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The small fox swallowed yet again and kept his gaze stuck forward, though at this point he really wasn't seeing whatever it was that played on the TV. He heard the sounds, though it went in one ear and out the other; he saw the flashes of color and images on the screen, but as soon as they flicked away he had forgotten what they might have been. Normally for someone in his stature, roughly the same height as a normally sized individual's paw when they stretched their fingers out, he was constantly and regrettably reminded of his diminished size, but today... today, it was just a constant nagging in the back of his mind.

And not the bad kind of nagging. This was the kind of nagging like when there was bacon cooking on the stove and he was hungry; like in between when he had stripped all of his clothing off and shivered with the chill in the house, while thick, hot steam curled out from the barely-opened shower door; like after a long day of work when a certain type of thought rolled and roiled in his head, and he squirmed where he sat and thought constantly about running off to take care of those desires.

In fact, this sensation was practically one for one the same as that last one. The tiny fox swallowed again, throat dry for how often he had been doing it, and crossed his arms in front of his chest - and used the movement to hide a quick glance to the side and slightly behind himself. Back a bit, halfway cloaked within the same sleek, soft grey fur against which he sat here on the couch, a little mound of supple, shimmering pink flesh shifted and stirred faintly with the other's breathing. Little mound - "little" to anyone else yet quite the opposite to Nema here.

He knew from experience that that canine spade, facing downwards between the dragon-wolf's hindlegs, could fit around his entire body. And it was the very same scent that assaulted his senses then that did so now, wafting gently yet potently throughout the air of the room, stirred again like the aroma curling off a pot of simmering soup at each movement from either of them. Rich, hot, high, intoxicating, making the little fox's nose twitch and tickle, constantly drawing his muzzle over to the side so he could breathe it in more closely from the source. It seemed like Silas hadn't yet noticed, but it had gone on for long enough that Nema felt awkward not mentioning.

But, then, it would be even more awkward to do so. Instead he just sat here in his cozy corner against the feral hybrid's lower belly, legs drawn halfway up to his chest to hide the embarrassed arousal that stirred halfway out of his sheath, his own scent starting to waft over him as well and just pushing him towards that point even more. One of the many benefits of being suitably sized, though, was that it was far harder for others to notice _him_as it was for him to pick up on them: while Nema had known even before he had clambered up onto the couch that Silas was in his heat, he felt that the dragon-wolf hadn't the slightest idea about his own response to it.

Even despite the species difference it was just a natural, biological response. That was what Nema kept on telling himself. He couldn't focus on the TV because there was something else much more naturally demanding twitching, flexing, dripping right here just an arm's length away from himself. The two had spent so much time together that even if he couldn't smell it he would know that Silas was in heat, for the way that mound protruded up out of the surrounding field of fur. A richer, deeper pink than usual, swollen out a bit, shimmering with gathered wetness as well as the natural shine of warm meat-

"Nema."

The fox jumped, startled. Sitting stock still he turned his head, and nothing else, to look over at Silas's muzzle far across the other end of the couch. The feral kept his muzzle resting against the arm, though flicked his eyes down towards his friend nestled against his figure.

Nema swallowed yet again, heart thumping in his chest. Each and every time Silas said something or shifted his mind went wild with possibilities. Maybe he's lifting his leg to push me in. Maybe he's moving a bit to make it so I can reach more easily. Maybe he's gonna push his paws down on my head and mash me up inside of him again. Maybe...

"Yeah?"

Silas motioned with muzzle. "Can you get the remote for me? I'd do it myself, but I'm cozy. And, besides..." Here he halfway lifted one hindleg and moved it down, shifting his lower body so that the backside of his spade jutted more fully up and away from his fur. Nema's ear twitched; he could_hear_ the quiet, wet smacking of slick lips of meat slipping and pulling against one another. There between his footpaws, close to the other arm of the couch, rested the remote. "You're closer."

Yeah, Nema thought with some annoyance. I bet I am. Seeing the very obvious opportunity he sighed, turned, and then halfway crawled across the cushion and carefully over the dragon-wolf's lower haunch to fetch it. He had to grip the thing in both paws and lug it due to its size compared to himself, but at least that saved him the embarrassment of turning around and showing himself off. Normally it wouldn't be an issue for him, but there was just something about the way the pheromones worked at him.

As he pulled the remote back, nearly stumbling over Silas's leg as he did so, then the realization hit him. The little flick in the dragon-wolf's tail, the sparkle in his eyes when he had requested it, the way he lifted his upper leg out of the way. Nema was wrong: Silas knew. The little fox glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was still on track, then nearly dropped the thing right then and there.

Silas had shifted his lower body just slightly and positioned himself so that Nema now came eye level with his plump, heat-swollen spade, the wide folds of clinging lips pushing out against one another and showing a tantalizing peek at the rich red flesh inside, glistening with natural wetness. Nema swallowed again, now for the way his mouth watered: his nose and whiskers twitched, and now it felt as though he had leaned straight over that simmering pot of soup to pull deep of its aroma, air thick and damp, heavy, prickling at the back of his throat and sweeping down into his lungs. While he watched Silas gave a little shift and clench, loose outer meat jiggling against the moist spot he had left on his inner thigh while the base of his spade tightened up, lines of muscle tugging beneath skin.

Nema stared for a moment, loins stirring with the sight and scent, and then glanced over his other shoulder just in time to see the feral flick his gaze back up to the TV, ears pitching forward a moment later. So he _was_watching. The little fox tugged the remote a little further, deliberately trotting a little closer yet at the same time making it look accidental. This close he could feel the humid heat wafting out as well, as though someone had just thrown the bathroom door open during a hot shower.

"Thanks," Silas said, before the fox brought the remote up.

Nema looked over at him again. "Huh?"

"For getting that." He nodded. "The remote."

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Um..." With some effort he managed to lug it around his body, though still kept himself facing that lovely pink meat. Nema glanced down: now his arousal had crept almost entirely out of his sheath, with just the slight bulge of his unswollen knot hidden. He braced his paws on his hips, slowly growing more aware of how silly he looked. "Is there... anything else I can help you with?"

The big feral's paws grasped at the remote and tugged it closer, and with a dexterous foreclaw he poked at a few of the buttons. "Hmm? Such as?"

"Oh, I dunno. I just mean, like..." He coughed. Silas shifted again, hindpaws pushing back against the couch's arm so that his lengthy body curled around a bit, still displaying the full of his fat spade towards his friend. Heart thumb, erection twitching, Nema looked back over his shoulder again and waved down towards that very obvious pulsing mass. "With your heat. For instance."

For a moment Silas stared at him, paw halfway over the remote. Then his sleek, rounded muzzle split in a wide grin, sharp draconic fangs and ribbonlike tongue showing between his lips. "God," he rumbled, "I thought you'd never ask."

"Did you not notice how worked up I-"

"Of course I noticed. I was wondering how long it would take you to notice I'd noticed." Yet again the hybrid shifted, now rolling himself fully over onto his back. Meaty foreleg and hindpaws drifted away from his body, the darker slate-grey of his coat giving way to the lighter tones of his chest and belly, soft lines of fur trailing down towards that hump right there in between his thighs. "Ten more minutes - no, five... no, three - and I was about to just shove you on in there myself."

Nema grinned. "Maybe I should've just waited, huh? Do you want me to-"

But Silas apparently already had plans for him. The words escaped him as Nema felt those heavy forepaws come against him from behind, managing to pick him up and lightly toss him down towards the far end of the couch, where he bounced against the soft cushions still warm from the feral's presence. When he regained his footing he was now within arm's length of the very source of that warmth and scent, simmering so close by that his whiskers twitched against the burbling heat and his nostrils flared in sweet, indulgent delight.

"Go crazy."

"Chef's choice, huh? Well, don't mind if I-"

This time when Silas's paws came down against him they just pushed him into place, mashing the little fox's muzzle right up along the upper border of that mound of meat. He wrenched his eyes shut and grimaced at the sensation of being slathered across wet, slick flesh, the dragon-wolf's natural arousal smearing across his fur and matting it down against his body; Silas kept on pushing him, effectively wiping his entire body from chin to shoulders to belly to loins and beyond across himself, pressing firmly enough that those soft lips and firm muscles shifted beneath his presence, until the male tumbled head over heels and finally came to a stop against his other thigh.

And then, when he opened his eyes and stood up, there it was before him. Silas even lifted his other leg and angled his haunches in a bit, freely showing off the shape of his sex, the way it swelled out underneath his heat, how each reflexive twitch and tightening of his muscles pulled at both that as well as along the puckered rim of his tailhole just past it, grey fur smoothing out into overlapping lines of wrinkled pink skin all centering towards the middle. Nema licked his lips, looked up towards the feral again - Silas had dropped all façade at this point, his ears splayed halfway back, eyes partially lidded, mouth hanging open with gentle panting - and then stepped forward, paws already out. First he brushed them along the hybrid's inner thighs, so warm and slightly wet with the constant effervescent _humidity_of his arousal.

This certainly wasn't the first time he had been in this position, and it was one of the many reasons he was quite thankful for his diminished stature. A few more steps forward and then the fox rubbed his paws together, held his arms out, spread his fingers... and then pressed his palms up against Silas's exterior lips, the warm, supple, succulent flesh mushing easily around them and filling the gaps, oozing some of that gathered juice over his knuckles as it did so.

Already the great feral shivered with that touch, the exterior walls of his sex tightening right back down against the smaller fox's efforts. Nema brought his paws together, entwined his fingers, and then sank easily in halfway up to the shoulders. In doing so he couldn't help but close his eyes and tilt his head back, an intoxicated grin spreading its way over his muzzle: sleek, slick wet lips of warm meat slipping up across his fur, smearing him in the same sticky juice that ignited each and every one of his senses and made him thrust against the open air. The small fox turned his head to the side, trying to keep one eye open so he could still see as he started to tug his arms apart.

Thick, hanging strands of foggy stickiness hung down between those meaty walls when he pulled them apart, Silas's sex tugging against him as he went. The plump, plush lips of his outer spade gave way to sleek interiors wrinkles, soft pink turning to deep, rich red that glistened with all of that gathered wetness; Nema chuckled to himself and once more licked his lips, now fully hard in his sheath and twitching, all inhibitions and reluctance tossed aside with his friend's permission. For a while he just stood there taking in the view, arms starting to strain a little bit under the task of holding the hybrid's twitching, clenching heat-ridden sex open, but then he took another step forward, and then another... and then slid his paws up along those interior walls, the natural slickness aiding his course in slipping over the various spaces and wrinkles.

This was a view and position that nobody other than him could have. He shivered again, freely pressing himself forward against these rich, wet pillows, hard shaft slipping gently up between those walls, paws still buried deep inside as his did so. Sleek, elastic inner walls shifted easily at his touch, Silas's heat-touched body welcoming anything that pressed on into him - but still he had his limits, and his plump, swollen sex here had its boundaries.

All around him Silas gasped and shivered again, and then for a moment Nema found himself wrapped entirely within his huge sex, flesh smacking against flesh and sucking there. One arm pushed sideways against the hybrid's inner walls while the other sank down further, slipping in deeper, deeper, deeper; Nema spluttered and swallowed, the saliva in his mouth mixing with stray strands and squirts of liquid arousal.

From somewhere outside, as well as all around him, Nema's ears perked towards some muffled speech. He shook his head, which resulted in just smearing that wetness across himself further, and then with some effort managed to pull himself free - though the hanging strands still obscured his vision.

"What?"

"I said-" Silas's paws came down again, first mushing up alongside the protruding base of his spade to squeeze the entire thing like a tube of toothpaste, and then shifting to spread himself open. Nema took the opportunity to run his paws freely back and forth over everything, caressing the halfway-hooded nub of the dragon-wolf's clit there in his palms and rub against it, loving the way that the concentric rings of muscle further inside flexed and clenched in response. Each time they did so his ears came forward again towards the thick, wet slopping and slurping of wet wrinkles pulling together, slipping apart, yawning open... "Deeper."

Those paws came in again. Nema braced himself against Silas's lips, took in a breath, held it, and then shuddered all over as that wetness subsumed him again, thoroughly coating him as the feral plunged him deeper inside. His arms came up against his body, at once pushing out against him and keeping a space for himself, though clenching muscles squished in around him again and again; his ears flicked and twitched with the constant noise, wet smacking, sticky slurping, like a hungry maw mushing and mashing around him.

The further he went, the tighter these walls became, muscles and valves squeezing around him, interior ridged yet still soft and supple. Nema squeezed his eyes shut as his muzzle pushed into the crevices in between, scooping out the natural lubrication that gathered there, constantly oozing from the hybrid's intense heat. And so, the little fox did the best he could: he pushed his paws out against that squeezing in the best way he knew how, and braced himself on Silas's inner workings while he himself thrust as well, feeling not unlike when the wolf-dragon would rest him in his mouth and let him grind and pump and push against his tongue, soft and sleek and wet and ridged.

This was much the same but still different in its own way, sleeker than it was bumpy, more silken than slick, and nestling comfortably, naturally around his shaft, sheath, and sack instead of pushing deliberately up between his thighs. Nema shivered again and let his fingers run along as he squirmed himself deeper, his legs still halfway outside.

Not for long, though. There was another shudder and clench all around him, mashing his arms back up against his body, and then a dizzying sense of vertigo. That must have been Silas adjusting himself again, lifting up and turning around; the fox felt his footpaws brush along the fabric of the cushions underneath him, held firmly in place amid clenching rings of muscle, and then - slurped quickly, comfortably the rest of the way in, as the hybrid braced his haunches down on the couch.

This was also a fairly common occurrence between the two of them with Nema being, in Silas's words, "precisely dildo-sized". This didn't mean it never took him off-guard, though: for a while the fox squirmed there caught in between wet walls and mashing meat, unable to make this way from that all the while each and every little movement sent a shiver of sweet pleasure vibrating throughout his body. There was nothing he could grab onto for support, either, as his slickened pawpads just smeared loosely across everything that squished and mashed and mushed around him, meat and muscle clenching, tightening, flexing, working him deeper.

Silas must have sat himself fully upright, as each time those inner rings receded from around his body Nema felt himself drip downwards, each inhalation bubbly and broken with what little fresh air was allowed him these six or so inches inside of the dragon-wolf's body. His head started to swim underneath all of these different layers of sense and sensation, from scent to taste to heat to the moisture and dripping, curling ropes of slime that coiled around his muzzle, his shoulders, his arms, his legs, his twitching hard shaft.

He took in another half-breath, practically drinking down Silas's arousal as he did so, and squirmed again when those muscles squeezed around him again. Panting gently, Nema now ran his paws down his own body, pads moving easily along fur smeared and soaked through with heat; he could press the backs of his paws against his shaft and still feel as though he were pressing directly against the interior of the hybrid's spade here.

Buried this deep Nema had no choice but to ride out whatever desire Silas held for him. That was perfectly fine by him: he closed his eyes and tilted his muzzle back, keeping his lips parted and nostrils flared to taste, to breathe the feral's arousal straight from the source, each touch of just adding further fuel to the fire that burned inside of him. Again and again he reached out to push back against squeezing muscles, delighting in the fervent tension and urgent need, both steadily growing the longer it went on. Every time Silas pushed him back out Nema felt his sheath slip slightly up across his hard cock, and then roll back again when he planted his rump down and slurped the little fox right back up into himself. His paws connected with the couch cushion underneath him in little spurts, just in the brief spaces in between when Silas pushed and when he squeezed.

And when he pushed Nema felt it almost more than the alternative. It made the fox shudder and gasp, which sometimes led to wet, spluttering coughs as his mouth filled with rich, heady arousal, curling his nose and driving his instincts wild under the forceful pheromones. Everything squeezed down on him from above, rings of muscle clenching in turn and then pushing out at his shoulders and chest, first slipping further around him and then working him along - only to then reverse and suck him back up inside.

Wrenching and mashing, molding and writhing, Nema hardly needed to move for himself to get the same sort of involvement that he was certain Silas earned out of the offer. Both of that pushing and squeezing grew in tension and urgency, and before long he found himself slipping deeper and deeper until he could no longer feel the couch underneath him, nor the thick, puffy lips of the hybrid's exterior sex: instead when Silas shuddered around him, wet meat slopping and slurping in his ears and sticking together around him, there was only the endless folds and wrinkles of his inner walls and the tubes of muscle pulling around him.

Then another wave of dizziness, and Nema pressed his arms out in an attempt to steady himself where he was buried inside his friend, but to no avail again as that soft meat just warped around him once more. He had since given up on recognizing where he was both inside the feral as well as along the couch, but now his sense of balance told him that he was without a doubt upside-down, corroborated by a slight shift in the suction and sensation of everything around him. These walls pulled apart and shifted, pulsing and breathing all on their own, and he thought that every now and then with a thick, wet smack he could see some of the lights from the living room filter in through Silas's briefly parted spade, pulling itself open beneath its own weight and the position itself.

Silas must have rolled himself onto his back again, or now crouched down on all fours with his hind end hefted up into the air. Nema shivered again, running his arm by his muzzle to drag his tongue over soaked fur, as he imagined that: the wolf-dragon's grey-furred haunches on display, tail raised, puckered tailhole twitching and flexing with need, fat external meat hanging down between his legs while he panted and shuddered. Whatever was happening inside still happened outside as well, and each time these muscles squeezed around him again Nema shuddered in imagining the same shivering clench echo through his spade as well, at this point just ensuring the fox remained buried head to toe inside of him and pulling him deeper, deeper-

Until his muzzle pressed against a particularly firm knot of muscle, there further inside. Nema grimaced and grunted, paws reflexively coming up to push at whatever it was there. Sleek and smooth, rounded, still slick and wet and sticky, yet decisively firm and all coming together towards an overlapping, tight pucker along the center that - twitched and shifted when he ran his fingers over it, and... and then Nema blinked, swallowed, then did so again for how much of Silas's arousal he had held in his mouth.

Here he was, balance telling him he was suspended upside-down, with his head and shoulders pressing sideways against the feral's cervix, ridged walls of his insides still squeezing around him, now with greater ferocity and frequency. He pressed his paws against it to try to worm himself backwards a bit, though the way Silas worked his lower body and lurched in the air just ensured Nema brushed against it again and again.

So he brought his paws up again, pushed himself off against it, and then tried to wipe some of the slime off his muzzle, though succeeded only in smearing it further across. Panting softly, repeatedly breathing the same hot, stale, musky air caught here deep inside the hybrid, his entire body shivered and lurched with drunken arousal, balls tugging up against his body the closer and closer he came to his peak, knot having already pushed its way out of his sheath a few moments before. Nema gritted his teeth, carefully pressed himself against the edge of Silas's cervix buried here deep inside, and rubbed himself against it, careful not to poke into it - and immediately felt the larger feral shudder and clench around him again.

Won't be long at all, he thought, for either of us.

~ ~ ~

Silas squirmed and then did so again, and again, each and every muscle in his body tensing up in turn with the waves of constant pleasure that ricocheted through him. His muzzle pressed sideways against the seat of the couch, eyes wrenched shut and mouth hanging open so that each and every one of his shuddering, panting breaths trickled out; at this point he wasn't certain he would be able to move much from this spot anyhow, since no matter how slightly he adjusted himself, no matter how small the movement in his hips or guts or muscles, it always resulted in him being able to feel Nema there lodged deep inside of him, pushing out against all of his most sensitive spots, squishing and squeezing and pressing. Just like his favorite vibrator but better, easier, and more comfortable - and every time he reflexively clenched back around the smaller fox, Silas felt him shift and squish back against him in some other intoxicating way.

For a moment the hybrid's eyes flashed halfway open, then fogged over and shut again. He swallowed through a dry throat, licked his lips, swallowed again, then rocked his hips up into the air, deliberately drawing the small male deeper inside of him again, until there was that little bump of slight sensation and discomfort. This wasn't the deepest he had taken his friend, and hopefully he wouldn't be going any deeper this time, but still the thought of it and the distant, buried sensation kept him shivering, tail hiked at the base, muscles in his legs shaking from the constant tension.

The wolf-dragon let out a breathy moan, clenched up again, then turned that clenching into pushing and once more felt Nema shift deep inside of him. He knew from experience that if he kept on pushing, concentric valves and rings and whatever else pulsing and clenching in rhythm, eventually the fox would slurp right on out of him, likely coated head to toe in a thick layer of the same stuff that stained the couch cushions and dribbled down the fur of his inner thighs, but this was in fact the opposite of what the feral wanted. So as soon as he started to actually feel Nema making progress in slipping out of him - along with the slight, rhythmic pumping of the fox's arm while he attended to himself, deep inside - he shifted again, braced his shoulder into the cushion, and slipped one of his own paws up between his thighs.

As soon as he touched himself there another shudder bounced through his body, reversing that push once more into a tight squeeze that sucked around Nema inside of him. Sticky slickness dripped and oozed freely from his heat-swollen sex, puffy enough that he knew he could mash his entire paw in without much effort other than a strain, a squeeze, and a push. The wolf-dragon shuddered, opened his eyes again, and spread his pads over that soft, wet flesh, tugging the plump lips back to reveal sleek wrinkles of meat inside, all tingling and twitching with the constant insatiable need.

Yet again he pushed, this time with those interior sections plumping and pulsing out against his pawpad, crowning out in a thick, dense, wet kiss that sucked and spluttered in his palm, inner walls blossoming out. Two of his fingers slipped in, and he felt that if he dug further he would be able to feel the fox there inside of him, but instead Silas just dragged those right back out of himself, circled around his clit, shivered, spread his spade's lips around his paw, then pushed in again.

Quite quickly he settled into that rhythm, hips grinding forward and back and tail swinging in place over his elevated rump while thrusting against his paw, footpaws occasionally scrabbling at the couch for proper footing. Scratch marks and indiscriminate slimy stains would be hardly the worst thing this furniture had gone through; Silas gritted his teeth, turned his head the other way, and again dug his paw against himself, claws pricking into the fabric for support while his haunches started to lower shakily down, reciprocating the same pressure with which he pushed up into himself.

Panting through gritted teeth and flared nostrils, drool dribbled from his lips just like the thick ropes of arousal that swung and jiggled and hung from his protruding sex, clasping along his wrist and the rest of his foreleg. Paw in place there closing off Nema's only reasonable route of escape, Silas now swung back and forth again between pushing and squeezing, letting the small male slip out until he came close to popping free, then mashing him right back up into his depths so that he felt each and every part of his body squeeze through his inner workings, muzzle and shoulders and paws and shaft. It was so hard to tell with all of these different rushing, flowing sensations deep inside of him, but when he closed his eyes he liked to imagine Nema holding there and thrusting against his walls, pushing up into the same sweet, slick folds that he felt against his own paw...

Whether he had hit his peak already or not, Silas could not tell. His loins simmered with that intense pleasure, hot and bright, electric in its intensity to the point where his haunches shook and trembled beyond his control, grinding against his paw with such ferocity that he barely had to move it at all to feel a more distinct finish approach. Yet again he moved his head, clamping his teeth together with his lips curled back, breaths coming and going in between, drool dribbling down along his chin.

Nema shifted inside of him, adding an extra pressure to the tension already stirring there. Silas gasped, his eyes flashing open, then scrunched them shut again - then shivered - and shuddered - and gasped again, and shook - and then nearly lost his footing on the couch there with the forceful waves that blasted through him, his paw trembling there between his thighs so that his heat-plump spade jiggled and spurted between his fingers. The claws of his other paw scraped along the cushion, and every single muscle in his body tightened.

For a moment he thought he might tumble off the couch there, since try as he might to steady himself his body refused to listen and instead just trembled and shook, the immense pleasure of his finish ricocheting back and forth through him. Eventually he had to adjust and brace both paws on the couch, hind end grinding into the open air with his tail hiked up, until bit by bit the thrumming sensation started to echo out and left him winded.

Panting, a little dizzy, dazed, but still so, _so_hungry, Silas licked his lips again, gingerly shifted his paw back down, and shuddered at the slight increase in sensitivity. Thick strands continued to roll down out of him, his fingers slipping smoothly over one another; after he had managed to catch his breath a bit he lifted it up from underneath himself, spread his paw, and then dragged his tongue over his arousal-slickened pads.

Nema was still there inside of him, of course. As he slowly tried to relax Silas still felt the little fox's movements, distant tickling deep inside that made his exhausted muscles twitch and seize together all over again, until he was panting and scrabbling at the couch yet again. That worked out, though: the slight hesitation that usually fizzled out through his system immediately after such a breathtaking orgasm was nowhere to be found, and instead Nema's squirming inside of him just continued pushing him past that point, until he distantly felt the cycle begin again. So then, Silas figured, if he's already in there I might as well take full advantage of it.

Nema did offer, after all. With some effort Silas managed to roll over onto his back again, now propping his hind end up against the arm of the couch so that he could look down over his own swollen spade, yawning open with glistening strands of wetness hanging between wet lips. He thought he saw a little bit of squirming movement deep in there. So he swallowed, bit his lip, spread himself with both paws, and started to push... and then as soon as he saw what he thought was the little fox, he mushed those plump lips together and squeezed around him again.

He might run out of air down there, Silas figured, but at least Nema would stay hydrated. The wolf-dragon swallowed again, squirmed a bit, and then ran a paw down his belly towards that fat mound of meat again. The TV had since finished playing whatever movie the two had put on; he reached over, tapped at it, and let it go on to something else.

It was going to be a hell of a good night.