Trigger warning - Spicy monster smexing
-
The shark launched itself at the group, and not even a second later, splashes of blood flew up and soaked Zac.
Wait, Zac thought slowly, where did Andras go? He tried to get a closer look at the pile of thrashing fish, but he couldn't see any feathers. "No, you can't die yet! You haven't even pulled my hair yet!"
"If you like your hair pulled, I'll make sure not to."
Zac sighed. I hate not being startled. He would have gotten me so good. He turned to see Andras standing next to him, also watching the very violent and gory shark attack.
"I really hate getting my butt eaten and being passionately slow-fucked while we hold hands and you look into my eyes," Zac countered smoothly.
Andras shuddered visibly. "You're such a whore. It's really quite impressive."
Zac smiled. "So what are you going to do about it, bad boy?"
They looked into each other's eyes, the pained shrieks of fish being eaten alive fading into background noise. Andras's large, golden owl eyes searched Zac's face, while Zac's dilated pupils tried desperately to convey the sheer depth of his thirst.
"I'll make you cry," Andras said. The tone was all wrong, though. It was less I'm a heartless demon and more... Zac tried to categorize it. Was it self-defeat? Resignation?
Another loud, wet roar cut off zac's thought process as another shark ran at the vulnerable human in the leopard thong.
Andras's sword swished through the air without him even looking away. A heavy thud followed as the shark fell in two distinct pieces.
"So are you gonna march yourself up those stairs to the overnight room," Andras murmured, his gaze intense, "or am I going to have to drag you?"
Zac was afflicted by a sudden, intense wave of anticipation and goosebumps. "When you say drag, do you mean-"
Andras snorted. "I'm done talking."
The demonic owl grabbed Zac by the waist. Just as another shark crash-landed where they were standing, the floor seemed to dissolve. They sank down into the shadows beneath their feet, leaving the bloodbath behind.
The dirty tavern room materialized around them, the shadows coalescing into peeling wallpaper and a single, grime-encrusted window. Zac shook his head, feeling only a slight bit dizzy from the teleportation, and looked around.
"Nice," he said, eyeing the rickety wooden frame in the corner. "A bed. I don't think we need anything else." He looked up at Andras with an excited smile, ignoring the muffled cries of agony filtering up through the creaky floorboards from the massacre downstairs. "So, how do you wanna do it? Now that we have a bed, you could totally mating press me until I'm-"
Zac's eyes went wide as the owlman suddenly kissed him. It wasn't gentle; it was a collision.
All the muscles in Zac's body contracted at once. His hair felt like it was standing on end, charged with static electricity. His eyes slowly closed, his brain short-circuiting as he instinctively brought his arms up to embrace the man who had, only minutes ago, tried to pimp him out over a poker game. The feathers of Andras's coat were soft against his fingers, a stark contrast to the hard, demanding pressure of his beak-like mouth. Zac felt like he could melt right into the floorboards if not for the raging erection pinning him in place.
"Now that you've shut the fuck up," Andras growled against his lips, pulling away abruptly.
Before Zac could chase the sensation, the owlman spun him around and shoved him forward. "Be a good fuck-hole for me."
Zac stumbled and fell face-first onto the mattress. It smelled like mildew, stale ale, and an old, crusty bilge pump, but Zac's heart fluttered like a hummingbird. So fucking romantic, he thought, burying his face in the grime. Skarg didn't get a room. The harem competition is totally heating up.
He felt a sharp, cold point at the small of his back. With a sound like tearing parchment, Andras's talon hooked the leopard-print thong and ripped it cleanly in two. The scraps of fabric fluttered to the floor, leaving Zac bare to the cool, drafty air of the room.
Zac turned his head to look back over his shoulder. Andras hadn't bothered to undress fully; he had only shoved his breeches down enough to free himself.
Zac swallowed audibly. He had heard that most birds did not have penises in the typical sense—a cloacal kiss and done—but Andras, blessedly, was not most birds.
His dick was shaped a bit like a rolled tongue, smooth, tapered, and slightly flattened... but not just any tongue. It was the tongue of the lead singer of a corny metal band that wore lots of black leather and monochrome face paint. It was dark, substantial, and intimidatingly big.
"Eyes front," Andras hooted softly. He shoved Zac's face back down into the mattress, his heavy hand pressing the human's cheek into the bedding. "Try not to scream too much, little virgin. We don't want those idiots downstairs thinking they get to join the fun."
Zac opened his mouth to retort that screaming would only happen if the owl was putting in the effort, but the words died in his throat.
He felt it.
Zac went limp, his body shuddering violently as Andras forced his way in. It was a fluid, relentless pressure. It hurt—hell yes, it hurt—but it also felt so, so fucking amazing. The shape was alien but perfect, filling him in a way that felt entirely different from the wendigo. The texture was incredibly slick, sliding past his resistance with terrifying ease.
He couldn't remember what it felt like when Skarg had fucked him in the snow, but if it was anything like this... if it had this same electric, nerve-frying intensity... he understood why he had been so upset about forgetting the sensation when he woke up.
"Holy shit," Zac moaned into the mattress, his fingers clawing at the sheets. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit..."
SMACK.
Andras's free hand connected with Zac's ass cheek, a stinging, possessive spank that echoed in the small room.
"Nothing holy about it, you hole," the owl snarled. He reached down, his talons tangling in Zac's hair, and yanked his head back, forcing Zac's back to arch and driving himself deeper.
Zac let out a broken, high-pitched moan of absolute pleasure, his eyes rolling back. "Unholy shit... unholy shit!"
Andras chuckled darkly, the vibration resonating through Zac's skull. "You're awful at dirty talk. Why don't you just shut up while I fuck you?"
Zac attempted to nod, his movement restricted by the vice-like grip on his hair. "Yes... sir," he gasped.
His legs began to wobble as Andras started thrusting in earnest. Each time the owl's feathery hips met Zac's ass, it felt like some hidden, sensitive button inside his body was being pressed. And every time it was pressed, Zac wanted nothing more than to have it mashed down harder. It was like some bit of him had been smushed his entire life, and the owl was finally relieving a pressure he never knew existed. It was the feeling of finally unclenching a hand that had been held in a fist for twenty years.
This wasn't the instant, overwhelming explosion of pleasure that Skarg had forced upon him. This was more like sinking into a scalding hot tub on a freezing day. Yes, it was a bit painful, a bit shocking, but right next to the pain lived the most intoxicating sensation Zac had ever felt outside of that one time he had accidentally accepted a sip from a stranger's water bottle at a rave in Miami.
As Zac's hand reached down, desperate for friction, Andras spanked him again, hard.
"Don't you dare," the owl growled greedily, pinning Zac's wrist to the mattress. "You're my prize. This isn't about you."
Zac just whimpered and closed his eyes, his hips instinctively rocking back to meet the owl's thrusts. His brain felt like mashed potatoes. His ass felt like mashed potatoes. It was so fucking perfect.
A minute passed. Two minutes. Three.
Zac was panting, sweat slicking his skin and soaking into the dingy sheets. Oh, it was so good, but he was running out of steam. His core muscles were screaming.
"Don't you dare loosen up before I'm done," the owl said headily. Andras's cruel, detached tone was gone, replaced by a deep, needy drawl that made Zac's toes curl.
Zac's legs quivered violently, but he held on.
Andras's breaths grew heavy and erratic. Suddenly, he threw his head back and hooted in triumph, a wild, primal sound.
Zac felt Andras expand inside of him, and the owl pushed into him further than before, pressing his lean hips hard against Zac's ass, grinding in a way that threatened to shatter him.
Zac groaned, his body tensing for his own release. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna-"
He suddenly felt empty.
"Hey," Zac murmured, reaching back blindly. "Hey, you don't have to pull out..."
Zac blinked his eyes open.
He saw the small, sterile stone room he had woken up in earlier that day. The bureau. The narrow bed. The slit window with its eternal red glow.
Zac slowly closed his eyes again, a deep frown etching itself onto his face. The warmth was gone. The pressure was gone. The memory of the sensation evaporated like mist in the sun.
"I hate Hell so much," he whispered into his pillow.