? Actually, you know what? If anything, it was a hell of a lot better than good. So you reached forward with a bit more confidence to twine your fingers around him in earnest, and the groan that rumbled out from Malleus’s chest was deep enough to rattle your bones.

The first few strokes were a bit clumsy as you tried to feel out what he enjoyed best. There was something not quite human about it all—just like how even though he had two legs, two arms, and a perfectly lovely face, there had always still been something just a smidge off about this form of his. A little too ethereal to be real.

Though he certainly felt real now—with the way his hips were rising in short, sharp, jerks against your sliding palm, and in how his breath was beating a brisk tempo against your throat.  

“You know,” you admitted a bit shakily. “Do you realize how hard it was to just not stare at you every freaking hour of the day when you were waltzing all over the place with—with this,” you complained, giving the aforementioned ‘this’ a pointed squeeze. Malleus made a punched-out sort of noise that tapered into a growl, and he rutted back against your grip hard enough to nearly topple you over.

And then he kept pushing forward until you did fall backwards into the nest of blankets at your back. You landed with a breathy little ‘oof’ and he crowded over you immediately—bracketing you in between his knees. The clawed hand that had been playing along your waist shifted to better mimic the position of your own busy digits. He ran a blackened nail sluggishly along the inseam of your trousers before flicking it back up to undo the button there with a pop.

“You were always more than welcome to partake,” he beamed, sounding far too delighted for his own good. “I’d hoped my parading around was obvious.”

Well now it was!

“I was trying to be polite—” you cut off on a gasp as he pressed his own hand past the waistband of your pants andspread his fingers out like a fan, searching. “You—You were the one who said clothes weren’t—weren’t—” His skin was cold, smooth, and when he found what he was looking for, he pressed down so, so, carefully. You bit back an absolutely obscene gasp and managed to spit out, “—weren’t comfortable.”

“Of course they aren’t,” he sniffed, and took a long moment to lay another sucking mark at the bridge of your shoulder. “But I don’t make a habit of crawling into the lap of every adventurer who wanders through my home.” All at once his hand stilled against you and you fought the godawful impulse to whine. “Am I welcome as well?”

It took your scattered thoughts far too long to process that he’d been asking you a question.

“Are you welcome to what?” you breathed.

“To partake?”

Fucking hell in a handbasket—

“Yes,” you wheezed, squirming up against the wide, flat, surface of his palm. “Of course you are. Just—"

Malleus surged forward to capture your lips once more and immediately licked his way into your mouth—intent and probing. His fingers matched the pace, and he swallowed each of your squeaks, and squawks, and unintelligible nonsense enthusiastically.

It should have come as absolutely no shock just how attentive he was to… everything. Malleus always seemed so eager to soak up new information like the gigantic, draconic, sponge he was. Always so excited to learn. And he approached this new venture with all that usual enthusiasm and more. Like the terrible, embarrassing, noises pouring out of your throat were a symphony that he could not only learn to conduct, but fine tune to his liking.

Oh, he was happy to venture forth and explore the entirety of this unfamiliar territory, but he was conscientious to circle back to the softest, most sensitive, bits of you again, and again, and again. The parts that made you buck back against him and burry your nose in the crook of your arm like ‘hiding’ from your buzzing nerves was an option at all at this point.

Your pants were worked down to your knees before you’d even realized they were gone, and you kicked awkwardly out a few times to try and untangle yourself from the remainder of them. And then it was just you—laid out atop all those blankets and as bare as he was.

His bitey little kisses kept with their descent, until he’d slid himself far enough down that you couldn’t keep your grip on him anymore. He slipped out of your hand and you made a little grumbly noise of protest that only cut off when he dropped a particularly harsh nip at the inseam of your thigh. He nosed along the delicate skin there, laving his tongue indulgently over the teeny wound he’d left, and you gulped when his nostrils flared on a sharp inhale. His fingers were still tracing along the core of you, but slower now—steadied. Like his once rapt attention had clearly been snagged by other prospects.

Malleus’s neon leer ticked back up to lock with your own, and he rested his pointed chin atop your inner thigh with enough weighted intent to have you nearly leaping out of your skin.

“Is something the matter, dearest Child of Man?” he asked, brows jumping a bit in a way that gave away the fact that his polite, little, inquiry was far from the innocent fair he was putting on.   

“You know,” you laughed, breathless and dazed. “When I first came here, before I actually got to know you, I was always so worried that you were going to eat me alive.”

“Is that so,” Malleus mused, pointed nails tracing the shivers that were dancing up your legs. “And now?”

Another startled laugh, and you hid your flaming cheeks behind the cage of your fingers. “Don’t make me say it.”

“If you insist,” he hummed, perfectly unruffled, before ducking forward to bury his face in the heart of you.

Your head fell back with a frankly startling yelp, and your hands immediately moved to twist into his hair. The inky strands melted like the finest silk through your fingers, and you had to take a moment to physically ground yourself to keep from yanking on him—only for one of Malleus’s own hands to reach up and tangle your fingers up all the tighter. He ran his tongue along the entirety of you, and you dug your nails into the soft skin where his horns met his skull. He rumbled out a moan, and that naturally vibrated all the way up from where his mouth was currently very busy devouring every part of you that he could reach.

It was messy, and wet, and occasionally you could feel the razor-sharp tip of a fang dance too close to things that were already far too sensitive. But maiden clumsiness aside, there was certainly something to be said for his enthusiasm. Soon enough, that embarrassing keening of yours was even starting to make your own ears ring, and it only got worse when he shifted his grip on you to maneuver your calves over his shoulders and lock your ankles behind the curl of his horns.

His mouth left you with a soft pop, and he looked up at you with eyes that were shot through with so much black that you could hardly make out anything else. His too-long tongue poked out to trace along his wet lips and you absolutely did not let out the most embarrassing whimper known to man.

“Do you remember the story you told me, about the Cheshire Cat and the Man with the mad hats?”

You blinked, not even sure if you were coordinated enough to manage that right. Your melted mind tried its best to put meaning to words, and then words to context. Eventually you managed to muddle through something that felt half-familiar.

“I think so,” you said, still not entirely cognizant.

“Hmm,” he hummed, and nuzzled his nose back against you. “I remember lying in your lap that day. And that was the first time I could really smell you.”

Oh fucking hell—

“And you felt so wonderfully warm,” he sighed, like your absolute mortification was one of his most pleasant memories. “I would have loved to savor you then as well, but you hadn’t entirely seemed amenable.” He burrowed deeper and gave one, last, long, lick that had you nearly shivering out of your skin. “And either way, that tall tale of yours was too compelling to speak over.”

“It was a children’s story about an acid trip,” you complained. “You are more than welcome to interrupt any of my godawful retellings of penny novels to—”

You cut off with another wholly undignified noise when Malleus surged back up to kiss you fully on the mouth. His tongue coiled around yours and you could, you could taste—

“But I do so love hearing your voice,” he sighed, pulling away again with a little rumbly purr that was far too besotted. “And, actually, I find it to be quite a shame. And perhaps one of my many failings,” he drawled, that teasing, spiked, smirk of his curling across his mouth and doing terrible things to the butterflies trapped in your stomach.

“What?” you managed to eek out as he pulled you back flush up against him.

“You’re a traveling minstrel, are you not?” he hummed, rubbing his cheek along yours as he had so many times before. “And yet, I’ve never quite managed to make you sing.”

You gasped into the next kiss and let him maneuver you so that you were pressed back-to-front, with his looming horns casting shadows over the both of you. And gods above, you knew you’d promised that the whole ‘killing you’ comment had just been a playful euphemism, but even you weren’t really sure about that anymore. Your heart certainly seemed determined to beat its way out of your chest, and you did probably need that to go on living. Not that you could find it in you to care even a lick. If you collapsed after all this and never woke up again, you would have at least died happier than most.

Malleus pushed forward, draping his bulk across your back, and you wound up on your knees—collapsed forward on your elbows and cushioned by the soft piles of blankets, and pillows, and every other comfy treasure that the pair of you had worked to find together.  

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked, trailing wet, openmouthed, kisses across your shoulder blades.

“What did I say?” you mumbled, arching up under his mouth like a cat being stroked along its spine.

“That you would let me mark you like this,” he said, closing the last of the kisses off with a gentle nip.

Your head lolled to the side as if of its own accord, bearing your throat in a way that had the dragon flat out groaning from above you.

“My fangs are sharp,” he rumbled, rolling his hips down against yours and letting his lips pull back over his canines in an expression that in any other situation you would have called a snarl. “So sharp you might not even feel it. But,” he continued, with another languid grind, “I think I would prefer that you do.”

And how on Earth would you ever have been able to say no to that?

One of the hands ensnaring your waist slid back down south, trailing over the areas he’d already well acquainted himself with. You rolled your hips back into his palm, and something not unlike a hiss ripped its way out of his throat. And then he was pushing forward again with that same, near agonizingly gentle, probing. Even if this time there was a great deal more intent behind it than just feeling around for all the best spots to have you shaking out of your skin.

The glide of his fingers was smoother than you’d been expecting without the aid of oil, or, well, whatever. But then you remembered that magic was a thing, and briefly thanked all those gods you’d been cursing, because at least that was something. And also the fact that this gloriously wonderful dragon had only literally just eaten you out like his fucking immortal existence depended on it, and that’d probably helped quite a lot with the whole ‘making things a bit more slippery’ logic.

That same desperate call of ‘closer, closer, closer’was singing in your blood again, and by the time he’d worked up to two fingers, then three, you were writhing around like all the most ridiculous, overblown, Bard Stereotypes that you’d always hated. Because no one was really that wanton or clingy—it was just shitty, tavern, gossip that Ace liked to use to get a rile out of you. But man alive, if all those busybody bargoers who’d had to sit through your staunch ‘Bard’s Aren’t Actually Like That!’ speeches could see you now.

(Not that you had any delusions about Malleus letting anyone see you like this—what with the way his guttural growls were rolling through your bones like a tangible thing with teeth, and claws, and fire.)

“You look a bit flustered, darling,” he mused, the words a muddied kiss against the hollow of your throat. You couldn’t see his expression past your own, squinting, ridiculousness, but you had a feeling he was teasing you. Or at least really fucking good at ripping the thoughts out of your brain to comment on at his leisure.

“Really?” you gasped, hoping it sounded more annoyed than it probably did. “Why ever might that be?”

You managed to drill enough focus back into your brain to will your eyes to turn and glare up at your enchanting, wonderful, perfect tormentor. And didn’t someone have a lot of nerve trying to poke fun at you when he looked half-a-step away from feral—a fevered red stained high across his cheekbones and mouth parted with a perpetual sort of panting that had thin trails of grey smoke seeping past his fangs to swirl in the air around you.

You breathed in that heady fog and put every last remaining thread of your Bardic Charisma on the attack.

“Well?” you demanded, swaying your hips back against the pulsing heat of his own. “Was all this courtship stuff to make me your mate or wasn’t it?

The sound that punched out of Malleus’s gut was nearly wounded in its intensity, and then he was bullying his way as close into your space as was physically possible—latching onto your mouth from over your shoulder with something that was far more ‘bite’ than ‘kiss,’ and sinking all the way in to the root of him with one, long, push.

Your toes curled on a yelp and you just barely managed to swallow a noise that was even more humiliating than that. It took a few, solid, thrusts for him to figure out how to settle himself inside you without just shoving the both you forward at the hips—skidding through the unstable surface of the fluffy blankets pooled beneath your knees. His clawed fingers came down to dig into the pillows by your head, bracketing you in and creating a point of stabilization amidst all the senseless heat. And with that, your brain had officially abandoned the building. Malleus dipped his hips forward in a particularly sharp roll that had something inside you twitching and tightening on a gasp. You could see the muscles cord along his lower arms, how the tendons of his wrist stood out taught against all the smooth, sculpted, white of him.  

Your elbows shook and your shoulders curved forward as you tried to steady yourself. Malleus slipped one of the hands that had bracketed itself by your head to instead curl into the space beneath your chin and help keep you propped upright. The support had your back arching into something new, and his hips rolled down against that fresh angle like it was a challenge. You squeaked, and that horribly embarrassing noise twisted up into something long, and high, and thready when he ground down hard.

“Ah,” he trilled, all animal satisfaction. “There’s that song of yours.”

Whatever sort of obligatory, whining, protest you were about to make was overridden by a hiccupping gasp when he dragged you back against him only to shove forward with enough force that you wound up with your face buried in fabric and your back aching. In a pleasant sort of way—not the ‘he may have literally just fractured my fucking spine’ way. Which, who knew? Maybe that was a possibility here. You were human, and small, and mortal. And he was a beast that sat only a ladder rung down from godhood. But with the heavy, hot, push push push drumming away at your core, you couldn’t find it in you to care if you never walked again.

You’d been prepared for a build—because that’s how it went, right? The slow, romantic, cresting of sparks that would eventually unfurl through the rest of you like a dream. But instead, one moment you were gasping like a damn asthmatic against the strong arm keeping you upright, and the next your gut was snapped tight, and sharp, and hot, and you were wailing into your pillows as a dam you didn’t realize was wearing away broke. You shuddered through the electricity searing your veins, and Malleus snarled over your shoulder.

He bit down into your neck with something that was practically a roar, and you felt your own teeth sink less impressively into the arm that he’d propped beneath your head. He was right—his fangs were sharp. And you were left less feeling like you’d had a chunk of your shoulder chewed into bits, and more like there was just a heavy, hot, pressure burrowing its way into your skin as far as it could go.

You gasped through the lingering, jerky, sparks zipping along your spine, before eventually that endless grinding, and fullness, and the new and very obvious flood of liquid warmth became too much, and you slumped fully on your front to pant into the blankets. Malleus collapsed at your back not long after, and immediately moved to curve himself against you like a pair of foxes in a den—entwined from head to toe. You could feel the snuffle of his breath as he sighed against you, his hands kneading almost absentmindedly into the sore flesh at your hips.

It took a great deal of time for your heartrate to settle back into a semi-stable rhythm, rather than continue its valiant attempt to gallop straight out of your chest. And you could feel the dragon’s own great pulse slowly gentling into a low thump-thump, thump-thump against your hide.

Once you’d melted into something a little less shivery and fucked-out-of-body, Malleus shuffled himself forward and began to drag his tongue in soft strokes against the weeping mark he’d left at the junction of your neck. That weighted pressure had faded into a tempered throb—nothing more sore than the rest of you, to be perfectly honest. Even if you could feel the beginnings of tacky blood trailing down your front. He cleaned you diligently, delicately. Like this new wound of yours was a treasure that rivaled those he kept hoarded away in the cavernous rooms beneath your feet.  

“Is it what you expected?” you asked softly, mostly referring to the stark mark now stamped into your skin like a brand, but also too swirled up in contentment to differentiate too much from the pleasant ache burning through your hips. Through your everywhere.

“Better,” he trilled, chest rumbling with something that was too deep to be a purr, but was certainly something like it. He lifted his arm to observe the faint impressions your own teeth had left against the pale skin there. “Though this one will certainly need refreshing.”

“My teeth aren’t as sharp as yours,” you lamented, and he raised a lazy thumb to trail the pad of his finger along your blunted canines. “It’d probably hurt a lot if I tried to leave something more permanent.”

“You speak as if that’s any sort of deterrent.”

You huffed in fond amusement before rolling onto your back to give your muscles a good stretch. With all that jostling around, the sticky sort of wetness beginning to seep along the inside of your thighs became much more obvious. Malleus stared down at the mess between your legs with an expression that was half fascination, half frustration. He reached out with a stern sort of pout on his lips to run a finger through his cooling spend and press what he could back inside you. The sharp, hot, tug that yanked from below your navel was so much worse than any kind of wincing oversensitivity.

His petulant leer shifted back up to your own, uh, not entirely composed expression, and he huffed softly—sending a puff of warm, smoky, breath along your cheeks.

“I’d prefer for you to keep as much of it as possible,” he rumbled, like that wasn’t one of the most unintentionally debauched things you’d ever heard come out of another living being’s mouth. “Your human nose may not be able to discern the difference, but for us drakes, the change in scent is certainly a strong indicator that a mate has been properly claimed and is no longer free for the taking.”

You sniffed pointedly, and all that swam through your head was the heady, musky, perfume of sex—all underlaid by that familiar smoke and petrichor smell of his. Heavier now, maybe. Like the charred remnants of a forest fire being doused beneath the fat drops of spring rain for the first time.  

“What?” you giggled good naturedly. “In case some other immortal, all powerful, dragon comes along to steal me away?”

He rumbled under his breath, and the claws at your hips flexed into pinpricks against your skin. Lightly enough to let you know he understood it was only a joke, but probably one that he wasn’t overly fond of nonetheless.

“You are certainly a worthy enough prize,” he said.

“Ah, yes,” you lamented. “With my spindly spells and impeccable ability to regurgitate the most garbage fairytales in existence. You’d have to go to war for my hand.”

“Of course I would,” Malleus said, with such quick certainty it had your heart kicking up a fit all over again.

“Well, if it’s that much of a concern, we can always just keep working at it,” you hummed, a little of that cheekiness tapering off into genuine fondness at the end. “You know, like a layering process.”

“Is that so?” he droned, a lazy, satisfied, grin working its way across his mouth. It was crooked and a little odd on his face—just like the lopsided smile he’d gifted you after you’d handed him a bundle of cheap fabric and stuffing and called it a friend.

“I mean, I still have a whole side of my neck with no teeth marks or anything, Tsunotarou,” you pointed out, and the bark of laughter that erupted from his throat was all dark, velvety, warmth.

“Oh, my dearest little human,” he sighed, far too besotted for a creature that could likely rend the world in two if he so wished. Instead, Malleus Draconia—last of the Great Briar Beasts of Old and Master of the Castle within the Lava Lakes—just tucked his silly, little, bard up tight into his chest, like he could crack open his ribs and hold you there forever. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

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