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forest-rot · 1 hour

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My love is an animal call

Rating: Teen and up, just in case

Pairing: Aether/Dewdrop

Word Count: 2.2k

CW: feral behavior, kind of lycanthropy, slight predator and prey. Nobody is injured.

Read under the cut or on AO3.

The autumn moon has a special power over him. When the trees are still covered with leaves, but the night air is already frosty and sweet in a special way, he finds it hardest to resist the power of the autumn moon. Even when the moon is obscured by clouds, Aether still feels its call.

Most of the year he controls himself. But the fall awakens something special, something ancient. It hides under a thin cloak of civility and waits patiently for the slightest opportunity to come out. Aether knows - he feels it in his bones - that others are also trying to resist; he knows that on the days of the autumn full moon Omega hides in the crypt beneath the main cathedral, convinced that the moon's power is weakened. Aether never asks if it helps; he already knows the answer.

He hurries back to his cell at dusk, closes the shutters, and locks the door. The moon seems to whisper to him, "Stop resisting". Aether covers the window with a blanket and lights candles, hoping their warm orange light will overcome the cold silver glow. The candles help him not to think about the moon, reminding him of other things: the sparkles in his amber eyes, the sunlight dancing in his ginger hair. The smell of heated wax and smoke drowns out the sweetness of the autumn air.

Tonight, he doesn't light the candles or close the shutters. It's useless since the moon has already penetrated his thoughts. Aether closes his eyes and exposes his face to the pale light. He takes a deep breath, and the light night wind touches his skin.

This becomes the last straw, and Aether surrenders.

Barefoot and unmasked, wearing only sweatpants, he climbs out of the cell window, slides down the wall, claws digging into the cracks in the brickwork, and then he makes his way toward the forest, walking upright one second and on all fours the next, keeping to leeward and hiding in the shadows of the buildings.

The night air is sweet and fresh.

The forest welcomes him with the rustle of the wind in the crowns of the trees and the voices of the night birds, the smell of fallen leaves and wet earth, as if someone had cracked the cap of a giant mushroom. The path under his bare feet twists and turns, leading deeper into the forest.

Humans are afraid to enter the forest after dark, believing that something dwells in its densest parts and consumes lost souls - and they are right. For Aether, the threat is non-existent. The two of them have some things in common.

His civilized side urges him to turn back and to hide in the crypt with Omega or under his bed in his cell, anywhere to escape the cold moonlight. In the back of his mind, his own voice whispers, demanding, begging, pleading for him to return, but with each step, the voice becomes quieter and the weight in his head and chest becomes lighter.

Aether moves confidently, not hiding but not making too much noise. At one point, he drops to all fours, as a beast should. The moon reshapes his appearance, sharpening his senses and drowning out his fears. The frightened voice in the back of his mind finally calms down, and for the first time in a long while, Aether takes a deep breath.

The night air doesn't feel cold anymore. The scents in his nostrils make him pleasantly dizzy. An unfamiliar, animalistic delight fills his whole being, making his heart beat faster. Aether suddenly realizes that he has already shifted from a stride to a light trot and is moving faster and faster. His paws beat a soft rhythm on the ground as he races through the undergrowth, leaping over roots and fallen trees protruding from the ground.

His muscles, bones, joints, and ligaments sing in unison, as he runs, a symphony sliding along his spine, pounding in his head, and he would laugh, but only a low, happy growl erupts from his chest.

Suddenly, something rustles in the bushes. A dark silhouette darts through the branches and foliage, long legs and antlers, and the faint smell of green and wet fur. He startled a deer. He briefly considers chasing it, but decides to run, enjoying the feeling of speed and knowing there will be time for hunting later.

His claws dig easily into the loose earth, leaving deep furrows.

The black trunks of the trees, branches covering the sky, swaying in the wind and catching in his fur, and then

there is a clearing. The moonlight, the twinkling of stars, the silver sheen on the grass; his paws slipping on the wet ground as he stops abruptly. The smells of earth, grass, moss, rocks, and tree bark are intoxicating.

When he raises its head and howls,

roars,

screams,

sings,

the moonlight hits his eyes.

When the agitated thicket falls silent, Aether suddenly hears a call, long and lilting. His fur stands on end. The wind brings him a faint but recognizable scent of smoke. Vaguely familiar, its bitterness tickles his nostrils. Aether inhales greedily.

The call repeats again - not a challenge, but an invitation.

The night air smells of fallen leaves, damp soil, and smoke.

***

Clear footprints, the trail winding between the trees, the bitter odor growing closer and closer. Aether thinks he can hear intermittent breathing in the whisper of the wind. He slows down and moves cautiously, not wanting to give himself away.

But when a slender dark silhouette shows up ahead, and the smell of smoke fills his nostrils again, Aether can't take it anymore.

His claws leave deep marks in the soft soil, and he lets out a triumphant growl. He lunges forward, but his prey easily dodges. The tip of the other's tail playfully flicks him on the nose, and Aether grunts unhappily, hearing a mocking trill in response. Catch up with me. Catch me if you can.

A fierce, pure joy overwhelms him. The smoky odor makes him giddy, and Aether takes off after the slender figure disappearing between the trees.

The moon sings in his veins.

His heart pounds in his chest as he races through the underbrush, breathing heavily and exhaling silvery steam. The slender silhouette runs ahead of him, glancing over their shoulder, amber sparks flashing in the darkness. Aether gathers his strength and leaps again and again, and again.

The wind whistles in his ears. He is faster, but his prey is smaller, lighter, and more agile; a half-rotten trunk crunches under his paws, the sweet smell of spores and wet wood hits his nose, and he pushes off again, stretches out in the air

- the prey bounces aside with ease, teasing him. He lands in a dew-wet bush, snorting and shaking his head in frustration. But it’s okay. There are no losers in this game. A shiver of anticipation makes his fur - hair - stand on end, and he prepares to try again. His prey cries out as he flies out of the bush and knocks them down, then laughs. Strong, slender arms wrap around his neck, wet breath settles on his heated skin, the bittersweet smell of smoke fills his nostrils.

The song of the moon in his head begins to fade.

***

Aether wakes up when the first rays of the sun break through the crowns of the trees.

After nights when the moon overpowers him, he sleeps soundly, but when he awakens it feels like he has not rested at all, and he usually wakes up cold. Now he is cozy and warm, as if he had a good night's sleep in his own bed.

It's unusual and strange. Aether tries to raise a hand to wipe his eyes, and he hears a sleepy grunt of displeasure.

Someone is sleeping next to him - or rather on top of him.

Someone warm, their breath measured and quiet; hot air settles on Aether's skin, on the thick fur covering his chest. When Aether moves, they snuggle even tighter and grunt again. They smell of smoke and fallen leaves.

Aether opens his eyes.

He sees the sunlight dancing in his ginger hair and on the polished tips of his horns.

Dewdrop rests his forehead against his shoulder with a sleepy sigh; his thin, flexible tail wraps around Aether's leg and squeezes it.

“Dew? What…" Aether struggles to find words. “What do you…?”

“Sleep," Dewdrop mumbles. His voice sounds hoarse. “It's still early…”

Any other time Aether would have listened. They rarely get to sleep together. Their relationship is a series of hurried rendezvous in secluded corners of the abbey, secret touches and planted notes, and any chance to be alone together, away from prying eyes, is worth its weight in gold. But now a nagging thought gives him no rest.

He suddenly remembers: the soft ground beneath his paws, the smell of smoke tickling his nostrils. The excitement of the chase and the anticipation. A slim figure disappearing through the trees.

“Dew, please…”

Dewdrop sighs again and gives him a sleepy, disgruntled look. Aether notices a dry leaf stuck in his hair and reaches up to pull it out.

“Alpha," Dewdrop yawns. Aether blinks in surprise.

“Alpha? What's he got to do with this?

“I met him at the cathedral tonight," Dewdrop explains. “He was... taking food to the cree... to the crypt," he yawns again, shaking his head. “I asked why. So... word for word... he told me," his gaze gradually clears and becomes sharp and attentive as usual. “But I promised him not to tell anyone, so don’t say a word.”

Aether snorts. He works with Omega in the infirmary and knows that Alpha takes every opportunity to pop in.

“And then it clicked in my head," Dewdrop continues. “And I thought, what if the full moon is affecting not only Omega? So I ran to the dormitory, and imagine my surprise when I saw you running towards the forest in nothing but your pants...”

Aether takes a short, ragged breath.

“You saw everything.”

“Almost everything," Dewdrop clarifies. “I didn't get close until you started howling at the moon.”

“And you howled back," Aether mutters. He wants to yell at Dewdrop, call him an idiot or something worse, but at the same time Aether can't be angry with him. The thought that Dewdrop wasn't afraid to go into the forest at night because he was worried about him makes his heart beat faster.

Dewdrop shrugs, as much as he can from his lying position.

“It was hard to resist.”

“But I could have hurt you. Or worse! I... I do not really control myself on nights like this," Aether looks away. "I mean, I don’t control myself at all. What did... what did we do?"

He's not sure he wants to know the answer, but he needs to be sure.

“We rolled on the grass, and then we accidentally woke up that eight-legged thing that lives in the thicket and ran away from it," Dewdrop's dark lips curl into a smile, and Aether doesn't feel angry anymore.

Dewdrop slides off him with a grunt and sits up, stretching his arms above his head. Aether watches in fascination as the muscles move under the thin skin. Then he hears something crack and Dewdrop gives a content sigh.

Disheveled, with dry leaves and needles in his hair and dried mud on his gray skin, he still looks breathtakingly handsome in the morning light.

Aether props himself up on his elbow and reaches to pull another leaf from Dewdrop's hair. He notices the smudges of dirt on his own skin and sighs.

“We'll have to take a shower when we get back.”

Dewdrop immediately perks up.

“Will you wash my hair?”

He likes it when Aether plays with his hair, combs and braids it, but they rarely get the chance to do so.

“What if someone sees us? It's morning.”

“They haven't even tolled the bells for matins yet," Dewdrop squints at the sun through the trees. “If we hurry, no one will see us," he rises to his feet with enviable ease and stretches again. He is dressed only in his uniform trousers, dirty and torn just below the knee. When Aether asks where he has left the mask, Dewdrop shrugs it off with a wave of his hand.

“Under a tree at the forest's edge, I remember the place. We'll pick it up on our way.”

He reaches out and helps Aether up. Aether takes the opportunity to lean in and rub the tip of his nose against Dewdrop’s and Dewdrop snorts playfully.

“Thank you," Aether whispers. He doesn't elaborate, but a smile appears on Dewdrop's lips.

“Anything for you," he replies just as quietly. “Listen, Aeth..." his eyes turn serious again. “The next time you want to run through the woods under the moonlight, let me know, okay? I don't want anything to happen to you when you're... like this.”

Aether wags his tail sheepishly.

“It's not usually this bad... Most of the year I can control myself. It only gets difficult in the fall.”

Dewdrop strokes his knuckles.

“We'll figure it out together. I'll bring you food to the crypt if you need it. Or I'll run with you through the woods if you like," his eyes flash with a mischievous sparkle, and Aether's throat tightens with sudden tenderness.

Hand in hand they walk back to the abbey, tails intertwined.

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forest-rot · 12 hours

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Feel My Shadow Dissolving

3400-ish words of very sappy Mountain and Rain being reunited after a little self imposed exile.

Thank you @ghoultrifle and @ghuleh-recs for the encouragement and thank you to the two anons who also asked/encouraged, and well anyone else who enabled me.

CW: T4T Mountrain, cock, dick, cunt used for both of them. Some gill play, Rain has a tentacle, also PISS, squirting, oral sex. And a little bit of foot stuff but it is pretty mild and doesn’t go on for long. Some hint at non-con regarding the piss but Mountain wants it. Real bad. Below the cut or on ao3.

Kind of a follow to this

Busying himself in the greenhouse, he made it sound like a chore, but in fact he reveled in it. Getting all of the saplings and blooms he’d been nurturing all winter long ready to be planted on the grounds. He’d maybe be a little bit embarrassed if anyone heard him whispering and cooing to them. Well, maybe Ivy and Pebble would understand.

He ponders that thought. They’re all a bit solitary when it comes to this, something intimate, private. He’s ripped from his thoughts and the tray of black altar saplings nearly go with them, when an aquamarine speckled hand smacks the glass in front of his face, sending small beads of condensation outward.

Rain. Both in the sky and apparently outside of the greenhouse. He sees a bright flash of color, and hears the unmistakable boom of Swiss’s laughter. Almost as loud as the thunder rolling in. Which is why he hadn’t heard their approach. Not until it smacked him in the face, almost.

There’s a shrill shriek next, belonging to a certain hybrid, now tossing sparks of revenge in Swiss’s face.

Mountain watches Rain lean his forehead against the cool glass, eyes closed, panting, smiling.

The splatters hitting the roof of the greenhouse get louder, and more frequent. He hears them shouting but he can’t make it out. He just sees the sunset glow of Swiss’s horns and the autumnal luminance of Dew’s tail as they make a run for it.

Rain however, has flipped over, leaning against the window to watch the storm descend upon them.

Mountain reaches out and traces the long line of his shoulder, where shimmering cerulean lights up the droplets of water rattling in the wind, which really is picking up now. He should probably go inside.

Mountain has no such concerns, he has a make-shift camp inside the greenhouse now, no one questions the isolation, nor the various sundries that disappear every few days from the pantry and the supply closets.

Rain’s clap against the window knocked him out of his thoughts, but it also reminded him of his self-imposed isolation. And how he was maybe ready for it to be over.

But he’s sure Rain knew that. That’s why he’s here. His invitation being the still-damp flowers Mountain left on his pillow. Red chrysanthemums, a proposition, an invitation, and a declaration.

Never mind he had to look up their meaning on the internet. He still knew they meant something, they always do when they come from Mountain.

Rain hears the door of the greenhouse swing open with a squeal that demands oil, his cheeks tug his lips into a smile so large that it hurts a little. Knowing that he was the one Mountain chose.

Rain steps through the door and humidity wraps around his damp skin like a blanket. The scent almost makes him dizzy. Of damp earth, of flower petals, of the storm just outside the door, of sap, and bark and pine.

Of Mountain. All of it sinking into his flesh and he finds himself rubbing at his wet skin, as if he could push it all in further.

Rain had expected Mountain to look worn, sleep deprived and physically exhausted. Instead, he finds there’s a spark in those hazel eyes that rivals a fire ghoul. In fact, he looks so - vibrant.

The rich olive in the hollows of his cheekbones and eyelids, the rich amber flush spreading across the bridge of his nose and the high planes of his face, making all of his freckles pop like a constellation against the night sky.

One long, sinewed arm reaching out, fingers searching for something to wrap themselves around. Eyes raking over his own body, the wet clothes clinging to his skin, the glossy waves and ringlets of dark hair. One could say it was black but that doesn’t account for the depth and shifting hues of cobalt and navy, or of lilac and violet, when the light hits it just right.

Mountain eyes the map of gleaming asymmetrical marks that disappear beneath the neck of his t-shirt. There seems to be no real pattern, yet it all looks unified, their placement as imprecise as they are perfect.

And his lips twitch at the thought of tasting each and every one, they all trail inward, to his core. A treasure map as it were, that couldn’t have been an accident.

Rain drags himself out of his stupor to connect with the hand hanging in the air. For how long, he’s not sure. It feels like they’re moving in slow motion now. A distinct departure from moments ago, when he was racing through the wet clover, dodging Dew and Swiss.

Though they’d never catch him. They had a marked disadvantage anyway. His feet clinging to the available friction with ease, whilst Dew and Swiss slipped and fell, more than once.

Rain’s eyes have finally adjusted to the dim light. Tinted blue, and sparse. Enough so that Mountain can work without disturbing the natural rhythm of light and dark that the plants are used to.

It turns some of the ginger highlights in Mountain’s floppy auburn curls a shade of burnt sienna. “Pretty”, is all Rain has the wherewithal to say. It seems insufficient, but he can’t think of anything that really would be. It’s been weeks. How do you pour weeks worth of longing into a sentence or two?

”Gorgeous”, Mountain counters, and Rain wishes he said that instead. Though its still not quite adequate. They both reach an understanding about this rather quickly.

Rain lets himself be pulled, embraced, pressed up against the nearest work table. He expects something frenzied and impatient. And he would allow it, let Mountain grab a fist full of hair, kick his legs apart, let the edge of the table bruise the backs of his thighs. Something to remind him when he sits down in the coming weeks to daydream about it.

Instead, it’s soft and slow. The same almost suspended animation that’s been spelled on them since he entered the greenhouse. Mountain’s dirt streaked fingers curling around his jaw, long nose dragging up the length of his neck.

Leaning into him, pressing against him until there isn’t an inch of space to move, or breath except to move and breath together. Only a counter rhythm leaves enough space for their lungs to expand.

Dissolving into one another, rather than simply colliding.

Mountain drinks up the rainwater that runs from his sopping wet hair down the side of his neck, pooling in the ridge of gills and the hollow beneath his throat.

Rain makes a noise that sounds a bit like impatience, a lot like desperation. Mountain wraps his hands around the backs of his thighs and sets him on the work table, so effortlessly he barely registers that he’s been moved.

”What do you need?”

Rain doesn’t have to think long on the answer, but it’s not specific enough to provide any real direction. “You. I need you.”

”I’m here. I promise.” Mountain swallows the hoarseness in his throat, blinks back the tears that threaten to run streaks through the dirt on his cheeks.

Rain doesn’t have to, they’re camouflaged by the water still dripping from his hair and down his face. But Mountain still hears the way his breath catches in his throat when he tries to speak, the effort it takes just to get two simple words out.

”Kiss me.”

Despite the separation, it feels like the most natural thing, the way their heads tilt just so to accommodate, the easy exchange, the gentle swipe of Mountain’s tongue along the roof of his mouth, the way Rain pauses to pull on his lower lip.

Rain lifts his legs to wrap around his hip, it’s an awkward struggle with the way that they’ve plastered themselves to each other.

He settles for one leg on a hip, the other folded against his chest, pressed between Mountain’s legs. Mountain breaks the kiss to look, now that he can feel it, the top of Rain’s narrow foot pressed against his cunt. His toe teasing along the slit in a way that can’t be an accident.

Rain’s tail hooks on the waist of his worn work pants, dragging them past his hips, the button and fly already pried open and now working the stained t-shirt over his head. They both spare a few seconds to laugh when one of the holes catches on his antlers and gets stuck.

But it doesn’t take long for Mountain to feel impatient, to grab and pull. To hear the tearing of fabric as he frees himself.

Rain stares wide-eyed for half a second, thinking that was hot, but the words don’t come out, he’s dragging Mountain back again. The fervent kisses he expected earlier have arrived. He feels a bit like he’s sinking, or floating. Either way, he doesn’t feel the solid wood beneath him. His tail coils around Mountain’s waist. To ground himself, to pull Mountain closer.

Without the thick twill in the way, he presses the top of his foot back up into Mountain’s cunt, warm and slick, a balm to the chill he’s starting to feel. But so much more than that. Mountain’s hips shift imperceptively and he can feel how much he’s fattened up, how hard he is. He maneuvers to drag the buttery soft webbing across Mountain’s cock.

Mountain jolts, coiling his own tail around his leg. So sensitive, like he’s been touched too much, or not at all. He realizes he can’t remember the last time he came, by his own hand or someone else’s.

It doesn’t take long, he doesn’t mean to chase it, but hands on his hips encourage him to grind, to take what he wants. He feels a bit embarrassed, the way he drools slick, the sound it makes when it splatters on the tiled floor.

A litany of soft sounds, maybe curses, maybe prayers, pour into Rain’s mouth. Not willing to break the kiss even as his shaking thighs threaten to upend him. But Rain keeps him upright, with his tail, his arms.

And his own desire to remain sealed to Rain’s lips helps to keep him standing as he cums.

If he was embarrassed by how wet he was, he wants to bury his face in Rain’s shoulder when he shifts his foot back, “Look Mountain, got me all wet. Maybe you’re part water ghoul?”

Mountain doesn’t want to look, but Rain leans back, plants two fingers under his chin, and forces him to. Forces him to look at the string of slick connecting his cock to the top of Rain’s foot. To the wetness gathered in the webbing, the sound it makes when Rain flexes his foot and rubs his toes together has him squeezing his thighs shut.

His tail is wrapped so tight around his leg that he’s going to have a snake shaped bruise.

”I’m not making fun of you, sapling. That was hot. Everything you do is hot. You can do it again. I have two feet, and 0 intention of leaving this greenhouse until I’ve made you cum on my feet, my hands, my mouth, and my dick.

Mountain is trying to listen to him but he feels distracted now. By fullness that wasn’t there before, or maybe it was but now it’s more persistent. He squeezes his legs together harder, and starts to panic just a little bit.

“What’s wrong, sapling?”

Mountain just whines, shuffles back and forth a little. Rain notes the way his tail chokes the blood from the lower half of his leg.

“I’ll be right back.” Mountain grimaces. He can’t believe this has to happen NOW, when he can smell the slick pooling in Rain’s shorts, when he aches to touch and be touched until it hurts.

Rain’s tail doesn’t loosen, in fact, it coils tighter, the spade slides between his hips and presses, hard.

”Oh no.” Once again, falling on pretense, because Mountain doesn’t want to admit it. Doesn’t want to admit that he wants Rain to make him, wants to soak his pretty feet, and make a big mess all over the cracked tiles. The thought of the stream hitting the ground, splashing up on his legs, it makes his dick throb. It makes his bladder throb harder.

He expects more taunting, instead, Rain wordlessly guides him forward, forces his legs apart, and swallows his moans as he kisses him. As he presses, encourages, lets out a few moans of his own.

He feels his skin prickle with heat despite the cool damp air, and despite that heat, Mountain shivers. He can’t hold it. That first treacherous stream that runs down his thigh has Rain gripping him harder, one hand fisting his hair, the other reaching down to toy with his cock again.

”Oh no.” He repeats.

But it’s too late. He surrenders, and feels the heat streaming down his legs, feels Rain drag his fingers through it, feels him force his legs apart even further so he can feel it running up his thigh, soaking into his shorts, running down his calf, and his foot, which Mountain can see dangling between them.

Red hot shame mixes with arousal and he doesn’t know whether he should run, or cry, or drag his wet cunt over Rain’s knee while he makes a mess of both of them,

Rain chooses for him, lets him ride it out with his thigh pressed up to his cunt, until he feels something thicker running down the sides of his legs. Mountain forgets about his humiliation as he grinds down on Rain’s thigh. It shouldn’t be this good. But he finds himself hanging off of Rain’s slender frame as he rides out his second orgasm in what feels like mere minutes.

He only allows himself a moment to catch his breath, before he’s pushing himself upright, working to peel Rain’s sopping wet clothes from his body. No more a struggle than getting his own caught in his antlers. They work to wrestle them off, he tosses them behind his back and they land with a splat. Something to deal with later.

Despite the fact that the use of his legs has been rendered null and void, he has to stumble back a bit, to take it all in. To see all of the speckles and stripes glowing dimly in the low light.

To watch Rain swipe his fingers through the mess on his leg and suck it from his fingers. To watch him gather more of that mess and smear it across his sheathed cock, jutting out from his own slick folds.

There’s a small damp stain in the wood beneath him as he shifts his hips and leans back, puts himself on display, even though he turns his head to the side and his expression spells out something like shyness.

Mountain stares at the thatch of glossy curls between his legs and imagines how he’ll taste, the sweat and the slick, his own piss. Another white hot flare of shame heats his skin.

But he can’t dwell on it, not with Rain laid out like that, just for him.

He walks carefully forward, his legs still feel like a newborn deer, he doesn’t want to end the evening early by knocking his teeth out on the table. He bends for one more lingering kiss before moving downward.

He can’t resist dipping into Rain’s gills on his descent, to feel them open and constrict around his tongue like they’re trying to draw him inward.

His calloused fingers outline the ones that fall in between his ribs, he wants to linger there but the smell of ocean salt and something sweeter, like nectarine lures him downward.

He can’t help himself, pressing his face to the dark mound of hair just above his cock, immersing himself in the scent and the taste of him. Why did he do this? Why did he wait so long? But there’s no sense lingering on regret when Rain is right here, at his fingertips, in front of his face, invading all of his senses.

He leans back for just a second, to appreciate reaching the end of that map, where all of the markings lead. To that translucent flesh, where he’s already pushing to escape. He can see the suckers flex against the membrane, as impatient as he is.

He drags the high ridge of his nose down, nudging at the sheathed tentacle with the tip of his nose before moving lower. A few cursory kitten licks, just to taste him, just to make him whine.

And then he dips his tongue in, as far as he can reach, always surprised by how warm Rain is here, when he feels so cool everywhere else. Rain’s legs wrap around his shoulder, his heels dig into his back, and he feels hands wrap around the base of his horns.

All the encouragement he needs to fuck him properly. He adds one finger, and curls it just so, the world goes dark and quiet as Rain’s thighs squeeze his head. He pets a little softer, and he is released.

He adds another finger, but this time he uses his free hand and his tail to keep Rain’s legs where they belong, spread.

By the time he adds a third, slick is running down his forearm, joining the puddle he left on the ground. He moves to suck gently at Rain’s cock, now straining to break free. One particularly deep thrust that has him all but fisting Rain open and it does.

And as usual, it seems to have a mind of its own, shoving past Mountain’s teeth and down his throat with little ceremony.

He coughs a little, but he doesn’t fight it.

”Oh - fuck - m’sorry - you know - she just does - oh fuck.”

Mountain nods as much as he’s able with his head trapped in the vice-like press of Rain’s legs. He adjusts to the strange sensation that what he’s sucking on has no static shape and then continues to do just that.

His fingers counter the rhythm of his mouth, sometimes at double speed, and then he alternates. Something clearly only a drummer could do.

”Oh fuck, Mount - I’m gonna - fuck -“ those are the last coherent words as Rain comes apart around his fingers and in his mouth. Mountain curls them just so and those rough tips hit something deep and sensitive.

When Rain cums Mountain feels a little less embarrassed about the mess he made. Both from his cunt, soaking the table and his arm. From his tentable, something viscous and sweet that he can’t get enough of.

Mountain is vaguely aware of Rain pulling on two fistfuls of his hair as he curls inward and forces Mountain’s lips flush with the dark thatch of hair above his cock.

It takes a minute for him to let go, riding out what feel like endless waves, like an electric current pulses through his veins with every erratic beat of his heart.

When Rain finally releases him, he can look back up at the light he’s throwing off, from the markings, his tentacle, the spade of his tail. Might be prettier than those Swedish northern lights. No, it definitely is.

Barely there kisses where his leg meets his body, down his thighs, and back up again, through the dark trail of hair below his navel and across the twin silvery horizontal scars on his chest, until they’re face to face again.

As he meets Mountain’s eyes and blinks his own a few times, he feels like maybe he’s coming back to Earth finally.

Mountain further eases him back to reality by kissing him again, and it feels so easy. Like a conversation. His lips say I love you, his tongue says I want you. Rain pulls on his lower lip again, it says I missed you, he sucks harder and says don’t stay away for so long next time.

Wordlessly, Mountain collects Rain’s limp frame from the table, and lays him down on the layers of camping foam and sleeping bags that have become his bed over the last few weeks.

Rain can’t help but roll around in it, bring Mountain’s pillow to his face and inhale greedily.

”I’m right here.” Mountain laughs.

”I know.” Rain smiles. “I was just trying to remember what it felt like to miss you so much. So we can do that again.”

#rAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

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