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As had become nearly ritual on his expedition, Red patted himself down to ensure he still had everything: daggers hilted at his waist, backup daggers stashed along the inner thigh of each leg, bow over his back, quiver at his hip. Arrows to spare, he thought, keeping himself low to the cold stone floor as he advanced; with the rate I've been able to retrieve them, I think I'll be able to stop needing to purchase them in town.

It was like something had just clicked for the mouse a few nights ago, out in the wilds before he had stumbled across this dilapidated fortress lying low in the muck of the surrounding swamp. As usual at the end of a full day he had built his fire, prepared his tinctures and tonics and otherwise for the following, then sat down, paused, and meditated for a while, just as his training had instilled in him. And then it just made sense, so clearly that he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before, so simple that it already felt like reflex.

Turning the next corner in the dimly lit hallway Red drew his bow and kept it ready yet relaxed, other paw instinctively swiping an arrow from his quiver - and ticking the counter in his head, also reflexive, down by one. Sensitive ears attuned to his surroundings flicked back and forth, the rogue naturally putting his training and experience to use; that was how he had survived this long, after all. Someone of his stature and relative lack of brutal strength like some of the other adventurers he had passed in these depths usually had to take alternative routes against similar challenges, and often had to employ his particular talents when forced into one-on-one encounters.

Such as the broad-shouldered striped hyena a few rooms back, standing on his own in a wide, open arena of sorts, clad in little more than a few strips of leather and loincloth with nothing but an arm-length sword clutched in one paw. Should have worn a little more than that, Red had thought, lining up the perfect shot while still obscured in the shadows of the doorway; he hadn't yet entered the room far enough to trigger the portcullis trap and lock him in, yet knew that his target was already within his range.

One arrow intended to kill, but which resulted in a stun; a second to drop him down within an inch of his life; and a third to finish the job. The victory swelled through Red's system in a burst of vigor, empowering him, making him feel stronger than he had been upon first entering the room. Now that sword bounced across his other shoulder and his pack hung down a little bit heavier with the gold the hyena had hidden somewhere about him and, revitalized, the rogue had continued further, twisting his way through shadowed passageways, easily avoiding the traps and dead ends, and just as skillfully dispatching the small fry opposition in between.

Mostly just the same things that plagued the rest of the swamp up on the surface - as he knew that he had delved steadily deeper beneath the earth - from the little wispy spirit-lights that flashed slowly between the colors of the rainbow; shambling assemblages of bones wadded together between clumps of peat and mossy mud, with arcane fire glimmering from within; then the tribe of bandits that over time had spread throughout this side of the continent, annoying in their numbers yet useful for the amount at which their trinkets sold...

Up ahead the hallway widened again into another approach like the one just before the room with the hyena, broad columns supporting sconced torches that seemed to burn without consuming themselves in the process. Just his luck, and also just like the last time, a previous adventurer had set up a small camp just before the yawning passageway at the end which doubtless would lead to another such encounter.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Red relaxed his grip on his bow and stashed the arrow - the mental counter clicked back up - and gave himself a cursory look-over on his way to the camp. Since his last rest he hadn't gone through too much trouble, but the mouse still figured he would be better off by pausing here to top up: the familiar sensation of relaxation and comfort washed over him almost before he had crouched down by the remnants of the last visitor's fire, in another moment sparked right back to life. He lay his bag out before himself, pawing through his various treasures from this dungeon, his supplies for the journey afterwards, and then of course his stock of restoratives.

Basic regeneratives always came in handy, as did the weaker yet more instantaneous versions which literally knit wounds back together as soon as he drank them; two which would slow the process of poison in his veins, three which hardened his skin against weapons that slashed, cut, pierced, or otherwise poked; two which energized his musculature and allowed him to carry about two and a half times as much in his bag, by weight, than he normally could; one which made him even deadlier with his bow...

Well, he thought, settling into his meditative stance, if it's anything like the last one, it won't be a problem. I'll just pause here to catch my breath.

Revitalized again the mouse gathered his things together, doused the fire, and then strode towards the doorway, once more dropping into a crouch. He waited there for a moment to ensure that he had melted into the surrounding shadows, then drew his bow and an arrow in the silence, readied his weapon, and continued slowly forward down the hallway... until the shifting glare of more torches pierced through the threshold.

He had been correct in his assumption. Another great coliseum of a room stretched out before him, countless shadows likes spokes stretching out from the lone figure standing at its relative center... and this one looked even less prepared than the one before, forgoing the leather padding and cloth entirely. At this distance Red couldn't quite tell what it was save for the broad bulk hidden beneath a great cloak draping down with no breeze to stir it; a swooshing mane of hair halfway obscuring one of two tall, sharp ears, pale pinkish-white, threaded with visible veins; eyes as bright as the torches around the room still couched in shaded, sunken pits; and then the most obvious difference, instead of the single arm-length sword this one held one about the same size as Red's entire body, the curved end having gouged its way into the stone floor.

No problem, thought the rogue. He lifted his bow, still crouching there in the doorway just like with the last one, and began lining up his shot. Pretty much anywhere would result in a good hit, looking at how little armor this one wore: it lifted its head and shook its shoulders out, and Red saw that it - he: that sword wasn't the only thing hanging down towards the ground underneath its own weight - was indeed wearing nothing other than the cloak pinned at his shoulders and a thick leather belt at his waist, supporting apparently nothing. Still, though, the mouse raised his aim towards the broad, thick neck, skewing towards the front in case much of that volume was just fluff and fur: the shape of the ears and distinctive vaulted shield-like nose told him this was a bat, at home here in the dimness of the crypt.

So he took in a breath, held it, bit his lower lip, found his mark... and released the arrow. Even before his first had met its mark had he moved again, a second arrow drawn, heart already thumping with the extra strain and effort. He rolled towards one of the columns, drew the string back, readied the arrow - and faltered.

Pale, colorless eyes locked onto him, the bat's cloak flowing around him in the wake of his adjusted posture. He now crouched halfway down, broad shoulders up and back, head tilted with those tall ears perked to listen: Red realized a moment later that he was more looking towards him rather than at him, with those ears doing most of the work. Long fingers rolled back and forth across the handle of his greatsword, deadly sharp claws glistening in the torchlight as he did so; his head twitched from side to side, angling one way and then the other, as he scanned the surroundings. Red saw no evidence of his arrow having hit its mark, and only a moment later noticed the shattered shaft at the bat's feet.

That could be a problem. His main advantage in combat had always been the element of surprise, and against an enemy like this who could completely strip away the stealth factor of that... the mouse paused there for a moment, nervousness trickling into fear at the realization that the bat's ears twitched in time with each breath Red took, then swiftly and, not as silently as he had hoped, clamped that arrow between his lips so he could fish around in his bag for something.

At his recent rest he hadn't even thought about the various poisons he had picked up throughout the dungeons, since most of the time he simply didn't need them. Unfamiliar colors and textures swirled in the much smaller, thicker bottles there: he gripped one, tugged it out, looked it over, figured it would do, and popped the cork - another twitch and shift in posture from the bat, now lifting his leaf-shaped nose to the still air and drawing a measured breath - so that he could dip the arrowhead in.

Thick greenish-black sludge oozed across the veins of the metal, one step above steel in terms of efficiency. That ought to do it. Red raised his bow again, readied this arrow, this time aimed for the center of the beast's mass, and then released it before he could put in a second thought. This time he was allowed to see it as it happened: his opponent held still, eyes unfocused yet still sharp, then with a flick of his wrist and shoulder brought that impressive weapon up through the air to slice the arrow on its approach. He straightened up a little bit further, cloak flowing back over his shoulders: fur the color of sun-bleached stone bristled out from underneath, faintly showing the lines of muscles within his surprisingly slim form underneath, much of his volume given to his deep mane, his wide cloak, and his sizeable armament.

Armaments. Red swallowed, forcing himself to look back up to the bat's muzzle. Big. Heavy. Dangerous. And he knows how to use it. I bet it'd take little more than a-

"You'll have to try harder than that," rumbled the bat, spreading his arms out. "Sneaking in the shadows? Poison? I almost can't believe you've made it this far. There must be something special about you." Then he readied his posture again, bearing down closer to the ground with the handle of his blade held in both hands - again the mouse pushed away an errant image clouding his thoughts, bounce and jiggle, swing and sway, like his bag full to bursting with coin - and followed Red's progress around the rim of the room with uncanny precision despite how the mouse knew that he hadn't yet made a mistake.

The bat swung one foot out behind himself, briefly causing his cloak to billow up and out. Red glanced over towards the flick of the tail, halfway towards readying another arrow, and then in another second had to roll to the side, and then again, to avoid a downward swing of that devastating blade. Shards of ancient stone shattered up and out from the impact point, fissures spiderwebbing through the block where he had just stood; heart in his throat again the rogue paused to look, glanced up at the bat once more wielding his weapon in one hand, made quite an uncomfortable second of eye contact, and then had to roll away again.

Such speed and intensity, these unhesitating reflexes... he tried to holster his bow, missed the hook, and felt it clatter away from his back and across the floor. Now the beast simply strode towards him, slow and steady, letting the tip of his blade carve along the stone as he went. Flair for the dramatic, Red noted. The shower of sparks kicked up form the contact left glittering spots in his vision, allowing him to only narrowly avoid the next swing - which seemed to almost yank him back into the void left in between cloven air, the ponderous hum of the weapon drawing his ears as it did so.

It was all Red could do to continue dodging, all of his attention and effort focused on the bat's movements and adjustments. His enemy swung all of his weight down close to the ground and then carried that momentum up and forward, pushing off from the stone with another swing powerful enough to nearly knock the mouse off balance just from the gust it produced. He stumbled towards the wall, felt rough stone scrape across his fingerpads, then pushed away and to the side again on a tingling reflex, only to have to skew sideways to keep the blast of shattered brick from pelting his face upon another impact.

"You're fast," the bat rumbled. Red glanced over his shoulder, paws reaching to his sides to unsheathe his daggers, and saw a long, thin tongue flick out and across pale lips. "But you're already at your limit, aren't you? That's disappointing. All I need is for you to-" And he swung again, this time to Red's anticipation. He deftly leapt out of range, found his footing, and made the same twisting movement to propel himself forward, daggers up and out, poised to strike -

-and then suddenly the world around him pitched into stark blackness, thick and abrupt among a swirling dizziness. Vision swelled back in another second, and only when he noticed his footpaws hadn't yet touched the floor did he realize that he was still in the air, held aloft with one of those large, sharp-clawed hands squeezing around his throat. The sensation of his body's weight tugging down at the base of his skull, the distant prickle of those claws at his shoulder and collar bone, and hot, humid breath washing out across his face... he squirmed, felt the dizziness wash back over him, and tried to swallow but couldn't.

Empty eyes flicked across him where he hung suspended. The bat licked his chops again, ears still rotating this way and that even in the relative silence of the room now broken only by the crackling torches and Red's attempts as resistance.

"At least you look..." He tilted his head the other way, thought for a moment, and then quite easily rolled Red's muzzle up and to the side along the knuckle of one finger. The mouse squirmed again, one dagger still held in his paw; if he could only find a little bit of leverage... but then his focus popped just like the section of skin and flesh in the crook of his neck into which that claw suddenly dug, rich moist warmth seeping up from underneath and spreading through his fur. The bat swallowed audibly. "Succulent," he finished, and leaned in.

That was his chance. Red waited until he could feel his enemy's breath trickling out across his fur, somehow even hotter, wetter than his own blood - then yanked his head to the side to slam it against the bat's, twisted in his grip, and managed to draw the blade of that dagger through surprisingly soft skin. The line of red drew behind it and split open, marking his disengage with a spray of crimson; surprised yet undeterred the bat swung back to his full height, glanced over at the wound, and then down at Red before him drawing deep yet deliberate breaths to refill his lungs.

Silence for a moment. "Oh," the bat purred. He raised that arm and without looking away from his prey, curled his tongue out to drag across the opened wound. Blood mixed with saliva and stained his white fur carmine. "So you've actually got some fight in you. I love that."

Red couldn't help but smirk in response - that was a compliment, wasn't it? - and resumed his previous stance, ready to evade to either side or spring forward for another attack. Still he felt the trickle of blood ooze down his shoulder, now starting to soak into the layers of cloth beneath his light armor, but he ignored it.

"Why don't you come show me how much?"

Pale lips split in a devilish grin showing fangs even deadlier than those claws, the most imposing two easily longer than Red's paw from wrist to fingertip. The bat rolled his head on his shoulders again, arm still freely flowing down towards his fingers, then gave his sword a shake, hoisted it off the ground, and lunged once more.

Red felt like he had an easier time tracking those movements now, no longer trying so hard to fully dodge and instead anticipating the motion and momentum, putting in as little effort as he could while still maintaining his rhythm. He managed to sneak in another few nicks and cuts here and there, though each one only incensed the monster further until he could no longer weave and attack. The ferocious sword seemed to grow lighter and lighter in his grip, coming closer and closer to Red even through his near flawless evasion, steadily shearing off strands of fur and even once slashing straight through the strap keeping a pauldron on his shoulder.

And then the other immediately after, as though he had planned it. Then Red rolled across the ground again, footpaw skidding off across a spray of blood that could reasonably belong to either of them - and a sharp impact to his side then sent him into an uncontrolled roll across the stone, each bounce pushing the breath from his lungs, scraping his arms and legs, dragging bits of his armor free. Each impact reverberated through his smaller body, palpably sapping what little energy and presence he had left: when he did manage to rise to his footpaws again it was only to receive another slash straight across the chest, this one thankfully from the bat's bared claws instead of that wicked blade.

Still they cut like focused weapons, searing easily through leather straps and padding, slightly skewing his balance as his chestpiece flowered open around him. The mouse clutched at his other arm - at least he had managed to maintain his hold on one of his daggers - and scowled at this beast, ignoring the rivers of warmth now oozing down through his fur. At a noise from so close in front of him his muscles twitched and tightened, wanting to yank him backwards, though he realized in another fraction of a second that this was just the pattering of his own blood against the stone floor.

The bat straightened up, tilted his head again, and then angled that hand close to his muzzle, where the same rich red trickled down the backs of his fingers. "You're done," he said, and dragged his tongue out across one of those trails. He smacked his lips, swallowed, closed his eyes... and then shivered sweetly all over. "And you're mine now."

"Not yet, I'm not." Red dropped down into the best defensive stance he could muster at this point, only halfway armored with the other half pushed within an inch of his life, panting, muscles aching, vision swimming, reflexes dulled. Once more the bat pushed off and lunged toward him, and he dodged to the side - a moment too late, this time with those sharp claws biting into his bared side, sinking into soft fur and softer flesh, and then latching into place there.

Momentum carried through, easily pulling him off balance and swinging him around, nerves screaming for relief. It came a moment later as a sudden sharp, powerful impact to his chest, knocking all the breath out of his body as well as another burst of blood from something ruptured inside: stars swam in his eyes at the cresting wave of a headache, and then it was the cool touch of solid stone on his bruised cheek that finally keyed him in to the discovery oh, I'm facedown on the ground.

For a moment there was nothing. He managed a swallow, regretted it a second later for the taste of blood and bile in the back of his throat, then squirmed, tried to push himself up, and instead felt another, greater pressure against his shoulders. There flashed the irrational fear that one of the columns had fallen without his notice and pinned him to the ground, but as he wriggled there the mouse felt the pinprick bites of deadly sharp claws poking through the tattered cloth of his undershirt, most of it already torn away: he felt vulnerable and revealed, his carefully acquired and managed bits of armor now reduced to little more than tattered scraps throughout the arena.

A cool breeze from somewhere deeper in the dungeon brushed across his legs behind him... and then a hot, humid breath did much the same, trickling down over his limp tail and bared rump, pooling in his still partially-maintained trousers like when he had slipped into the swamp earlier in the week, thick and sticky and warm and wet. His sensitive ears flicked again towards a metallic clatter, and with effort he turned his head to the side and saw the beast's huge sword resting on the ground out of his reach.

Then the bat's other hand came up, pressed against his rear, hooked underneath the waist of his trousers... and tugged down, none too kindly. Fabric tore and pulled free; still dazed and dizzy, Red had trouble tracking the cloth as the bat tossed it aside. Faint annoyance surged within him, then was shoved right back down beneath the thought that he would have had to buy a new set anyhow. Vaguely another thought crossed his mind, exhausted paws reaching for a scrap of something that might have once been a kneepad: I could keep this and see about repairing it, but - not when there's enemies nearby...

Then sharp claws, strong thumbs, squished in against his bare rump. Red took in a gasp and squirmed but quickly found himself incapable of any other response beneath the his own exhaustion and the bat's grip, long digits pressing smoothly into soft fur and flesh, surprisingly gentle grip spreading him. Humiliation began to compound with the exhaustion and hurt: the captive rogue tried again and again to squirm free but still found he couldn't.

"It's - not over yet," he managed, his own voice sounding small and slight. Yet again Red tried to free himself, muscles tensing - then blushed at a little huff of appreciation from the bat behind him, his revealed tailhole having clenched together right there for him to see. "I've still - got some..."

"No, no." Behind him the bat shifted; now he could feel each of his breaths, in and out, across his rear and his bared tailhole. Soft, warm trickles of hungry breath teased out across puckered wrinkles, tickling as they went until he couldn't help but twitch and clench again and again, anticipation what came next, partially fearing it, partially... "We both know who wins this one. I think it's time for me to claim my reward."

The mouse braced himself, fingers digging into the space in between stone blocks underneath him as he anticipated what came next, still unsure just what it was going to be. He felt the bat shift again and then jumped at the contact of a soft thumbpad against him, right there into the center pucker. Naturally his body tried to resist, tight ring of muscle pulling tighter and squeezing in against the intrusion, soft supple flesh tugging in resistance.

This didn't do much, though. Then came the second thumb, brushing up across the underside of Red's sack where it hung down underneath him, then settling into place alongside the first - and both pulled open against his muscles, making him gasp and shiver. Then another puff of breath, the sound of a wet slurp as the bat licked his chops, a moment of pause... and then Red jumped again, this time against a warm, wet glob of what could only be saliva smacking out across the upper rim of his tailhole, quickly, thickly spreading out to fill the spaces. The shallow, tingling tickle as it spread; the reflexive squeeze when it kissed in against the center again; the odd sensation as it continued down, matting down his fur, trailing down the back of his sack...

Red swallowed again and froze, and this time decided to let the bat do his thing - as much as he was in a position to do so. An idea had started to brew. He kept up the show of trying to resist, swinging himself this way and that, pulling forward underneath the other male's grasp, but never quite made it there.

One of the thumbs returned, for a moment sending a pang of legitimate worry through him. He had felt what those claws could do firsthand, but instead of fulfilling that fear the pad simply pressed in again, quite easily squished its way through the outer rim of his tailhole, and then pulled back again.

"Hold still," the bat rumbled. His grip spread out towards Red's haunches, tugging as he went: the mouse squirmed under the familiar sensation of that ring struggling to part under the spread, a faint, distant desire beginning to simmer in himself as well. Already he had begun to think through his current predicament and how he might be able to turn it to his favor, and if the bat followed his expectations, which - a moment later he did, with a much larger, much hotter presence poking in at his saliva-slickened rim a second later.

Red risked a glance over his shoulder. This monstrous beast crouched close to the ground behind him, legs splayed out to either side of his body for the depth of his squat to meet the mouse's presented rear. Strange angles of joints and bones, lanky limbs still threaded with taut muscle, and now... his balls had started to pull up closer to his body, the thick ruff of fur spiking out between them shifting gently to the motion. His plump sheath swelled out around the girth held within, already halfway out, sagging beneath its own weight even where the head rested against the captured rogue's tailhole.

Where the pad of one thumb had poked its way in, this thing... he bit his lip and grasped at the stones again, making a show of pulling forward and out of the way, only for the bat's grip on his waist to strengthen and yank him back. This time the pressure actually made him gasp and grit his teeth, the blunted end managing to find that same spot and slip up against it, yet his sheer size preventing it. Muscles strained and protested, the mouse caught between trying to relax and then reflexively clenching against it, both wanting it in and yet hoping it would stay out.

One hand slid from his rump and back along the bat's length to hold it at the base, keeping it angled in place there. Again and again the beast pushed forward, sensation swelling throughout Red's abdomen; he grunted, and groaned, and strained, and looked back over his shoulder again with what he hoped was defiance and chagrin, and there saw the same sick delight and indulgence that the bat had maintained throughout their prior fight. This time it wasn't for wielding the dangerous blade that now lay off to the side, though his current weapon had a similar heft and breathtaking presence to it.

Slowly he rocked his hips, forward and back, managing to squeeze some of that pressure into the much smaller mouse each time he went. Red's paws clenched into fists with each of those forward thrusts, skinny tail lashing, tailhole straining in place: the bat's shaft continued to slip free from the depths of his sheath, already glistening with faint natural slickness along with the sheen of saliva smeared across his tip and, Red could see from here, a little bit of blood too from one of his few lucky strikes.

He remembered the way the bat had lapped his own blood from his arm, and how he had slurped up whatever sprays of Red's had managed to darken his ash- and stone-colored fur. Still the grip from his throat oozed slowly, a trickle just now falling free. He had forgotten about that.

Each time the bat pushed himself forward his length strained with the effort of resisted entry, first slipping to one side and leaving a wet smear through soft fur, then pushing down and nestling between Red's hanging balls and his leg, and then once more finding its mark. A rumble of satisfaction shivered from the bat's strangely shaped nose and he pushed, then pushed again, and again, now holding himself in place there so that this resistance instead slid its way up along his length, causing the very firm yet still malleable flesh to bend upwards. It was only for its sheer length that Red could see the result from here over his shoulder, the stretch putting a strain on the fresh wound in his throat, and the bat tried again and again: the push, the poke, the pressure, and then the bend again, heavy balls swinging forward underneath him as he did so, until-

When he finally slid in, stretching the mouse's ring wide around himself, the sudden adjustment made him jerk and yelp - which immediately resulted in that pressure growing even further, a powerful throb resounding through the warrior's arousal. Both hands returned to his hips to keep him spread, pushing in towards the rim of the head until that slid through as well, then sinking steadily deeper, further, maintaining that sizzling discomfort from such the sudden stretch.

Naturally the bat either didn't notice his pain or specifically ignored it, still moving slowly and deliberately yet pushing through nonetheless. Red had taken large partners before but this was almost something else, perhaps from the angle at which the beast pressed down into him, the way he scooped the much smaller mouse up and forward, and how he hilted himself deep inside, twitched and throbbed there, and then began to pull back out again, slick and slimy shaft still managing to palpably pull at his inner walls and the lips of his tailhole.

As he pulled out it felt like his bowels were being sucked out of him, this strange vacuum sensation following behind the sizeable presence spreading him wide. Relief followed that shift in pressure, his own cock twitching underneath himself despite his situation and his relative exhaustion. It was more reflexive than deliberate, nerves firing off and squeezing every time the bat sank back in, wet inner flesh parting around him, squeezing snug around his girth, sucking back into place; Red tried to keep hold of his little idea but with each subsequent thrust found it trickle further and further away from him.

His exhaustion just mounted further as well. The bat's huge hands slid up from his rump to his waist and then to his sides, quite easily encompassing the mouse's entire body in his grasp, to hold him in place as he now smacked rhythmically forward far enough and firmly enough that the thick, slick skin of his sheath wrinkled against Red's stretched tailhole, kissed there, and then tugged free again when he reversed his motion. Red quickly fell away from all fours under the onslaught, his hind end remaining up in the air - though his knees were scuffed and bruised by now, legs held up against the bat's lap as much as they were supporting his own weight.

Still that grip continued up, one hand squeezing at his side - he could feel the limit of the monster's length plunging into him, swelling out his belly from inside, and then squeezing right back in against where he had wrapped his fingers around the mouse's midsection, using him as little more than a sleeve - while the other trailed up. Sharp claws tickled over fur unaccustomed to being uncovered, straps and light plates and buffers of leather armor torn away during their combat, already seeming like so long ago. He gritted his teeth and pressed his cheek against the cool stone floor, trying to draw strength and confidence from that steady solidity: he remembered something about taking this bat while he was distracted, about turning this situation on him so he could -

Shiver as those claws traced up over his shoulder, then wince at the way his fingers followed over the puncture in his neck from before, then another shudder as, one by one, they wrapped in around his throat. Nervousness flared into panic and briefly obscured his own indulgent arousal when the pressure strengthened there as well, though it increased from the sides instead of the front: his breathing remained uninterrupted while his pulse began to palpably thump in the back of his skull, slightly off-rhythm from the pace the bat set inside of him. Each thrust forward reverberated through his entire body, causing him to lurch forward, scrape against the stone floor, gasp - and then moan out again when he tugged back out, wet slickness pulling across the bat's length, tailhole also tugging along with him.

Red tried to squeeze around him, tried to ply his muscles to at least maintain some measure of control over the situation, but instead found that his efforts only backfired against him: the harder he clenched, the less his muscles actually responded. The familiar shiver and tremble of sensation was there, but still the bat continued pumping easily in and out of him. This was an odd feeling too, then: the longer he went, the further past his limit he was pushed, the looser he could feel himself becoming, until the ring of muscle there rolled up and back across wet interior flesh tugged partially out of him, the slickness of saliva and natural wetness doing nothing against size like this.

A little bit of a different kind of discomfort thrummed through him again and again, the bat's balls swinging forward, bouncing against his own, tickling a little bit what with that crest of thick, dense fur between the two of them, and then lurching away again. The hand around his throat tilted his head up and back, straining his breathing even further; Red struggled to swallow, grimaced at all of these different waves of discomfort, pain, numbness, and ache swelling from so many different directions - then gasped again when that hand suddenly slid back, streaking his own blood across his no longer white fur, and seized his hair from the base. A quick, firm tug yanked him back up to all fours though his arms shook underneath him, and then that hot breath tickled at his sensitive ear again.

"It would be so_easy to put you down," the monster purred, burying himself to the base - Red hoped - and remaining there. "And I'm starting to wonder if I really should. You seem to be... _enjoying this."

The coppery taste of blood spread slowly through the mouse's mouth. He felt it clinging to the back of his tongue and throat, thick and slimy; he half-swallowed, spluttered on it, spat out a reddish glob. "Go to hell."

Another hiss as that yank tightened, popped his neck, strained his muscles - and the bat's hand along his side swept out from underneath him, fully flipping him over, while still hilted to the base. Innards squelched, twisted around him, held snug, slipped across; Red gasped against cold stone underneath him, yelped when the bat pulled at his legs to settle him back into his lap, and now thrust into him by lifting up from underneath.

The motion strained his back and forced the breath out of his lungs, now more like rattling hisses than anything else. Through bleary, unfocused eyes he watched as the bat plunged deep into him, bulge faintly visible within the fur of his belly when he buried to the base and then tugged out again; Red shifted his arms up underneath his head in attempts to find a comfortable position but couldn't quite do it, and instead let his muzzle loll off to the side - only to feel those sharp claws squeeze around his jaw from underneath once more.

"No," the bat went on, now leaning in over him a bit further. Red's legs splayed up around his waist, trying to hold on for support, unable to wrap fully around the much larger male; his own shaft hung down across his belly with an obvious trail of shimmering wetness through his fur, dribbling pre forced out from the constant punishment. "You'll watch what's happening to you."

And that hand angled him forward and down so that he had no choice. Still he tried to squeeze, to find at least some measure of stability and balance amid everything - the longer it went the dizzier he felt, exhaustion sapping what little strength he had left until he relied upon the bat's grip to keep his head up. He watched, enraptured, as that thick, slick length plunged deep into him, squished against his stretched tailhole so that the wet sheath bunched up against his rim, rolled back, and then started to slip right back out, and as though he were instead watching someone else's body, the way that his tailhole tugged out around him sent a glimmer of amusement through him.

Like lips the muscled rim pulled out along the bat's tugging, wrinkled skin stretching taut, sucking away from his body... then curling back and showing the blossoming red inside, slick wet flesh smearing across the half-buried length, streaking it in natural moisture, pulling further. Then he adjusted and pounded right back in, folding his guts back into his guts, replacing that sensation of vague pressure. Finally it seemed as though the bat had started to approach his own limit as well, chest heaving in steady panting as he pounded into his prey, fangs bared, blood-tinted drool dripping down his chin. Red stretched an arm out to the side, reaching for one of his daggers, for a loose stone, for something...

...and then arched his back in sudden sensation when, as fast as one of his arrows lancing across the room, the monster bent over him and sank those fangs right into his shoulder. There was a great burst of fiery, stinging pain, stretching foul tendrils up towards his neck, across his chest, and down his arm; then the sensation of suction, an odd, shivering tingle... and the world swam again.

After a moment the bat tugged free, trails of blood squirting from his mouth as he did so. His tongue flicked out across his chops to lap up the spill, and he swallowed and then shuddered all over. When he opened his eyes next they seemed to glow in the torchlight, taking in the flickering flames and reflecting them anew.

"That's better," he said, "and now we're ready."

He released Red's head from his grasp. The mouse felt himself sway and loll. He tried to keep his eyes open, but the foggy darkness spread out from inside his skull, all the while his nerves continued to fire off immense pleasure and deep discomfort, and...

~ ~ ~

And Hal watched as all except the last vestiges of consciousness trickled out from his prey clutched in his lap, sweet succulent heat of his body wrapped snug around his arousal, slapping into place again and again. The little mouse had put up a hell of a fight, and he had to commend him for that: a good half of this encounter had been for the rogue's sake, after all, listening to the way he gasped and moaned, watching how he shivered and squirmed and spurted across his belly in little jets, even now when he barely had the presence of mind to keep breathing.

So he deserved a little bit of reward in that regard. It was a shame that he had taken all he could, though: the bat flicked his tongue across his lips again, still able to taste the smaller male's rich, oily blood, and leaned his head back as he gave in to these last few thrusts. Pressure and urgency swelled within him, simmering there since he had first managed to squeeze past his deliciously tight rim and feel the hot, humid grip of wet meat within, constantly shifting and slurping around him, at once wanting to push him out while still desiring him deeper. His hands ran back down towards the mouse's thighs spread in his lap, claws cutting valleys into thick, bloodstained fur; he gritted his teeth, felt his fangs clack together, then shuddered as the wave began to crest.

Hal nearly lost his grip on the adventurer then but regained it at the last moment, tugged out so that only his tip remained inside - though the mouse's abused tailhole remained opened around him, rim stretched beyond comfortable usability, folds of red interior flesh sucking against him - and then slammed right back in, almost a moment too late. The force of his finish rebounded through his body, forcing him to jerk and buck and gasp again and again, and here in front of him the nearly-unconscious rogue shifted and moaned out as well, his paw drifting from his chest down towards his belly.

Then just as quickly as he had thrust into him he pulled right back out, body still twitching under the force of his spurts. He slid free with a wet slurch, the mouse's bowels spreading out around him - and then slipping partially free from his body, clinging desperately to Hal's length as he retreated, rich red meat unfolding from inside his tailhole, pulling free, then stretching back into place like a limp wet sock wrapped in along itself.

Two more ropes emptied out across the mouse's fur, repainting him in white. He squirmed where he lay what with the support gone out from underneath him, the first few inches of his bowels yanked outside of his body, tailhole still stretched around itself, his own hard shaft twitching across his belly. Hal sat back on his haunches and let his length drape out alongside the mouse's, heavy balls resting along those few inches of internal meat made external, the loose tubelike assemblage of wrinkled meat oozing his own seed.

Good one, he thought, taking one more look across his prey. Not good enough, though. Got me a few times. Could have been better. But looks like he's got some good loot on him, so... He hoisted himself to his feet, deliberately dragging his still-dripping self across the exhausted mouse's loins, and hefted his sword as he went. A toss of the shoulders righted his cloak across his back.

He'll be back. And I'll be here, waiting.