Tag: my fic

bettsplendens:

Warning: gore, cannibalism, general nastiness. Shortfic of Soundwave deciding that other people are edible. 

A shaky, gasping gurgle was the last sound out of the other
mech’s throat, accompanied by the grinding sound of Soundwave’s teeth sinking
deeper and scraping against something more solid than energon lines. The frame
tangled around his spasmed and went limp, and the steady gush of energon against
his dentae ebbed and stopped.

Keep reading

Sequel! A bit less gross, but still gross. Soundwave perfects his methods and shares with a friend. 

There was a next time. And a next, and a next.

It worked. His
immune system took up more energy than before, but he actually had the energy to spare now.

The next time, he took the entire fuel tank out, drained out
the bile, drank the good energon, and used the empty tank to collect the
energon from the large veins he plucked out.

Next, he wrapped his datacables up into the ceiling
supports, then down and around the body’s ankles, hoisting it upside-down to
drain every drop of energon he could get into the empty, cleaned tank. That was
enough energon that he could store it,
drinking nearly his fill and then fastening it to the wall on a makeshift shelf
of armor to keep it where the rats couldn’t reach.

And there were rats- coming to nibble the body and lap at
what he’d spilled. Those would also be
edible, he mused, but had too high a pathogen risk to be worth it when he was
getting relatively clean fuel. It didn’t keep too well, not in a ripped-free
organ, but it kept enough that he could digest a full tank and then drink more
later.

Through trial and error, he learned the best way to get the
most energon from a frame, how to keep the fuel tank intact and make it easier
to drink from, and what parts he could nibble on for extra material to offer
his self-repair.

He also learned how to incorporate this new habit into his developing
persona. Many of the others could see him collecting his meals, so he might as
well use it for psychological warfare in addition to fueling actual warfare.

First try: savagery. Drag the frame back, rip the plating
off its front, and tear into it, claws
popping through veins and slicing muscles and piercing any organs they
encountered. It was messily, viscerally satisfying,
it splattered energon through the entire cell, and it made calmly collecting
his meal rather difficult. It was fun, truthfully,
but not overly utilitarian, and oddly didn’t have as much of an effect as he’d
expected. Maybe everyone else was too used to savagery.

So he tried the complete opposite. Cold, calculated, almost
emotionless. Drag the body in, look it over, methodically pluck its armor away,
hang it, and sip from a major vein while watching the energon drain.

That worked.

Even worked on Megatronus, and Megatronus was a hard one to
shake.

The first time he saw Soundwave at work, he just stared, his expression somewhere between
revulsion and fascination. The thing that broke the expression was Soundwave
reaching through the bars to offer him a thick vein bulging with energon, an
offering of one of the very few things he had that might benefit his new almost-friend.

Megatronus’ response was initially almost repulsed, but he
took the vein, followed Soundwave’s example on how to open it, and drank-
making a bit of a face. He drank, though, and he thanked Soundwave in a soft,
low voice for the shared meal.

Turned out something was different in Megatronus’ frame. He
could drink a small amount of vein energon, but larger amounts made him queasy,
and enough would probably make him purge. Which meant Soundwave’s capability to
drink and eat whatever he wanted of someone’s frame was something different,
but, Pit, so was the rest of him. Maybe it came with being a symbiote host- an
emergency measure to keep him and his little ones fueled.

Whatever it was, he liked it. It was useful. Kept him
fueled, kept him healthy, kept them healthy…
and it scared the Pit out of people when he would sit, drink, and watch them,
or eye them up like he would eye up a corpse. The calm, collected, nonchalant approach to cannibalism
seemed to scare people more than any degree of brutality ever could.

Good.

He liked that.

Warning: gore, cannibalism, general nastiness. Shortfic of Soundwave deciding that other people are edible. 

A shaky, gasping gurgle was the last sound out of the other
mech’s throat, accompanied by the grinding sound of Soundwave’s teeth sinking
deeper and scraping against something more solid than energon lines. The frame
tangled around his spasmed and went limp, and the steady gush of energon against
his dentae ebbed and stopped.

The roar of the crowd echoed in Soundwave’s audials as he
tore his teeth from the other’s throat, but every sound around him faded away
against the taste of the energon. He’d
had his teeth in an opponent before, but never that deep or for that long, never
with energon flooding into his mouth like-

Realizing his mouth was still full, Soundwave contemplated
spitting for a moment, then reconsidered and swallowed. It was a strange taste, the energon from another’s
veins, but he was hungry… and it was
hard to feel any respect for a mech who had been threatening him with all
manner of torment should he lose this match.

The energon spilling across the sands was starting to take
on a new meaning, and Soundwave’s slowly unwinding datacables tightened around
the mech’s limbs once again. Turning to stare at the crowd, he bared
energon-drenched fangs up at the stands for a moment, earning another roar of
approval for what they took to be savagery. Must not realize it was strategy-
more approval from them meant more energon for him.

And maybe that he would be allowed to keep his opponent’s
frame for some time before they took it to be smelted.

Soundwave turned away from the crowd, the frame still held
in his datacables, and strode back out of the arena with the lifeless thing
dragged behind him. Once back in his cell, he sat down and stared down at the
body, elevating the helm against the wall to keep too much energon from
draining onto the floor. He needed that.

Now… where did he look to get the most energon? The fuel
tank seemed obvious, but it would be full of bile as well, not safe to drink.
Unless- ah!

Narrow servos plucked at the muscle cables in the body’s
stomach, then Soundwave dug his claws in and tore, wrenching them out of the
way and carving deeper until he’d exposed the dim blue glow of the fuel tank.
As he’d expected, the portion of the tank that would hold energon during
processing was almost empty, but the reservoir-
the reservoir, where energon was held before being pumped into the frame,
was full. That was vein-energon,
essentially, and Soundwave grasped at the lines leading from the pump without a
second thought.

The veins slid under his servos, slick and wet, but he
caught and held and tied them in
knots to trap the energon inside. Next- no, no, don’t rip the organ out, it
would rupture. Carefully, carefully, slice into the processing tank and cut it
through, then cut the veins, then lift slowly, slowly-

And there it was. An organ filled with energon, clean, fresh
energon, still hot and mineral-rich, his for
the taking-

Too hungry to wait any further, Soundwave lifted the tank to
his lips, bit into it, tilted it back, and drank-
long, deep swallows, growling softly as the energon gushed over his glossa
and down his throat. He should probably have been disgusted with what he was
drinking, but it was good, it was clean- it was fuel.

When the tank was empty, Soundwave nibbled lightly at the
edges, tasting, then set it aside and looked the body over again. After a
moment, he picked up one end of a thick vein, tied it into a knot, and followed
it down into the body, eventually pulling a length of energon-filled vein free.
Another knot to that end, then a careful bite into the center, and Soundwave
lifted the vein to drain the energon into his throat. When that was empty, he nipped lightly at it, then ripped a piece free
and chewed lightly for a moment before swallowing. Strange taste, but- food,
wasn’t it?

Setting the vein aside for now, Soundwave shook his servos
clean and climbed up onto his cot, eyeing the body and trying to decide what he
would do with it when his frame was ready for more energon. Perhaps try to
drain it? That might be difficult to do cleanly with the bile of the fuel tank
spilled into the innards, though. Next time he’d have to avoid that, maybe lift
the entire fuel tank free and drain the bile before drinking.

Next time?

Yes.

Next time.

(((This is a smut fic involving two members of my original species, Mothim. Information is below, but, basically, females carry the eggs for a short time before laying them in the male’s pouch. Eggs are ready to fertilize at different times, and can be fertilized either while in the female, as they’re placed in the male’s pouch and he orgasms, or by another male while they’re in the male’s pouch. Carriers are the owners of the pouches, bearers are the producers of the eggs. 

https://bettsplendens.tumblr.com/post/166936593394/i-may-change-the-name-eventually-but-for-now-im

Shiir is the equivalent of early 20s. He’s a young adult who has decided that he’s ready to carry for the first time, and, as such, has gone to a more experienced bearer. 

Nanur is more like mid 30s, so definitely mature but not quite past reproductive age. She’s done this sort of thing quite a few times, it’s very common for Mothim. It’s partly because she’s good at being calming, partly because she tends to have medium-small clutches with relatively small eggs, and just a little bit because she finds young, eager, flustered carriers to be absolutely precious. 

Male Mothim are almost all rather timid, and the transferring of the eggs can be a fairly overwhelming experience, so first-time carriers usually go to an older bearer who’s experienced enough to make everything nice and calm. It’s not pressured, they can pick someone their own age if they’d like ,but the potential stability tends to be reassuring. 

There has been some discussion beforehand, some guidelines and a description of what to expect.

So! This is oviposition smut, clearly, and I somehow managed to get exactly 4444 words of it. Also some oral, and a more “standard” sort of sex to start off. Some nervousness at first from one party, but both are very, very willing. Soft-dom gal on top, wriggly, eager sub boi quite happily bottoming. It’s kind of cute, and I tried to not write it extremely fetish-y. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but I was shooting for “cute smut that happens to include ovi” rather than “ovi fetish smut”, and I think it worked? 

Regardless, if alien anatomy, oviposition, and/or inexperienced-but-eager partners aren’t your thing, you should probably read something else. If they might be your thing, come read this.)))

“Come in, little one… no need to worry.”

Shiir crept a bit closer, shutting the door behind himself,
and hesitated for a moment before slinking into the nest that had clearly been
made for this purpose. Fidgeting slightly, he settled into the cradle of it as
much as he could, antennae twitching as he tried to coax himself to shift onto
his back. It really didn’t work, though. “Oh, I’m- sorry, sorry, just- just a
bit nervous, y’know?”

Nanur purred softly to Shiir, moving slowly so he could see
what she was doing, and sat down right in front of him. “Of course. Believe me-
you are far from the first, sweet. No need to worry, we don’t need to jump
right into anything. We get you to relax first,
then… see what we can do. Smell, little one, breathe deep… have something
to eat.”

As she spoke, she offered a bowl of soft fungus-flour buns
with one hand, stroking Shiir’s arm gently with another as she settled down
right next to him and curled gently against his side. “No rush, sweet Shiir. We
get used to each other first, let body and mind relax. Let the smell sink into
you, it will relax you. Remember- it will not force you, I will not do that, it is only to help you settle. You
can still say ‘no’ at any point, and you will be heard.”

Shiir accepted one of the buns, leaning slightly into her
and pricking his antennae to get a better scent of the… admittedly very
tempting smell wrapped around Nanur. Pheromones, he knew, given off by a heavy
bearer to help attract a mate. And he could feel
the weight of her belly against him, heavy and warm with eggs, which was a
beautifully arousing thought. That was what he was here for, after all. He was
here to… oh.

Suddenly eager, Shiir stuffed the rest of the bun into his
mouth and chewed quickly, then turned onto his back- and immediately covered
his face with his hands in embarrassment. “Oh- oh goodness. Sorry, I’m- oh, I’d
really like to- please understand, I want
you, it’s just- I’ve never- I’ve never done
this, you know, and it’s- it’s a bit scary, really, even though- even
though I know you won’t hurt me.”

Nanur pressed a bit closer and tucked an arm over Shiir, but
made no effort to get on top of him or pin him, just hugged him softly and
continued to purr. “Of course. I understand completely- you are far from the
first new carrier I’ve had. It’s a big thing- of course you’re nervous. Just…
relax. And tell me, sweet… would you like me to help you relax a bit further?”
she asked quietly, sliding her secondary hand down to touch Shiir’s inner
thigh- just near the tip of the slick pink shaft starting to become visible. “I
can ride you, little one- we would both very much enjoy it, I imagine it would
help you relax, and it will keep your shaft from getting in our way later. What
do you think?”

When Shiir responded by nodding
furiously, Nanur purred and scootched down a bit, hooking one of his legs
over her shoulder and nuzzling into his crotch. “Mm, good. Come on up.”

Slipping her tongue out in a fairly lewd gesture, she
grinned up at Shiir, then slowly lapped around the emerging tip of his shaft.
Sliding one hand up to gently spread his slit open wider, she licked around the
inside of the slit, then up his shaft as it stiffened to full length. A pause
to twine her tongue with his cock, demonstrating the flexibility of both, then
she mouthed softly at the tip and purred louder.

Eyes wide and antennae fanned as far as they’d go, Shiir
gripped at the cushions around himself with all four arms, legs kicking
slightly as he whined in pleasure. “Oh- oh,
Nanur, that- that feels- wow, oh,
that’s- okay, that’s- that’s really good, but I’m- you’re- more, please? Can- can I- oh my.”

Much to Shiir’s delight, Nanur let go of his cock for just
long enough to push herself up and straddle him, spreading herself open with
two fingers and pausing to give him a good look. Soft pinkish-red folds
surrounded by thick grey fur, giving off a mouth-watering scent that would have
had Shiir asking for a taste if he wasn’t so very aroused. As delicious as she
smelled, he’d rather have her around his cock than against his tongue-

And, to his utter delight, that’s what he got. Nanur lined herself up, then sank down onto his cock in one smooth motion, drawing a shaky
cry of pleasure from him.

Swaying her hips slightly, Nanur settled until Shiir was
sheathed fully in her, purring gently to her partner. “Relax… feel what you are
pressed into. Those are the eggs I am going to fill you with, Shiir, and I want
you to think about that as I ride you.”

Grinning as Shiir whined softly, Nanur rocked her hips a few
more times, letting Shiir properly feel that the tip of his shaft was nestled
up among the eggs cradled in her belly. That was what this slit was for,
allowing a mate to fertilize whatever eggs were ready for it. Not that it would
matter much this time, since all the primed eggs would be fertilized once in
Shiir’s pouch, but it was certainly helping him to relax. And to start making
the soft, blissful chiming sounds Nanur had been waiting for- such a sweet
little thing! Now… could she get more sounds out of him if she kept talking?
Time to see.

“Oh, so lovely, little Shiir… that’s it. Let me hear you. I
want to hear you moan in bliss for me, little one- and I want you to keep
thinking about what we’re going to do next. I want to see the anticipation on
your face, sweet, oh- let me hear you,” she crooned, leaning forwards for
support, and braced herself with her arms on either side of his frame as she
rocked back against his cock. Slow and gentle, then just a bit faster, purring
encouragement to him- especially as he began to thrust up into her. “That’s it-
good! No need to be gentle, I can easily take you thrusting harder- ah, there, like that again? Oh- good
boy. Just like that, good, so good.”

Leaning down and just bracing herself for Shiir to thrust
into, Nanur lowered her head to whisper in his ears, purring in her very best
dom-voice that usually made carriers squirm.
“I can feel the tension in you, Shiir- let go of it, all of it, cum inside
me, that’s it- ah, yessss.”

She couldn’t feel him cumming as clearly as she would
without a full pouch, but it was still a lovely burst of tingling heat, and Shiir
keening up at her as he thrust one
last time was almost as good. Sliding against him in almost a rutting motion,
she gently moved up and off his cock, then straddled his stomach and waited for
him to get a proper look at her.

Flooded in sensation, Shiir hadn’t realized what the
slick-smooth feeling against the tip of his cock was until she’d pointed it
out, but the very thought had sent a spike of arousal straight to his gut.
Which was probably why he’d cum… sort of embarrassingly loudly, squealing something
resembling her name at the top of his lungs as he bucked up into her. She- she
didn’t seem to mind, though, which was…

Oh, hey, she’d better than not-minded. Smiling as the
purring registered against his fogged brain, Shiir wriggled gently underneath
Nanur, looking up at her with soft eyes. She was pretty. Paler colors down her front and sides, soft eyes, pretty
fanned antennae… and, oh, starting to get bare patches down her forearms. Shiir
still had almost all his fur, aside from a couple of thinner areas on his arms,
but hadn’t rubbed any spots enough for them to stop growing fur back. That took
some time. Started on the forearms, moved up, then onto the chest. Forearms
only meant she was older than him, mature, but not starting to age past prime
fertility yet. Which was… why he was here, and…

Oh.

Oh.

Shiir’s unfocused gaze had drifted down her frame as
everything had registered, and he was now looking at… at the source of the damp
spot on his stomach. His own shaft had retracted by that point, but hers was
starting to emerge… and it was considerably, alarmingly larger than his.
Slanting downward enough to rub against his stomach, slowly dripping a sweet-smelling
lubricant into his fur, and thick. Probably
about as thick as his wrist, and that was just the tip. Which… was…

“…uh… Nanur? Are- are you… sure this is- is going to fit?”

And there was that nervousness again. Nanur purred soft and
deep in her throat, reaching down to take his hands in hers, and guided his
fingers to the tip of her shaft. “It’s all right, little one… we will go slow,
and, yes, it will fit. Your pouch entrance will stretch more than enough, with
some care. Here- touch. Inspect me all you want, sweet- you can fit your
fingertips inside, if you want.”

Nervous fingertips flirted with her shaft for a moment, then
Shiir glanced up and slowly pressed one finger inside, drawing a quiet croon
from Nanur as her shaft extended fully. It was no wonder new carriers tended to
be nervous at first- ovipositors were fairly impressive at first glance, and
hers was no exception. Easily as thick as her small partner’s forearm and about
two-thirds as long, ridged all up and down its length, with something like a
frill just over halfway up. The slit at the tip was wide enough to easily fit
two fingers into, and was dripping lubricant slow and steady against his belly
fur- normal for a bearer about to lay. The fluid around the eggs was slick and
nutrient-rich, it would make an excellent source of additional lubricant, and
it would help to feed the eggs when they were in place.

For now, it was mostly good for letting Shiir get his
fingertips into her shaft, which seemed to be, if not calming him down, at
least fascinating him enough to help him relax.

Eyes wide, Shiir rubbed softly at the inside of Nanur’s shaft for a moment, then trailed both hands up
the length of her shaft to squeeze around the frilled area. There was some give
to the shaft, now that he had his hands on it- still stiff enough to support
its weight, but angled downward slightly, and softer than his shaft. Which made
it considerably less intimidating than if it had been stiff everywhere- that
might not have been so much fun. This? This was still intimidating, but…

Well, Nanur had promised not to hurt him, and was more than
living up to that so far. She was gentle, moving slowly despite the arousal he
could feel building, and she let him explore everything. Clearly, she knew what
she was doing, and was trying to make this good for him. So… if she said her
shaft would fit, it would fit.

And everything still smelled amazing.

Fidgeting slightly in place, Shiir cupped Nanur’s shaft-head
between both primary hands, lowering both secondary hands to part the fur
around the pouch entrance on his lower stomach. “I’m… o-okay, I’m ready. And I-
I want you, Nanur.”

Nanur purred soft and deep down at him, then moved down to
sit between his legs, brushing her fingertips softly over his secondary hands.
“And I want you, sweet Shiir. Relax…
let me take care of you. I am going to stretch you open, nice and slowly, then
I am going to fill you up- first with myself, and then with my clutch. You…
just relax and enjoy, understand? Good boy.”

Continuing to purr to Shiir, she ran both hands around the
tip of her shaft, slicking her fingers up, then stroked them gently around the
lips of Shiir’s pouch entrance. His body would start producing slick soon, but
extra lubrication never hurt, especially with new carriers. Plus, his antennae
quivered at the sight, and he whined beautifully
in arousal.

The outer lips of Shiir’s pouch were a typical deep pink
with little splotches of dark grey, and the next layer were a softer pink now
flushed with blood. The outer lips stretched easily, and the inner lips spread
under her carefully stroking fingertips, granting entrance to the myriad soft
folds lining his channel. “So pretty… you feel this, Shiir? Watch my hands- see
my fingers sink into you. These folds here will help to trap my fluids insides
of you, and, when you are full, they will expand and keep my eggs inside you.
For now… they will help me to bring you pleasure,” she crooned, running her
fingertips carefully between two layers of folds, then lifted her hand to lick
her fingertips and get a taste of his slick. “Lovely Shiir… tell me, have you
played with your channel before this?”

Shiir, for his part, was hiding his face behind all four
hands. He was peeking out, though- watching Nanur, as ordered, and whimpering softly in pleasure as she spread him open.
Speaking was an effort, especially answering a question like that, but- oh, she was being so good to him, he should make an effort in
return.

“I- oh- yes, I-I
have, some, but- mostly around, never inside,
never quite- quite wet enough,
but- oh, wow, that’s… that’s not really a-a problem now, huh?” he whispered,
legs twitching against her sides, and twitched his hips tentatively up against
her frame as he tried to figure out how to move against her. He’d been more
interested in playing with his cock than his channel most of the time, but, oh, this had him very much reconsidering
that preference.

Lifting his head slightly to get a better look, he watched in
fascinated arousal as Nanur spread his pouch wide- wide enough to fit all four
digits into him with no difficulty. Which was very nice to watch, but he was feeling far too aroused to just
watch, and the stretch to his channel was starting to feel more like teasing
than true stimulation. As nice as she was being, he was about to ask for more,
had his mouth open to ask-

And then his voice abruptly failed him (in an embarrassingly
loud squawk) as she curled her fingertips past a particularly narrow set of folds
and just barely into his pouch itself.

Nanur chuckled softly at the response, then leaned down and
gently moved up Shiir’s frame, grinding her shaft unashamedly against him as
she did. “There we are… that’s what I want to hear. Now… are you ready, Shiir?
Yes? Oh, you do look ready… good, good boy. Relax.”

Shiir was beautifully relaxed, and Nanur easily hooked one
of his legs around her frame, supporting his hips with both primary hands and
carefully spreading his pouch with her secondary hands. Purring soothingly, she
lined herself up and rocked her hips in one smooth motion, pressing the tip of
her shaft inside. Dropping the purr low into her chest, she arched over Shiir
and slowly, slowly thrust in further, savoring his gasps and moans as the myriad
ridges along her shaft dragged over his inner folds. “Yes, good, good boy- so tight, so lovely- moan for me, sweet.”

He did, and she lingered for a moment, then thrust deeper-
and snarled softly in pleasure as she felt the frill on her shaft slip through
his deepest folds and into his pouch. “There, Shiir- feel that? You’re spread
beautifully around me, and that was
my frill –nnh- slipping inside you. And… now that the pressure of your lovely,
tight channel is no longer around my frill, it’s going to expand, and that,” she punctuated with a quick
little thrust, “will lock me inside you. How do you feel about that?”

Shiir’s legs kicked around Nanur’s frame with every new
movement, back arched, moaning every time she moved. He’d never been stretched like this, never been
penetrated by anything thicker than his own fingers or another male’s cock, but
now-

Now there was a beautifully thick shaft spreading him open,
ridges dragging over his inner folds, sinking into him until the frill slipped
through the last set of folds and into his pouch itself. Gasping, Shiir braced
himself against the nest and arched against
Nanur, then shuddered, moaned, and went almost completely limp- aside from
keeping his head lifted enough to watch her.

Far past being coherent enough to speak clearly, he could
only whimper at the question, but the
rippling tightness of his channel around her shaft made his meaning very clear.
Yes, yes, please-

And he got what he wanted. The thick frill unfolded and
expanded inside him, locking them together as firmly as if it was a canid’s
knot, and Shiir whined a soft, high note of pleasure up at Nanur as he squirmed
against her.

“Nnh… good, good boy,” Nanur purred, curling forwards
slightly, and purred once more before shivering and going almost completely
silent. “You are such a lovely, sweet thing, Shiir. Now, you need –hhn- to
relax, all right? First- first few are a stretch, just relax, let it happen-
feels amazing soon. Ssshh- nnh-“

Antennae fluttering as a powerful rippling motion shuddered
down her frame, Nanur supported herself with both primary arms, gripping his
frame with her delicate secondary hands to help keep him still and hopefully
relaxed. With her ovipositor locked into him, her frame was signaling that it
was time to lay, and she had no reason to fight the urge.

The first egg, as always, was a bit uncomfortable. The
stretch straddled the line between pleasure and pain, and, judging by Shiir’s
expression, the experience was the same for him. A bit strong, a bit much- and
then it slipped into him, the weight registered in his pouch, and a quick gush
of fluids followed.

Shiir whimpered uncertainly and kicked out reflexively as
his channel stretched uncomfortably wide, but shivered and moaned as the egg
settled into place. “That’s- I- oh! Not- not so bad, not reall- oh-“

A gush of wet heat followed the egg, drawing a shuddering
moan from him, and the stretch started up again as the next egg pressed against
the first set of folds in his channel.  This
time, it was a bit easier, a surge of pleasure pressing deep into his frame
with only a twinge of discomfort, and the third egg brought nothing but pleasure
with it.

Shiir had never played with filling his pouch before. He
knew some people did, even before their first clutch, but this- this was new,
and it was amazing. And it didn’t stop!

Somewhere around the sixth egg, his vocal cords just gave
out, turning his shaking squeals into nothing but pants and whines of pleasure.  Not that he was in any shape to mind, not with
his pouch being slowly stretched open by the steadily increasing weight of his
first clutch, with Nanur purring and stroking his fur as she filled him up-!

Nanur had done this enough to stay mostly coherent, which
was excellent for her, since it let her enjoy the sounds her sweet little
partner was making. He was just so sweet! And first-time carriers, oh- always
so easily flustered, so very delighted to be filled like this. They moaned so wonderfully, it was delightful!

And to feel the swelling of a slender belly gradually
filling with life, the tight channel squeezing firm around her shaft, the
warmth and the deep pleasure of knowing her clutch would grow well inside him- maybe
the pleasure was based in instinct, but that didn’t make it any less amazing.

When the pressure in her belly had eased to about halfway, her
voice started cooperating again, and she took full advantage of it. “Oh, sweet
Shiir… so warm, so beautifully tight.
You are going to be so very full soon…
and you are already rather full, aren’t you? Already stretched- and I know you
can feel it. So lovely. Now- halfway through. Still good?”

She could probably have managed to stop if he’d needed to.
Not for good, and he was tight enough that she wouldn’t have been able to pull
out, but she could pause for a moment longer. Shiir, however, firmly
discouraged that idea by squealing a word that was barely recognizable as “more” and thrusting up against her,
hard, his eyes locked on his own stomach as his pouch filled. So Nanur purred,
rocked her hips in one smooth motion, and let herself go.

Shiir had tried to count for the first few eggs, but had
quickly lost both his count and his desire to keep track. After that pause, he
lost everything but the sensation of bliss,
of Nanur curled over and around him, and the cultch steadily filling him.
With no reason to resist, he let himself get lost in pleasure, losing track of
everything but sensation.

The thing that brought his awareness crashing back was a
flood of liquid deep inside him, like what came after each egg, but much
larger. Nanur was shuddering around him, keening loudly for the first time, claws
wrapping tightly into his fur as her hips rocked against him. A moment of
pleasure as Shiir registered what was happening, that this must be what orgasm looked like for bearers, then-

Then the pleasure from the stretch, from the warmth, from
the thrusts became too much, and
Shiir squealed his bliss as his frame tensed, as something deep in his belly
tightened and pulsed, adding a final
fraction of liquid pressure to his stretched belly- and that was it, he was
gone.

When he finally started to come back to himself, it was to a
gradual awareness of Nanur stroking his sides and belly, purring to him.
Blinking a few times, he flicked his antennae and churred inquiringly, lifting
his head to look down- and bushed under his fur as he saw that they were still
joined. “…oh. Goodness,” he squeaked, blinking up at her, “that’s why people
like that.”

Chuckling softly, Nanur lifted a glass of water and held it
to Shiir’s lips, crooning encouragingly until he drank. “That… and many other
reasons. Relax, sweet. I can pull myself out now if you need me to, but it will
do better if I stay inside you longer, keep everything inside. The fluid you
felt is rich in nutrients and will help the eggs to bind to your inner walls,
and it will help your fluids to
spread and reach every egg that is ready for you.”

A soft stroke to his stomach, then she glanced back up at
him, her voice soft and quite happy. “Now… that
was about twenty eggs. A good sized clutch, but not too big- and the eggs
not large, either. Should be comfortable for you, but the weight will take you
some time to get used to, so- settle, sit, drink. When you feel steady, eat. I
have already- you need to as well. How do you feel?”

Shiir obeyed, drinking and listening (and blushing, goodness), then reached for
the buns he’d put aside earlier. “Um. Yes. I-I feel…”

A shaky wave of both secondary hands, then he shrugged, took
one of the buns, and stuffed about half of it into his mouth at once. “I feel yes.”

 


Murmuring “fair enough”, Nanur curled softly against him,
nibbling at another of the buns. It was hard to have much of an appetite when
your guts were shifting back into place, but she’d burned enough energy to be
hungry nonetheless, and it was best to set a good example. Shiir looked a bit
dazed- but very happy, probably drunk on endorphins more than anything. Quite
lovely to see, and he smelled very nice.

Gradually, she felt Shiir’s channel starting to tighten
around her shaft, which did get a bit
less than comfortable after awhile. Humming reassuringly, she began to move her
hips in small, easy motions, pulling out gradually so as not to overwhelm
Shiir. “Feel? your body is beginning to settle around your new clutch. Folds
will swell to fill your channel at first, keep all the fluids in, then relax
just enough for another carrier to get inside you. Highly suggest you try soon-
seems to feel amazing. Many lovely sounds- like you were just making.”

Shiir wiggled and squeaked at the odd sensation, eyes wide
and antennae perked, and blushed as he watched the gush of fluids that escaped
along with her shaft. “Nnh- oh. Wow. I- wow, just-“

Carefully, he sat up just a bit, cupping his stretched pouch
in one hand and his pouch entrance in the other. “Oh. Doesn’t… doesn’t hurt. At…
at all. Lots of stretch, but… huh. I guess… fluids? And-“ a bit of shaky hand
waving “-and the- you know, the, um- fun.
I’m… wow, can- can I just… close, please? Hold-“

A bit incoherent, but he got his message across, reaching
for Nanur until she curled up next to him. Once she was settled, he cooed
quietly in pleasure and shut his eyes, antennae fluttering in something like embarrassment
as he felt her stroke his stomach. No wonder she liked this, but- oh! This-
this was his clutch now, wasn’t it?
His.

His.

Purring reassuringly as Shiir succumbed to a bout of
flustered giggling, Nanur curled around his smaller frame, wriggling until she was
almost underneath him. “Ah- I have missed this, I like to be under others
sometimes. Now- rest. Sleep. After you sleep, we bathe, then take you home-
with more food, must give you plenty of energy.”

Stroking Shiir’s back and sides until his eyes drifted shut,
she purred and watched and lingered awake for just long enough to be sure he
was out, then drifted off as well. Later, she’d take him to a spring to clean
away any escaped fluids, escort him home while he re-learned how to keep his
balance, and- hm, probably take the ingredients to bake something for him, he
seemed quite taken with the buns. Best thing to do for someone going into the
work of carrying your clutch- feed them. Especially the younger ones who might not
expect to be as hungry as they were.

bettsplendens:

Soundwave decides to take advantage of an empty ship to have some fun in Megatron’s throne, Megatron walks in and finds him, a considerable amount of fun ensues. 

Loosely TFP, but with Megatron actually sane and a decent person. This is like good-ending TFP, basically. No significant warnings. Improper use of data-cables, some awkwardness and general embarrassment, and relatively minor fluid stuffing with a biological basis- i.e. overflow tanks are a thing in Cybertronians and get full when you have a larger-than-you partner. Spike-in-valve smut, little bit of showing off, gets a bit fluffy. Definite praise kink somewhere in there. 

Keep reading

I may change the name eventually, but for now I’m calling these guys Mothim.

Mothim are smallish, humanoid creatures, usually about 5′ tall, who live on a heavily forested planet. They live among the massive, arched roots of the giant trees, usually not climbing much higher than that, and eat a diet mostly of things that you find among the roots of trees. Lots of fungi, some of which they cultivate themselves, supplemented by insects, certain types of moss, and the occasional scavenged animal carcass. 

Most of the large life-forms on their planet live higher in the trees, and they have no living natural predators, though a few species of canopy-dwellers can be trouble for them now and then. Each village generally has a few guards who keep watch in the upper levels and call an alarm if something dangerous turns up. 

They have soft greyish fur all over their bodies, interspaced by armor plates. The armor is mostly over their chests and limbs, and is covered by fur in the younger ones. As they get older, they start to lose the fur on their armor to wear and tear, and bald areas on the chest plating are a sign of mid-to-old age. Not unattractive to other Mothim of the same age, but not generally a positive thing on younger ones. They have short fans of antennae with many branches, more branches on the males, and small claws on three-fingered hands. 

Mothim are mostly gatherers by nature, and are friendly to other species. They can be shy, though, especially the males. The males, thanks to a now-extinct predator that liked to hunt them down and eat the eggs in their brood pouches, are especially timid in nature and quick to flee from threats. They sometimes have pets of small animals, especially a large variety of terrestrial isopod that makes a helpful scavenger, and get along well with most of the animals around them. 

The thing that tends to get the attention of other species is their entire breeding strategy. Mothim come as males and females, and are egg-layers. The females produce a batch of eggs every so often, a few times a year. A female releases pheromones when carrying a batch of eggs that are half mature or more, a soft scent that gets the attention of males, and will generally apply a small amount of scented paint to signal disinterest if she wishes to lay the eggs un-fertilized. Un-fertilized eggs are generally eaten by the parent, or may be used in certain cooking, as there is no attachment to them and the nutrients should be put to use. 

The interesting part is the fertilization. 

(NSFW discussion below, clearly)

The eggs are coated in a thin membrane that prevents fertilization, and the membrane can dissolve at any time between halfway through the growth of the eggs to slightly over a month after the eggs are deposited. There are also three ways the fertilization can occur, due to the equipment the sexes come with. Males have a penis and a brood pouch, the entrance of the pouch located low on their stomach, and can release sperm either through the penis or into the brood pouch. Females have an ovipositor, located where the penis would be on a male, and what amounts to a vagina. The eggs can be fertilized either through p/v intercourse while still in the female, when the carrying male orgasms after the eggs are deposited, or by another male while the eggs are still in the brood pouch. 

The males are shy, and the pheromones released by the bearing females help to relax them as well as attracting them. The scent is nowhere near strong enough to influence their decision about whether or not to carry a batch of eggs, but it helps them physically and mentally relax. This is partly because of their natural timidness, partly because the females are larger than them, and (especially in more inexperienced males) partly because the females’ ovipositors are a bit intimidating. 

The males’ penises are thin, tapered, and relatively flexible, partly to allow for them to easily slide into a full brood pouch. The females’ ovipositors, on the other hand, are not small. They’re thick, ridged, and covered in nubs, some with rounded nubs of the same material as their armor, and have a sort of frill/knot about halfway up their length. The nubs and ridges sliding through the entrance of the brood pouch cause the pouch to begin secreting a substance that helps the eggs bind in place, and the frill helps fix the ovipositor in place. The mating involves a lot of cuddling and grooming to relax the both of them, and can take quite a long time depending on how many eggs there are. 

Anywhere between 10 and 30 eggs can be laid, mostly depending on the size of the female, and start out about half of palm-size. Once in the male’s pouch, they fix to the sides when possible, absorbing nutrients, and grow to slightly under twice their original size. The entrance of the pouch tightens once the eggs are inside, a series of folds and membranes closing over the passage in, and can be gently coaxed apart by another male hoping to fertilize some of the eggs. This, again, involves plenty of grooming and usually the use of a tongue that happens to rather closely resemble the male’s penis.

The eggs gestate for a few months, and, regardless of when they were fertilized, hatch at the same time or very close to it. Eggs fertilized earlier may produce larger larvae, but the advantage of early fertilization is small. 

When the eggs begin to hatch, the male will retreat to somewhere quiet, often accompanied by the female and/or at least one other male, to let the babies free. The adults are cute, but the babies are absolutely not cute by most standards. They are small, pale, and devoid of fluff, resembling fetuses with rather large teeth more than anything else. They scream loudly when hungry, crawl towards things that smell of food, and avoid unpleasant stimulii, but are otherwise unresponsive to most things and show no attachment to the parents. 

Babies are generally kept in something that translates to “baby pit”. A hole is dug in the center of a safe area in the village, then lined with stone. A heap of leaf litter is dried in sun or over fire until all the inhabitants have left, then the leaf litter, a bucket of helpful scavengers such as worms, and a few chunks of fungus are thrown into the pit. The babies are put inside, and chunks of various fungus are put in to feed them, but they are largely left to their own devices aside from being kept moist and occasionally provided with more leaves. 

The reason they have multiple sires to a clutch, and so many babies at once, is a genetic defect. Having more sires increases the chance of genetics working out favorably, which is important, because the entire species has a genetic defect that causes most of the larvae to be born with severe heart defects. They live as normal for a few days to a month, then fall asleep, and their hearts stop in their sleep. This is not seen as something sad, as the larvae were seen as never meant to live longer than that, and the bodies are quickly consumed by the other larvae. In fact, the other larvae will die if not allowed to consume the bodies, and a batch with an unusually high survival rate will be fed carcasses as protein supplements. 

The larvae eat and grow until they’re about toddler-size, then burrow deep into the pit, pupate, and wait for a few months. Eventually, they emerge and start toddling around, yelling loudly until someone comes to pick them up. This is when the babies are considered actually babies, as any that make it to this point will survive, and parents generally come to claim them at this point.

Any Mothim genetically responsible for a batch of eggs can register to parent at the nursery if they wish to, and will be notified when babies start to emerge. They then proceed to wade into the pit and call until at least one baby comes to them, and they parent those babies as their own. They can contribute and not parent, and, if babies are left after all registered genetic parents have come, either the nursery-keepers or non-genetic-parents can come and take some babies. These are generally shyer babies, often males, and are referred to as “quiet ones” as children but are not scorned for their reluctance to approach. Some people are just shy, they understand that. 

Mothim are societally obliged to help reproduce at least once. It’s not a law, but any who don’t will be very frequently asked about it unless they have health issues they wish to not pass on. Fortunately, this is a relatively minor thing for Mothim. If they’re female, they’ll produce eggs anyway, and have only to deposit them in a male’s pouch with no further obligation. If they’re male, they can either mate with a female, carry eggs, or mate with a carrying male. This obligation comes from the low survival rate of their offspring, and, though not technically a law, is generally enforced by pressure and pointed inquiries if they start to get older without reproducing. This is fairly rare, though- most are willing. 

Soundwave decides to take advantage of an empty ship to have some fun in Megatron’s throne, Megatron walks in and finds him, a considerable amount of fun ensues. 

Loosely TFP, but with Megatron actually sane and a decent person. This is like good-ending TFP, basically. No significant warnings. Improper use of data-cables, some awkwardness and general embarrassment, and relatively minor fluid stuffing with a biological basis- i.e. overflow tanks are a thing in Cybertronians and get full when you have a larger-than-you partner. Spike-in-valve smut, little bit of showing off, gets a bit fluffy. Definite praise kink somewhere in there. 

Soundwave very rarely got any time to have the ship to
himself. But, with everyone out on reconstructive efforts and attempts at
socializing, he was left mostly alone. Which meant he had the throne room to
himself for non-urgent reasons for once, and, mm… he had plans.

Plans which were turning out to be a lot of fun to work on.

Nuzzling into the back of the throne, Soundwave rocked his
hips and spread his thighs wider, inhaling deeply to fully enjoy Megatron’s
scent. Strong, powerful… and stil warm. Which made it easier to imagine that
the datacable he’d wrapped around his own frame was the pressure of strong
servos on his hips, to imagine that the cable slooowly pressing into his valve
was a thick spike. Good, good- but not quite as good as the real thing. Which
he should stop thinking, he wasn’t going to get that, and- ah!

Mmh, nice- that was a sensitive spot. Soundwave exhaled
slowly and rocked his hips down again, taking the cable a bit deeper, and
curled the tip slightly to rub against that spot again. Ah, yes- that was good.
Of course it was good- Megatron was an intelligent mech with plenty of
experience, he would know how to find the right spots.

Helm lolling back, Soundwave panted and whined softly, valve
clamping down around the cable, starting to relax completely-

And immediately went incredibly, painfully tense as he heard
the door slide open. Pit- slagging pit- he’d
locked the door! He’d definitely locked- and oh, no, there was only one other mech who had the codes to unlock that
door, and that was-

Curling into himself in embarrassment, Soundwave hunched his
shoulders and tried to pretend he wasn’t there, whining in mortification as
Megatron approached him.

Megatron slowly walked up to his occupied throne, brow
ridges raised, and paused for several long moments before speaking. “…well
then, Soundwave,” he began, then smiled slightly and moved to put himself where
Soundwave could see that he didn’t appear to be upset, “are you enjoying
yourself?”

…yes. Soundwave nodded slightly, once, hunching his
shoulders even further and hiding behind the flat of his arm. Pit- this was
mortifying. He’d been caught pleasuring himself on Megatron’s throne, clearly
thinking of Megatron, and still had the cable pressed into his valve- mostly
because it would hurt to yank out at this point with how tense he was. This was
not how he’d wanted to express his
interest, this was embarrassing- but,
yes, he had been enjoying himself.

Megatron slowly reached to stroke Soundwave’s arm, coaxing
the spymaster’s servo down away from his face, and pulsed a field full of soft
reassurance to the flustered mech. “Well then… my apologies for disturbing you.
Now… I have a question, and you are free to think before answering. Do you want
me to leave so you can continue enjoying yourself here, or do you want me to
join you? I am open to either option… though I confess I would prefer the
latter.”

Firmly meeting Soundwave’s optics, the former warlord slid
one servo down to touch Soundwave’s narrow claws, trying to ease their tight
grip on the edge of the throne. “Please understand, you are under no obligation
to let me touch you. Easy- you know me, Soundwave, you know I would never hurt
you. And you have my word I will leave if you ask. So… with that in mind…”

Purring gently, he loosened Soundwave’s servo and lifted it
to his lips for a soft kiss, trying to charm the nervous mech into relaxing.
“Do you want me to join you?”

Oh.

Yes. Primus, yes, absolutely. He couldn’t see why Megatron
would want him, given how many mechs
would more than willingly berth
Megatron and had expressed their interest in the past, but… oh, if Megatron
wanted this, absolutely.

Soundwave nodded slightly, optics wide, and slowly turned to
face the larger mech. He… wasn’t certain how to start here, but yes. Please.
Because he trusted Megatron- he knew his Lord wouldn’t hurt him, would never
hurt anyone like that, but especially not him.

Megatron held Soundwave’s servo gently between his own,
engine purring in approval, and slowly moved to stand in front of his throne
where he could look Soundwave over. “Thank you, Soundwave,” he purred, his tone
as soft as he could manage, not wanting to spook the still-tense spymaster into
running. Poor mech didn’t deal well with embarrassment, he was shy. Time to
reassure him.

“Let me be clear, Soundwave. You are allowed to refuse at
any time, and I will not be upset if you change your mind. If you are
uncomfortable at all or have a request, please
tell me. Anything you want, I will be delighted to oblige. Am I understood?”

He waited for a nod, then purred softly and leaned down
slightly, projecting interest/arousal/reassurance
to the pretty spymaster in his throne. “Good. Now- turn around, Soundwave,
get comfortable, and slowly pull that cable out of your pretty valve. Let me
see you. The rest of you is so lovely… I want to see what your equipment looks
like.”

Oh, Primus. Optics
dimming slightly, Soundwave nodded and slowly turned around, optics flicking
between Megatron and the floor. Shy, he eased his thighs apart and glanced up
at his watcher, biting his lip, then slowly eased his data-cable out of his
valve. He’d… never done anything like this for an audience, but the way
Megatron was looking at him made fire curl in his belly and wrap up around his
spark chamber. That was- oh, Primus, admiring.
Lustful, yes, but not threatening, not
like he wanted to take something- like he was delighted that Soundwave was
willing to give him this.

So he let Megatron see his valve, then he took it one step
further, wrapping the lubricant-coated cable around his thigh and pulling his
legs apart. He could feel himself
blushing, but Megatron purred in
approval, the sound drawing a flutter from his spark, and… oh. He wanted more
of that.

So, shy but more than willing, he lowered a servo and spread
his valve lips open with two careful fingertips to show off the lights.  

Pulsing stronger approval/arousal
to Soundwave, Megatron stepped closer and gently slid his servos around the
spymaster’s frame, lifting very gently to start shifting him around. “Oh, such
a beautiful mech. So, so lovely, and so smart.
Whatever made you think I wouldn’t be interested in you, Soundwave? You are
gorgeous, intelligent, and charming,” he
purred, then chuckled at a questioning little glance. “Yes, you heard me,
charming. In your own, precious way. If you had asked me, I would have very gladly accepted, just like now.
Here… let me get you comfortable. Just relax for me.”

Soundwave was light, and it was no effort whatsoever
for Megatron to lift the lanky mech enough to sit down where he had been a
moment ago. He could feel Soundwave quivering
against his servos, tightly coiled field buzzing anticipation/excitement/intrigue/arousal/nervousness against Megatron,
but the spymaster was moving with him and there was no fear in his
oh-so-expressive optics. Maybe a bit nervous, but clearly willing, exposed
valve radiating heat against Megatron’s plating as they settled into place.

Engine rumbling soothingly, Megatron set Soundwave in his
lap and stroked the spymaster’s back with one servo, gently splaying those
gorgeous thighs around his hips with the other servo. “There we are, Soundwave.
Comfortable? Good. Now, beautiful… I would like to spike you. You have such a
pretty valve, and… I imagine that’s what you were thinking of, hm? My spike in
your valve? I confess, I very much hope so, because…”

Pausing, he gently palmed one of the spines along Soundwave’s
back, rubbing it between his fingertips in a fairly suggestive gesture as he
purred his desires to the gorgeous mech in his lap. “I want very much to feel
your valve around my spike. I want to see you in my lap, want to see you in
pleasure… I want to watch you ride my spike and take your pleasure with me. I
am open to other suggestions, but… what do you think of that?”

Okay. Soundwave
nodded quickly, then whined quietly, flustered, and pushed his face into
Megatron’s shoulder to hide. Yes, yes- absolutely. That was his exact fantasy, Primus- him in Megatron’s
lap, riding his Lord’s spike, in control-
Primus, he wasn’t about to refuse that. Especially not combined with
reassurance. And praise, Primus take
him now, Megatron was praising him
and it was sincere. Soundwave knew
the voice that Megatron used to flatter others, and that wasn’t it.

…other people didn’t get this turned on by praise, did they?
Because he knew praise kinks existed, but this was unfairly hot and was making it very difficult to focus. But, for
this, he would try.

Settling his frame against Megatron’s, Soundwave slowly
rocked his hips against the larger mech’s, breathing a quiet sigh of pleasure
as he rubbed his valve over the heating pelvic plating under him. Without his
cable spreading his valve open, he felt empty,
and he wanted something. Specifically, he wanted Megatron’s spike inside
him. As close to now as possible. Giving a quiet, pleading warble, he ground a
bit harder against the closed panel, trying to coax Megatron to-

Oh dear.

Megatron shifted before opening his panel, making sure that
his pressurizing spike wouldn’t end up pressing too hard on Soundwave’s valve,
and cupped his servos against the slender mech’s aft for support. He’d felt
Soundwave twitch away from him, and he could understand why- his spike would be
a stretch for someone close to his size, and Soundwave had lanky hips.

Careful not to trap
the spymaster, he rubbed gently at Soundwave’s lower back with one servo,
slowly easing the other down his aft until he could just touch the lower edge
of that pretty purple valve- a soft tease. “Easy, Soundwave. You have nothing
to worry about- we can go as slow as you need. I will not cause you pain, I
promise. Here- rub against me first, see how I feel against you. Figure out if
we need to stretch you open further before we proceed. And- listen. If you do
not think you can comfortably fit my spike, we can do something else. We are
both clever mechs, we can come up with alternatives. See how you feel, then let
me know.”

Relaxing again at the reassurance, Soundwave settled back
into place and looked down at Megatron’s spike, slowly wrapping a data-cable
around it to feel it out. Unsurprisingly, it was fairly large, wider than
anything Soundwave had taken so far. But… not by too much, and, unlike his
cable, shaped to fit a valve. And there were a series of ridges along the upper
edge that he… rather wanted to try out. So… a large spike, yes, but-

Well, the thing that helped make up his mind was that it was
attached to Megatron. Megatron, who would never hurt him, was purring
reassurance to him and rubbing his back and waiting
despite the growing arousal in his field. This was safe- just as safe as
playing with a toy back in his quarters, except with Megatron. Which was delightful, not just for the warmth and charge
and sensations, but for the praise and
for the mech he trusted, the mech he adored,
holding him close. Primus.

So he took the offer. He could do this- he could take
Megatron’s spike, absolutely. Or- at the very least, could do something with it, something to bring
them both pleasure.

Optics on Megatron’s face, he lifted himself up and slowly ground
his valve against that impressive shaft, panting softly in arousal and
anticipation. And, oh, already an
improvement over his toys, because there was charge jumping between them as he
rocked against Megatron, and because his Lord was purring in pleasure against him.

Lowering his data-cable to wrap around just the base of
Megatron’s spike, Soundwave carefully lined himself up, then rocked his hips
down in one slow motion. He was wet enough that it was an easy slide, the tip
of that pretty spike slipping easily into his valve, and he paused like that to
consider the sensation before offering Megatron a nod and a tiny smile. Yes- he
could absolutely do this. Might need some time, but he could. Could absolutely
do this… just lower himself, nice and slowly, and stop if he had to.

Optics dimming, he settled against Megatron’s frame and
purred softly, unfurling his field to purr bliss/arousal/anticipation
to the larger mech as he started to press down further.

It took more than a little effort for Megatron to stay still
as that hot, tight valve started to wrap around his spike, but he managed it.
Mostly because he absolutely refused to buck into Soundwave, not with how tight
the spymaster was. No matter how teasing it got, he was not going to risk making Soundwave even slightly uncomfortable.
Besides, there were nicer things to focus on right now.

Whispering “that’s it, be gentle with yourself”, he cupped
one servo against the side of Soundwave’s helm, pressing his thumb to deep blue
lips until they parted for him. Sharp dentae gleamed in the light as they slid
apart, and Megatron purred in approval as Soundwave’s flexible glossa wrapped
around his thumb. “This is lovely- so unique. I would –ah- love to feel this against my valve, if you would be willing. But-
for now, a kiss, sweet?” he whispered, and grinned when Soundwave immediately
pressed against his servo.

As soon as Megatron took his servo out of the way, Soundwave
leaned up to kiss him, awkward but very eager. It was more than rare for
Soundwave to be awkward, but it was cute,
and Megatron purred as he returned the kiss. As he’d thought, that slender
glossa twined easily with his, muffling a groan of pleasure- and Soundwave’s
field finally blossomed open fully into a shimmer of pleasure/anticipation/nervousness/trust. Even better than the kiss.

Soundwave eventually leaned back away from the kiss, mostly
so he could pant for more air, then moaned and rocked down a bit further. There
was a stretch, but nothing unpleasant, and Soundwave crooned a soft, shaky
noise up at Megatron as he felt the first of the ridges press against the rim
of his valve. Another rocking motion, this one much smaller, and the ridge
popped inside in a quick flare of pleasure.

Megatron’s engine was purring louder against him, field
rumbling arousal/bliss/pleasure, and
Soundwave wanted to feel more of that- wanted to get more pleasure, to give more, so he slowly lifted up and
rocked back down a couple of times in an effort to loosen his calipers up.

An effort that worked, pulling a startled, staticky cry of
pleasure from him as he sank down much further than intended. OH, Primus-

Megatron inhaled sharply, hips twitching up despite his best
efforts, and steadied Soundwave’s frame with both servos to keep him from
sliding down further. “Ah, Soundwave-
easy, are- nnh- are you all right? You feel… amazing, gorgeous, so hot, and your optics- you are beautifully expressive, do you know that? Such
bright optics, so sweet- I can see your pleasure unfold.”

Vents gusting hot air to help cool his frame and keep his
control, Megatron cupped a servo against Soundwave’s aft and squeezed lightly,
sliding the other servo up his partner’s side to brush over the glowing lines
in his stomach. And, ah- apparently
Soundwave was more than all right, because it only took a few deep vents for
the spymaster to start working himself down again, this time stopping tantalizingly close to taking his entire
spike.

“That’s it, Soundwave- so good, and, mm, impressively flexible- come on, just a bit further?
You can do this, gorgeous- one more little motion, sweet?”

Megatron sounded almost needy,
and it reached Soundwave even through the haze of pleasure. Oh- he’d been
rather slow about this, hadn’t he? And he didn’t want to keep Megatron waiting,
so he pulled himself up, paused for half a nanoklik, and rocked down again-
and, this time, felt his node grind against the area just above the base of Megatron’s
spike.

Helm lolling back, he moaned softly and loosened his bracing
grip on- whoops, he was digging his claws into Megatron’s upper arms. Offering up
a soft smile, he let his data-cables wrap down and around the warlord’s frame,
then lifted Megatron’s hips at the same time as he propped himself up slightly.
He wanted to feel Megatron, wanted to
feel those ridges slide in and out of him, but his knees had decided not to
cooperate and he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to move steadily. So- he could
leave it up to Megatron, ri-

Ooh-

 

Whispering “thank you, beautiful”, Megatron slide his servo
down from Soundwave’s aft to hook under his thigh, supporting him gently as he
thrust up into that beautiful valve. Not hard, just a slow, gentle motion, then
again, rocking in and out of Soundwave and gradually easing him open further. And
talking to him the entire way, having already figured out how much Soundwave
liked it. “So good… that’s it. Let me hear you, beautiful… let me hear your
pleasure?”

To his delight, Soundwave obliged. Every thrust from then on
drew a soft, staticky cry from the spymaster, gradually getting louder as
Megatron started to thrust harder. When the thrusts no longer met any resistance,
Megatron lifted Soundwave a bit higher, pulling out further than before and
then thrusting harder. The deeper, stronger thrust earned a louder cry, but,
just to be sure, he paused to ask- he needed to be certain it felt good. “Soundwave,
my sweet- such beautiful sounds, but- do you like that? Do you want more?”

Soundwave was caught a bit off guard by the deeper motion,
but Pit yes, he wanted more. Much
more. Warbling the steadiest affirmative he can manage, he pushed himself up
and sank back down to mimic the motion, then relaxed completely against
Megatron- leaving it up to the larger mech to decide what happened from then on.
Ohh dear Primus- that was it, he was done. This was amazing, and he absolutely wanted more, but his knees were still
uncooperative and the praise had him
wanting to do nothing more than just bury his face in Megatron’s throat and
moan.

Gripping onto the warlord’s arms in anticipation, Soundwave
gently squeezed the powerful frame with both data-cables, trying to encourage-
then gasped as Megatron did exactly what he wanted Megatron to do. Namely,
lifted him up and then brought him back down to meet the next thrust, rubbing
the ridges on that lovely spike along the inside of his valve rim.

“Ah- thank you for your trust, Soundwave, “ Megatron purred,
then gave up on coherent speech for now and just continued to thrust, reveling
in the sounds of bliss he was earning. Soundwave’s servos were gripping his
plating tight enough to dig the clawtips in, but he couldn’t bring himself to
care in the slightest, and the rhythmic squeezes of the powerful data-cables
around his frame only served to spur him on. Soundwave was beautiful, glowing frame and half-static voice alike, and to hear
his loyal friend in such pleasure was absolute bliss.  

And there were benefits to having such a light partner, one
of them being that he could easily shift the angle of Soundwave’s hips to try
for different, better spots. A careful motion, then another, then a slight
angle back, and-

Completely past shame, Soundwave squealed in pleasure as the calipers at the very back of his valve
clamped down around the tip of Megatron’s spike, rocking his hips down and into
the thrust to feel the friction against- what was that?

Frame tensing, Soundwave held himself in position, a hint of
curiosity flickering through everything else in his optics, then moaned quietly
as he realized what that must be. Well- as it was realized for him, by a soft spreading feeling deep in his belly. That must be the entrance to his
overflow tank opening, he hadn’t felt it before but it must be, it made sense, and-

And his next cry was a quiet, pleading whine, accompanied by
another rock of his hips, trying to get Megatron to-

He knew the function of an overflow tank, and, since there
was no risk of any unintended consequences, he wanted to experience at least
part of that function for himself. He wanted- Primus, he apparently wasn’t quite
past embarrassment, but he wasn’t even remotely
ashamed of wanting to feel Megatron fill
him.

 

“Easy- I have you, Soundwave, my beautiful, loyal friend,”
Megatron purred, sliding one servo up Soundwave’s back to offer more support
and pull him closer, and began to rock into Soundwave’s valve again. Small,
quick motions, not too hard or deep, meant to stimulate those deep nodes- and
to help hasten his own overload. He’d felt that shift against the tip of his
spike, he could guess what Soundwave was trying to ask for, and he knew how to
give it.

Growling in pleasure as he felt Soundwave’s claws skitter
against his plating, Megatron held his partner as close as he could while still
able to move, releasing enough of his control to let his charge build with no
restraint.

Keening against Megatron’s chassis, Soundwave dug his claws
in to brace himself against Megatron’s thrusts and let himself voice every
clear sound he could manage, trying to encourage the warlord to- yes, Primus,
to keep doing exactly this, please, more-

He could feel Megatron’s charge building, could feel it crackling
around both their frames, and Megatron was still calling him things like ‘beautiful’, and that was a very good spot being rubbed against with
an impressive amount of strength. Biting down on the plating he was nuzzling
into, Soundwave skreeled in pleasure as Megatron thrust once more- twice more-

And then his awareness spiraled down to nothing but the wet,
charge-filled heat flooding deep
inside him as Megatron overloaded. Overload hit Soundwave just a nanoklik
after, bouncing some of Megatron’s charge back to him, and the spymaster wailed
shakily against the plating his dentae were digging into. Every bit of his
frame curled around and against Megatron, valve calipers rippling around the
thick spike spreading him open, then he went limp into the larger mech’s lap
and moaned up at him.

Oh, Primus. He’d-
he’d never felt anything to do with his overflow tank before, toys didn’t work
for that unless they were specialized, but the novel stimulation of a large
partner must have done the trick. And now… now he had a spike filling his valve
so thoroughly that almost all of Megatron’s transfluid had ended up in his
overflow tank, and… mmh.

Wow.

…why hadn’t he asked about doing this before?

Okay… time for a reboot, everything was… sluggish.

Megatron purred softly and gathered Soundwave up, pressing a
kiss to his audial fin, but carefully didn’t pull out of the spymaster’s valve.
He’d leave that to Soundwave. “Such a pretty mech… oh, so, so pretty. And I
love your voice, Soundwave.
Different, but… still you, my lovely.
Oh… are you all right?”

Ah. Must have been a delayed reboot. Humming, Megatron
stroked circles on Soundwave’s back and sides, brushing away remaining
fragments of charge, and held him gently until he started to stir. “Ah, there
you are. I take it you’ve had fun?”

Yes.

Soundwave bumped his face into Megatron’s throat, trying to
communicate… something nice, he wasn’t sure yet, and squirmed around his stuffed valve and overflow chamber. That- okay,
that was a bit much, and he whined quietly and clawed his way up Megatron’s
frame until his partner got the message and gently pulled out.

That didn’t ease all of the pressure, though. His overflow tank
was definitely full and had closed to
stay that way, and Soundwave cupped a servo across his stomach to help himself
focus on the heat. Which allowed him to register the very slight swell in his own stomach, from… well, Megatron was larger than him, might not have had a spike overload in awhile, and… hm. The end result was Soundwave’s overflow tank stretching to accommodate everything. It felt strange, but it was a very nice sort of strange, and much less messy than the
alternative. Though this was still messy… partly thanks to his own valve, there
was a considerable amount of lubricant slicking his thighs. Which didn’t feel
excellent.The full overflow tank, though? That felt excellent. Made him blush even more, but… wow. 

As soon as his frame was steady enough, Megatron stood up
with Soundwave in his arms, easily supporting the spymaster’s lanky frame with
one servo on his back and the other arm slung under his aft. “Relax- let us get
you cleaned off, Soundwave. We have some time before everyone else gets back,
so… unless you have any suggestions, I am going to take you to the washracks,
get you cleaned up, and then… I would like to take you back to my quarters.
What happens next is entirely up to you, but I would like to keep you curled
against me like this for longer. You are warm, you purr nicely, and I have
never felt you this relaxed. I would
like it to continue. Are you open to that?”

Judging by the quiet, shaky,near-musical crooning in his
audials, Soundwave was very open to this whole situation.

Ancient eons ago, before mountains and canyons were born, we
were dragons.

We were mighty creatures with wings of taunt hide, throats
that brought forth billows of flame, and roars that shook the skies. We were
the predators of all, the prey of none. We were mighty, and we were terrifying.

We know this because we have the bones, and because we have
the carvings. We do not know what happened before, anything graven in stone was
lost. Lost to the same thing that took our wings- the storms.

An age of storms came. Whipping, ferocious, endless things
that plucked us from the sky like feathers and dashed us into the ground until
we stopped getting up again, until we dug into the ground to hide and left our
sky behind.

This much we know from the carvings. Our ancestors carved
their tales into solid rock, underground where the wind didn’t reach, and came
back to keep recording even as they delved deeper into the caves. For there
were caves, unknown lengths and depths of them, endless and unpredictable. And
they could not fly, so they delved, seeking ever to ease the need to move.

They were aware of what was happening. This is fascinating
to all who study it; they knew. Rarely does a species understand its own
evolution before written language develops, but they knew. They carved images
of themselves, of their children, of the differences beginning to emerge. Their
children were smaller and smaller, wings shrinking faster than anything else,
until they couldn’t fly even if they wanted to. Their proud necks shortened and
flattened, their spines lowered, their forelimbs lengthened, and their ribcages
became flexible to slip through gaps. Some caves contained explosive gases,
making fire a hazard more than a help, so they brought glowing fungi along and
left their flaming breath behind. They walked on their hindlegs less and less,
and then not at all, running along on all fours through the narrow crevices of
their home. There is a slope on the wall of history, images carved lower and
lower by shorter and shorter artists, and then…

Then it almost stops.

Something dreadful was happening. There was not enough food,
and rather than making us grow even smaller and become too small to catch it, it
tried to take our minds. A smaller brain needs less food, you see. Less food,
but less sapience along with it.

That is how we almost lost ourselves.

The carvings became less and less skilled, less and less organized. The ritual was still there,
every few generations going up to the record-cave to carve, but none seemed to
remember what it was for.

The thing that saved us from mindlessness was the same thing
that had almost sent us there; nature itself. This time, a volcano. One that filled
the lower depths of the caverns with unbearable heat, and in its rising cracked
the ground wide open.

Somewhere not far from the long-blocked first entrances, one
of our ancestors wriggled free of the dirt, stepped onto the surface of our
world for the first time in ages, and felt the wind again.

And remembered.

And the rest followed.

Some say it was the heat that drove them out, now that the
storms had ceased, but we know better. The heat encouraged it, but we are and
always have been creatures of the wind, of the sky, of the open spaces that no
single thing can hope to tame. Even our near-mindless, cave-dwelling ancestors
remembered it, and so they stayed. First near the surface, venturing out at
night,  then living on it once their skin
and eyes became used to the light.

Durable, flexible plating to protect against sharp rock
edges served us well against the blowing sand, powerful hindlegs to help us
scrabble through gaps brought us upright and let us run, and long tails let us
balance as we learned to walk upright again. Large eyes for dim light took
longer to adapt, but changed to let us see long distances, and our males began
to develop bright displays to take advantage of our regrowing ability to see
colors. Our females could never match the deep-chested roars of before,
especially with no flames, but they can out-howl any storm now.

Somewhere along the way, we developed hands, learned to use
tools, and started to write. But we kept carving, next to everything else,
telling our world what we had done and were still doing.

No one seems quite sure how we did this. We think it was
sheer determination. Whatever it was, we learned to harness the winds, the sands-
to bend them to our will. For they had taken our wings from us, and we were
determined to harness them, to steer them, to keep them from ever taking
anything from us again.

Our history is written on the walls of the first cave we hid
in, but, more permanent even than stone, it is written in our very cells.

Our children remember. They are born like we were at our
darkest hour- flat-bodied, feral, predatory and nearly mindless. They barely
recognize us, they often shun the sun, and they seek out animal burrows to hunt
and take refuge in. They remember what it was like to live in the caves, and
they relive it.

And some of them remember even further back. They remember what
it was to be dragons. So, soon after
their birth, they leave us. They run into the desert under the cover of night,
and that is it- we never see them again. Others find this sad, but… not to us.
They suffer no pain, no distress, and they find each other eventually.

The other thing that helps is that not all of them are of
such an ancient mind. The same night some of them leave, the rest look up at us,
understanding for the first time, and pull themselves to their feet.

Some of them may leave us, but the rest see us, and they
stay.

This is based off of the endgame around Diablo 3. A lot of the angels ( http://diablo.wikia.com/wiki/Angel ) can be found in their Heavens, impaled on things or tied to walls, and it’s suggested that more are held captive in various places. There’s also a number stranded on Pandemonium, a demon-infested battleground between worlds. Sharpclaw and my Nephalem characters objected to that being allowed to continue. 

I have and will be taking some liberties with angelic anatomy. 

Warnings for implied torture, nothing explicit. 

Basically, Sharpclaw rescues a large number of glowy, frightened cats. 

They were all frightened at first.

The ones lost in Pandemonium were less afraid, still with
some fight in them, but none had weapons to fight with. They tried, lashing out
with gauntlets to claw into him, but failed to do any damage beyond deep
scratches- which immediately had them retreating, frightened of the punishment
that was sure to come.

The ones found impaled in the Heavens, transfixed with agony
in their home that should have been safe, were shaky and too weak to fight.
They tried, but failed again, not even leaving marks. They were the easiest to
move, as well, low on energy and mass.

The ones rescued from torture pits were the worst. Many
didn’t have enough energy to manifest their wings, if they even had their wings left, and they were all
scarred and carved up and missing pieces of plating. And they were scared- shrieking terror or shutting
down entirely when he reached for
them, desperately struggling to escape as they were moved, but most of them
crashed to the floor the second they got out of his arms. Which didn’t help
their fear, only made it worse, and made it easy to tell when another former
prisoner had been brought in.

The Pandemonium refugees swore furiously when carried, and
the impaled ones hissed and grumbled as they were moved, but the tortured ones
either screamed wordless terror or made absolutely no sound. And it was hard to
decide which was worse- the screaming or the ones who were too broken to scream.

And none of them liked the person handling them.

The Nephilim? They killed demons. However powerful, however
frightening they were, they had that going for them.

This?

This was a demon,
or half-one. Larger than humans normally grew, and pale, incredibly pale. Red
pupils, long, white hair, pale skin that easily showed bruises- he almost would
have looked like something they were used to if not for a set of features that
were distinctly inhuman.

Humans were not digitigrade. Humans walked flat on their
feet and wore shoes, they didn’t walk on the last joints of long, clawed toes
with thick pads. Humans did not have swishing tails as long as their legs,
either. Most of all, humans did not have
short, pointed horns rising from their brows. Humans didn’t have digitigrade
legs, tails, and horns, but demons did.

This was a demon. However
gently it carried them, however much it tried to whisper soothing things to
them, it was a demon, and it was
going to hurt them, they were certain
of it.

Even if they were in a… strangely… comfortable place.

They were in a very large room inside of a stone building, a
castle. The floor was badly shattered, and someone had hauled massive chunks of
the stone into a large ring. The interior was filled with packed dirt which had
been covered thickly with straw, forming a relatively soft surface that was
about shoulder-height off the ground everywhere around it. The elevation was
minor, but much better than being on the ground or in a pit, and it meant that
they were together. They could press together with the worst injured inside,
the healthier ones on the outside for protection, and surround the
still-shaking ones with Angelic colors to help calm them.

Well. Calm them until every time the demon came back over.
It was the only one large enough to carry them, so every new arrival who
couldn’t walk was carried over to be placed on the plateau with the rest. Which
frightened easily half of them every time, especially when the demon turned up
wearing armor. Even when it spoke to them.

“Hey, look- I’m just a bit tired of you lot clawin’ my arms
up. I don’t blame you, but that hurts. So… armor. It’s- I don’t think any of it
is demonic? Just regular armor. It’s not gonna hurt you. Uh… right? What- are
you all allergic to steel? No? Okay. I’m gonna leave you alone.”

Not terribly reassuring. The thing did seem to be telling
the truth for now, though, it left every time it said it would. At least until
it came back.

And the last time it came back, it smelled rather strongly
of inhuman blood. One of their number was wrapped around its frame, claws dug
into its shoulders, screaming battle cries and striking at his frame with wings
that managed to badly singe its clothing despite being barely there. A warrior,
despite everything, who refused to be pried off and put with the others. The
demon wasn’t hurting the warrior, oddly enough, but clearly didn’t like this.

“Ow, ow, okay, can- can you not with the- ow, hey, I’m
trying to put you down, can you- ow,
all right, that’s- that’s my shoulder blade, I need that, can- ow, okay, I- fuck-“

The warrior’s last cry turned into a shriek of surprise as
frost puffed out around their torso from somewhere around the demon’s mouth,
and the demon took advantage of their surprise to grab them and pull them off-

A third of their number turned away and the rest bristled in
anticipation of the punishment that had to be forthcoming-

And then the warrior was tossed unceremoniously up with the
rest of them, and the demon backed away, swearing under its breath and shaking
its singed hands. “Ow! Sorry about that, but you had your claws on some nerves
or something, I- look, I was trying to put you down, I can’t really do that
with your claws around my shoulder blades! I-I get that you don’t like me, I
get that I scare you, but- if I wanted to hurt you, I would have already! I-I
wouldn’t be doing this. So… can you just… not? Ow. Now I gotta go find healing
potions again. Too bad those probably wouldn’t work on you lot.”

When the demon finally turned away, they were all torn
between apprehension and pleasure at seeing just how badly their warrior (who
is now shaking angrily and trying to scrape frost off their armor) had managed
to claw its back up. The back of its shirt was a tattered ruin, and the skin of
its back wasn’t much better.

Good.

Unfortunately, when it came back, it didn’t appear to be
injured any longer. Nor was it wearing a shirt. Which revealed… nothing
sinister. More pale-white skin, a few barely visible blood vessels, and an
assortment of mostly-minor scars. None of them were really looking at the
demon, though- they were looking at what was in its hand. It wasn’t holding
another of them, but a clay jar with a few thin wisps of smoke coming out of
it, which was very suspicious and
more than a little bit unnerving. No matter what it was saying.

“Okay, look, I’m not up to anything- well, I am, but it’s
not bad. This is a scent diffuser, it spreads smells around. It’s got some
herbs in it right now, and a little candle, and it heats the herbs up and makes
them give off good smells. It’s lavender, mostly, supposed to be calming. Look.”

Stepping a bit closer, the demon turned the jar around to
show a small gap in the side, through which a tiny candle was visible. “It’s
not anything dangerous. See? Just a tiny flame. I don’t know if lavender works
on angels, I don’t even know if you guys can smell anything, but… it’s worth a
try, right? It won’t hurt you, at least.”

They hissed angrily as the demon drew closer, but it only
placed the jar on top of a slab of stone and backed away, leaving the jar there
to continue giving off a scent.

Admittedly, the scent was… not objectionable. Not overly
strong or cloyingly sweet, just… a scent. They backed away from it as far as
possible nonetheless, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything unpleasant. Aside
from… smoking faintly.

That was the last time one of their number was brought in,
and no one else came close for long enough to let them settle and start talking
among each other.

Inquiries about whether old friends were alive, questions
about who knew what regarding their captor, about the Nephilim.

And none had any good answers.

Mostly, no, old friends were dead. Or were among the ones
huddled silent, dim, scarred, and unrecognizable in the center of the mass. A
few met old friends again, embracing and pressing tightly together, and refused
to be pried apart- they needed the familiarity.

No one knew what to make of the Nephilim, and quite a few
arguments stirred up over the topic. They were terrifying, that was certain,
powerful enough to take down even an Archangel. For the moment, their
attentions seemed to be focused on eradicating evil, but they were humans. Violent, unpredictable,
unsteady-minded humans. They could turn on a moment’s notice, that much was
certain, the question was of whether they would.

And the demon… that was the thing that had them all the most
confused. It looked like a relatively composed demon, but it bled like a human,
albeit with a strange smell. The frost, urgh- that could have been a spell, but
the breath origins made it seem demonic. It was warm, though, frost or not- it was warm through its clothing. None
of them really knew how warm humans were supposed to be, but it certainly
wasn’t demon-hot.

Must have been a hybrid, they decided, a human and a demon
breeding somewhere. Which made it three-quarters demon, which was close enough
to fully demonic for them to continue thinking of it as a demon. That was all
it was, after all. Even if it was… strangely gentle. Because that had to be a
trick, it did- that was the one thing they agreed on.

Well. Most of them.

A few disagreed. The quieter ones, weaker, still shaking off
the phantom sensations of chains and blades. When nudged, they spoke softly of
powerful hands putting shears to work against their bonds, pulling barbs from
their frames, a pale figure whispering reassurance before breathing frost
against overheated plating. They hadn’t enjoyed the various modes of transport,
any of them, but he’d settled them gently in the wagon and had carried them
carefully despite their struggling.

One of them who still smelled faintly of smoke had something
written on their chest, something which, upon inspection, was a sigil written
in charcoal. The sigil was cold to the touch, applied over plating that had
been near-melted by hellfire, and cooled any scorched plating brought near it.
Several of them wanted to remove the sigil, thinking it harmful, but the
scorched one retreated further and guarded it with both arms until they
stopped. And the sigil… didn’t seem to be doing any harm. It was a design they
didn’t recognize, not demonic in origin.

Eventually, they were distracted from their discussion by
the approach of… something. Something strange enough to bring many of them to
that edge of the plateau to stare. It looked almost like them, a suit of armor
with empty spaces in the joints, but it didn’t smell like them. Nor did it have
any light to it, anywhere. And it smelled of flame, that had some of them very
concerned, but it was approaching calmly enough- and they were curious. A construct, maybe? They’d
never seen the likes, but it could have been one. It was definitely animate,
and it chirruped a friendly noise up at them as it approached.

Questioning it yielded no clear answers, though. Either it
couldn’t speak, or it didn’t want to. It just reached up to set two buckets of
water near them, then added a few coarse cloths. Dipping one of the cloths into
the water, the construct (?) scrubbed rather blatantly at its own arm,
evidently demonstrated, then put the cloth back. Head tilted, it walked slowly
around the platform, looking up at them, then waved slightly and left.

Concerning, but no direct threat, and many of them jumped at
the chance to get the filth off their
frames. The water was clean, the cloths were soft, and they weren’t about to
stay this dirty for any longer. Not when none of them were strong enough to
burn their own frames clean.

Oddly considerate of their captors.

Probably bait.

Nevertheless… this wasn’t the worst situation any of them
had been in. Nice, if not for their suspicion.

They were still suspicious, though.

This is based off of a necromancer I play in Diablo 3, Dinnau, and the Templar who accompanies him. No knowledge of Diablo 3 is needed, except that the heroes, like in most video games, don’t tend to stay dead. Also, Dinnau has literally saved the world several times. 

No significant warnings, just awkwardness, a small amount of sexual tensoin, and mentions of someone temporarily drowning. 

Kormac was quite certain that it was never a good thing when
the medics couldn’t agree on if someone had died. Granted, it might not have
mattered here as much as other places, since Dinnau had a habit of not staying
dead either way, but still. Spending any amount of time submerged in a frozen
lake was bad, but being dragged into said lake by one leg and spending an
unknown amount of time at the bottom, tangled in animated (and angry) seaweed,
was especially unfortunate.

But Dinnau still wouldn’t
stay in the medical area. Something about wanting to recover in a quieter
place. Which Kormac understood, but when medics told you to stay somewhere, it
was usually a good plan to stay somewhere. The medics were too busy to deal
with someone who was trying to leave and only might need  assistance later,
though, so Kormac was on what had been termed “drag the stupid idiot back if he
starts choking” duty.

Dinnau, fortunately, was not choking. Just sitting as close
as possible to the fireplace, wrapped up in a blanket, glaring at the flames.
And still, still shaking. Really not
a surprise; Dinnau seemed to get cold easily, and his skin had been ice-cold
when Kormac had managed to get him back out of the water. He was probably still
cold, even if he was warm enough to be alive.

So… maybe Kormac should try to get him warmed up a bit more?
And not in the way that certain
people would suggest, just- another blanket? Or- hm, no, they’d already given
him some hot soup, he probably didn’t want more.

Given that, what could Kormac do?

Deciding to try and figure it out from a bit closer, he
carefully approached Dinnau from the side, trying to be fairly loud so he
wouldn’t startle his companion. Startling a necromancer in a bad mood was a
good way to end up with bones, yours or otherwise, somewhere you did not want
them.

Once he was close enough, he sat down next to Dinnau, slowly
reaching to set a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Dinnau- are you well?”

Wait, no, stupid question, and he realized it, but-

Well, he got a bit distracted. He’d accidentally nudged the
blanket off of Dinnau’s shoulder, and that revealed some rather interesting
scars. And the fact that Kormac had managed to put his thumb into the hollow of
Dinnau’s collarbone. “Ah- oh, by the Heavens, you are cold. Is there- may I assist?”

“Am I cold? I hadn’t noticed.” Dinnau muttered dryly, but
didn’t pull away from the touch. In fact, he leaned into it slightly, seeking
the warmth. Kormac was large and hefty and pleasantly warm, and that… that had
Dinnau’s attention.

Gaze flickering up to Kormac’s face, Dinnau sized the
Templar up for several long moments, then backed up and gestured to the place
where he’d been sitting. He was on top of a thickly padded bearskin rug to keep
the chill of the stone floor away, so he fully intended to stay here in front
of the fire, and… maybe he could add Kormac to his anti-cold measures. “You may
absolutely exist. Come here- get comfortable. And… take your shirt off.”

…what?

Oh, of course, that made sense, it would be easier to
transfer heat without clothing in the way, but-

…wait. Dinnau was clearly not wearing a shirt, and-

Well, Kormac knew for a fact that the necromancer been
completely naked for some amount of time in the medbay, as his clothing had
been both soaked wet and frozen almost solid, but he didn’t know if Dinnau had
ever… actually put anything, other than that blanket, back on.

Was he about to end up with Dinnau in his lap, naked?

And how much did he object to that idea?

Not anywhere near as much as he should, oh goodness.

But Dinnau was still shivering, and Kormac had offered, and-

Oh goodness.

Hoping he didn’t look as flustered as he felt, Kormac
removed his shirt and sat in the suggested spot, hands wrapping tightly into
the fur of the rug in an effort to keep them from wandering into, well-

Dinnau had some very interesting scars, from wounds that had
been too deep or had waited too long for a healer to fully repair, and he
somehow managed to make deathly pale skin look good, aaand-

Okay, so, yes, Dinnau was at least wearing undershorts, and
Kormac felt rather like kicking himself for his sudden desire to have things not that way, but-

Dinnau stood up to stretch, the blanket falling away slightly,
and made a face at the cold air before he was distracted by Kormac’s
expression. Said expression was somewhere between surprise and want, and it was actually rather cute,
but a bit surprising in this context.

Surprise notwithstanding, Kormac didn’t look uncomfortable,
so Dinnau shrugged off the blanket and sat in Kormac’s lap. As soon as he was
in place, he pulled the blanket up around himself again, leaning back and
stifling a moan at the sensation of
warm skin against his entire back. Oh, that was divine. Why hadn’t he done this before? He and Kormac had spent
enough time dragging each other out of battle and patching each other up, they
could certainly manage this much cont-

Did he still have
that stunned expression? And- all right, Kormac was far too stiff, this was not
okay. “Kormac, you’ve seen me shirtless before, and we are comfortable with
each other.

Please try to relax. You are quite welcome to put your hands
somewhere other than the floor, and-“

Pausing, he twisted around to meet
Kormac’s eyes, his voice soft and serious. “If you want me to leave, tell me. I
am not here to make you uncomfortable, and I am not going to die if you are not
comfortable with me in your lap. You are not obliged to let me touch you. So-
do I need to move?”

“You’re… usually… rather covered
in blood when- when you aren’t wearing a shirt.” Kormac managed, then
immediately raised his hands at the question and hesitated for an instant
before settling them on Dinnau’s forearms. “No! I-I am not- not uncomfortable,
merely- you are worryingly cold.”

And it was true! Dinnau was still
shivering and far too cold, and his entire back against Kormac’s front was
slightly less than pleasant. And it was, uh. Kormac’s nipples had noticed the
cold, so… hopefully Dinnau didn’t notice that. Ahem.

Awkwardness aside, though, Dinnau
was relaxing against him. And it was… oddly pleasant.

After a moment more, Kormac slid
both hands under the blanket, around Dinnau without trapping his arms, and
hugged the shivering necromancer closer to his chest. Muttering something about
efficiency, he tried his best to behave himself, but ended up slowly tracing
along a scar that had ended up under his fingertips. An odd curving pattern,
tiny deviations to either side, like whatever caused it had been rattling
rapidly back and forth. Which was… this was OK to inspect, right? He just…
happened to have his hand on top of it, and it was just a scar on Dinnau’s
side, nothing… nothing too… anything.

Even if Dinnau had made a sound when he felt Kormac’s arms around
him. That was just- just because he was a bit less cold now. Probably. Right?

“Is, uh… is this acceptable? You
are still quite cold.”

Dinnau shuddered and slowly
pressed further back against Kormac, doing his level best to melt into the very warm Templar, and once again barely
managed to not moan. Kormac was unfairly warm,
nice and solid, and was holding him- and
there was something just delightful about being held close like this. He should
have done this a long time ago, and they were definitely doing this again. “Ah… there we are. Thank you, Kormac,
this is… oh. Much better. And-“

A quick pause, rolling one
shoulder back in a rather pointed manner, and he chuckled very softly to
himself. “Yes, I did notice the cold.”

At the inevitable sputtering that
ensued, Dinnau sighed and patted Kormac’s hand, huddling a bit further down
into the blankets and Templar that were serving as a nest. “Kormac, I am not
afraid of your nipples. You do not need to apologize, I do know a few things about anatomy.”

Akgh.

Having no idea what to say to
that, Kormac elected to say nothing at all, biting his lip and going silent
after he was done sputtering. Still holding Dinnau close, he thought for a few
long moments, hands cupped against Dinnau’s stomach… and noticed something.

That strange, oddly pleasant
mage-woman was right. Dinnau was skinny, more
so than he had been when Kormac had met him. Probably needed to eat more. No-
definitely needed to eat more. Was going to be hard to convince him to, though,
unless-

Wait.

Kormac reluctantly took his arms
from around Dinnau’s frame, wrapping the blanket tightly around the lanky man
instead, and squirmed away with an apologetic sound. “My apologies, Dinnau-
give me a moment, please? I-I have- stay, I have an idea- sit.”

Dinnau whined up at him, actually whined,
as Kormac moved, and something in the Templar’s chest tightened unpleasantly at the sound, but he kept
going- got up and left the room, moving almost at a run so he didn’t have any
time to give in to the urge to immediately go back. He didn’t want to move- he
wanted to stay and help Dinnau get warmed up, but he had to grab something
first, this- this was important.

When he came back, he was
carrying a bowl of stew in one hand and a small, cloth-wrapped bag of sand in
the other. “Apologies, but- you need to eat, and you need to warm up, and-
these will help with both. Here-“

Dinnau had been startled by the
sudden movement and very unhappy with
the sudden influx of cold air and the loss of heat and contact. Not even a warning, just cold stone re-chilling his ass
through his undershorts. Rude, abrupt, cold- all his least favorite things.

By the time Kormac got back,
Dinnau was sitting hunched into a ball of blankets and anger, Glaring up at
Kormac, he did his very best to project his extreme dissatisfaction with the
situation, resisting the urge to immediately climb back into the Templar’s lap.
That was kind of an embarrassing urge, no matter how much he wanted it. Kormac…
was apologizing, though, and had…
brought him things.

Maybe he… would get a bit closer.

“Someone is heating sand in an
iron pot and pouring it into these bags- it stays very warm. Take this, and
then- this is a very good venison stew. You are-“

Kormac hesitated for an instant,
taken aback by his own tone, then squared his shoulders and drew himself up.
“If you want- want me to keep helping you warm up, you are going to eat this.
Or at least some of it. I know you’re
only half human, but you need to eat at least
half of the time, and you don’t. So- eat!”

Holding his breath slightly and
hoping that he hadn’t upset Dinnau, Kormac thrust the bowl towards him, waiting
to see what sort of reaction he would-

Oh.

Dinnau briefly considered
protesting that he didn’t often because he wasn’t hungry often, but halfway
through the threat he was ready to give in. Fine. Pride or not, he was cold,
and… eating what smelled like a very good stew was not enough of a price to
deter him from- well, anything. Especially not something nice like this.

But the rest of it… heh. There
was that confidence- good for Kormac. Dinnau smirked just slightly, then
shrugged and climbed into Kormac’s lap again, wanting the warmth back. “Yes,
sir.”

Oh- that got a response. A rather
startled look, then a vaguely more confident expression as Kormac settled him
more firmly into place and held him close. Cute. How a man heavier than him was
‘cute’, Dinnau had no idea, but… heh. It worked.

Now… awkward sputtering aside,
there was a warm object and a bowl of stew to enjoy. Taking the liberty of
shifting until he was comfortable again, Dinnau set the bag of sand under his
(still icy) feet, then sighed and stared down at the bowl in a short attempt to
summon an appetite. Nothing. And he hadn’t eaten in… quite awhile, probably
days, so he should… probably be hungry. Had been hungry, before, when he hadn’t
been using his power this much… maybe this was a consequence.

Did he need to eat at all, then?
Hm- probably sometimes, he’d needed to tighten his belt a few times before,
but…

Oh, fine. It wouldn’t hurt him to
eat something, and this did smell nice. Nor could he bring himself to mind the
order- it was out of concern for him, not a feeling of entitlement to his time
or cooperation.

Kormac stayed fairly stiff at first,
uncertain if he’d crossed a line somewhere by giving orders, but relaxed as
Dinnau complied. No, it didn’t seem like Dinnau was angry. Or… anything but
relaxed, actually, he was eating. Slowly, but that seemed to be the usual.
Dinnau never ate quickly, seeming to prefer leisurely, small meals over faster,
filling ones if they were low on time. Odd, but it made some amount of sense in
context.

This time, though? This time, Dinnau
was going to eat this entire bowl of stew, at least if Kormac had anything to
say about it, and Kormac had several things to say about it.

It didn’t end up being difficult to
get Dinnau to eat, though. Which was fortunate. Kormac probably wouldn’t have been
able to muster the gumption to put considerable effort into something so far
above his station as ordering around the
man who had saved all of existence several times over. Giving orders to
anyone felt strange, and Dinnau… Dinnau should have been in charge of things.
He certainly shouldn’t have been… calling Kormac “sir”. And Kormac should not have been enjoying that little word
as much as he was.

But he managed not to make a big
deal of it- or any deal, really, he didn’t respond in any way. Not on purpose,
at least.

And that was just how it went.

Dinnau gradually finished off the
stew, then set the bowl aside and snuggled back into Kormac’s frame, drowsy and
finally starting to warm up properly. Sighing softly, he turned to the side and
hummed gently to Kormac, shifting around until he was comfortable. But… this
wouldn’t be for Kormac, not for long.

“Kormac, this is very comfortable,
but… I am going to fall asleep very soon. You should… probably lie down. Get
comfortable. That is an order… I am not about to let you make yourself
uncomfortable on my behalf.”

“Understood,” Kormac whispered,
moving carefully so as not to dump Dinnau out of his lap, and got comfortable
on the rug in front of the fireplace. It could have been very awkward to lie
with another person like this, but
Dinnau looked half-asleep, and Kormac wasn’t about to do anything that would
potentially get him woken up. He was just going to play along with whatever
Dinnau wanted so that the necromancer would sleep
properly for once.

And because… because it was very
nice, once he pulled the blankets up over them both.

Dinnau muttered something indistinct
and thankful, nuzzling into Kormac’s chest without any hint of shame, and
pressed as close as he could get. Humming gently, he put an arm over the
Templar’s frame, thoroughly enjoying the warmth and more than enjoying the fact
that Kormac was actually relaxing against
him. That was good- some contact would probably be good for Kormac.

Well. Kormac was now lying in front
of a fireplace, shirtless, covered in blankets, with a man in his undershorts pressing against him. This was… wow. Okay. Far,
far too nice, bordering on sinful if
not for how much good it was doing Dinnau. Because, importantly, Dinnau was warm, had just eaten, and was falling
asleep.

Perfect.

He fell asleep like that, holding
Dinnau close, and it was amazing.

 

Waking up like that was also amazing.
And warm.

Too
warm in one particular place, though. Silently cursing and trying to figure
out how to get away well enough to not disrupt Dinnau, Kormac slowly started to
move away, then stilled when Dinnau clung tighter. Okay, that- that was an
issue, because he needed to get away and do something about this, but Dinnau
really didn’t want him to-

Dinnau cracked open one eye, but
didn’t bother to take his face out of Kormac’s chest, just spoke loudly enough
to be heard. “Kormac, stop… I am not afraid of your dick.”

More sputtering. Cute. Dinnau
smirked against Kormac’s chest, then exhaled deeply and drifted off again, not
having fully woken up in the first place. He’d just… sleep. And enjoy the
warmth.

Wasn’t like offering to help Kormac
with that little ‘problem’ would get a positive reaction. Otherwise he might
have stayed awake. But… no. Maybe some time later.

Hopefully some time later.

Thanks to an impulsive action, a wrestling match turns into some experimentation in kinks. 

(Alzu and Almul playing around. Spanking is involved. Very slight warning for Alzu being too excited to stop and properly discuss consent and how subspace works before diving headfirst into an aspect of dom/sub play, he probably shouldn’t have done that. Nothing bad happens, though.)

“Hey Almul- gonna getcha!”

Almul had been expecting this sort of thing from the bouncy
way Alzu was acting, and they weren’t caught off guard as he pounced at them.
Skreeking pretend-anger, they wrapped their arms tightly around him and ‘kicked’
with both legs, pushing up against his stomach, then bucked and managed to get
halfway flipped over.

Alzu lunged at their face, mouth open as wide as it would
go, eyes wide and playful, and Almul cut them off by grabbing at their mouth.
Metal hands meant they could grab Alzu’s upper and lower jaws in different
hands with no worry of the teeth, using it to twist his head to the side and
try to get on top of him, which semi-worked. Alzu was wiggly, and not quite
trying his hardest, but definitely still being feisty.

Several minutes of flailing and wrestling and assorted
sounds of amused effort later,  Almul was
sitting on Alzu’s back, just about hit in the face by his tail every time it
wagged. Alzu was pinned on his front, rump in the air, tail wagging furiously,
pawing at the ground but not really able to get away. Partly because he wasn’t
using his full strength, partly because Alzu was at a bit of a disadvantage
against a partner who he couldn’t bite and didn’t want to hurt or upset.

They’d got him- but he was still wiggling. Time to make him
be still and further establish their victory. Clamping their legs tighter
around Alzu’s sides, Almul growled lightly and dug their claws carefully into
his thighs, pretending to be exasperated at him refusing to submit-

Then acted on impulse and gave Alzu’s rump a quick spank.

Alzu froze, tail stilling for an instant, giving a startled
little yelp, and glanced back over his shoulder at Almul before his tail
started to wag again. This time, instead of the broad, sweeping wags from
before, it was a quick up-and-down motion- a gesture of interest. Arousal. And
a very blatant one to Almul, given that it was very close to their face.

Wriggling in a way that emphasized the sway of his hips,
Alzu grinned over his shoulder at Almul, arching his back in an attempt to get
loose. “What… d’you wanna play like that? Go on- I can take it!” he challenged,
then blinked, tilted his head, and grinned.  Might as well try. “What- y’wann’ do a diff’rent
sorta play? C’mon- bet’cha can’t make me be still. Ain’t got me that easy.”

Almul, midway through cheeping a sheepish apology for their
impulsive action, stared down at Alzu for several seconds in sheer
bewilderment. Alzu… wanted to…

Right. People liked weird things for sex, and Alzu liked a lot of weird things. And-

Almul slipped a hand down under Alzu, palming lightly at his
crotch, and clicked in mild amusement at what they found. Yep- turned on
already. Couldn’t be from just the one
spank, too quick, so- the whole wrestling match? All right- sure. That was…
actually kind of flattering, even if it was
“could probably be turned on by a stiff breeze” Alzu.

So… Alzu was turned on by this situation, was still wiggling
and refusing to behave, and was apparently open to… well. To Almul trying to
spank him into cooperation.

Why not?

Almul’s leg-clamp had loosened out of confusion, but they
clamped down again, pretend-growling, and spanked Alzu again. Not hard, they
didn’t want to hurt him, but enough
to… probably be a good strong feeling?

“Ah yeah-“ Alzu muttered, entirely ruining the illusion of
him trying to get away, and paused his squirming for just an instant before
resuming –and redoubling- his efforts. He was gonna get awayyy unless Almul
convinced him otherwise by-

Ooh-

 

That wasn’t enough, then? All right. Challenge accepted.

Rumbling excitement in the back of their throat, Almul undid
the buckle above Alzu’s tail and pulled his shorts down just enough to expose
his haunches, then roughly gripped the newly exposed hide and glanced down at-

At Alzu, who was now biting their foot.

Tail waving much faster in anticipation, Alzu growled and squirmed, biting semi-gently at Almul’s
leg as he tried to struggle free. He was clearly turned on, though- eyes wide
and gleaming, ears up, tail wagging hard, drooling against Almul’s plating as
he bit. Oh, yes- Almul was catching on fast.

Naughty.

Almul growled warningly, then brought their palm against
Alzu’s rump, a bit harder than before, and repeated the action several more
times until Alzu whined and let go of their leg. Two more swats, and Alzu whined
again and lapped appeasingly at the bitten spot, looking very contrite. There-
a bit better.

Purring softly, Almul gently stroked the spot they’d been
spanking, starting to drift their hands inwards-

And Alzu immediately started squirming again, though without
biting.

Almul clamped their plating in mock-anger, then firmly
grabbed Alzu’s tail in one hand to keep it out of the way as they applied their
palm to a slightly different spot. Alzu had some padding from his fur, so it
wasn’t very loud, but they evidently had a good strength down- because Alzu was
slowing his struggles a bit, but his tail was wagging harder in Almul’s hand.
Evidently this was good.

Quickly enough, Almul figured out a system. If Alzu started
squirming harder, he got harder spanks, going back over the same spots. If he
relaxed, made those appeasing sounds, and stopped moving, he got light, gentle
strokes to his rump, and Almul’s hands strayed in towards his entrance or down
towards his cock. And Almul was learning to feel the tension in Alzu’s frame, predict
what he was about to do, so-

Almul felt Alzu tense up in preparation for more struggles
and cut it off with one quick, sharp swat, and that seemed to do the trick.

Okay. Yeah, that… oh, he was done.

Alzu whimpered softly, a quiet, appeasing sound, and went
completely limp. Whining hopefully, he blinked up at Almul and crooned, hands
relaxing, no longer squirming in the slightest. That had been enough
excitement, enough play-punishment… he was done with that. Now- touches?
Please? More? Because he was very turned
on, and entirely too much of his clothing was still present, and really all he
wanted was to be touched and stroked-

Oh, should he have better explained himself before getting
into-

Eh, no time to worry about that, he was out of words. Rather
just whine and be hopeful.

Almul tried to wait until they were certain Alzu was done,
but, oh, those sounds. Soft,
tentative whines, hopeful noises, pleading- awh.

Crooning in approval, Almul stroked down the backs of Alzu’s
thighs, trying to soothe away the sting. Okay, yes, he was being good now. The
swing in mood was a bit abrupt, but- this worked, yes, so they could just- just
pet now, and- yep.

There was rather an impressive damp spot in the front of
Alzu’s shorts as Almul pulled them off, and a quick stroke of his shaft
confirmed that, unsurprisingly, it was slick and just about dripping.

Now, what was Almul going to do next? They still didn’t
really like the texture here, but it seemed rather mean to just make Alzu
handle his own arousal after winding him up like this, so… hopefully there was
something in Alzu’s pack to use. Well- there was probably something in Alzu’s pack to use.

Sliding off of Alzu’s back, Almul grabbed one of his hands
out of the scuffed-up leaf litter and coaxed him down until his hand was on his
cock, paused for an instant, then tugged it back until- ah, he’d got the
message, and Almul growled in approval as they moved to get into the pack.

Almul was no longer trapping him, but he was done trying to
escape anyway, and Alzu only moved to splay his legs further as he waited.
Well- that, and slicking up his fingertips against his cock before moving to
start working himself open. Presumably Almul had something in mind here.
Hopefully it involved something in him.

When Almul came back, they prodded lightly at Alzu’s tail
until he curled it up out of the way, then lowered their hand to stroke
something over his cock. They’d gotten out a smallish glass plug with a wide
base, ridged just slightly to help keep the lube on it, and rubbing it against
Alzu’s shaft-tip was an easier way to slick it up than trying to find the
bottle of lube. Same stuff, anyway.

Once the toy was slick enough, Almul gently pressed it to
Alzu’s entrance, paused to look over at his excited expression, then slowly started
to press it inside. Crooning in approval, they skittered a hand up his back and
stroked down his spine, trying to soothe as they worked the toy into place. Not
that Alzu needed soothing, he was happily pushing back into the toy, but-

Hm, actually, too fast. Alzu knew his limits, yes, but Almul
wanted to take their time. Just in case. So-

In their other hand was a soft cloth, and they wrapped both
the cloth and their hand around the base of his cock, gripping firmly below the
knot and giving a slight tug to keep him from leaning back. That earned a
startled noise, and it worked- Alzu stopped moving away, pouting slightly but forced
to be still and let Almul rock the toy in at a torturously slow pace.

As soon as Almul got the toy in and let go of his cock, Alzu
crooned softly and rolled over, splayed on his back and offering himself up.
Pawing gently at the air, he whined hopefully and grasped at empty space in
Almul’s direction, hoping to lure him down to- yesss.

Aw, okay.

Giving in to the wordless plea, Almul stretched out next to
Alzu and pressed their weight gently on top of him, keeping the cloth around
his shaft but sliding it up a bit. This was probably the best way to go about
playing with Alzu’s cock, much better for the both of them than Almul’s metal
hand directly on sensitive skin. A cloth soaked in lube was probably a nice
texture, right?

Oh, it was absolutely a good texture, at least in Alzu’s
opinion.

After a bit of squirming, Alzu had both arms wrapped around
Almul, one hindleg kicking at the air and the other trapped under Almul’s
frame. Drooling happily and licking at Almul’s throat, he whimpered and kicked and
bucked up into the grip on his cock, not really struggling so much as working
against Almul’s frame until-

Well, Alzu wasn’t bothering with trying for stamina. Grip
tightening, he bucked up into Almul and held the arched pose as he came, then
slowly relaxed again and panted softly. Ah, nice.

And then, of course, grabbed at Almul with all four limbs
and tried to melt into him.

Almul crooned approval and nuzzled into Alzu’s throat, then
sprawled on top of him completely in order to reach and pet at all the good
spots. It seemed like it might be important now to do this, so… petting,
fur-combing, and the most praise they could manage without a voice. Yes, good-
good Alzu.

Oof.

Good Alzu with a very tight hug. But, yes- good. And
apparently fully intending to hug Almul for quite awhile, so… yes. Warm,
comfortable, nice- no problems at all. Might have to clean up at some point,
but… good.

This wasn’t how wrestling matches usually turned out, was
it?