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The striped hyena tugged at the hanging branch, testing its strength beneath the sheet of canvas resting over it. There had been the smallest of cracks as he had first done so but now it seemed fine; he bunched some of the material up in his paws and tugged, tugged, tugged again, a little bit harder each time, but so far it met his expectations. Still, though, he wouldn't want to be snoozing comfortably underneath it on the chance that it might suddenly snap during the night, so he pushed his things underneath the protective covering with a footpaw and then glanced around the rest of the clearing for a second option.

The fire he had built sputtered pleasantly at the center of the space, safely confined within a ring of smooth rocks lugged up from the river nearby enough that, if he paused and focused, he could hear beneath the gentle whispering of the woods all around. Quite a welcome change after the chaos of the day: he and his travelling companion had pressed through an old stone fort bridging this river a few miles back along its length, going in quietly, sneakily at first, though as usual with their plan falling apart around them soon after.

The fort constantly subsumed by the roaring of the rapids swirling underneath it, the striped hyena had missed his companion's signal and nearly had his ear pinned to a wooden support beam from an arrow fired off the other watchtower. Then everything seemed to happen all at the same time, with shouting suddenly audible over the raging water, the thumping of footsteps on the floors above them, the distinctive music of weapons being drawn and incantations weaving together.

He was no warrior. Not really. He carried a shortsword at one hip, an axe at the other, and had his favorite shield slung over his back when the two travelled, but he was much more content with the days that didn't require him to put his life on the line. "Shekh,"_his companion had told him there in the shadows of ancient stone, the dragon's sharp eyes glittering in the dimness, _"follow after me. Same as usual - I won't be able to get all of them, but I'll clear the way." And there in the darkness Iri, his friend, travelling companion, and brother in adventure, had straightened up, took in a breath through flared nostrils, tilted his head back until the horns atop his head scraped across the rough stone... and a feeling of strange, otherworldly vertigo flooded through Shekh as he watched, like the so-familiar sense of indulging too much on a night in town and then struggling to ascend the tavern stairs.

Then as quickly as it began did it finish, and instead of the fluff-dragon druid bound in close-fitting travelling robes with a bow over his back, quiver bouncing at his hip, and scepter in his other hand, out from the shadows stepped a vicious dark-furred direwolf. Seeing the result of the change always startled Shekh, igniting the fires of primal instinct deep within his chest until he could reassure himself, again and again, it's just Iri.

It's just a reasonable reaction, he thought now, stepping over towards the fire in the camp. Literally anyone capable of clapping two rocks together would have the same response to seeing a horse-sized wolf come towards them.

Luckily the bandits who had made the river-fort their home had precisely the same reaction too, thinking they had trapped two travelers and instead seeing some nightmare monster prowling across the bridge towards them. For a druid in tune with nature, often spending his time on their journeys guiding Shekh on a meandering path through the woods and fields away from the main roads, pausing to commune with the world around him and remain in touch with natural life, Iri had a devastatingly adept grasp of combat, and also ending life.

Upon his change into his wild form, the confrontation lasted a matter of minutes. Shekh bustled after him, axe and shield drawn, and plied his relatively meager skills where he could while watching his companion ahead of him. All the force, and power, and brutal viciousness of nature had swirled into the ex-dragon's body, instilling him with the inimitable presence of precisely what he had become: a wild beast with jaws slavering, muscles taut, fangs and claws bared. It was exhilarating and terrifying to watch him, to see him crouch down close to the ground and prowl forward on paws huge yet silent, dark fur bristling, black lips curled back to show the rich wet pink of hungry gums, yellowish fangs as long as Shekh's outstretched paw bared.

When speaking of those base, primal reactions and instincts, Iri displayed his own response as well. The thrill of the hunt, the lust of the chase, the fight, the kill... upon clearing out the bandits Shekh, winded and panting, had stumbled towards the other tower and leaned against a stone support to catch his breath, with his ears perking to the sound of heavy footsteps ahead of him. When he lifted his head he saw first Iri's sleek, broad lupine muzzle, head devoid of the horns that marked his original draconic lineage; then the thick, dense field of fur sprayed and spattered with the evidence of the day's work puffing out between his forelegs; and then visible underneath, the hyena standing barely at shoulder-height to his beastly companion, twitching, throbbing, bouncing between his hindlegs, squirting foggy jets out across the wooden floor, arousal stirred up underneath flooding adrenaline and exhilaration -

Shekh's footpaw kicked a stone sitting half-buried beneath the leaves at forest floor, the sudden shock yanking him out of his memories. Suddenly he was back here in the clearing again, on his own while Iri scouted out the perimeter - but, he realized, he still took wild shape for that. And we thought we had those marauders following us from the last crossroads. As if on cue he felt a tickling at the back of senses, drawing his muzzle to look over behind his shoulder before he could consciously recognize why, and the bushes stirred and parted to bring forth the same muzzle, the same shoulders, the same broad, sleek body that had just occupied his thoughts from earlier in the day.

Crimson eyes flashed recognition - though he took on the body of the beast, Iri still maintained the same intelligence and presence of mind throughout - and the wolf padded forward to skirt around the fire. Shekh watched as his companion passed by, as usual enraptured by the sleek, vicious shapes of this altered form. Beneath sleek yet rugged fur cords of muscle pulled and tightened; his shoulders shifted easily beneath the flesh; his tall ears perked and swiveled at the various noises of the forest, his tail swished behind him; and there between his hindlegs...

So he had encountered resistance out there. Having completely forgotten what he had originally stood up for, Shekh felt his gaze drawn to the hefty weights draping there, jiggling side to side against Iri's thighs as he walked, huge balls hanging down in the warmth of the evening, plump sheath jiggling across his lower belly. Protruding out of the end of that thick wrapping of fur and skin, rich wet flesh glistened in the dancing firelight with the evidence of dripping warmth having matted down the fur at the lip of his sheath. Iri passed the hyena by, brushing against him with his tail in a silent greeting, and settled down at the far side of the fire.

Over the smell of charred wood and the thick verdancy of the forest swirled the smell of full, wild direwolf, rich and strong yet muted to his own senses. He smelled like earth and clay, damp soil and wet wood, with the metallic tang of spilled blood hovering across his breath, then the similar spike of lupine arousal and natural musk twisting underneath. Paws empty, a little bit dazed, Shekh looked across the fire at where the feral wolf now lay on his side, apparently catching his breath after a successful hunt. Iri met his eyes again, blinked slowly, then tilted his head back in a cavernous yawn - and flopped over onto his side, one hindleg swinging up.

As if willingly putting himself on display, plush skin and fur of his sack draping down across his inner thigh, plump sheath twitching gently at his belly. Even from here Shekh could see the slowly shifts in his body: the gentle stirring of those huge balls inside in response to the swirling eddies of heat from the fire; the little jumps and jerks of the tapered tip protruding from the end of his sheath as his body coasted along the remnant adrenaline, and the deep, thick pulses from within the supple skin itself; the twitching, clenching, puckering of his tailhole nestled beneath the base of his tail, ash-colored fur giving way to tannish-pink skin wrinkled together, pursing like a pair of lips waiting for a kiss.

The thing was, though, Iri had completed his scouting. The campsite was secured and any stragglers beaten away, and yet here he was, still maintaining his wild form. Shekh crept a little bit closer, head tilted, ears perked, nostrils flared, and curiosity piqued: Iri's bestial enjoyment of the hunt was no secret to either of them.

Neither was Shekh's interest in this enjoyment. He still clearly remembered the first time the two had bridged that gap, terrified hyena breathless from the encounter, feral direwolf with his muzzle soaked, his tail wagging, and his sheath pulsing and fully hard cock bouncing underneath him, slapping against his belly, painting the ground underneath him in those loose, foggy sprays. He had stared at his companion, sharp intelligence sizzling behind crimson irises, and waited, as if willing Shekh to come closer, as if trying to reach out and speak to him in a different way, as the feral form prevented him from doing so verbally.

Shekh imagined he had understood. Heart pounding from the combat, adrenaline still pumping through his system, the hyena had stepped forward, reached out, hesitated, then run his paws along the wolf's shoulders, his side, his haunches. This was the first time he had ever come this close to Iri while he was in this form, and the phrase of horse-sized wolf finally settled into his recognition. The druid had looked over at him, slopped his tongue across his bloodstained chops, and half-lifted that hindleg... and throughout the entirety of the next day Shekh had carried the scent of lupine arousal soaked into the fur of his fingers, a rich, heady pressure halfway between the odor of warm wet meat and the stench of sticky mud, dizzying yet intoxicating at the same time.

Naturally he had had to use both of his paws to do anything about his friend's post-combat predicament. Even now looking across the fire at the reclining beast, Shekh felt his fingerpads tingle with the memory: Iri lay back with his eyes closed and mouth hanging open, barrel-like chest swelling and releasing in languid breaths, and his sheath still stirring and twitching with those remnant memories. For a moment the hyena wondered if he, too, had been revisiting similar thoughts and memories, then figured that had to be the case.

There's no other reason for him to remain in beast form. He can turn back and forth at will, and he's said he prefers the dexterity and ability of his regular body. So then him staying like this has one purpose.

Suspicion grew into confidence as Shekh stepped towards him, Iri's ears perking up to him, his tail giving a little sway - and tugging gently at the puckered skin of his tailhole again - and then his head lifting up, eyes once more flashing down to the approaching hyena. That first time certainly had not been the last, with the two often indulging in the druid's alternate body in between cities, out on the road, whenever they had some downtime on their journey.

Sometimes he would wake up to the horse-sized wolf snoozing beside him, hindlegs near his head, scent of his plump sheath and full sack tickling the hyena wake. Sometimes while tending to his own things before the fire Shekh would suddenly feel himself pushed forward, then would turn to come face to face with those hefty weights hanging down before his muzzle, Iri having hiked a leg on him; sometimes it would be just like tonight, where he departed as a dragon and then returned as the beast, and just calmly waited for him to come closer...

...and then kneel down between the feral's spread legs, careful not to trample his tail. Immediately he gave a low, purring rumble in his chest, tail brushing against Shekh's knees; he swallowed and looked up to that lupine muzzle, rolled his eyes, and then focused downwards again. Yet again the difference in size shocked him, looking from the smooth scales and fur of the druid while in his draconic body, flat chest and flat loins with everything tucked neatly within a sleek genital slit, and then to this where... Shekh swallowed, brought one paw up the wolf's inner thigh, and slid one, two, three, four fingers underneath the thick, damp skin of his sack, soft fur soaked through with the gathered humidity of his tasks throughout the day.

Even though he had just shifted prior to leaving the camp, this was a full day's worth of sweat and grime built up in the little wrinkles at the base of his sack, smearing over the short, soft fur, glistening along the spots where that fur pinched away to rich bare skin towards his tailhole. That part of him seemed to simmer and sizzle like the campfire itself, and Shekh held no doubt that if the two were still in the more frigid climates he might be able to see steam actually curling up and off of the wrinkled pucker there. The druid's state of cleanliness - so to say - carried over between forms: were he to trip and fall into a mud puddle as a dragon, which had happened, taking the shape of a wolf certainly would not suddenly slough all that grime off of him. When he communed with his inner beast and prowled away with his fur thick with someone else's blood, shifting back would not resolve this issue on its own prior to them returning to town.

The same stood for sweat, and for scent. As he knelt here between the huge feral's hind legs, Shekh's nose tingled as though he leaned in over a boiling pot. Everything he remembered from his fervid, breathless experiences with the horse-sized wolf before - the touch of metallic spice, the undertone of stagnant wet dog smell, a brighter, richer, headier musk that clung to fingers and tongue and lungs alike - swirled up towards him, wrapping its invisible fingers around his muzzle to draw him downwards. So down he went, other paw slipping up beneath where Iri's huge balls rested down across his thigh, peeling the layers of damp fur and skin away from one another as he went: soft, supple slickness sank in between his knuckles, already smearing his own fur with that same greasy coating of sweat.

The heat was something else entirely, too, trickling down into his palms and wrists like a thick syrup, and wafting up to fill the space between the wolf's sack and his own muzzle. Shekh licked his lips, able to taste that smell on the air, and swallowed - then leaned in a little bit closer and took a deep, slow drag through his nose. More scent than air, warm and sparkling in a way, tingling at his nostrils, tickling the back of his throat, filling his senses and awareness; he drew deeply of it, filled his chest, and then let it sizzle out across his tongue as he exhaled, once more feeling like liquid dripping from the corners of his mouth.

Shekh cupped his paws together and scooped up underneath one of Iri's balls, hefting the mass away from his thigh, pulling the slack, supple skin of his loose sack with it. Between the hyena's position and the wolf's sheer size it wasn't difficult at all to lean forward and brush his lips across the smooth, rounded surface, creviced with small unseen wrinkles, easily shifting and mushing and stirring at his touch. When he pursed his lips together and pinched, a fold of that skin caught in between and tugged; he slid his paws around to the sides and bunched more of the dense, greasy stuff together, pressing it against his maw and nose, drawing deep of the druid's scent straight from the source until it was simply all he could smell. Shekh sighed through his nose, swallowed, and licked his lips, in turn lapping across one of Iri's balls as well - then parted his lips and suckled gently.

At first there was nothing. Then a slight hiss as hot air rushed in between small, soft strands of fur jutting up and out from the sweat-streaked matting, and then a brief _slurp_as some of that hot, supple skin slid up in between his lips. Shekh shivered, rubbed the sleek folds in between his lips, drew his tongue up from underneath, then suckled again, drawing more in. Gradually the feral's sack shifted and tightened against him, the hyena pulling up and away, dragging that supple warmth as he went; once again he cupped his paws underneath Iri's balls, hefted the large weights away from the wolf's body, scooped one in his palms and let the other roll heavily off to the side. Through half-lidded eyes he watched it slump back into place, then continue shifting and rolling down, skin expanding to cover the winking pucker of his tailhole.

By now taste as well as scent flooded Shekh's awareness, everything sharp and bright and heavy and rich. Still the back of his throat and nostrils tickled; still his head thumped with a distant, indulgent ache, drawing in more rich, humid musk than anything else; and now he felt the same warm slickness start to curl out along his lips as well as he sucked further, Iri's other pressed against his mouth, not quite slipping its way in.

Not until he parted his jaws further, then further, then further, and sucked a little harder - and felt his mouth stretched open just a touch wider, as the mass of soft-firm flesh slurped up inside, filling out the spare wrinkles of skin that he had drawn in. Immediately another shudder pulsed through the hyena's body, nostrils flaring and throat straining to swallow the greasy slickness coating the entire inside of his mouth.

Gingerly he squeezed his maw around his prize, feeling the firm weight, the immense heat of the thing caught there between his lips and holding down his tongue, the rest of Iri's sack sagging out, pulling at his lower lip, other ball still draped over his inner thigh. Simply put, it was difficult to hold such a mass there, tongue trying to slurp up over the underside, curl around to the front, then back down again: Shekh tried to lap off that gathered sweat and replace it with his own saliva, but it seemed the longer he went, the more the taste of feral direwolf filled his maw.

Squirming where he lay, slipping his other paw out from the lupine's loins to shift his pants down his legs, Shekh lowered himself down a little bit. The tension in this supple skin lightened, Iri's balls continuing to shift and stir against his muzzle; he scooped in from underneath, deliberately folding the wrinkled fur and flesh over his nose, drawing in slow, hot breaths until the sweat-slickened surface clamped against his nostrils and steeped him in rich, swampy warmth.

It made his mouth water. Sharp and salty, bright and acrid, with a slight spike of pungency that scraped right across the back of his tongue and roof of his mouth. Shekh could feel the actual heat dripping off of Iri's sack each time he sucked and swallowed, like liquid fire lancing down into his belly; the more he suckled, the more that came, sweat and skin both as he continued to draw himself deeper in between the feral's hindlegs.

Iri rumbled once more and rolled more fully onto his back, tail stirring the loose dirt underneath them. Shekh kicked at his pants until they hung off of one leg, then managed to toss them off to the side somewhere. The wolf's leg underneath him provided a suitable spot for him to rest his weight as he sucked and nuzzled and breathed, other paw now pumping steadily away at himself, slowly despite his mounting excitement and interest. He, too, had gone the same two days without a stop in the river for a bath, but there was no way he could pick his own musk over the stronger, sharper presence of wolf pushing in around his muzzle.

The hyena tilted his head to the side a little bit, scrunched it up at a tickle of fur across his nostrils, then dug in deeper. Each time he swallowed he was struck with the fantasy, half-enticing, half-terrifying, of the spacious skin of Iri's sack slurping down his throat with the swallow. Here he pushed his nose up against the thicker, denser skin of the base of the wolf's sheath, plush and supple, almost jellylike in its texture as he nuzzled along the side.

It was damp. More so than what had soaked across what he held in his mouth still, jaw starting to ache with the strain; here at the spot where sack met sheath met body, sweat and scent had rolled and gathered and partially congealed across the little tufts of stiff fur. This brought a sharper, slightly more sour edge to the wolf's musk smeared thoroughly across Shekh's muzzle, and he drank hungrily of it once he found it.

One more swallow, then another swirl of the tongue, and then the hyena pressed a paw into Iri's thigh, lifted himself up, brought this half of his sack with him, and then parted his lips slowly. Bit by bit by bit, weight growing across his tongue, until finally that one ball slid free and sloshed down to join the other, while the loose skin remained clamped gently between. Here Shekh suckled for a little while longer, drawing out the last of the warmth and wetness, feeling his belly steadily heat with the sweat dribbled down into it. Then this went too, and for a moment he remained on his knees with his paws holding himself up, watching the direwolf's sack return to shifting and stirring in the forest air relatively cool against the dank heat of the mouth it had just occupied.

But there was more. Even though he no longer held him in his mouth, every time Shekh drew in another breath of that rich air all he could smell and taste was still Iri. The wolf tossed his head and looked down at his companion, eyes bright with sweet enjoyment; his broad tongue flicked out across his chops, his wide chest rose and then fell in an impatient sigh, and his thick sheath pulsed. Across his dark bellyfur twitched the rich reddish-pink of his revealed tip, maybe two or three inches jutting out from the supple, succulent lips of wet flesh enclosing it.

So Shekh glanced up, met his eyes, felt that vague awkward embarrassment that came from recognizing this is still just Iri, then looked away and, to wipe away that sensation, buried his nose into that space between sheath and body again. Gathered sweat smeared across his already greasy nose, breaking on his lips - then curling in over his tongue when he dragged it through that fur. The corners of his mouth puckered with the burst of pungent salt, threaded through so strongly with that undeniable brassy metallic tone of lupine, which - he lifted his nose, pursed his lips against Iri's plump sheath, nuzzled up until he felt the wet heat of his twitching bare shaft - dribbled down from its source there.

If drawing in deep breaths of his musk as it swirled through the air felt like sniffing from a boiling pot, touching his nose and lips here to the base of revealed wet meat was coming in contact with the surface directly. The heat simmered and spread out across him, almost searing where he touched; Shekh kept his lips forward and smeared himself further up, then back down again, the natural gathered wetness of the wolf's shaft providing more than enough slickness for him to make his way. Little strands and drips of that moisture clung to his skin and dribbled down through his fur, and when he pulled away to take another breath he felt it stretch out in thin, sticky ropes across his mouth.

Here all of that scent strengthened down and sharpened even further, bringing out more of that slightly acrid, somewhat pungent undertone that stung the hyena's nose and made the world slowly spin around him the deeper he drank of it. One paw resting out across his companion's fat sheath and the other still stroking at himself, he drew his nose and lips up across the underside of this thick, lupine length, over the smooth contours and little ridges of pulsing veins, then back down again until the supple lip of his sheath curled against his muzzle.

Then further still, tugging that skin back, folding it back over itself so that the wet pink interior flashed and smeared across him. Scent strengthened further there, pulsing in little bursts as Iri similarly twitched and throbbed under the ongoing attention and enjoyment: Shekh could pick out something like the smell of the riverbank on a hot day, layered beneath the usual sweet allium sourness, all tightly wrapped together with bands of stale ammonia.

He swallowed open-mouthed, shivered, squeezed at his own arousal, and dug his nose deeper, until the folds of Iri's sheath slid up around his snout. Glue-like stickiness squished across his fur and seeped into his open mouth; each panting exhalation puffed out in that snug yet elastic confinement, steaming around him and then hissing out through some space between skin and fur; and each time he nuzzled in at the buried base of the direwolf's cock he felt Iri throb in response, sensitive nerves firing off in response to the intrusion. His knot stirred deep within the dank folds of his sheath where wet meat sucked and slurped and slid back and forth, straining along Shekh's muzzle, tightening with each throb and then settling back into place.

The hyena slid his tongue out deep into those simmering hot folds, drawing sticky slime up across his lips and into his maw, rolling it back and forth and then swallowing it down, where it remained lumped together like thick mucus. Each time he did so he felt his throat tighten in response to the stinging taste and searing scent, but it just made him want more. Each time his adventuring caused his muzzle to slop free from the squeezing sheath - now the forest air felt considerably cooler - he shivered, swallowed, smeared a paw across his sopping-wet snout, and took a moment to sink right back in, sloppy skin squelching around him, dumping out more of the slightly discolored juice dribbling down his chin and doubtless filling his belly.

As usual, the rest of the day was completely gone to him at this point. Shekh had forgotten about the fire dancing behind them, had forgotten about his attempt at a simple tent and his search for a slightly more stable branch; he had forgotten about Iri departing to scout out the surroundings as a dragon, and the silent knowledge that he had indeed encountered someone out there. For now it was just the two of them, Shekh here with his heart in his throat - along with another mouthful of this liquid musk rolling down towards his belly - and his head swimming, physically within wet sludge as well as under the slight dizziness of indulging so deeply.

Finally he slopped himself free from the wolf's sheath, now twitching, straining, pulling with Iri's full arousal, the bulge of his still unswollen knot clearly visible beneath the succulent skin. Shekh swallowed, did so again, then did so a third time around the resilient stickiness coating his throat; he shifted to the side, reached up to wipe his free paw across the dripping warmth smeared over his face, ensured that thick strands of the stuff hung between his fingers and spiderwebbed over his pads, then exchanged that paw with the one wrapped around his own length, and resumed his pumping.

Now that slimy slickness smeared back and forth across him, muzzle as well as shaft. He tilted his head back, drew in a breath through mouth and nose both, and at this point had no possibility of separating scent from taste from imagination. Underneath him Iri stirred and rumbled, impatient from getting so worked up with no resolution; the hyena lapped at his chops, did so again, then turned to run his nose along the rim of the wolf's sheath again. Immediately he was rewarded with a growl and a throb, dense yet soft flesh pulsing against him, subsuming his greasy lips in equally greasy fur.

Already he could feel the roiling heat of his approaching peak start to swell out from inside, yet Shekh didn't quite want to finish yet. He had only just started on the huge feral wolf, and there was so much left to do: like that time we got stuck in the stables I can see how much I can milk out of him, except use my muzzle instead of one of the buckets; and we never did find out if I can fit both my paws into his sheath behind his knot; and I bet he really could knock me unconscious if he swings these things hard enough-

Then the pressure spiked. Shekh gasped, doubled over himself, and swept his slimy paw away from himself, trying to hold back that urgent need. It simmered and sputtered inside of him, roiled and pressed out, and slightly panicked he glanced down, forehead still squished against the damp lip of Iri's sheath, and watched himself throb, jerk, jump across his belly - and shoot out a few squirts of thick but clear pre, catching in his fur and dribbling down along the rim of his head.

Bit by bit the fiery urgency started to trickle away though the sensation of closeness remained. Shekh let out a rich, oily sigh, swallowed again, and turned to once more bury his muzzle into the direwolf's slowly stirring sack. In the crevice in between sheath and sack where supple skin folded and dimpled across itself, sweat and drool and dripping pre had dribbled down and gathered; the hyena nuzzled up along this spot, flicked his tongue out, drew some of that in, and then dug in deeper until warm damp fur squeezed in around him, enough so that once more it was all he could smell.

This time, wanting to take a little bit more time to float along the pleasure and drag everything out, he scooped both of his paws behind those sizeable balls - horse-sized indeed, he thought again - and pressed them up against his muzzle. So loose, pliable, _malleable_was the skin of the wolf's sack that Shekh could smear him back along his cheeks almost like putty, firm weights of his balls rolling across and leaving that warm tingle where they went. He swallowed, sighed, drew in another breath through mouth and nose both, nuzzled deeper... and felt the simmering heat began to boil in his loins all over again.

Idly the hyena thrust forward at the air, hard cock straining with built-up arousal, toes stretching out, curling in, stretching out again. His eyes rolled up behind fluttering lids; he licked his lips, licked Iri's balls, suckled at the sweat-soaked fur, smeared his nose side to side and all around to dig deeper into the clinging grease of his intoxicating scent. Each time Shekh took another breath he thrust forward with his hips again, footpaws now curling back, finding Iri's splayed hindleg, and pushing against it; he lifted those balls up against his face, pursed his lips between them, let them sag back down, then lifted them again; he twitched, throbbed, thrust again, took another deep breath so sharp it slurped_against the soaked fur, thrust _again -

-and then felt that electric pleasure spark into a swelling flame all over again. This time there was no way he could stop it, urgency and imminence feeding back into themselves, Shekh pushing at the air, doubling forward, mushing his muzzle even deeper into silken-soft meat and skin and fur. A shiver racked his body; a low, breathy moan managed to trickle from his mouth; he swallowed again, peeled his fingers away from moist fur to slip them further up, bunch the supple skin together, and squeeze it down against his nose; then he jerked again - and this time tumbled uncontrollably over the edge he had tried to avoid, the sharp bursts of peaking pleasure pounding through him, again and again.

Shekh moaned out into the fur of the direwolf's sack and took in quick, breathless gasps, hips pumping, shaft springing up above his belly and emptying thick, fervent spurts of white across his fur. His fingers dug deep into succulent skin, pulling without yanking, squeezing without crushing; he swam deep within the feral's rich, heady musk, letting it fill his lungs out like a pair of balloons as he continued to unload his pleasure across himself, then finally, shakily, rolled off to the side. As his paws slipped free and fell limp across his freshly-streaked chest, the wolf's sack peeled wetly away from his cheeks and lips - and when he sighed out again, he was surprised that he couldn't actually see thick wisps of steam curling up and out of his mouth and nose with this exhalation.

The clean, clear midsummer forest air almost hurt to breathe, so cool was it in comparison to what had just filled his system for so long. Lying back across Iri's thigh, floating along the remnant waves of pleasure as his still-hard cock continued to dribble wispy white across his fur, able to smell the wolf's sack and sheath and shaft smeared richly across his muzzle as though he still had his face buried in all those dank spots, it felt as though he took several moments to catch his breath, or rather clear his lungs, before he could sit up without getting dizzy.

Once he did so the hyena reached up to wipe his wrist across his mouth, found that that paw was still slimy and sticky, switched to the other, found the same, and grimaced in disgust mixed with delight. When he spread his fingers out he saw that the fur had become matted and stuck out in different directions, with his pads streaked with foggy, mucus-like stickiness - which reeked of the same pungent spice of grainy rust, stinging onion, dried fish skin, stale piss, and wet dog, all of which refreshed within Shekh's lungs each time he inhaled.

Dazed, musk-drunk, he lifted his head, took in what was supposed to be another breath of fresh air, and looked up to where the feral direwolf lay. Iri lifted his head up and glared down at him, rich red-fleshed length twitching across his belly, dark fur displaying similar streaks where bursts of pre had jetted out and trickled down; his knot had managed to squeeze itself free of his sheath, folding the succulent skin slightly back, though it remained unswollen. Impatient, slightly chagrined eyes appraised the hyena, and another huff deep enough to cause his entire body to bounce read clearly enough to him: you've still got some work to do.

Shekh swallowed once more, flicked some of the wetness off of his paws, and scooted up to find another comfortable spot between the druid's hindlegs.