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Taken from Sithrik's embrace by the weight of his quest, Spittor finds himself at the head of a hunting party that aims to remove the frilled beast from its territory. Would they succeed? Or will the beast of nightmares truly prove to be the nemesis they feared all along?

Story written by me , Siranor

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*The basilisk's victim ch4: Revelries and Revelations (M/M feral drake x anthro reptilian) *

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Under the radiant canopy of the twilight sky, the two drakes still remained entwined on the cool ground of the verdant oasis. The weight of Sithrik's body pressed Spittor further against the soil dented by his natural armor. Each granule of sand seemed to caress his purple scaled plates, while down there, on his belly, the soft friction between them, with each subtle movement, kindled a fire within Spittor that blazed brighter than expected.

The sensation of embracing Sithrik so tightly against him pierced past the physical realm; it bore the weight of newly ignited emotions, of stories that had yet to reach conclusion, of histories with different starting points that only now intertwined. As the basilisk moved to lick the crown of Spittor's forehead, the sharp edges of scales rubbing along Sithrik's yellow belly plates grazed against them, causing stirring a buzz of bliss that ran from the tips of his tail to the crown of his head.

The raw physicality of such a delightful act caused Spittor's heart to race within his chest. He was indeed trapped, not just beneath Sithrik's form, but in the snare of his own conflicting emotions. The responsibility he owed to his kin put next to the unyielding pull of this newfound connection with the basilisk battled fiercely within the creases of his logical thoughts. What good would it do to return home, when staying here in the embrace of one of his own filled him with more warmth than he ever felt before?

The soft growl that escaped Spittor came almost without accord. A sound of conflict, of tussle between logic and longing. His mouth parted slightly in preparation to voice his objections, but what met him was not the pressing force of dominance, but an all-encompassing gaze of understanding and love.

In Sithrik's eyes, no hints of the predator seeking his prey lingered. Instead, they held the intensity of a lover, of a being that had roamed the desolate terrains of loneliness for more years than many could fathom.

The form of paralysis his eyes instilled felt not coerced, but tender, like the embrace of a soothing night after a hot day. It cradled Spittor's conflicted thoughts, urging him to pause, to feel, to truly surrender himself to the simple pleasure of the moment. Sithrik's voice, a soft whisper against the landscape of Spittor's scales, exuded a desperate need for understanding. It urged him to set aside his trepidations, even if just momentarily.

Each soft bite that followed, each lingering kiss along the curve of his neck, seemed to resonate with Sithrik's unspoken desires. They spoke of eons of isolation, of the chill of nights without the warmth of another. They conveyed hope; a flickering flame in the vast darkness, that perhaps, just perhaps, the cold wouldn't last much longer.

Lost in the tender maelstrom of instinct and logic a tear formed in Spittor's eye. It wasn't just a response to the overwhelming desire to do what his heart pushed him to, but a realization of the impossible answer he had to provide. As the licks grew softer, more deliberate, Spittor found himself drifting into warmth that was Sithrik's embrace. Each gentle nip was a letter, each caress, a vivid word. Together, they formed sentences strung by growls, hisses, and whimpers few men could ever understand.

"Hrrrssss," Sithrik hissed gently against the delicate scales of Spittor's neck, nostrils twitching, hungry for his scent, "Are you attuned to this simple pleasure, Spittor? This... warmth?" He licked, then sniffed again. His breath was hot, a direct contrast to the chilling tales of his past.

"How could I not," Spittor admitted, voice trembling slightly with emotion. His claws flexed in the sand, grasping for grounding amidst the weight of the inevitable.

As Sithrik continued, his voice acquired a sorrow that echoed through the purple drake's armored hide. "For the longest time, cold was all I knew. Emptiness...all I could think of. But you... you brought the warmth back. A fire I had forgotten to tend to."

Spittor blinked slowly, absorbing the weight of Sithrik's words. "Was there truly no one else? No one but..me?"

Pulling back just enough to let their eyes meet, Sithrik continued without offering a clear answer to the question, "Returning to your kin, to that settlement led by Vartan... What will it bring you? You know as well as I, that the insatiable greed of some humans surpasses even our instinct to copulate. Once they sack the waters of this place to fuel their thirsts and contraptions. They shall move on, seeking another balm for their desire to conquer new lands. Humans, Spittor, lose themselves to what could be, that they often forget to cherish what is already there."

Spittor hesitated. His mind flashed to the settlement and its gleaming, ever-watchful eyes. Sithrik's words rang true. He'd seen Vartan's type before. The restless ambition of a man tormented by the guilt of failed achievements, the never-ending want to inscribe his name in the annals of history. The anthros he once called parents had cautioned him about the fickleness of mankind.

Yet he never listened. He rarely did, whenever the call of adventure whispered in his ears and spurred his feet to new lands.

Drawing closer, so close that their very breaths entertwined, Sithrik's golden orbs bore into Spittor's very soul. "I'm different," he mumbled, pleading, almost. "I value... I cherish. I know the worth of moments such as these. When I collect something of worth, I keep it with me for as long as I shall live...like I would like to keep...you..."

Their snouts touched, a gentle, affectionate gesture that conveyed more than any word could. Spittor felt the delicate rush of air as Sithrik's shuddering nostrils blew interrupted gusts of air upon his own, eyelids drooping in a slow blink.

The weight of the decision pressed on Spittor ever since he entangled himself in Sithrik's grasp. But before he could gather his thoughts, Sithrik's whisper beat him to it. "Will you... stay another day?"

The weight of that question hung in the air, tethered by a fragile hope suspended between them. Spittor's heart thudded loudly in his chest, the cacophony of his thoughts competing with the quiet plea of the basilisk cradled in his embrace.

His chest tightened. The weight of the question made its effects known, but as he gazed into Sithrik's golden eyes, he found himself at a loss for words. Instead, he acted on impulse. With a sudden movement, he pulled Sithrik close, holding him tightly against his scaled form, seeking comfort in the intoxicating warmth he stoked.

"We'll not be split apart for long," Spittor whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of each word he spoke. "It's just... a temporary break from the short time we enjoyed together."

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Spittor began to loosen his hold, feeling Sithrik's chest rise and fall one last time. He drew back to see those familiar golden eyes staring back at him with their slitted pupils fully focused on him, the anguish and longing mirroring his own.

Sithrik nodded slowly, a tear tracing its path down along his scaled cheek. "Promise me you'll remember our time here, at this oasis," he growled softly as his frills sagged.

Spittor leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, allowing their shared warmth to bridge the growing gap that would soon create a rift between their worlds. "I shall, my precious basilisk. Every moment shall be committed to memory," he vowed.

Pulling away, the intensity of their shared moment lingered as a tangible energy between them. Spittor hesitated before he began his slow trek toward the settlement. With every footfall, the weight in his steps grew heavier, as if he carried the collective sorrow of every decision that led to this moment.

Suddenly, a soft rustle caught his attention. Glancing back, he saw Sithrik's vibrant frills. Those thin, sensitive appendages on the sides of his head, drooping despondently, the once radiant colors now muted by the sinking feeling of abandonment.

A surge of emotion swept over Spittor, halting him in his tracks. He couldn't leave him like this. Not without one last favor. In a swift motion, he closed the gap between them with a long leap, drawing the basilisk into a deep, fervent embrace after they rolled briefly over the ground. Their snouts touched in a tender moment, their exhales merging in the cooling air of the evening oasis.

"You think I can forget our hunts?! The marks we left around your territory?!" Spittor growled softly, his voice echoing the rawness of his feelings. "That I can... forget you?!"

Sithrik's frills quivered, then slowly fanned out, displaying an array of emotions: from surprise to appreciation and finally, a deep melancholy. "Time has a way of clouding memories," he whispered back, cracks breaking through his usually composed demeanor.

"I'll prove time wrong then," Spittor vowed, taking a step back, but not after offering the basilisk one last sloppy lick over his snout. Their gazes locked...but no further words were shared. None...needed to be.

With a lingering look over his shoulder, as if to make sure the basilisk would still be there, Spittor turned and made his way towards the distant settlement, each step echoing with the promises made to his beloved frilled friend.

As he approached those damned, imposing walls, he felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. The regular hustle and bustle had transformed into an air of tension. Even before he reached the gates, Spittor noted the unusual number of anthros and humans alike scrambling into ragtag formations, their demeanor weighted down by deadly purpose.

Squinting his eyes, he identified the clusters of hunters. Their purpose stood as clear as the sky's blue expanse. They were gathering in a formation, weapons gleaming in the dim light, eyes scanning the horizon for a target that would never come. The settlement seemed to hum with whispers and hurried conversations.

Pushing through, Spittor sought Vartan, hoping to relay the deal he had brokered with Sithrik. The leader, however, was preoccupied, directing hunters to their assigned groups and barking orders even at the quadrupedal ferals that decided to assist. Finally catching his attention, Spittor began, "Vartan, I've spoken with--"

But he was abruptly cut off. Vartan's eyes, cold and dismissive, allowed no retort. "You're late, Spittor. And I no longer have the patience to indulge in whatever ploy you might've formed with your kin."

"Vartan, I-"

"The choice is clear!" Vartan interrupted again, his growly throat dripping with disdain. "You either join the hunting party as one of us, or serve as bait for that wretched basilisk you mired yourself with. Decide now, before your fate falls into my fists!"

The weight of such sudden decision threatened to the panicking drake. Yet before he could form a proper response, a familiar figure darted past him, skidding to a halt beside Vartan. "We'll assist," Razzek declared with unwavering confidence. His scales gleamed fiercely under the settlement's lanterns, and his eyes, always alert, darted to Spittor with the flicker of a nascent plan.

Confusion welled up in Spittor. He had expected support from Razzek, but this direct involvement came unexpected. As they were quickly herded into the heart of the square-shaped hunting formation, Razzek leaned closer, his voice a hushed whisper amidst the clanking of weapons and the rustling of paws and feet that shuffled around in order to make room for new arrivals.

"There's a place. A safe haven that Sithrik and I had established for contingencies such as these. We can divert the hunters there, and let nature take its due."

Spittor, still distraught by the sudden turn of events, nodded almost instinctively, ignoring the grim connotations of the reptilian's plan. "How will we manage that without arousing suspicion from our...allies?"

Razzek's sly smile provided an answer. "Let them believe they're in control, Spittor. All we need to do is lead them, just as Vartan intends us to."

The duo took up positions within the hunting party, their steps deliberate. Every now and then, Razzek would subtly alter the direction on account of his skill as a tracker, guiding them inch by inch toward the place where fate itself would converge. All the while, Spittor maintained the façade of Razzek's loyal follower, playing his part to perfection, ensuring that no anthro or human eye would linger on them longer than necessary.

As the hours wore on, the landscape began to transform. The open desert bridging Shara'hazad with the basilisk's oasis slowly gave way to a series of canyons and intricate rock formations

The labyrinthine maze of canyons felt almost intimidating, the high walls occasionally allowing thin slivers of the sun's light to illuminate their winding path. Spittor, while focused on the mission ahead, couldn't help but absorb the energies of those around him, a diverse blend of desires, fears, and intentions.

To his left happened to walk a young bipedal lion, probably not much older than a teenager, He carried a simple bow, its string slackened. Every so often, his amber eyes darted around nervously, making Spittor wonder if he was here out of genuine desire or pressured by Vartan's fearsome reputation. A conversation he overheard confirmed his suspicion, "I just wanted to be anywhere but home. Anything to escape Vartan's gaze," the young lion whispered to a companion that offered him a sip of refreshing water.

Not too far from him, a seasoned wolf-warrior sharpened her blade. Her gray fur bore the scars of battles, keen gaze reflecting years of experience. The determined set of her jaw made it clear - she was here for a purpose. The basilisk, in her eyes, was just another target, another story to add to her already impressive legacy of death.

Amidst the hunters, Spittor noticed an old tortoise, moving slowly, but with purpose. Clad in robes rather than armor and carrying no discernible weapons, he seemed out of place. Catching Spittor's curious gaze, he trudged closer,

"Water... All I wish for...is water. I bear no ill will to the creature, but such bounty must be shared. Always...be shared."

Compared to him, the young feline with dappled fur striding quickly past him was barely an adult. She cradled a sling with practiced ease, adventurous eyes admiring every nook and cranny in the pillars of stone they slowly passed along, Her excitement almost made Spittor wish he could revert back to his former self and join her on an exciting adventure. Every time the party passed an interesting rock formation, she'd make a note in a tiny journal, her tail twitching in joy.

Then there was the duo of avian anthros, a hawk, and an owl, perched high on an outcrop. Though they lacked wings, their vantage point gave them a broader view of the surroundings. With their keen eyes, they relayed any signs of movement to the group below...not that much needed to be said.

As the party continued, Spittor began to feel the strange weight of responsibility pressing down upon his shoulders. These were not just hunters; they were individuals, each with their own story and motivations. Razzek seemed to sense his unease, offering a comforting squeeze of the drake's swishing tail.

Soon, the canyons deepened, and the path grew narrower. Up ahead, the entrance to the safe haven was almost in sight, a yawning cave concealed behind a veil of cascading vines.

Spittor shared a glance with Razzek, signaling the beginning of their real adventure. They began to guide the party into the verdant lands more deliberately, all the while formulating a plan to ensure the safety of all involved.

As they neared the entrance, the seasoned wolf-warrior raised her blade high, her voice echoing through the canyons. "Ready yourselves! The basilisk could be stalking us as soon as we encroach upon its domain!"

With a canopy of stars stretched across the indigo sky, the night offered little light to guide them, especially after the vegetation grew thick enough to shroud even the stars from view. The only visible source of light seemed to come from the soft luminescence of the lanterns carried by those at the front. They cast long shadows on the ground as they flickered, making even the bravest heart among the hunters jumpy.

With each footfall, the verdant expanse expanded around them, teasing the parched throats of the hunting party with the promise of life. This emerald haven amidst the vast, golden desolation of the desert was what they were here for. What some...could die for.

The air grew markedly cooler as they ventured around the trees and through the ferns, laden with the scents of blooming flowers, ripening fruits, and the undeniable freshness of untapped water sources. The boundary between the oasis and the desert had proven surprisingly opaque, as if nature had drawn a line between life and desolation.

One foot after the other, the hunters continued their tentative foray. The gnarled roots of ancient trees intertwined with the soft, moss-covered ground, creating natural pathways that the group followed in a shaken line. Delicate ferns brushed against their legs, while occasionally, the distant sounds of exotic birdsong enticed their ears.

Spittor noted the varying expressions on their faces. Some, like the young wolf with greyish-blue fur, had brows furrowed in concentration, ears perked and eyes darting about, every sense attuned to their surroundings. Others, like the elderly tortoise, stepped slowly, deliberately, his ancient eyes squinting to catch the marvel of the life around him, no matter how dark or dim. At the far front, an anthro rabbit, keen of ears, paused intermittently, angling her head to better catch the subtle sounds of the oasis.

Small ripples on the surface of the large pond of water ahead of them caught their attention. Perhaps a fish or some other aquatic creature. Brightly colored butterflies flitted around, and every so often, the subtle buzz of a dragonfly's wings could made ears twitch as it passed over the tense group.

The shimmer of the lanterns painted ethereal silhouettes on the thick canopy overhead, casting a dappled light on the undergrowth. Shadows shifted with the sway of the lanterns or the hands that held them, adding to the oasis's mystique.

Yet, underlying this wonder was tangible tension. The stories of the basilisk had been passed from numerous ears on to the next, and even in the midst of such beauty, the fear of those golden, paralyzing eyes kept everyone wondering where, or who, stalked them.

"Slow," the rabbit leaped at the head of the group. "Silent steps tread nearby."

"Weapons," the wolfess made a readying motion with her spear. "If it moves, skewer it."

"But its eyes...how can we attack if we cannot see?" a scared voice came, placing a snarl on the huntress' face.

"We'll use our ears then. Keep them perked." The wolfess concluded.

With the command given, they ventured deeper, lanterns held high, weapons clutched in frail, tepid grips.

Step after step, the group approached the water. The rabbit's warning seemed almost untrue as minutes separated the group from their bounty. Yet...the fake comfort brought by the scent of water proved short-lived. A pair of radiant yellow eyes emerged from the shadows, capturing the gazes of every individual attracted by the gasps, growls, and sudden hisses of those who ate the monster's gaze first. Before they could even react, an overwhelming force washed over their entire line, binding their bodies in ethereal strings and rendering them completely immobile. Even Spittor, who had grown somewhat familiar with this sensation, felt himself unable to twitch a single digit after accidentally meeting his friend's blazing eyes.

As the paralysis took hold over the entirety of him, Spittor's mind raced. This was not the plan. They were supposed to guide the hunters into a trap, not to their deaths. Razzek, caught with his hand still on the purple plates of his back, seemed unable to speak. The lives of these hunters, many of whom were recruited against their will, rested solely in Sithrik's claws.

As if he could read the drake's thoughts, the lithe basilisk rushed to him, intent sniffs and desperate nuzzles betraying his adoration.

"You came back...both of you did..."

With but a blink of those gentle eyes, warmth broke through the paralysis. The wet, sliding feeling of a basilisk's love was all that mattered now. Sithrik's forked tongue passed over his snout a few more times, eager to taste more. Yet there was no time for joy right now. Within moments, Spittor found himself free of the paralysis, as did Razzek, who shook himself off with a bemused grunt.

"Your stare truly knows not to discriminate." The striped reptilian joked in the utter silence befalling the oasis.

"An unfortunate necessity, spurred by a situation none of us seems to yearn for...save for a few," the basilisk's fangs revealed their tips at the weapons of war carried by the wolfess and her fighter squad, all flat on the ground.

"They're not here for you, SIthrik. Not all of them." Spittor brushed along the basilisk, seeking to ease his tension with his own blend of nuzzling. "Search them, and see answers revealed."

Sithrik, with an air of solemnity, began his examination of the hunters, keeping his paralyzing gaze on them, only to retract its effects a few moments later, upon realizing the lack of proper preparation on top of the intentions most seemed to carry.

"Rise. Tend to yourselves, and listen well. You find yourselves in this bountiful expanse out of fear," he hissed softly, his voice echoing in the stillness. "Fear of a tyrant who fed you his lies."

The old tortoise anthro, with courage born of age and wisdom, spoke up, his voice shaky by the recent paralysis, "Truth you do speak, kind creature. Most here... were driven by Vartan's whip.... not by thirst, nor by desire for blood. He has us... extract water from the deep mines, breaking whip upon back....merely for a drop of precious water to drink reserved for us."

Some of the other hunters shifted uncomfortably, groaning, whispering among themselves, eyes darting between Sithrik and the ground, clearly unsure of how to address the imposing basilisk. But the greyish-blue wolf stepped forward, meeting Sithrik's gaze with boyish determination.

"We've heard tales of your wrath, oh, frilled protector of this forest. Of the golden gaze that can freeze a being in its tracks, of those silent steps that make you fly across the earth as a specter. Most are scared of you. Terrified, even..." she began, pausing as he swallowed hard, "but Vartan's cruelty burns just as cold in our hearts... His temper is short, and his wrath reaches far. Disobeying him is sometimes worse than death, and that...is a reality many of us lived with for years."

Next up, a petite feline, gaze golden like the basilisk's and tawny fur striped like that of a tiger, chimed in, her voice soft yet resolute. "My little ones go to bed thirsty most nights. Vartan's enforcers take away any excess we manage to collect. We're not here to hunt, but to survive. We just need enough to live another season."

With her piece said, the lioness gave way to a slender avian that followed next. Iridescent feathers reflecting the lamplight, he spread his wings slightly in a gesture of emphasis. "I know the tales, yet not the creature behind them, and so, I shall not judge more than what my eyes shall see. Do understand. While many in my flock had been conditioned to fear you, we are not beyond the reach of hope. We came on this run to hunt reason, not sink our spears into flesh. By finding a solution, a middle ground that would allow our kin to coexist, I believe we can learn how to thrive and grow as the lust greens around us. Would you not agree...scaled one?"

"Vartan has everyone under the chill of his gaze. I've seen good folk punished just for whispering against his leadership." A rugged-looking jackal with a scarred muzzle poke gruffly. "We try, we toil, we do his bidding. Yet it is not enough. Never enough!"

He then sighed deeply, slouching in defeat. "He knows same as we do. The desert's vast. Around it, there's nothing but sand. He uses the little water we have to keep us chained to his will. We do what we must to survive, not by choice, but by need. Help us!" His eyes blazed with courage. "If you are half the threat he fears, you can help us stand against him!"

The crowd murmured with fright, hope, and determination alike, all the while Sithrik watched them intently, his frills shuddering gently with the motions of his head. The weight of their collective pain, fear, and desperation filled the air around them.

After a moment of silence, he let out a growl, resonant and deep, broking the stillness of his own domain.

"I see your struggles as well as you can gaze upon my form, that a creature born from the land, not of the shadows. As you see me, I too see you. Not all have come with malevolent intent...and those who did can, perhaps, still change their ways, if the chance is offered."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, reinforcing the tortoise's claim. Sithrik's frills flared momentarily, expecting a strike to come from the wolfess' raised spear, but when the weapon of war clattered at her feet, his poise grew slack once more.

"Your words have moved me, creature. I shall live and hunt another day, for in this moment, you stand the greater hunter." She declared with a respectful dip of her head. "May we hear your name, so we can carry it with us?"

"I...am Sithrik. And I am honored to hear so. You, as well as the rest of your pack, are free to leave," Sithrik declared, much to the astonishment of many of those who still harbored fear in the group. "You may all return to your homes, if you wish, but I warn you, going back to Vartan with nothing but tales of this place may put more than just your own lives at risk."

One of the avians, the hawk, piped up, "We could travel to new lands. Build new homes. Yet without supplies, we won't make it far. The desert is not kind to the unprepared."

Sithrik pondered for a moment, frills rustling with thought. With a nod, he gestured toward the verdant oasis. "Take what you need. Water, fruits, seeds... but do so gently. Respect this land, and it will respect you."

Grateful murmurs swept through the group. They had come expecting a confrontation with the deadliest creature imaginable, but, unlike Vartan led them to believe, they found themselves leaving with more supplies than some saw across the entire season. Spittor watched as they moved towards the oasis, a mix of relief and pride stirring within his breast.

As the final negotiations with Sithrik concluded, the hunters too began to make their exit. The oasis, once bustling with nervous energy and tension, grew more tranquil with each departure. Soft murmurings of gratitude amidst conversations floated on the breeze. Most took their leave without looking back, but others hesitated, casting furtive glances at the magnificent basilisk, as if imprinting this surreal moment in their memories.

Amidst the dwindling figures, one remained. The young lion, his golden tufts of mane catching the moon's light. He appeared deep in thought, his tail twitching occasionally, until he took a step not towards his own kin, but backwards. Taking a deep breath, he approached Sithrik, head down, shoulders slouched, tail nervously tucked between his legs.

"P-pardon me, Lord Sithrik," the lion began hesitantly, choosing his words carefully. "Throughout my life, I've heard countless tales of your fearsome nature. I feared you. Resented you. I even...wanted to be part of the group that hunted you. But seeing you now, I... I see those tales for the lies that poisoned our beliefs. You're not a heartless monster, but a protector. Those frills, so expressive and... unique! if you'd permit, may I... touch them?"

Sithrik, taken aback by the forwardness of the request, blinked slowly, processing the lion's words.

"I am no lord...but you may indeed do as you wish." With a gentle nod, he lowered his head, granting the young one his heart's desire.

The lion's touch was gentle, filled with reverence. He went over them gently as he would caress a lover, rubbing the velvet texture between his fingers. Soon, he started purring, and his touch became more than just the shy thing it started as. He outright caressed the basilisk's neck! And in turn, Sithrik pushed into his gentle touch, his own heart beating a little quicker, flush with excitement. They clung to that moment, bridging the gap between species and breaking centuries-old myths.

"Thank you," the lion scampered back, voice thick with emotion. "I promise, the stories will change. The world needs to know the truth of... Sithrik the life-bringer."

"I...am grateful." The basilisk replied. "Fare you well, feline."

Spittor felt a swell of pride for Sithrik. For too long, the basilisk had been trapped beneath layers of myths, lies, and fear. But now, the winds of changed seemed to chart a different course. Even if it started slow, with just one heart at a time, the narrative could begin to shift.

When the lion departed, leaving behind an echoing promise of better days, Spittor noticed a slight shimmer in Sithrik's eyes. The weight of centuries worth of undeserved hatred seemed momentarily alleviated.

Razzek too recognized Sithrik's emotions. He quickly moved up to him, caressing the basilisk's sensitive jaw "Well, about time someone sees you with the same eyes I did. You've always been the beacon in the desert, even when it was shrouded by the sands of misinterpretation," he whispered before he lowered himself, rubbing his snout against Sithrik's in a gesture of comfort among the scaled-kind.

The basilisk wrapped him in his embrace, dragging Razzek down on the ground with him.

The affection they shared, filled with growls of adoration, made Spittor tingle with a twinge of isolation as he watched the intimate -rather noisy- connection between the two. Their bond ran deep, formed over shared adversities and mutual understanding that preceded his own visit to Shara'Hazad.

Yet just when he comforted himself with the loneliness of his own life, Sithrik's gaze met his, the golden depths inviting him in. Razzek too, tilted his head, signaling him over. "Come now, you silly purple thing," Sithrik rumbled, "you are no outsider here."

Hesitating for just a heartbeat, Spittor leapt forward, feeling warmth as the two scaled creatures wrapped him in a warm, fuzzy embrace. The gesture, full of acceptance and love, truly made him rumble with joy.

With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Razzek nosed something. "Hungry?" he teased.

Within the basket's woven confines were the fruits and feeds of the oasis, a symbolic gesture of the bounty the hunters had sought but willingly left behind.

Spittor reached in first, pulling out a fruit reminiscent of a pomegranate, but with a vibrant golden hue. Its sweet juice tingled his taste buds, a welcome contrast to the dry desert he traveled. Razzek chose a handful of plump berries, each one bursting with sweetness as he crushed them between his sharp teeth.

Sithrik, the basilisk, gracefully approached the basket. His large, golden eyes contemplated the selection before settling on a piece of fruit that looked like a large, lustrous fig. As he bit into it, a rich purple nectar dribbled down his lower jaw, making Spittor's gaze linger a tad longer than intended. The intoxicating scent from the basilisk smelled just as inviting, and purple was, shamefully enough, his favorite color.

"We need a plan," Sithrik began, breaking the silence of their feasting. His voice held an underlying tension, perhaps a reflection of the weight of the recent events. "Vartan will grow suspicious when his hunters return empty-handed."

Razzek nodded, pausing in his munching. "I've been thinking... It might be best if I too disappear for a while. He already suspects my forays into the oasis may have been double edged."

He glanced over at Spittor, his gaze drooping towards the ground. "While I understand such decision might seem painful, I still believe this is the best way to keep Vartan off our trail."

Spittor's heart ached at the thought of splitting himself from anyone, not just from Razzek. Just when they had started to forge a bond, fate seemed determined to separate them. But deep down, he knew it made sense. Razzek's absence would serve as another diversion, another mystery for Vartan and his minions to unravel.

Sithrik finished cleaning a paw off the juices of his purple fruits before he continued. "To sell this story, Spittor, you'll need to appear...less presentable.."

While the thought bore some...discomfort, Spittor understood the necessity. "What will the tale be?" he asked, already bracing himself for whatever Sithrik had in mind.

Razzek chimed in, "We'll spin a tale of a fierce battle between our group and the fierce basilisk that claimed everyone's life but yours. How you, an expert on the field of battle, felled the beast after a gruesome fight. The visible consequences of this deadly encounter will stand as proof...unpleasant, yet necessary. "

Spittor took a deep breath. The deception felt dirty, especially given the truth of Sithrik's gentle nature. But he knew that Vartan's twisted version of reality would only be swayed by a tale he'd stomach; one of blood and sacrifice.

Sithrik's frills flickered with apprehension, his displeasure at being painted as the villain once more a hard pill to swallow. But he said nothing, recognizing the need for the ruse. Instead of wasting any more time, he moved closer to Spittor,

"Try to...bruise, rather than pluck. Sturdy as they seem, my plates are poor protection against your magnificent claws."

"Magnificent, hrrr?" The basilisk rumbled playfully, showing off his weapons with a delightful rub of a claw along Spittor's head. "You balm my heart too far sometimes, drake. Too far indeed..." his rumbling acquired a deeper nuance as that same claw found its way between Spittor's legs, entering dry, only to emerge wet.

"That's...not the sort of roughening up we settled on."

"It's not. But it can be," the basilisk's display of teeth had the drake's heart beating just a bit quicker. He sensed that. Smelled it, even, for he lasciviously ran his tongue all over Spittor's whining jaw.

"I...would have had you right here, if this unpleasant task would not dwell so heavily upon us."

"As would I, my precious drake...Nevertheless, I shall be gentle," he purred. "Or...at least...I will try."

"Are we starting now?" Spittor inquired as the basilisk circled and rubbed along him like a cat in need, 'or-"

Before he could react, the powerful basilisk shoved him sideways, their scaled bodies entwining in a tangle of limbs and tails.

"Rraaaarrr!" Despite Spittor's valiant efforts to wrestle free, Sithrik's strength easily dominated him. Within moments, the drake found himself pinned beneath the basilisk, breathless and flushed. The weight of the basilisk's body against his, particularly the warmth and slightly wet feeling of the soft spot pressed against the top of his head, filled him with an overwhelming sensation. The sharp, musky scent wafted into his nostrils with every breath. It was heady, intoxicating, and caused Spittor to feel weak in a way he hardly expected.

"Sithrik, you're...playing dirty." He hissed even as his own vent began to shudder under the thrum of his own heated desires.

"Not a word I would use, yet...I shall invite deeper exploration," the basilisk hissed with need, bifurcated tongue spilling halfway out of his mouth.

"I'm not going to interfere in the affairs of drakes, so I'll just watch you court yourselves and what not." Razzek chuckled from the side. He even got himself some more fruits to munch on.

With no allies to count on, Spittor's tongue darted out, brushing against the tender flesh of Sithrik's entrance. The texture proved different than he expected, now that the basilisk's muscles were not made slack by deep sleep. His slit felt soft, yet resistant, slippery in excess, almost, with an arousing aroma that encapsulated the very essence of the basilisk's wild nature. Spittor mewled as only a drake could as he took in more of the arousing scent in his nostrils. Flicking his tongue out, he tasted more, and more. With each gentle dab, he feasted on Sithrik's arousal, the underlying hints of saltiness mixed with sweeter, aquatic excretions clueing him in to the basilisk's surprising virility.

For Sithrik, each of Spittor's tentative touches sent ripples of pleasure down his serpentine length. Every lap of the drake's tongue felt like a brush of electric current zapping through his tensing muscles, making him shudder with throaty growls of appreciation. His coiled muscles tightened with each caress, eyes half-lidded, lost in the swirl of sensations that threatened to engulf him.

For a while, they sat like that, a victor on top of his conquered enemy. The hunter presiding over his prey. Spittor became acutely aware of every nuance he felt, smelled, tasted: the texture of the scales under his tongue, the ebb and flow of Sithrik's breathing, the gentle quiver of his body as it responded to the intimate exploration woven by his increasingly greedier tongue. With each new discovery, Spittor grew bolder, taking more of Sithrik in, indulging in the heady flavor, the rawness of their shared desire.

Sithrik's tail twitched, curling and uncurling in the rhythms of his pleasure. A soft, deep rumble resonated from his chest, the vibrations palpable through his jittering scales. It stood as an intimate affirmation, a silent plea for more. And Spittor, fueled by the unspoken encouragement, delved deeper, seeking to draw every reaction he could from the formidable basilisk with splattering licks.

As Spittor continued to explore with an increasingly wilder attack, his tongue grazed something different; the hidden, still-sheathed member of Sithrik. The realization struck so strongly against his weakened form, it almost undid him. His entire body trembled, and he couldn't control the urgent thrusts in the air, nor the release of pre that splattered onto Sithrik's own curious face. The basilisk's moans and snarls of pleasure echoed in Spittor's ears as he let himself splattered by the juices of his cock, filling him with a dizzying mixture of pride and desire.

Pulling away slightly, Sithrik glanced down at the splatters on his snout, licking them away with a smirk. Spittor took a gasping breath, his snout glistening, eyes wide, pupils dilated. Their gazes locked, full of mutual lust for each other.

"Seems I've discovered another delectable taste," he teased, his voice dripping with insinuation. "Your essence, Spittor, even in its premature form...is something truly appeasing to a creature like me..rrrh, if only you knew...."

With great care and deliberate slowness, Sithrik slid off, the tip of his tongue darting out to leave a wet trail across the ridged, sensitive tip of Spittor's exposed member. The unexpected touch drew a surprised gasp from the receiving drake.

He watched, rapt, as Sithrik moved away, every deliberate step an exhibition of sensuality. The scales on the basilisk's underside shimmered, drawing attention to the fleshy folds of his own vent, from which his member only now peeked, glistening and dripping with fluids freshly produced. There was something incredibly arousing in the way Sithrik raised and swished his tail, every movement drawing Spittor's gaze like a hound to his prey. The basilisk's golden eyes, meanwhile, never left Spittor, laden with an invitation that was nearly impossible to resist.

Swallowing hard, Spittor tried to find his voice. "Sithrik," he rasped, his voice coming out more as a plea than a question, "Wouldn't you... appreciate some reciprocation?"

The hiss from Sithrik dripped with desire, a raw need that left few room to wander. "I want more than just a lick," the basilisk flagged, his tone dripping with anticipation. "I desire you, drake. Here, now!"

Heart racing, Spittor rolled onto his fours carefully enough to avoid stimulating his member with the cold ground. "You should know...your taste alone almost brought me to the brink. I don't know how long I can hold back..." he confessed upon approach, lust clouding his usually clear eyes.

Sithrik hissed with urgency, making his needs known yet again.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Spittor slowly approached the basilisk further. Positioning himself behind Sithrik, he felt the heat emanating from the other's body. The intensity of their desires coaxed out his anxieties. Sithrik's tail twitched impatiently, but Spittor took his time, aligning himself comfortably even as his member throbbed all the harder.

The shifting ground beneath him barely registered as Spittor's muscles tightened in anticipation. Drawing a deep, ragged breath, he eased himself onto Sithrik. His forepaws, strong yet tender, found purchase around the basilisk's midsection. With every gentle prod forward, Spittor's tongue lapped hungrily at the heat emanating from Sithrik's frills, tasting the salt of his excitement.

By the time he pressed in for a third time, he found himself fully sheathed inside Sithrik, a growl rumbling deep in his throat, echoing the basilisk's own hisses of pleasure. The sensation was unlike anything he'd felt before. The embrace of Sithrik's interior squeezed him with strength and suppleness, each pulse and contraction caressing him in an intricate dance of intimacy that had him gasping for breath.

Snarling so hard he trembled, Spittor thrust himself out, the back inside, struggling to cope with the intensity of the situation. The unique ridges adorning Spittor's member snagged perfectly along the soft lining of Sithrik's walls, causing both of them to gasp and writhe, a tantalizing blend of pleasure that sent waves of ecstasy through their entwined bodies. The sheer tightness of Sithrik around him was dizzying, each contour and texture sending ripples of rapturous delight coursing through Spittor's veins.

A mounting pressure, deep and insistent, began to churn within him. The swelling of his knot, its budding girth, stretched and filled Sithrik in an intoxicating manner, heightening the intensity of their coupling to new heights. The ebbing brink of release loomed dangerously close, threatening to pull the huffing drake into its tidal embrace.

One more thrust. Just...one more.

He tried, but, instead, the motion of his hips tugged hard on his knot, already swollen just enough to lock him inside. The feeling of being trapped, of having no way out but to unleash himself inside the basilisk, completely unraveled Spittor's pitiful resistance.

A deep, primal yowl tore his throat apart with a resonant growl as waves of pleasure cascaded through him. He snapped at the air, teeth bared, as his body gave in completely to the engulfing bliss of his orgasm. Each contraction of his member seemed more powerful than the last, shooting spurt after spurt of his seed deep within the basilisk. Sithrik, overwhelmed by the intensity and volume traveling across his sensitive lining, hissed and clawed at the ground, the sensation of being filled to the brink igniting his passions even more.

Through it all, Spittor didn't cease his thrusting motions, trying desperately to stay lodged fully within Sithrik. The urge to mark his partner, to claim him, overcame his rational thoughts as he attempted to graze and nip at the back of Sithrik's frilled neck, each bite wild, unfocused, emphasizing the rhythmic spilling of his most precious essence.

After what felt like an eternity of pleasure, the storm of their climax began to wane. A silence, punctuated only by their heavy, ragged breaths, enveloped them. Spittor's once lust-clouded mind started to clear under the cooler winds of relief.

Gently, he began to withdraw. As his deflating knot popped out, leaving behind a deluge of pearly seed, both of the drakes collapsed on their sides. Spittor crawled forward, brushing his snout tenderly against Sithrik's neck, planting soft, reverent kisses along the scaled expanse.

The basilisk's long body twisted and writhed as he rolled around happily, the verdant scales along his underbelly gleaming in the moon's light, painted with his own arousal. The rhythmic clacking of his jaws was almost musical, a manifestation of the deep satisfaction he felt. Spittor's heart swelled with endearment, seeing the normally imposing creature so...enraptured in happiness.

When Sithrik finally settled onto his back, the mischievousness his eyes seemed to ask for...more.

The sight of the powerful creature so playfully batting at the air, with his tongue flopping carelessly from his mouth, seemed out of character. Yet, it provided glimpses into a side of Sithrik that few ever got to witness. The sight of the basilisk's member, pulsating with lingering pleasure and dribbling over his vibrant scales, hinted at the intensity of his need.

"Rarely...have I received such a bounty inside me," Sithrik praised, his voice a seductive drawl, tinted with gratitude. His eyes, always so captivating, settled onto Spittor's still eager, albeit retreating, appendage. "Would you care to explore another delight, my dear drake?"

Curious about the implications of those words, Spittor let Sithrik guide their next steps. With gentle licks, the basilisk encouraged the drake's member to retreat back into its protective home. The sensation proved most comforting. A soothing balm after the heavy storm of their coupling. What came next did surprise, though.

Spittor felt the warmth and weight of Sithrik atop him, felt the teasing jabs of the basilisk's nubbed glans against his entrance. At first, it was an alien sensation, entrancing in its novelty, though not as intense as their previous union.

The steady rhythm built up gradually, the basilisk seemingly more in control of his movements this time around. The soft sighs and hisses that escaped Sithrik grew in intensity, signaling his impending release moments after he sunk himself glans deep within Spittor's cum-soaked slit. And when it came, it was with a passion that shook the very earth beneath them, a symphony of hisses that seemed to have every muscle in his body contracting in unison.

As warmth flooded the very cock that released its load inside the basilisk who now filled him in return, Spittor became overcome with warm fulfillment, of having given and received pleasure in equal measure. Leaning in, he licked at Sithrik's fangs, tasting the essence of the creature.

"Let it all loose," Spittor whispered, urging Sithrik to relinquish every ounce of his pleasure, to be as unguarded and free as he had allowed himself to be.

Beneath the weight of Sithrik's serpentine form, Spittor felt the slick residue of their shared passion squelching between them. The sensation, though messy, added a layer of intimacy to the moment. Sithrik's body heaved atop him, each breath making their scales slide against each other. The rhythm of their intertwined bodies, the light touch of Sithrik's tongue against his snout...it all felt so entrancing. Their eyes met, warm and fresh with pleasure-tears, and wet, just like the tongues slathering each other's snouts.

Sithrik's breathing gradually slowed, each exhalation punctuated by soft, almost melodic, hisses. He turned his head slightly, allowing Spittor access to the fluttering frills that adorned his cheeks. Spittor, ever curious and enamored by them, began a gentle exploration, his snout delicately brushing over the edges, sending shivers through Sithrik's body. The basilisk let out a contented sigh, welcoming the affection.

"You seem quite infatuated with these frills."

Spittor chuckled softly, his own pointy tongue darting out to lightly tickle along the edges of a cheek frill "They're expressive," he countered, "I like seeing them wiggle in the rhythm of my touch!"

A deeper rumble emanated from Sithrik in response. "You always found the sneakiest ways to get under my scales, young drake..."

"Hard not to, when you're so full of enchanting mysteries left yet to discover."

Their playful banter had been temporarily paused as Spittor gazed deep into Sithrik's mesmerizing golden eyes. "What's next for you, though? Will you linger here, around the oasis, a ghost unseen by the men that will help themselves to your waters?"

Sithrik pondered for a moment, his tail wrapping protectively around them both. "Perhaps not. I've spent too long wallowing in the shadows of the past. Maybe... maybe it's time I see more of what the world has to offer" He paused, tilting his head ever so slightly, the moonlight catching the intricate patterns on his scales. "With you."

Spittor's heart swelled at the thought of accompanying the basilisk in his journeys, his own tail intertwining with Sithrik's in a silent promise. "This is a most enticing proposition! We could travel, see ruins and palaces alike, meet others of our kind... and perhaps do good where we can...together."

The basilisk licked his snout with glee. "I would love nothing more...my drake. There's so much I've missed. So much I've yet to experience. I want to see the world not as a feared beast, but as a free drake, like you've been before our paths crossed."

"Then let us do just that," Spittor whispered, nuzzling the side of Sithrik's face once more, eliciting another gentle shudder from the larger drake. "Let's rewrite your story, together. But not before...we right some wrongs."

"Right. The plan..." The basilisk's gaze lifted. He looked upon his surroundings, lost in thought. "We live in such a large world...yet some men would make it seem so small. They see no option but the one that best accomplishes their ambitions." A long hiss latched with weariness left his maw. "Perhaps my time as a protector should come to an end. What else will I live for, as a guardian of these lands? Water and fruits, without a drake to share my wealth with? Without a mate to-"

"I know, Sithrik...we can leave, right now, should you wish to. But would you truly abandon this land to Vartan's greed? Should we leave all those he abuses chained by the shackles of his futile ambition?" Spittor interrupted, luring the basilisk's attention back to him with a gentle nuzzle under his chin. "If we leave...let us do so with a feathered heart. Not one weighted by regrets..."

Sithrik returned the nuzzle after a long moment of self introspection. "What would you have us do...Spittor...that wouldn't cut off the thread of the long life we could enjoy? Or the many adventures we can share? Or the ways I can have you in, as striking and numerous as the plates on your-"

"Mrrahh," Spittor lapped at the basilisk's maw, forcing him to swallow words as well as a bit of tongue in the process. "I lived among two-legs enough to pick up some of their thinking patterns. Let. Me. Handle it."

***The End...for now***

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