FSE

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Description:

Sithrik's allure grows proportionally potent along with his entrancing scent, luring Spittor into a tangled web of seething desires. Some warm, and soft. Others bestial, and vigorous.

Story written by me , Siranor

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*The basilisk's victim ch3: Ways of the Wilds (M/M feral drake x anthro reptilian) *

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In the depth of night, Spittor's mind still weaved the same scenarios he yearned to experience while he still lingered in the basilisk's embrace. His latest dream had a blistering heat to it, where Sithrik's mesmerizing gaze held him captive, just like before. The sensation of paralysis, both terrifying and exhilarating, put Spittor in a place of submissive bliss. Sithrik's forelegs, cool and strong, embraced his sides, providing an anchoring contrast to the fevered passion that ignited between them. His warm tongue flicker over Spittor's neck, but something warmer still probed at his most sensitive of places. He shuddered under the assault, each deliberate thrust deepening the fiery passion burning between the two drakes, blurring the lines between dream and reality. Just when the intensity seemed to reach unbearable heights, the sharp sensation of fangs sinking into his neck pushed him over the edge, entrapping him in a whirlwind of sensations unlike anything his waking mind ever experienced.

Waking with a start, Spittor's heartbeat raced as he came to terms with the vividness of the dream. He quickly glanced down, checking his own vent for the release he feared he experienced. A relieved sigh escaped his huffing maw when slick of lubrication alone bore the evidence of the dream's intensity. Flushing with embarrassment, he hastily cleaned himself, his mind still clouded by the passionate dream.

The lingering warmth of the dream, however, refused to fade that easily. It prickled under his scales, thrumming in him with a constant reminder of the intimacy he had just experienced, even if only in his mind. Seeking solace and perhaps some form of connection with the very source of the dream, he silently approached Sithrik, hesitating for a moment before snuggling cautiously beside the slumbering basilisk. The proximity brought a sense of calm, even if the root of his turmoil lay just beside him.

Dawn's first light seemed to come too soon. Though he loathed waking up with the sun, the day promised a glimpse into a life vastly different from Spittor's. As a bounty hunter, his existence summed up to a series of tasks, always looking forward to the next challenge, the next hunt. In contrast, Sithrik's life stood as a celebration of freedom and simplicity. To the basilisk, lying on his back with the the warmth of the sun on his belly wasn't just an act of laziness. It was an indulgence, a small joy that Spittor had never truly appreciated with the same mindset.

While Spittor had once tracked territories to hunt in, today, he would mark them as his. Sithrik introduced him to the practice of marking one's territory in the most primordial way possible. A ritual to ward off potential threats. At first, the notion of urinating a barrier around one's land seemed laughably primitive to Spittor. Yet, as he tried to partake, he found the act oddly challenging. Whether it was nervousness or the awkwardness of the situation, he couldn't make water where Sithrik pointed. Noticing Spittor's discomfort, the basilisk, with a playful smirk, crouched down to assist, taking the lead in a manner that was both humorous and intimate.

This act, though simple in its form, slowly deepened the bond between the two, and as the day continued, Spittor began to see life from Sithrik's perspective. The sheer joy of living in the moment, of reveling in the simple pleasures the world offered. Every sun-soaked patch, every cool breeze, became a shared experience, a bridge that connected their vastly different lives.

When the sun began to wane, painting the oasis in hues of lavender and gold, the two adopted a different strategy. It was a time of transition, the hour when day creatures retired, and the nocturnal beings awoke to their own mystery-shrouded lives. Sithrik stretched his sinewy limbs, each movement emphasizing the graceful potency within him.

"Ready for a hunt?" he rumbled, glancing towards Spittor with a glint of challenge in his fiery eyes.

Still adjusting to this simpler life, Spittor nodded, albeit not very enthusiastically. However, the underlying tension of their recent interaction resonated within him. With the antelopes converging near the oasis, Spittor tried to embrace the thrill of the chase by allowing his instincts to lead the way. But due to his background as a bounty hunter, chasing sentient foes with cunning minds, was far different from hunting these swift-footed creatures. He made his move early, lunging forward for a tackle, but the agile antelope easily outpaced him, darting into the thickets where it became impossible to track.

From a distance, Sithrik's chuckle resonated in his usually growly fashion. "You're swift for a drake, but it's not me you're wrestling. Land prey requires a different touch, and those antelopes you set your eyes on prove surprisingly swift even for me."

Spittor, panting with just a smidge of irritation within his baring fangs, retorted, "Oh, come on! You've got that petrifying gaze to lean on every time things get challenging. It's hardly a fair comparison."

Sithrik, ever the embodiment of quiet confidence, merely smirked. "You think that's all there is to it? Watch, and perhaps learn how our kin survived in the past."

With that said, the basilisk disappeared into the shrubs, his movement a delicate dance of shadows and stealth. After what felt like an eternity to Spittor, Sithrik emerged, an antelope clutched firmly in his powerful jaws. Spittor slowly understood the lesson Sithrik was trying to teach. His display was not just about strength but a showcase of skill, and a hunter's patience.

As he laid the catch between them, Sithrik's began to slowly pluck the fur from the opening of the carcass, "It's not just about the innate abilities we're blessed with, fellow drake. But how we use them. Every weapon, no matter how insignificant it may seem, can be wielded with deadly purpose."

"As if." Spittor, his pride smarting a bit, approached the catch with hesitation. But the basilisk's next words caught him off guard.

"Share these nutritious spoils with me."

Gone was the teasing tone, replaced by a sincere invitation to partake in the fruits of the hunt. Spittor, moved by the gesture, settled beside Sithrik, then followed his instructions on how to pluck and open the carcass. Once the skin gave way to meat, they began to feast, the simple, vital necessity of gorging on meat forging another bond in their ever-evolving relationship.

As they ate, the sounds of the oasis, the chirping of nocturnal creatures, and the soft lapping of water created a backdrop to their shared meal. Every so often, their snouts would meet, leading to episodes of embarrassment from the shyer, less experienced drake.

The night soon deepened, and the two of them, full from their hunt, settled closer to the water's edge. The shared experiences of the day had made the two more comfortable with each other, blurring the lines between the hunter and the hunted, between the seasoned and the novice.

"It's not just about the catch," Sithrik growled softly, breaking the silence, "It's about the dance, the strategy, the heartbeat before the leap."

Spittor looked into the basilisk's eyes, seeing not just the fiery hunter but a wise soul that had seen many sunsets. "I understand, and am most grateful for allowing me to experience this on my own. For sharing your wisdom, and for... letting me into your world."

The moonlight shimmered on the surface of the oasis, casting pleasant reflections on the water's surface. With the taste of their feast still lingering, the drakes instinctively felt the need to cleanse. Sithrik, always the initiator, nudged Spittor, gesturing towards the water.

"We could cleanse each other in the simplest of ways," he suggested, his fiery eyes glinting with a playful challenge, "but I would rather show you how I would do this if water were not near. Would you partake into this small pleasure? Maybe, take the lead, even?"

As the basilisk raised his head and exposed his jaw to him, Spittor hesitated for a moment, but decided to take the lead at Sithrik's invitation. Extending his tongue, he began to clean Sithrik all along his lower jaw. Blood mixed in with the pleasure of caressing scales so very different than his own. The sensation proved certainly novel, as the texture of Sithrik's smaller, sharper scales provided a unique experience, vastly different from the familiar touch of his own plated kind. As Spittor worked his way across the basilisk's body, especially around the forelegs that held the meat in place or ripped into the carcass with their powerful claws, he found himself lost in the rhythm of this simple pleasure.

"Hrrr...you have a gentle touch for one so rugged," Sithrik presented a forepaw to be licked and pampered everywhere, even along the claws. "I might enlist you for a full-body grooming after this."

"Truly?"

Spittor received a playful pat for his jovial remark.

Shortly after, Sithrik's turn came to put his tongue to use. And unlike Spittor, he wasn't content with just cleaning the upper parts. His tongue ventured lower, where few tongues besides that of the body's owner should've treat. Lost in the bliss of the basilisk's warm caress, Spittor hardly even protested at the invasion of privacy. Not only he felt too comfortable, splayed on his side like a lazy dog, but he knew too well Sithrik had the means to take what he wanted. Soon enough, he felt a sensation unlike any other, a lash that sent warm shivers down his spine. The heat of Sithrik's tongue upon the entrance of his vent, its gentle probing, awakened something deep within him. Without thinking, Spittor shifted further on his back, presenting the most potent source of his scent, permitting Sithrik to explore his nook further.

In the moonlit serenity, with the only sound being the occasional splash of water and shuddering breaths, no one could disturb or judge them for their actions. Breaking away momentarily, Sithrik, visibly shaken, confessed after a potent snarl forced him back. Licking his snout off the lubrication he feasted upon, he took a moment to calm his hissing fit down.

"We can stop if this proves too much for your-"

"No. No..." the basilisk's voice shuddered, overtaken by pleasures he seemed to reawaken to after years, perhaps...decades. "This solitude...I can hardly remember how long has it been since another drake passed through my territory."

"Should I be impressed?" Spittor joked. He noticed the evident arousal in Sithrik, the undeniable proof of his longing.

Sithrik's golden eyes, darkened by desire, zeroed in on Spittor's vent, shimmering and slick. The intensity of Sithrik's gaze, combined with the gentle movement of his tongue, nearly rendered Spittor paralyzed. The basilisk's diligence was unwavering. As the soft surface of his tongue traced patterns on Spittor's intimate area, the sensation built, layer upon layer, until it started to blaze its way into the purple drake's very core.

"Sithrik...I think we should...take a breath to-"

Not satisfied with the surface touches, Sithrik became bolder. His forepaws gently pressed against the inner thighs of the drake, urging them apart for better access. Spittor, caught in the thrall of sensations, barely had the chance to do anything while Sithrik's grasp tightened. His true intention became apparent when Sithrik's member emerged from its protective vent, clearly signaling his arousal. Yet instead of moving to mate with him, the basilisk moved his head down, attacking Spittor's own need with a flurry of licks before something even better took the purple drake by storm.

As Sithrik's mouth closed around him, Spittor's world narrowed to the sensations bubbling inside him. Each motion of the basilisk's tongue, each warm caress, forced whines and growls out of his throat. Instinctual thrusts made him push deeper inside the basilisk's gentle gullet, even if he knew he shouldn't have. But it wasn't the physical sensation alone that held him; it was the feeling of being utterly desired, of being the focus of such intense longing that broke through Spittor's resilience.

"Rrr-rrawwwhhh!" As the heat built within him, so did the realization of the impending release. The intensity of it scared Spittor. Panic surged through him, and without fully thinking, he lashed out with a powerful hind leg, catching Sithrik off guard. The basilisk, taken aback by the sudden motion, jerked back, a trail of saliva connecting them for a brief moment before the two split apart.

Both creatures panted heavily, the lingering traces of pleasure mixing with the abrupt shock of the moment. Spittor's heart raced, not solely from arousal but also from the sudden fear of losing control, while Sithrik's hissing, though softer now, betrayed his own whirlwind of emotions.

"Why...?" he asked.

"I...too soon. Too soon..." Spittor mumbled and winced as his member squirted a few lines of cloudy pre upon his own belly plates.

Sithrik, his voice a mix of passion and reasoning, spoke soon after, "It may come difficult to understand what the absence of kin does to us, drake, for you've lost touch with your innate instincts. You've become a part of a society that endlessly expands without considering the harm it does to those who came before. The needs of anthros and humans alike are not our own. Their society disconnects you from who you truly are."

Though Spittor felt cornered by the basilisk's sudden assessment, there was a truth to Sithrik's words that he couldn't deny. Sensing Spittor's vulnerability, the basilisk continued, "Reconnect with yourself. Feel the pulse of the land, its nurturing power. It is in the wind, in the grass, in everything that surrounds us. Even in...us."

As he spoke, Sithrik teased Spittor, his touch light, his voice laced with seduction. Every prod, every gentle nudge was meant to awaken the dormant beast within the younger drake. "Don't you want to feel alive? Truly alive?" he whispered.

Spittor's heart raced, torn between the societal norms he had grown accustomed to and the raw, unbridled passion Sithrik was offering. He felt the walls he had built over the years of his indulgent, adventurous life crumbling under the weight of the basilisk's touch and words.

Despite the searing heat of the moment, a myriad of conflicting emotions gripped Spittor's plated frame. The pull of primal urges warred with the hesitancy he felt. While Sithrik was ready to bare all, Spittor still struggled with letting himself thrown into the whirlwind of instincts the basilisk seemed to drive him towards.

Sithrik's seductive advances only heightened his dilemma. With every gentle touch and teasing prod, Spittor felt himself drawn further into his schemes. The basilisk's intent gaze on his emerging arousal both unnerved and excited him in equal measures. Yet, the rapid pace of it all left him feeling like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, unprepared to take the leap.

Recognizing Spittor's inner conflict, Sithrik decided to take matters into his own paws, both literally and metaphorically.

As Spittor retreated among the trees, he caught glimpses of Sithrik's increasingly restless form. The way the moonlight illuminated the basilisk's glistening scales only heightened the spectacle. The basilisk's thick, sinuous tail twitched uncontrollably as he tried to hump the very air, his forepaws clutching at the soft ground beneath him. In an act of raw need, Sithrik suddenly fell on his side. His head moved downwards, eyes half-lidded with need, as his tongue ventured to the very source of his arousal.

To Spittor's amazement, Sithrik's long, supple tongue curled around the base of his own member, the sheer flexibility of his body allowing him to engage in an act of self-pleasure that seemed strangely entrancing to the young drake. The slick, wet sounds of the basilisk's own mouth working in tandem with the rhythmic movements of his hips painted a most arousing picture of the earlier events. Every so often, a guttural growl or a sharp hiss punctuated the still air, luring Spittor to regret his earlier actions.

Sithrik's scales shimmered in the night, reflecting the moonlight in a thousand dancing specks of green, his body undulating with a primal rhythm. Spittor could see the tension building within his form, beneath his scales, the muscles in Sithrik's neck straining, his body coiling tighter and tighter. The basilisk's eyes, usually so commanding, sealed shut as his lips curled up over his hissing jaws.

Suddenly, with a ferocity that sent birds fluttering from their perches, Sithrik shuddered violently, the sensations of his climax consuming him completely. He let out a deep, resonant growl as his throat got flooded by his own seed, his entire being quaking from the intensity of filling his own mouth. Even if he could easily release his grip, the basilisk continued to greedily suckle himself. Spittor could see the tremors, the spasms, as they rolled through the length of the basilisk's majestic body, culminating in a release that was both powerful and beautiful.

The aftermath left Sithrik panting, his chest heaving as he sought to catch his breath. Slowly, once he swallowed most of the seed that clung on his jaws, he dragged himself to the oasis's edge, letting the cool water cleanse him, his scales glistening anew. Spittor, meanwhile, felt a tinge of envy, a longing to experience such raw, unbridled freedom.

He found himself dragged to the scene of the action, his tongue hesitated for just a moment before delving into the earthy residue Sithrik left behind. The intimate taste made his heart race. A blend of raw power, lust, and the distinctive essence of the basilisk surged through him, arousing his deepest desires. Hoping to wash away his sudden surge of desire and regain some semblance of control, Spittor decided to find solace in the refreshing embrace of the oasis. With each step towards the water, his anticipation grew, the coolness promising a relief from the burning sensations coursing through him.

Yet, destiny had another plan. Halfway to the oasis, the glimmering silhouette of the freshly bathed basilisk stood tall against night's embrace. Sithrik's scales glistened, drops of water adorning them like precious jewels. But even the oasis's waters couldn't mask his rich, heady scent. It wafted over, a tantalizing mix of his natural musk and the damp freshness of the water.

Sithrik, nostrils flaring, caught a whiff of Spittor's own mounting arousal. With a teasing smirk, he leaned in, his voice a sultry whisper. "I sense the conflict painted along your snout. Within the very place I sought to feast on... You desire the very coupling you denied earlier. Why resist something so natural?"

Spittor shifted uncomfortably to hide his throbbing erection, his voice wavering at the basilisk's alluring appearance. "It's... complicated. Your allure is hard to resist, Sithrik, but we've only known each other for a couple of days. I... need time to make sense of this."

Sithrik's fiery eyes softened. "Time is but a fleeting moment, Spittor. Why waste in a cloud of self-inflicted apprehension?"

Without another word, the two made their way back to the hollow, the weight of their unspoken desires speaking louder than words. As they entered the familiar warmth of the nest, in a swift motion, Sithrik wrapped a forearm around Spittor, pulling him close. Their bodies pressed together, every inch reminding them of their raw urges.

Sithrik's breath cascaded against Spittor's ear as he whispered, "Tonight, or perhaps tomorrow, we could indulge in the world's oldest form of emotional balm. Let the rhythm of nature guide us through life, as our kind has been for eons."

Though he adored finding himself trapped by the warmth of Sithrik's embrace, Spittor could not deny the weight of the question dangling on his mind.

"Sithrik...I've sensed it since we began our frolic in the beautiful verdant lands you call home.... The way you embrace me, the ardor you pour into me when you slither inside my flesh... this hunger I feel is a yearning for more than just momentary satisfaction, right?"

Sithrik's hold on Spittor softened, and for a moment, the air between them grew heavy with unspoken thoughts. "That...is true."

Sensing more had to be said, Spittor pressed on, nuzzling the top of his head along the basilisk's tender jaw scales. "It will take the rest of the night for the aforementioned flesh to fully recover. And I mean that in a good way," the drake growled playfully once he felt the basilisk's grip tighten apologetically around him. He sighed when the warm, slithering touch of a tongue fell upon the top of his snout. Whether in apology or adoration, the reason was less important than the results.

"Why this yearning towards males like me, when you probably had plenty of partners of either gender before I came along? That... abandon I tasted earlier. It truly felt special, contrary to my silly complaints. I...liked it. A lot."

The basilisk hesitated at the implications of his wild nature taking control, his piercing eyes drifting away from Spittor, momentarily lost in the depths of his memories. "I...am heartened to hear so, dear one. If I am to answer...in the wilds... where the boundaries between love, survival, and instinctual needs blur into one, I confess I always felt drawn to males. Not merely for the physical connection offered by our similar gender, but for the shared strength, the unity of thoughts, and spirits. It felt... right. Like the joining of two flames into a fiercer blaze."

Spittor, intrigued, nudged the basilisk's neck in search for entrance within his lovely maw, "Much as I adore the answers you offered, I still wonder if you never felt the pull to be with a female. To nest...to sire offspring?"

The basilisk gently offered him that kiss he sought, tongues tasting and twining briefly before words replaced the shuddering moment of affection. "I've imagined it, yes." Sithrik continued his repeated journey over Spittor's purring snout. "The idea of seeing tiny versions of oneself, the continuation of one's lineage is what many live for. But those scenarios always came with a sense of duty, not genuine desire. For me, the pull has always leaned towards the flow of uncaged freedom. Towards the endless energy offered by a male. The very essence of their character, among other, equally enjoyable things...intrigues me more than words can speak. It's where my heart, my spirit, truly lies."

Spittor leaned deeper into the warmth of Sithrik's embrace, resting his snout against Sithrik's, their breaths joined as one. "Then perhaps," he whispered between his own gentle licks, "our paths were always meant to intertwine, to explore these depths together, and discover what our shared flames might illuminate in the fog of our futures."

"Tell me more though!" Spittor's voice quickly dropped to a mischievous tone as another idea occurred to him, "what physical traits do you appreciate most in a fellow male? A drake, at that?"

Sithrik chuckled softly, a warm rumble that resonated with genuine amusement. "Well," he began, taking a moment to lick and think, "the strength of good grip, the graceful curve of sharpened claws, the ruggedness plated scales, and the dance of muscles underneath the scales are all equally intriguing aspects that make my scales tingle with heat. These features are embodiments of power and grace brought together in one ideal form. But if I were to choose one..." Sithrik's eyes trailed down Spittor's form with a playful glint, "it'd be the strength in a tail. The way it can express so much, from the thundering anger of a slap to gentle affection through a rub, always captivated me."

"Mrrr, captivating. Tails do have a unique allure," Spittor grinned, revealing his sharp teeth. "And on a naughtier note," he said that even as his own tail wrapped teasingly around Sithrik's, "if you had to pick just one thing, what would you love the most with a male during a passionate coupling?"

Sithrik, stirred by the warm implications of such curiosities, hissed with delight, his snout moving inches from Spittor's. "You truly are full of surprises, my dear drake!" His voice dropped to a husky whisper, "That would be something similar to our earlier coupling! The feeling of a male writhing beneath me, the intense intimacy of claiming and being claimed in the grip of claws and fangs wrapping around me at the height of our passions....

"But, even as I say such," his eyes lidded with desire, grip tightening around the smaller drake in his embrace, "one part I enjoy just as much is to taste and be tasted in return, to share in the euphoria of rising excitement as it drips from the source of our greatest vulnerability, to drown in the very essence of the other when whimpers turned to yowls of unbearable bliss...."

Spittor felt a shiver run down his spine at Sithrik's candid confession. "I...shamefully admit I wish to do this all over again with you, Sithrik. Gratitude, for feeding the flames of my curiosities."

"Hrrhhh...my pleasure," the basilisk pulled back slightly, and placed his head on Spittor's shoulder, enough to gaze into the purple drake's horny visage. "We have time to indulge yet again, in any form of coupling you desire. Yet...satisfying the soul must also feed the spirit."

"More than we've done? More than...this?" the purple drake playfully wriggled in the basilisk' embrace, stirring Sithrik's grip to shift around him, gentle and comfortable.

"I've lived long and seen much. In this solitude, you ponder the essence of existence. For me, coupling isn't just about the primal act of satisfying our innermost needs. Instead, it is an expression of our deepest selves. We bare our vulnerability, we share our trust, and most importantly, we bond on a level deeper than any human marriage can convey. Let them have their words while we cling to our growls."

Sithrik nuzzled along Spittor's jawline, feeling the young drake shiver at his touch. "In a world filled with fleeting moments and ephemeral joys, coupling offers a challenge to the loneliness that this vast desert brings. I crave that connection. I yearn to mate with...one of my own."

Spittor, absorbing the weight of Sithrik's words, felt a rush of understanding. He realized the depths of the basilisk's feelings, and the reasons behind them weren't merely hedonistic; they were surprisingly deep, rooted in the need for genuine mateship.

"I..." Spittor began, grappling with his emotions, "I've never seen it that way. My journey, my tasks... they've always made me focus on the present, never allowing me to truly ponder on deeper matters. I mated plentily before, with other males, I mean, yet...this bond you speak of...it feels too deep. Out of the reach of someone like...me."

Sithrik's chuckle came, a soft tide next to the creature's loving touch. "That's the beauty of life, young one. We're all treading different paths, seeing the world through our unique perception. But every so often, our paths converge, and we're given the chance to experience life through a different perspective. Let us rest now. Tomorrow, if nature allows, we shall experience the deepest bonding our kin had known."

The night turned warm. Tranquil. Soft. For Spittor, however, a different kind of heat burned within. A heat that had been stoked over the past two days. Much as he tried to cool himself by venturing outside, the pull of his instincts never relented for long.

The lure of Sithrik's proximity, the basilisk's subtle body language, and the unsaid tension between them had made every moment they spent together a lesson in restraint. The duality of Sithrik's presence, both comforting and tantalizing, played tricks on Spittor's psyche.

Tonight, the weight of his own curiosity pressed upon him, urging him to cross boundaries he hadn't dared to approach before. The world around him seemed to fade as he focused on Sithrik's resting place, his every step a dance of shadows as he moved silently, inching closer to the source of his mounting intrigue.

The steady rhythm of Sithrik's breathing was the only sound in the still night. Spittor hesitated a moment, his heart pounding, unsure yet unable to resist the intimate imprint of his desires. Taking a deep breath, he drew closer to the in-between of Sithrik's legs, the intoxicating aroma of the basilisk filling his nostrils.

Every fiber of his being felt on edge, hyper-aware of his surroundings, alert to any signs of danger. His tongue flickered out, tasting the air around the basilisk's wetness. The sensation was otherworldly, making his head spin at the mere thought of tasting the basilisk's intense fragrance. The mix of danger, excitement, on top of the primal urge to explore more of Sithrik's intimate scents had Spittor panting with need, and it wasn't long until he gave in to the allure of his aroused instincts.

His next moves were bolder, more insistent. He pushed his snout against the source of his fascination, nuzzling and whining all while his tongue gently scooped up more of those intoxicating flavors. The soft, wet contact of his tongue with Sithrik's sensitive area made his emerging member throb all the harder, each touch was an exploration, a venture into unknown territory, a push into a realm of raw passion.

Suddenly, Spittor felt a twitch, a subtle throb from beneath the basilisk's fleshy depths. The realization of what he'd touched, of the intimacy of the moment, made him tremble with ecstasy. The palpable response under his tongue fed his own increasingly intense arousal, and, without thinking, his soft padded forepaw instinctively sought out his own throbbing member. The fleshy organ pulsed with need, hot and demanding, a stark contrast to the outside of their cozy shelter. As Spittor grabbed himself, he clenched his jaws tight to muffle his needy growls, for every touch sent jolts of pleasure through him, intensifying the sensation and urging him to seek the base of his knot for one last burst towards the gates of release.

Yet he refrained from doing so, content to just squeeze himself gently while he continued his intimate exploration of Sithrik. A touch of tongue here, the rubbing of his nubs there, quickly saw his own arousal becoming too much to bear. The sensations coursing through his tensing member combined with the potent mix of danger and discovery, pushed him to the brink. The tight grip of his clawed hand, the pulsing of his member, the overwhelming desire, all coalesced into a single explosive moment.

When it finally burst forth, his release proved so powerful that he collapsed with his snout against Sithrik's vent, the pent-up tension accumulated over days spilling forth in strong, rhythmic spurts. The warm seed flooded his paw, cascading through his fingers in wet evidence of his fervor worked up by the intensity of his climax. Each contraction of his member sent waves of pleasure, making his entire body quiver, and while he quivered, he whined and licked, still feasting on Sithrik's most arousing essence.

As the waves of ecstasy began to subside, the weight of his actions settled in. The fear, the uncertainty, and the exciting mix of satisfaction coupled with intense shame melded into one. He looked down at his seed-covered paw, his breath ragged, his eyes half lidded, his racing mind...slowly processing the aftermath of the intensity of the moment.

Golden hues slowly emerged from the inky darkness, revealing Sithrik's amused gaze as it settled on Spittor. The drake's breaths came out in soft, uneven pants, the aftermath of his intense release sparkling in the the mess that clung to his scales and his guilty forepaw. His face, flushed with a mix of pleasure and embarrassment, looked even more endearing in the gentle moonlight.

"Be at ease, dear drake, for you are not the first to be ensnared by this... natural attraction," Sithrik mused, his voice deep and rich like flowing honey. Each word drew a faint shiver from Spittor, who tried to avoid the basilisk's piercing gaze as much as possible.

Stretching his long, sleek body, from his fake slumber, Sithrik gracefully moved closer, a soft smirk playing on his lips. "I must say, young drake," he began, lowering his head to inspect Spittor's forepaw with a deep sniff, "your seed is quite pure. Not tainted by the foulness of human concoctions."

Spittor swallowed hard, his heart thundering in his chest. The intimate proximity, combined with Sithrik's calm and assertive demeanor, left him feeling exposed. Vulnerable. But instead of feeling threatened, a warmth spread from the pit of his stomach, a sense of security he hadn't experienced before.

As Sithrik began cleaning the sticky mess with long, languid strokes of his tongue, the drake's eyes fluttered closed, the gentle ministrations lulling him into a state of comfort. Each sweep of Sithrik's tongue sent tiny jolts of bliss down his spine, making him growl and shudder with contentment.

The very act seemed to fuel Spittor's curiosity further. As his gaze shifted to Sithrik's underbelly, he noticed the basilisk's own arousal, dripping with a sweet, intoxicating essence. "Sithrik," he began, hesitating slightly at the notion, "let me help. Let me ease the burden my actions have stirred."

Sithrik paused, pulling back to meet Spittor's gaze. The weight of centuries evident in those golden orbs. "The burden I bear," he whispered, "is the sum of a life of solitude. It is a reminder of who I've once been and what I have lost. One I've learned to live with."

For a moment, silence hung between them. The wind outside whispered its secrets, rustling the surrounding vegetation and making their shelter groan gently in the breeze.

With a gentle nuzzle against Spittor's snout, Sithrik broke the silence. "Rest now," he rumbled softly, leading the way to their shared sleeping space. The softness of the ground, layered with fine twigs, grasses, and covered in furs, beckoned them both.

But just as Spittor was about to surrender to exhaustion, he felt a firm grip around his waist. Sithrik's voice, low and sultry, tickled his ear. "Or perhaps," the basilisk mused, "we could find another way to tire you out, hrrr?"

The implicit invitation made Spittor's flesh tense, rekindling the fire that had been momentarily doused by the soothing kiss of release. The night was still young, after all, and with only the moon bearing witness, denying such enthralling option seemed futile.

Spittor's breathing soon grew ragged with growls, the warmth of Sithrik's embrace encircling him, ensnaring him in a dance of primal needs and desires. He felt the weight of the decision pressing down on him. The humans' thirst, Sithrik's longing - everything culminated in that moment.

With a deep breath, Spittor whispered, "Let's strike a deal. The humans can have their water. But you... you'll have me. Just for tonight."

Sithrik pulled back, his golden eyes locked onto Spittor's with an intensity that fixated the purple drake in place. "Mrrrrahhh, dear drake, are you fully aware of what you offer? The ways of old are not easily forgotten." A wicked smirk played on his lips. "I'd have my proper courtship first before I claim you. The old hunt under the stars. But then, oh, the anticipation of what comes after is...positively frill-tingling!"

The passion that swelled within Sithrik's voice, especially as he described the intimate tasting of Spittor's body, revealed a side of the basilisk that Spittor hadn't seen in full glory. This was raw, unbridled longing, kept in check perhaps for centuries. As the very thought of such primal exploration of his form took root in Sithrik's mind, the basilisk briefly lost himself, eyes clouded by desire.

In an instant, Spittor found himself grabbed in a powerful grip, with Sithrik's scorching touch exploring his form. The basilisk's movements, so gentle in their previous form, became possessive, and eager, each touch echoing the deep hunger resonating in the constant growls reverberating in the depths of his throat.

In the midst of such intense moment, where the air seemed to thicken with tension and flesh tingled with anticipation, Spittor felt both trepidation and curiosity prickle his scales. Every fiber of his being turned suddenly alert, and even the slightest touch from Sithrik sent shivers down towards his private places. He could feel the weight of his own uncertainty, of millennia of ingrained instincts, clashing with his personal, limited experiences. But as soon as he decided to embrace the new and exposed his underbelly, every scale seemed to hum with anticipation, yearning for Sithrik's touch, even if laced with a bit of fear of the unknown.

Sithrik's gaze traced the contours of his form, lingering on his tailhole, hungrily drinking in the sight of him. The first touch -that unexpected warmth of Sithrik's pre-seed shooting against his rim without a single kiss from his cock, felt like a bolt of electric pleasure, reminding Spittor of the intensity of what they were about to do. It wasn't just the carnal pleasure he exposed himself to, but the emotional weight of an act that had his pulse quicken with lust.

The first intrusion, though expected, still took his breath away. Sithrik's member, slick and warmed by feral need, made its presence known with a gentle push. Spittor's entire body shuddered, his inner walls contracting involuntarily around the invading presence. It felt foreign and yet... intimately right. Whatever brief moment of pain, while being stretched and filled, lasted little, rapidly overshadowed by a torrent of pleasures sparked by the basilisk's gentle nubs. A plethora of cascading sensations his tailhole had barely known until now.

Upon seeing himself inside his partner down to his very base, Sithrik's reaction was equally vocal. The feel of Spittor's insides - tight, warm, and quivering for more of him- was almost too much to bear. A guttural moan escaped his maw, eyes rolling back for a moment as he took a second to relish the bliss of this union of flesh and cock. And then, he thrust. Again and again, he barraged his partner's needy hole, his claws sinking deeper into Spittor's sides, his growls getting fiercer, his cock...leaking harder.

It was clear the basilisk was losing himself in the act, every thrust making him delirious with pleasure.

And then, almost too soon for the both of them, the culmination of their union approached. With every successive thrust, Spittor could feel the increase in size and throbbing intensity of Sithrik's member. Sithrik himself felt the tightening coil of his partner's muscles deep within him, the promise of release growing more insistent with every passing moment.

It took two more thrusts until the frilled creature's bliss exploded out in a cascade of shuddering growls and spasming bliss. Sithrik's climax came like a torrential outpouring, each spurt of seed hotter and more voluminous than the last. Spittor's own insides pulsed and contracted around Sithrik's throbbing cock, milking him for all he was worth. It felt as if a floodgate had opened within Sithrik, the pent-up seed of years of solitude and longing gushing forth in untamed waves. Each spasm of release from the basilisk was matched by Spittor's own internal caresses, their bodies perfectly attuned to the rhythms of shared, seething pleasure.

When the stream of bliss ended, both were left panting, the weight of the act heavy on their spent forms. But for that moment, there was nothing but the afterglow, the slow descent from the pinnacle of passion, and the intimate bond forged in the fires of shared ecstasy.

The basilisk, though spent, growled possessively even as drool trickled down his jaws. He still seemed unwilling to pull away from the warm cocoon of Spittor's body. Every scale, every fiber of his being seemed tethered to the younger drake, as if fearing that breaking the connection would sever the intimacy they'd just shared.

Spittor's insides, however, were beginning to register the aftermath of their fervor. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed from his trickling tailhole, mirroring the stinging sensation where Sithrik's claws had left their mark on his flesh. With a half-chuckled, half-pained breath, Spittor wriggled around in an attempt to shake his partner off.

"I think you've marked me in more ways than one, old drake."

But Sithrik seemed only half-present, lost in the waves of bliss that still rippled through him at the tail end of such a memorable mounting. His tongue, long and wet, lavished attention on Spittor's scales, drawing little gasps and twitches from the younger creature. Each tender stroke seemed to convey a message, a silent plea for more pleasure, more understanding.

However, the soothing licks could hardly make up for the aches of such a vigorous ramming, and Spittor attempted once more to wriggle free from the prison of teeth and claws, seeking a brief respite from the basilisk's insistent affections.

"Easy, Sithrik...we can do it again once I'm recovered," he whimpered.

Suddenly, a wave of realization seemed to crash upon Sithrik. The weight of his actions, of how he'd lost himself in the moment, made him snap his eyes back to the present. Pulling away abruptly, he inadvertently unleashed a cascade of the thick seed he unleashed within his partner. The milky flow spilled out, warm and sticky, tracing a path down beneath Spittor's twitching tail.

"Hrrrhhh...that...could've been slower. Your spines have not been gentle to my insides," Spittor rumbled, more amused than hurt by the basilisk's actions.

Yet much as he tried to appear silly to Sithrik, the act seemed to distress the confused basilisk further. His eyes, previously glazed with pleasure, now held a glint of concern. With hasty, apologetic licks, he attempted to soothe the marks he'd left on Spittor's neck and sides, as if trying to erase the memories of claws and teeth.

Yet, for Spittor, a different kind of discomfort was mounting. Despite the satiation, his own member still throbbed insistently, a persistent reminder of the depth of his arousal. The ground beneath, though soft, felt irksome against his sensitized flesh. Each grain of sand, each little rock, seemed to mockingly chafe at him.

"I didn't expect to still be this... aroused," Spittor admitted, his voice hoarse, eyes darting downwards to his still-twitching member.

Sithrik paused, his gaze following Spittor's. "I may have... overdone it," he said, voice laced with guilt. "The tightness, the warmth, the...need you grabbed me with, when I entered...no wonder I fully lost myself within you, drake..."

Spittor managed a weak chuckle. "Flattery won't soothe the ache of your passionate ploughing, Sithrik."

With a gentle nuzzle, the basilisk softly replied, "Perhaps not, but I promise to make it up to you. Sooner, rather than later."

The dim moonlight still streamed down over the place of their passion, casting gentle glows and shadows that played tricks on the walls of their shelter. Sithrik, in an act of genuine vulnerability, lowered himself down on his fours and gently arched his back, lifting his tail to reveal his own inviting entrance. His body language turned submissive, an insistent invitation for Spittor to take the reins this time.

"I offer you... this, if you wish to have me," the basilisk rumbled back with need in his eyes, his voice sultry yet also hesitant, as if he was unsure of the younger drake's decision.

Spittor's gaze narrowed to that one single spot he tasted earlier, entranced by the sight of such a splendorous vent. The gentle movemenst of Sithrik's tail, the subtle invitation present in its swishing, on top of the submissiveness of the gesture, melted the drake's resolve. Everything beckoned him closer. For a brief moment, Spittor's intellect ceased to function; there was just the two of them and the instinctual need to claim the other. But deep down, Spittor felt spent by the vigorous pounding he got earlier, and no matter how inviting the proposition was, he knew he wouldn't be able to give Sithrik a ride to remember.

With a saddened growl, Spittor mustered himself, voice laced with regret, "As much as I want to offer you the same affection you've shown me, Sithrik... I fear my fatigue might render the act less than fulfilling." The younger drake's head even drooped in apology, hoping the basilisk would understand.

For a moment, there was silence between them. Then Sithrik, swallowing his own disappointment, straightened up on his fours and slowly allowed his tail to fall into its neutral position. "I... understand," he replied quietly.

Without warning, Sithrik moved with a swift grace, wrapping Spittor within his agile forelimbs. Before the drake could protest, he got dragged by the tail within the nest, a warm, enclosed space that smelled deeply of the basilisk. It became clear this was an act of both penance and care. Sithrik, using his long, dexterous tongue, began to groom Spittor with adoration, paying particular attention to the areas where teeth, claws, or member had been overly rough earlier.

Spittor's initial shock melted into a calm acceptance. The rhythmic motion of Sithrik's grooming, combined with the warmth of the nest, lulled him into a state of relaxed drowsiness.

As minutes turned into hours, Spittor's mind began to drift away. Exhaustion finally took its toll. The weight of the day's events, the highs and lows of their interactions, pressed him to surrender to a calm and soothing slumber. But in the heart of the nest, wrapped in the embrace of the elder basilisk, those thoughts seemed distant, as if they belonged to another lifetime.

The last thing Spittor remembered before succumbing to the pull of sleep was the rhythmic feel of Sithrik's tongue on his scales, the soothing sound of the basilisk's breathing, and a feeling of being cherished and protected, as a mate would feel.

The sun's first rays cast the desert in a golden hue, and with it, Spittor awoke to find himself still wrapped in Sithrik's embrace. There was a moment of confusion before the events of the previous night returned, making his nether flesh heat with need and embarrassment alike. The older basilisk seemed to have sensed his wakefulness and blinked open a single golden eye, greeting him with a sleepy gaze.

"Bright...start of the day to you, drake," Sithrik rasped, his voice husky from the prolonged sleep.

Spittor hesitated. "About last night--" he began, but Sithrik quickly interrupted.

"I owe you an apology," he confessed, removing himself slowly from the entanglement of their limbs. "I let my instincts take over, and I... I regret any discomfort I may have caused you."

Spittor would've bapped his head if he was in the proper position. "Grrhhh, as if the blame lay entirely on you," he murmured, recalling his own surrender to the throes of passion. "I surrendered myself willingly to your embrace. What followed after was...expected of a creature that barely had any tail over the past decade.

Silence enveloped them. Spittor felt like his joke might've missed its landing, but his concerns got alleviated when it was Sithrik who broke it.

"Perhaps... perhaps we could try again. Properly this time. With all the rituals our kind holds dear."

Curiosity piqued, Spittor turned to him. "Rituals? What might those be, besides licks and tail raising?"

Sithrik flashed his teeth with amusement. "Mock them all you want, but if you should know, there are several mating rituals drakes of old performed before coupling. They ensure trust, a strong bond, and much needed mutual understanding. I presume you seek the same in a permanent partner, correct?" His eyes searched Spittor's, looking for an affirmation.

"Well...yes. I hardly hump any attractive creature I set my eyes on. Tell me more about your rituals."

Sithrik went on to describe a few, starting with the Dance of Flames - a complex set of leaps and chaotic movements, mimicking the fire's wild nature. But Spittor shook his head. "It sounds far too intricate, and the time it would take to learn those moves would damn Shara'Hazad to dust."

The basilisk then described the Whisper of the Winds, where they'd sing to each other in the growly ways of their kind. Again, Spittor hesitated. "I've never been much of yowler," he confessed with a sheepish grin.

Growing slightly frustrated, yet understanding of the younger kin's lack of patience, Sithrik finally proposed a simpler ritual. "The Path of Desires. It's a playful hunt, a game where we pursue each other, teasing, testing, rough, if preferred, but without drawing unnecessary blood. Coupling is the goal, not the marring of each other's pride, or scales."

Spittor's eyes lit up at that idea. "How does it work? Do we just...run after each other? One is the predator, the other, the prey?"

"Every touch is a promise to care for the other, every nip, an affectionate jest, and every tackle, an offer of adoration. We chase, we play, but we also affirm our mutual desires in whatever way each of us sees fit."

Spittor smiled toothily and nodded his head. "It sounds... perfect!"

Sithrik took a deliberate step towards Spittor, his sinuous form gliding through the oasis foliage, scales shimmering like polished emeralds. "Before we begin, little drake," he whispered, voice dripping with mirth, "let's ensure your instincts are ready for what is to come."

Spittor, feeling a twinge of anticipation, tensed his muscles but didn't retreat. Without warning, Sithrik shot out his tongue, skimming it across Spittor's cheek. The surprising, quick touch sent a jolt through the younger drake's frame, his heart racing as he jerked back in mock outrage. "That's foul play on your part. We didn't even start, and you're already trying to seduce me?" he accused with a toothy smile.

"That's merely... a taste of better things," Sithrik smirked, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. "I take it you're well prepared now?"

Before Spittor could muster a response, Sithrik was off, slinking into the thickets, leaving a trail of displaced leaves and the faintest rustle as a clue. Taking a deep breath, Spittor steadied himself and began his pursuit.

The oasis became a labyrinth of desire and anticipation. At one point, Spittor's tail brushed against something warm and moving. Was it Sithrik's? Before he could confirm his suspicions, a soft hiss from the opposite direction drew his attention towards some moving ferns. Spittor darted forward, but only found a swaying branch where he thought he'd seen a tail flick.

Every now and then, the tantalizing sensation of a tongue, a tail-tip, or a tickle on the soft underbelly scales would tease him, making Spittor's heart race and anticipation mount. Sithrik was everywhere yet nowhere, a master of evasion and seduction, always just out of reach but leaving behind tokens of his teasing presence: a moist spot where he might have licked, a pressed down patch of grass indicating his recent resting spot.

As Spittor navigated the oasis, he caught the intoxicating scent of the basilisk, strong, yet earthy, with an underlying note of arousal. Following the trail, he almost collided with Sithrik, who appeared suddenly from a dense thicket. Before Spittor could react, the basilisk lunged, his superior weight and strength bearing down on the drake.

With a triumphant growl, Sithrik pinned Spittor beneath him, their bodies entangled amongst the soft grass and blooming flowers of the oasis. "Seems I've caught my prey," Sithrik purred, his frills twitching in amusement.

Spittor huffed, his breath short not just from the chase, but also from the weight of the basilisk atop him. The exhilarating proximity of their bodies also proved an annoyingly enticing factor.

Sithrik's tongue, now gentle, traced the ridges of Spittor's snout. "I promised care with every touch, didn't I?" he whispered, his voice filled with warmth. Spittor chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter resonating against Sithrik.

"You did," he replied, his own eyes filled with playful defiance, "But remember, next time, I might just turn the tables."

With Spittor still beneath him, Sithrik lowered his snout closer, their breaths mingling in the warm air of the oasis. "Turn the tables?" Sithrik murmured, his tongue playfully tracing the curve of Spittor's jawline. "You'd have to catch me first, and considering how you performed in this first trial, my hopes do not burn bright."

Spittor tried to twist away, feigning an escape, but the basilisk's weight and the firm grip he had on his forelimbs kept him rooted in place. "Not fair," Spittor complained, his voice carrying a lighthearted tone. "You're using your size to your advantage."

"And why shouldn't I?" Sithrik countered, leaning down once more to nip gently at Spittor's throat. The sensation sent a shiver down Spittor's belly, his scales tingling under the attention. "It's all part of the game, isn't it?"

Sithrik's advances grew bolder, his tongue now trailing down the length of Spittor's neck, pausing at particularly sensitive spots. The younger drake's breath grew ragged, his body instinctively arching up towards the basilisk. Every touch, every teasing lick, was driving him closer to a precipice of need.

Suddenly, Spittor felt the full weight of Sithrik press down, the basilisk's warmth enveloping him, their chests rubbing together with each shared breath. "I can feel your heart racing," Sithrik whispered huskily, positioning himself between Spittor's hind legs, their bodies aligning in a more intimate embrace. The sensations between them escalated as Sithrik's slit slid gently against Spittor's, the friction smooth, yet teasingly intimate. The dual movements, slow and deliberate, slowly began to coax out their increasingly engorged members. The tantalizing dance of their bodies, melding together, drew guttural moans from their throats. As if in response to the need that began manifesting in the contractions of his eager tailhole, Spittor felt Sithrik's member prodding against his tail entrance, the basilisk's rigid shaft eager for the coupling he often mentioned.

Sithrik's growl, deep and laden with need, resonated in Spittor's ears. The basilisk leaned down, his snout brushing against the underside of Spittor's neck, inhaling deeply. The gentle caress of his tongue, followed by a series of affectionate nips, sent Spittor's senses into a calm, soothing stance of submission.

However, just as the mounting pressure seemed about to find its release, Spittor felt Sithrik hesitate. The confident, powerful basilisk, who had always taken the lead, now became still atop him.

"Why pause?" Spittor murmured, turning his head to try and catch Sithrik's gaze. The golden eyes, which once radiated dominance and certainty, now sought to look away.

"I fear my instincts, Spittor. The raw intensity you've been privy to... It feels too soon to let my needs run rampant again. Last time it was an ache. What if this time, you'll suffer something worse? Armored as you might be, you're still such a frail, gentle drake...untested in the ways of the wilds."

Spittor's heart swelled with an emotion he couldn't quite define. The fact that this magnificent creature, despite his desires, held himself back out of concern for him, felt nothing but touching. Drawing up all the courage he possessed, Spittor gave his partner a reassuring lick over the top of his uncertain snout "If my tail felt good enough to drain your seed within less than a dozen thrusts last time, who is to say you will last longer this time?"

The basilisk licked back, yet in spite of the mirth spreading between them, Sithrik still hesitated, his snout brushing against Spittor's cheek. "If I become too possessive, too rough..."

"Then I'll take charge," Spittor declared boldly. "And if you don't start soon, maybe I'll mount you instead."

Sithrik chuckled, the tension between them fizzling amidst growls, whimpers, and gestures of pure need for one another, "That is a challenge I long to witness myself," the basilisk said, forked tongue dashing along his captive's head. "Yet for now, you are fully...mine."

The moment of the penetration proved even more enthralling than Spittor had expected. As Sithrik pushed himself gently into the depths of his waiting tailhole, Spittor snarled not with discomfort, but with need, his fires stoked by the unique sensation of the basilisk's anatomy scratching along the sensitive lining of his muscles, specifically the three rows of nubs lining the underside of that sweet, throbbing length. Each ridge seemed designed to produce the most amount of stimulation to male or female, massaging and caressing Spittor's inner walls with every motion, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through him. The nubs worked their magic even from the first thrust, rubbing against sensitive areas that Spittor didn't even know he had, particularly his prostate, which responded with an eager, pulsating rhythm that sent his member jolting against the basilisk's smaller underbelly scales.

"Hrrhh...more," he latched onto Sithrik's verdant neck with his jaws, nibbling at him with raw desire when the basilisk paused inside him.

Hissing, Sithrik complied, his golden gaze carefully observing his mate's reactions.

With every thrust that followed, Spittor grabbed onto his frilled mate tighter the more he found himself engulfed in the pleasure of being taken. Sithrik's measured motions gradually grew more forceful, more passionate, pushed by the scrapping of claws along his scales and the teeth nibbling at his jaw. Both males began growling and licking at each other with splattering strokes of their tongues as squelching sounds emerged from the increasingly wetter place of their union, the basilisk's nubs sending wave after wave of heated ecstasy through Spittor's shuddering hole. Amidst the frenzied passion they shared, Spittor felt the deepening of Sithrik's breaths, the increase in his lustful desire to claim him, the weakness every thrust produced.

Sithrik, for all his initial restraint, began to lose himself in the passion of the moment. The fervor grew with each push, his length pulsating with an intensity that mirrored his escalating desire. Spittor growled with desire, attuned to every throb, every thrust, each surge of Sithrik's arousal which heightened his own rising pleasures.

Each of Sithrik's thrusts had been deliberate, measured, but around the tenth or so, something shifted. The forceful push came with a deeper, more resonant connection that hit precisely where Spittor was at his most sensitive. His entire body tightened in response, every scale tingling with the pressing weight of looming orgasm. His tail twitched involuntarily, his claws grabbed onto his partner, and his back arched, pushing himself further onto Sithrik's probing length as his own throbbing penis squirted the cloudy precursor of his impending release.

The overwhelming sensation centered around his prostate, that specific spot that Sithrik seemed to have mastered the art of teasing with uncanny precision, flared like a raging bonfire. With each stroke, the basilisk's pronounced glans sent waves of bliss coursing through Spittor's entire being as it passed over his prostate, giving rise to moans instead of growls, and whimpers instead of words. His breaths became ragged, eyes rolling back, as the tidal wave of ecstasy building up within him to unspeakable heights..

As that twelfth thrust saw the basilisk all the way inside him, Spittor could hardly keep the tempestuous pleasure in check anymore. His climax surged forth like a frothy, clammy wave, an intense, overwhelming release that painted the basilisk's scales white from the very first burst. His body convulsed in ripples of pleasure, his inner muscles clenching around Sithrik in rhythmic pulses that had the basilisk hissing wildly for more. A long, drawn-out moan escaped his maw, the sound echoing across their surroundings.

Sithrik, ever watchful of Spittor's responses, picked up on the change immediately. His own rhythm changed, as did his stance, becoming more insistent, allowing for quicker, shallower thrusts. The basilisk's deep growls, a mix of pleasure and raw need, vibrated against Spittor's plated underside like a river's roar. Spittor felt those powerful thrusts intensify, each one matched with the pulsing of Sithrik's length, slower, and harder, so very close to release.

After just a couple more of those thrusts, Spittor threw his head back, half lidded eyes and lolling tongue showing how overwhelmed he was by the bliss of release. It took mere seconds for Sithrik's length to swell within him, and then, with a sharp throb, came the powerful surges of creamy warmth every male dearly awaited. His maw came down, teeth squeezing down on Spittor's exposed neck not to hurt, but to claim, every pulse of his member a potent reminder of the bestial nature of their union. Sithrik wanted him. He did what every beast of the wild would....filling him, marking him. This feral wanting, while intimate, primal, and intoxicating all at once, proved almost as sweet as the actual climax.

Six times Spittor felt them. Those hot, powerful spurts that seemed to sear him from the inside, filling him further and further. Each one sent a new wave of pleasure crashing through him, leaving him in a dazed, panting, paralyzed state.

Though the bliss lasted long, its waning soon started to show. In the aftermath of their climaxes, Sithrik's thrusts began to slow, but his attentions did not wane. The basilisk's tongue traced a path from Spittor's chest up to his neck, each lick soothing and gentle, a contrast to the fervor brought by the moments before. The tenderness of the gesture made Spittor whine softly, the sound tinged with a mixture of contentment and residual arousal.

Such lovely reactions stirred the basilisk further, and Sithrik responded with even more affection, nuzzling into the crook of Spittor's neck, his breath warm, comforting. As he continued his ministrations, he gently nibbled along Spittor's jaw, each bite sending little jolts of pleasure through the spent drake.

Then, with a boldness that was almost delicate in its execution, Sithrik's tongue ventured into Spittor's maw. The fleshy invasion came unexpected, and Spittor gasped in surprise, only to soon melt into the loving caress. Their tongues danced together, exploring, tasting, a twirl of intimacy that had its own rhythm.

The continued affection, combined with the lingering sensations of their recent coupling, and the rubbing of his own member along the basilisk's clammy scales, proved too much for Spittor to endure. With a shuddering whine, he began thrusting his member along that painted underside as another climax rippled through him, less intense than the previous but no less sweeter. Sithrik, sensing the tremors wracking his partner's form, deepened their shared kiss, his tongue caressing the inner recesses of Spittor's mouth with a gentleness that opposed his usual bestial nature.

Eventually, their maws separated, their breaths mingling in the cool air of the night, eyes locked in a gaze that spoke too much for words to comprehend.

Spittor's breath came in ragged growls, and even as Sithrik began to ease away, there was a sudden desperation in the drake's hold. He coiled his tail around Sithrik's, pulling him tight. "Stay," Spittor hissed, a soft plea that caught the basilisk off guard.

Sithrik halted, eyes searching Spittor's for answers. "Your insides must be sore. Lingering inside might just-"

Spittor shook his head, a gentle smile curving his lips. "No, your silky seed balms any discomfort. I just... I want to feel you against me...inside me...for just a while longer." He sighed, resting his head against Sithrik's. "Perhaps it's the ways of the anthros in me, but I value these moments of intimacy."

Sithrik looked curious. "Anthros? Have you...coupled with them in the past? I smelled Razzek's essence on you during that first visit, but were there more?"

"Yes, a good number of them," Spittor began, taking a deep breath. "When you're raised by pair of gay reptilians within the embrace of anthro civilization, their ideals of a lascivious life squeezed for every pleasure it can offer clings to you. They took me in as their own when I was but an egg, teaching me their ways, their customs, their values. I learned from them, grew with them, and yet, I sometimes I still wished I could do more. Be...more."

A thoughtful expression crossed Sithrik's eyes, "I've lived amongst anthros and humans alike, in my early years. But your story should continue. What made you leave the comfort of your previous life?"

Spittor chuckled softly, "the more I grew, the more I realized settling down wasn't for me. I craved adventure, the thrill of the unknown, the challenges of the vast world beyond the safety of man-made walls. So, I left to seek that adventure! I traveled from settlement to settlement, chasing tales, treasures, and the pure, exhilarating rush of danger that came with an exciting bounty."

Sithrik's eyes darkened with a heavier bland of emotions. "You yearn for the thrill... while I spent years trying to escape it. In my youth, I was respected, even revered by the community I became part of. They sought my knowledge of the land, the secrets of mystical forces, and of the many creatures that inhabited the wilder parts of the world. But time... time changes everything."

Spittor nudged Sithrik gently, urging him to continue.

"The community I once knew... changed into something different. Too different," Sithrik continued, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Old beliefs were replaced by new ones. The same people who had once sought harmony with nature became fearful, superstitious of the very creatures they once befriended. I became their enemy. They drove me from my home, branding me a threat."

Spittor further nuzzled the neck of his scaled friend, a pang of sympathy weighting his own heart. "I assume your path found refuge in Shara'Hazad?"

Sithrik nodded. "Yes, the forested regions provided the solitude I sought. But it also isolated me. Turned me cold, bitter. Until you arrived, I had forgotten what it was to feel warmth, to trust someone other than myself."

They fell asleep in each other's embrace, and woke up to a fresh day of adventures. After they roamed around for the better part of the day, they settled once again near the serene waters. As the fiery orange and purples of the setting sun painted the sky with warm hues mirrored by the crystalline water, the paradise they lived in seemed as if it were caught between two realms. In the midst of this ethereal setting, the two drakes wrapped themselves again in a passionate embrace. Sithrik's musky scent, a combination of sandalwood and rain after a storm, was now more intense than ever, making Spittor's senses aflame with the desire to be as close to him as possible.

Lying amidst the soft soggy ground of the oasis, the two drakes seemed to blend effortlessly with the surrounding landscape. Spittor's smooth, purple scales shimmered, catching the amber highlights of the setting sun, while Sithrik's green scales and bright colored frills contrasted beautifully. Nestled beside each other, Spittor's head resting comfortably in the crook of Sithrik's neck, his slender tail wrapped possessively around one of Sithrik's muscular hind legs.

As the cool breeze brushed over their intertwined forms, Spittor felt Sithrik's paw gently stroking his flank. Each caress felt deliberate and tender, tracing the intricate patterns of his scales, making Spittor's throat hum with a soft, comforting growl. The touch dripped with longing, with the weight of years spent seeking for a similar moment, when another drake would rest besides the lonely guardian of the oasis.

Sithrik's warm breath tickled Spittor's earhole, sending goosebumps across his scales. Each exhale was rhythmic, almost hypnotic, lulling Spittor deeper into a state of calm serenity. But the gentle nips and nibbles along his neck and shoulder truly made Spittor's spine tingle. Each soft bite, a playful tease, drew a soft rippling growl from the younger drake's lips.

As Sithrik continued his affections, Spittor felt warmth building within him. A warmth not just from the physical sensations, but from the realization of how much Sithrik truly desired his presence, how much he mattered to the ancient creature.

A realization that humbled him, with its overwhelming intensity. Sure, he had Razzek and a few other lovers in the past, yet none was quite as old, needy, and hungry for his presence as Sithrik was.

Drawing back slightly, Spittor gazed up into Sithrik's eyes. Those golden orbs held so much depth, so many stories, tales of wonder and woe, love and loss. He reached forth to lick him. Then, Spittor's muzzle found Sithrik's, their lips meeting in a gentle, lingering kiss, a soft melding of scaled snouts, filled with the promise of a better tomorrow, a reassurance of the present, and an acknowledgment of the past. They broke apart slowly, their snouts still rubbing gently along each other.

"I don't want this day to ever come to a close," Spittor whispered, the weight of their impending separation pressing down on him.

Sithrik responded with a soft growl, nuzzling Spittor's snout affectionately. "Neither do I, young one. But I will not keep you from the path you must walk."

Spittor took a deep breath, absorbing Sithrik's scent one more time. "Promise me," he began, his voice quivering, "that this isn't the last time we'll meet."

The basilisk looked deep into Spittor's eyes, holding his suspense before that wet, bifurcated tongue left a mark as warm as his words. "In this vast desert, where paths often cross on fate's whims, I promise... our trails will intertwine again."

***Help me bear the burden of an unexpected expense, please?***

Dear readers and supporters of the fluff. We need around 800 eur more to fully cover the elevator bill. Deadline is 31 dec!! More details can be found at this journal https://www.furaffinity.net/journal/10758053

Any help you can provide shall be greatly appreciated: Ways you can help:

A) Throw a few coins in donation here https://ko-fi.com/siranor0720

B) Commission me! You can find the deals I offer in the journal here https://www.furaffinity.net/journal/10758053

**C) There are also two story+art YCHs available where you can hire my dragon for a night...or more :3

A. Fluffy Siranor x your character (m/m anal fluffy love) https://www.furaffinity.net/view/53310379/

B. Fluffy Siranor x your character that comes with an already packaged present xD ( M/M dom sub dubcon bondage mating dragon in heat)**