Movie Night

Chapters

Show, Don't Tell
Bros and Also Hoes
Double-Cheeked Up On a Friday Evening (Hella Ass) (The Sun Is Not Out)
Taking the L-Word
La Petite Mort De Soi
Watching It For the Plot

Show, Don't Tell

Smolder had never had much patience for stupid questions, but boy did she get a lot of them at college. One time, when she’d been in the dining hall between classes, another student — a pegasus, lanky and lumpy in all the wrong ways — had squinted at her from the next table through her whole sandwich, and finally blurted out as she got up to leave, “Why d’you have tits?”

It was because she was a dragon, he’d stammered, after she’d politely asked him — eyes narrowed, smoke curling from her nose, hand braced on a cinderblock wall that was probably digging into his spine — to clarify what he meant by that. Dragons were lizards, right? Reptiles, not mammals like ponies or zebras or even griffons. And yet Smolder had… well, those. Big ones. Not the biggest — Yona had her and probably every creature on the continent beat — but big enough. And he was just wondering, y’know, what the deal was. Biologically, or whatever.

At the moment, she hadn’t been super willing to explore the matter with him. She was late to class already and he was still kind of checking her out even as she glowered up at him, so she’d said something snarky like, “Well, my mom had tits, and your dad had a tiny dick, so I guess things just work out that way sometimes,” and then stalked off to the sound of the stallion’s friends snickering at him.

Later, though, she’d ended up zoned out through an entire Psych lecture because, damn it all to Pony Hell, it was kind of a good question. Way back in pre-civilization days, dragons laid eggs and pissed and shit through one all-purpose cloaca thing, and the only time they got any milk in them was probably when they ate cows whole. So what changed between then and now to make Smolder so smokin’ hot in both literal dragon and figurative pony terms?

She didn’t figure it out during class, or even after classes ended when she asked her friends about it. It wasn’t until late that night, staring up at the ceiling with her head sandwiched between Yona’s titanic twins, that she realized the truth: her being a dragon and having boobs wasn’t any more or less weird than Yona walking on two legs, or Sandbar having hands instead of hooves, or Gallus having regular omnivorous teeth behind a beak that felt just as soft as lips when you kissed him. They’d all come from different evolutionary backgrounds, and at some point all their ancestors had fucked what must’ve been some apocalyptically hot monkeys, and now here they all were.

So that was what she should’ve told that dude in the dining hall: “Who fucking cares?” But then again, she hated stupid questions, and that was one she didn’t feel like she needed an answer to.

“Hey.”

Smolder blinked and surfaced from her thoughts. She could still taste Silverstream on her lips, and still see the hippogriff zonked out on the couch, softly giggling and idly fingering all the spots where Smolder’s tongue had been a minute earlier. In front of her, the coffee table had been shoved into a corner so there was room on the floor for Gallus to get down on his knees behind Ocellus, who — hands braced on the carpet, eyes squeezed shut — moaned softly as the griffon pounded her from behind, each stroke sending ripples through her asscheeks and setting her breasts swaying underneath her.

And right by Smolder’s side, Sandbar stood smiling with his elbow propped against the wall, smelling like sandalwood and seawater, stiffened dick held loosely in his hand and girlfriend sprawled out behind him in pretty much the same state Smolder had left Silver in. The dragon smirked up at him and — once her pointed downward glance was met with a slight nod — peeled the pony’s fingers out of the way she could take over for him. As she slowly stroked him, he stepped in front of her and leaned in close, his arms tossed over her shoulders and his warm, steady breaths tickling her eyelashes.

“Hey,” she said back, touching her nose to his. He waited a moment, just long enough for her to think about taking the lead herself, then closed the gap and kissed her, just short enough to make her wish he’d come over here sooner.

“How you feeling?” Sandbar softly asked her.

“I could feel better,” Smolder replied. She jerked him a bit faster, squeezed him a bit tighter. “Wanna help?”

Sandbar’s goofy smile grew, and he kissed her again, deep and tender, tongue stretching past her teeth just enough to taste her. Right when she stretched her tongue to meet his, he pulled away and pressed his lips to her neck, then under her chin, then down from her sternum between her tits to her stomach.

When he reached her belly button, he didn’t say a word about biological improbabilities, and instead just flicked his tongue into the little crevice until it tickled enough to make her twitch. And after that, he kept going, sinking from a crouch to a kneel, wrapping his hands around her hips and squeezing her ass as his lips, and his tongue, and his whole fantastic mouth finally touched down on her so-far-neglected pussy.

Smolder liked getting head. She found it hard to imagine any creature on the planet not liking it. And she enjoyed it pretty much no matter who was giving it, whether it was rough from Gallus, sloppy from Silver, overwhelming from Yona, or especially delicate and dedicated from Ocellus.

But Sandbar… holy shit, Sandbar was magical. He didn’t have a special style, a go-to technique, or even an abnormal amount of stamina. But he was strong, and sensitive, and damn near clairvoyant at figuring out exactly what you needed — often before you figured it out yourself — and giving it to you perfectly.

It might literally be magic, actually, some earth-pony connection with the body and soul or whatever. Smolder didn’t care. Smolder just wanted him to keep going, keep his lips right there and his tongue right there and, stars, worship her like she was a thousand feet tall and his only reason for existing was making her feel godly fucking good.

She flattened her palms against the wall, and then her back not long after, tail thrashing back and forth as Sandbar’s nose brushed over her clit. She thought of telling him to focus there, and didn’t even have to ask aloud — by the time the thought occurred to her, his tongue was already there, its presence inside her pussy replaced by pumping fingers that pushed an unseemly grunt out of her lungs. She could’ve spent the whole night and the next day like this, if her knees weren’t about to give out and make her ride his face all the way to the floor. Maybe he’d like that. He was dating Yona, after all.

Or maybe he’d like something else — something he showed with a final swipe of his tongue and a kiss over her clit, and a wolfish glint in his eye as he stood up and took her by the shoulder and slammed her against the wall, chest to chest, rock-hard cock grinding between them. She struggled — not a lot, just enough to tell him not to stop — and grunted again as he flipped her around, pinning one hand between her wings as he used the other to tug her tail out of the way.

“You want–” Smolder started to say, but the words never got out. She felt the bulbous head of Sandbar’s cock press against her, then a rush of pins and needles down to her toes as he pushed forward and all the way into her, until the fuzzy rim of his sheath brushed against her lips.

“I do,” he said plainly — just a simple answer to a simple question. Smolder shuddered, bit her lip, and suppressed a cry as Sandbar drew himself back out and speared back in, filling her completely, stretching her deliciously.

Another point in Yona’s favor: among his many other nice qualities, Sandbar had a really big dick that he really knew how to use. Thank whatever god yaks worshiped that she was willing to share it on Friday nights.

As Sandbar picked up the pace, the pressure he put on Smolder’s back grew heavier, and his grip on her tail squeezed and pulled tighter. Smolder went from braced against the wall to bent over double in front of it, legs spread so Sandbar had all the space he could ever want to fuck her faster, deeper, harder. Despite her best efforts, little sounds of pleasure bubbled out of her throat: half-growls, half-squeaks, all a little bit louder every time the base of his cock spread her pussy lips wider than any other creature she’d taken before.

She’d been wet before, but in a matter of moments Smolder was dripping, each thrust drawing a bit more liquid lust out of her to smear across her butt, slide down the inside of her thighs, splatter in little milky droplets onto Sandbar’s swinging balls. She couldn’t help it; dragons were squirters. Or she was, anyway. At the moment, she didn’t much fucking care what any other creature did when they were getting railed — when they had a soda-can cock that felt it was bouncing off their stomach driving every thought they’d ever have out of their thoroughly tenderized mind.

Her first climax of the night took her by surprise. It didn’t build up so much as just hit like a meteor strike: a particularly deep thrust, a clench around his cock, and then a flood of buzzing, exhilarating warmth that almost sent her to the floor again. Sandbar felt her cum, slowed down just enough to make sure she could stay upright while it passed, then hilted himself inside her right as it tapered off — starting it all over again. Smolder couldn’t help it; she moaned, with her whole chest, and kept mumbling and trembling until the last heart-pounding pulse of her second orgasm faded away.

He was still buried in her when her executive functions kicked in again, humping gently, holding her by the hips as she spasmed beneath him. She pushed back into him, grabbing his thigh with one hand for leverage, the other hand still flat on the wall.

“You good?” she heard him ask, his voice muffled a bit by the deluge of happy brain chemicals she was still surfacing from.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she managed to answer. He pulled out and thrust in again, and her legs gave out completely, Sandbar’s earth pony strength the only thing keeping her from eating shit against the baseboard.

She hadn’t lied. “Good” was a relative term. She felt unbelievably good right now. “Good at standing up” was another thing entirely.

“C’mere.”

She felt Sandbar pull out completely, then twist her at the hips, guiding her into turning in place so she was facing him again. Her hands moved from her sides to the backs of her thighs — squeezing, pulling, lifting.

Smolder pressed her back to the wall and let him pick her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as she settled into his delightfully firm grip. His cock stood straight up between them, still slick with her juices, bobbing slightly as her lips rubbed against the ring of flesh around its middle.

He smiled down at her, the look in his eyes screaming what he knew better than to say aloud: “You’re really hot and I love making you feel good.” She smiled back — cheeks warming, her own gaze leveling out on his hardened pecs. Leave it to Sandbar to be sappy during a fucking orgy. She’d never tell him how much she enjoyed it. She didn’t need to say it aloud.

He pushed her up the wall a bit and wiggled his hips, then brought her back down, sinking her back onto his cock. She grit her teeth and grunted — the most she could consciously give him to tell him she wanted more, despite everything he’d already done. He took it and ran with it, sliding her slowly up and down his length, pulling with his arms and thrusting with his hips so that every stroke touched new spots inside her he hadn’t been able to reach before.

The torrent between Smolder’s legs had slowed to a sticky trickle, but Sandbar didn’t seem to mind one bit, and Smolder sure didn’t either. Each thrust sent aftershocks of her last climax bouncing through her core, and squeezing that core around him got her shivering and him biting his lip in bliss. He wasn’t on the edge yet, but he was getting there — and her help in closing the gap was the very least he deserved.

She looked over his shoulder for inspiration, and found it quickly. Silverstream had crawled across the couch towards Yona and slotted between her legs, picking up right where Sandbar had left off. Yona, meanwhile, had her eyes locked on Sandbar’s cock, squeezing her breast with her hand each time she watched him piston into Smolder’s cunt.

Smolder caught her eye and winked, her way of saying, “Thanks for the boy toy.” Yona smirked and winked back, her way of saying, “Thanks for the show.”

“Your girl’s havin’ fun over there,” Smolder said, leaning up to murmur in Sandbar’s ear.

“I’m having fun over here,” came his lecherous reply, whispered at the same volume into her neck, chased with a nip under her chin that sent a fresh wave of goosebumps rolling down her spine.

And he wasn’t lying — Smolder could see it written all over his face when he pulled back, in the way his nose wrinkled and his lips tightened each time the head of his cock reached her core. She lifted a hand to his cheek, his stubble prickling against her fingertips. When he met her eyes, she hooked a finger behind his ear so she could pull him in for a kiss.

She didn’t pull away, even when an extra-deep thrust sent a jolt of ecstasy through her stomach, even as he groped her ass and pressed his chest to hers so his fuzzy chest tingled against her nipples. She wanted to stay like this — quiet, intimate, totally alone together — as long as she could. She didn’t need to hear another word from him, or say a word back. Creatures in college talked too much anyway, asked stupid questions and gave shallow answers and thought they knew things they’d only read about without feeling them.

She wanted to feel him — herself — the pure wholeness of this moment. She wanted to know he felt it too. She wanted it to bubble out of him because he couldn’t keep it contained anymore.

His hips sped up. His grip tightened. She pulled his lip between her teeth and bit down — not a lot, just enough to tell him to keep going — and finally got what she wanted.

Sandbar sheathed his cock inside her, hips flush with hers, and groaned — a wordless, unbound, wonderful sound. She felt him pulse inside her, slick warm cum pooling around his head and rushing down the outside of his shaft, squeezing out of her cunt and splattering to the ground between his shuddering legs. He pressed her forehead to hers, lips parted, breath hot against her tongue as she rode his orgasm out with him — hand still holding his cheek, savoring how his jaw flexed and his eyelids crumpled and how he felt his climax through every single part of him.

That was what she’d wanted — what she craved every Friday night with the best friends she’d ever had. She wanted to make them feel good. She wanted to see them happy. She didn’t need to say it aloud, and Sandbar knew better than to make her.

If he ever did, though, she’d fucking kill him. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.

“Hah… hmm…” was all Sandbar said in the meantime, until Smolder brushed her lips against his again and waited until he reshaped his own for a soft post-coital smooch. “How you feeling now?” he mumbled into her mouth.

“Much better,” she replied, before wiggling her hips and leaning back a bit. “Mind letting me down?”

Carefully, and not a little bit stickily, he crouched down so Smolder’s feet could find purchase on the floor before he pulled his hands away from her butt, shaking his surely-tired arms out as he did. He was just as much a mess as she was — softened cock and thighs glistening with their combined fluids — but the rosy glow on his face and the glint in his gaze told her he was just as satisfied with that mess as her.

Behind him, Ocellus had switched positions — or rather, Gallus had switched their position for them. He’d pushed them flat against the floor with their legs together and butt raised, so he could drive into them full-force with wet smacks that sounded like spanking more than fucking.

As Smolder watched, Gallus’ rhythm grew unsteady and his strokes grew shallower, until finally he hilted himself in Ocellus’ cunt and smothered them with his body, butt flexed and arms shaking as he unloaded inside them. Smolder couldn’t see exactly how Ocellus felt about it from where she was standing, but the blissful squeaks she could hear from beneath the griffon’s chest said more than enough.

“How you doin’ over there, Cell?” she called out as Gallus finally came to rest. After a moment, a skinny arctic blue arm poked out from under Gallus’ cerulean one, the hand at its end formed into a quivering thumbs-up.

Smolder snorted and shook her head. “They’re such a slut,” she murmured to Sandbar.

“Look who’s talking,” he shot back. Smolder narrowed her eyes into a glare — not the easiest thing to manage in the moment, with Sandbar’s goofy smile as a target and his cum dribbling decadently down her legs.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” she growled.

“Why?” Sandbar said with a cheeky shrug. “It’s true.”

Smolder sighed, and slumped, and felt her face get warm. “Don’t hafta say it,” she grumbled. Her cheeks went even redder when Sandbar pinched her chin between finger and thumb and tilted her face up towards his.

“I know,” he said softly, just before kissing her one last time — and, damn him, sending butterflies flapping through her gut. “Wet wipe?”

“Probably a good idea,” Smolder admitted, and she watched him depart with plenty of fuming left to get through before he returned. He was strong and sweet, sure, but annoying sometimes too. And now she had to think of some way to get back at him that didn’t involve fucking him. Dragon coochies were tough, but they weren’t multiple-successive-rounds-with-a-terrifically-gifted-earth-pony tough.

Once again, inspiration found her quickly: Silverstream and Yona had finished too, and the former had already moved on, extracting Ocellus from underneath Gallus so she could bundle the leaking changeling into her lap and pepper her cherry-red face with kisses. Yona, meanwhile, was left alone again — and as Smolder caught her eye, the yak smiled and nodded her head, as if to say, “Floor’s yours if you want it.”

Smolder did want it. She wanted her hands in Yona’s snatch and her face between her gargantuan cans. She wanted some hot, heavy, diamond-hard yaktion.

And most of all, she really wanted to catch the look on Sandbar’s face when he came back from the kitchen and saw Smolder knuckle-deep in his girlfriend’s muff. He’d probably like it, the randy little freak, but he wouldn’t be doing it. That’d have to be enough for now.

Bros and Also Hoes

A lot of creatures thought Sandbar was stupid, and he usually didn’t correct them. It was the kind of assumption that was hard to really talk someone out of — after all, the harder you try to convince someone that no, you’re not stupid, the stupider you tend to sound. So mostly, he just didn’t bother. And he was fine with that. His friends knew who he was, and anyone who wasn’t his friend wasn’t someone he felt like he needed to impress.

But if he had felt that need, for whatever reason, he probably still wouldn’t have argued, just clarified a bit. It was true that it took him a while to grasp new concepts in school, and that he sometimes missed what creatures implied when they talked to him, and that he himself talked pretty slow even by earth pony standards.

But that wasn’t because he was stupid. It was because he took his time. He walked around ideas and sat with them a bit before moving along to the next one, and he tried to listen to what others were saying rather than filling the spaces between their words with thoughts he couldn’t get out yet, and he let his mind catch up with his month before either of them chimed in on anything.

His friends got that. Other creatures didn’t. Other creatures thought a lot of things he couldn’t imagine thinking — things like “You let your girlfriend sleep around?” and “If that was my girl, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight,” as if “sleeping around” was all Yona was interested in or any creature was a thing he could think of as solely “his.” If anything in the world was stupid, Sandbar thought, it was the idea of ownership, of hoarding something so no one else could see or touch or interact with it at all. He much preferred sharing. His friends did too.

But of course, sometimes those friends asked for a wet wipe to clean your cum off their thighs, and ended up using your girlfriend’s tongue to do it instead. So yeah, that was a bit obnoxious. Could’ve saved a wipe if Smolder had just told him she was gonna do that to begin with.

From the hallway connecting their shared apartment’s living room to its three bedrooms, Sandbar watched the two of them go for a little bit, spare wet wipe pinched between his otherwise idle fingers. Yona was on her back, lying across the couch with Smolder straddling her snout and wrapping her tail around her horns. It looked like the dragon had tried to start 69ing and wasn’t long enough to actually make it work. Yona didn’t seem to mind, though — Smolder’s face was crumpled up in pleasure, and her thighs and butt looked spotless.

So they were occupied. Sandbar checked on Silverstream next, and found her on the floor in front of the TV, leaned back on her elbows with her arched legs spread and Ocellus lying between them. The changeling had their eyes closed and their hands braced under Silver’s thighs, gently lapping at Silver’s clit as pearly white cum dribbled down from their pussy onto the floor — which was thankfully covered like the couch in blankets nobody cared about staining.

Silverstream saw Sandbar watching them and smiled. She waved. He waved back. Ocellus could probably use the spare wipe, but he didn’t want to interrupt her. That left Gallus.

The griffon was seated on the section of the couch opposite Smolder and Yona, sipping from a water bottle, eyes bobbing slightly up and down as he watched Smolder’s gently bouncing breasts. His cock was soft, still smeared with Ocellus’ cum and likely his own too. He could probably use a wet wipe.

Honestly, Sandbar had been hoping he’d need one since he walked back in here.

Gallus’ gaze flicked over to Sandbar as the pony approached, and the corner of his mouth twitched up as Sandbar sat next to him, bare thighs just barely touching. When Sandbar wordlessly offered him the spare wipe, he took it, nodding his thanks as he cleaned himself up. Sandbar didn’t stare at him while he did. He stared at Ocellus instead, and watched Gallus through the corner of his eye. Totally didn’t count.

“How’s your night been so far?” Sandbar asked Gallus, pointedly not turning towards him.

“Pretty good,” Gallus answered, his head likewise motionless. “You?”

“Solid,” Sandbar said.

A moment passed, silent but for the soft sounds their friends made around them and the rustling thump of Gallus’ wet wipe hitting a trash can nearby. Sandbar shifted his leg so it pressed flush against the griffon’s. Gallus didn’t move away.

“I could use a breather,” Sandbar added.

“Me too,” came Gallus’ even reply.

Another shift — Sandbar’s hand onto Gallus’ thigh, fingers spread, rubbing back and forth. A tiny noise escaped the griffon’s throat, maybe a grunt, maybe just him clearing his throat. He still didn’t move away.

“What are you thinking?” Sandbar asked him.

“I’m good right here,” Gallus murmured back.

Sandbar lifted his hand away from Gallus’ leg, got one of his own legs underneath him, and swung the other overtop of Gallus as he swiveled his torso around. Sandbar’s butt landed on top of Gallus’ thighs. His arms fell on either side of the griffon’s head. Gallus moved — so he could press his hands into the small of Sandbar’s back and pull him closer.

Sandbar felt slightly damp skin touch slightly damp skin — wet wipe residue, and beneath it the soft wrinkles of Gallus’ balls against his own. The griffon’s cocktip poked out of his sheath, bumping into Sandbar’s tip as it reacted exactly the same way.

The pony took the griffon’s face in his hands, leaned down, and kissed him. Gallus closed his eyes, let out a soft sigh that could’ve just as easily been called a moan, and kissed him back.

The first time they’d all spent a Friday night together like this, Gallus had barely even looked at Sandbar the whole time. Sandbar had tried catching his eye a few times, and Gallus had always torn his gaze away, focusing on Silver’s tits or Smolder’s pussy, or the ceiling overhead as both of them blew him with Sandbar getting the same treatment from Yona and Ocellus right next to him on the couch.

Sandbar hadn’t thought much of it then — it was a new experience for all of them, and figuring out what you didn’t like was just as important as figuring out what you did. The next week, though, something had changed. Sandbar had felt Gallus’ eyes on him the entire evening — on his ass as he fucked Silver from behind, on his cock as it plunged into Yona’s waiting mouth, even on his face as he shot stripes of cum all over Cell’s heaving chest.

The third week, Sandbar had decided to do something about it. About halfway through, when he was in front of Smolder and Gallus was behind her, right as all three of them were nearing their peaks, he’d leaned forward — his cock sliding down Smolder’s throat to her audible delight — and kissed him. He’d startled, and squawked, and came almost instantly, just seconds before Smolder did with a strangled groan.

He’d fucked up. Sandbar knew he had right away — he hadn’t asked aloud, even suggested anything through a wink and a pointed smirk, just swooped in and smooched a years-long friend on a half-cocked, permissionless hunch. And then that friend had gaped at him with an unreadable look on his face, and Sandbar had learned for the first time in his life what shame really felt like — not embarrassment, not regret, but a yawning pit in his gut opened by doing something he couldn’t take back to someone he truly cared for.

Sandbar had barely participated the rest of that night, sitting off to the side and telling everyone he wasn’t feeling great, which wasn’t really a lie and was also pretty far from the truth. Blue balls were the least he deserved in the moment, he figured, especially since he could tell Gallus was distracted too. The next morning, the rest of the group had gone out for breakfast, and he and Gallus had stayed behind, staring at a soccer match on TV without really watching it, silent as something that felt worse than death.

And then, right as Sandbar had finally worked up the resolve to apologize, Gallus beat him to it — launching into a disorganized spiel about how he’d been really awkward last night and he’d been trying to get over himself for a while and he should’ve just asked for what he wanted and could they maybe try that again next Friday night, or whenever, or right now if Sandbar forgave him for being so hung up about stuff that didn’t matter at all when he was around his best friends.

Sandbar still apologized once he got his bearings — maybe it had worked out this time, but not asking first still wasn’t cool. And they didn’t try again right then, because there wasn’t a lull in their long conversation that felt quite right for it. But they did talk, at least, and Gallus got a little closer to liking himself as much as his friends liked him, and Sandbar felt a lot better.

And then they did try again the next Friday night, and every Friday night since. And it was pretty great.

A squeeze from Gallus’ hand brought Sandbar back to the present — back to the spicy, citrusy scent of the griffon’s body wash and the warmth of his chest against his, and his soft tongue pushing into and over Sandbar’s with tender and tantalizing strokes. Gallus was a great kisser, and Sandbar thanked him for it with caresses along his cheeks and quiet sounds of delight, and little rolls of his hips that pushed his stiffening cock into and over his partner’s at a tingling, torturously tempting speed.

In seconds, Sandbar was achingly hard, and he could feel Gallus was too. The griffon’s kisses grew more insistent, his tongue firmer in the pony’s mouth and his hands tighter around his ass, not battling for dominance but struggling to tamp down desire. One of Gallus’ hands rose to the back of Sandbar’s head, gripped him firmly, pulled him down hard. Sandbar groaned and let him do it, pushing Gallus’ tongue back into his mouth, thrashing his own tongue around it as his lips formed an airtight seal around his partner’s.

He was delicious, salacious, overwhelming. When it got to be almost too much, Sandbar reluctantly pulled away, face flushed with heat, panting through parted lips still covered in Gallus’ saliva. He dropped his hand into his lap and squeezed his and Gallus’ cocks together, rubbing his thumb over the droplets of pre beaded at both tips and smearing them in lusty circles around both their heads.

Gallus’ grunt of satisfaction rippled down Sandbar’s spine like a sudden cool breeze, sending a shudder through him that ended as a throb he knew Gallus could feel just as much as his partner could. Sandbar met the griffon’s eyes, spread his fingers behind Gallus’ head, gently pinched their tips together between his slick fingers and sticky thumb.

“You wanna?” Sandbar whispered, repositioning a bit in Gallus’ lap so he could tell him with his eyes and legs and entire body that he was his, right now, in whatever way Gallus wanted him. He saw the griffon’s eyes narrow a bit, and his nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath and gripped Sandbar’s ass and really, deeply thought about it.

Then he bit his lip, and let out a small sigh, and pressed his lips back to Sandbar’s, kissing him without reservation exactly as he had before. That was his answer: “Not yet.” That was his trust in Sandbar, his comfort with who he was, his appreciation for what they’d done together and would do together in weeks and maybe years to come — and his acknowledgement that, right now, there were still a couple bridges he wasn’t quite ready to cross. He would be, someday, but not right now.

But right now he was also saying, with his hands and lips and rock-hard cock: “I’m very good like this.” Sandbar could work with that. And he’d enjoy it too.

Hand still in his lap, cocks still pressed together, Sandbar kissed him back, steering Gallus’ head with his free hand until he had the griffon sunk as deep into the couch as he could go and had himself draped over him. From this position, Sandbar could switch from jerking his hips to thrusting — to grinding all of himself against all of Gallus, from tip to shaft to tightening sack, and all the way back down again until his own tip slotted between the griffon’s balls.

What had once been a droplet was now a stream — squeezing out of Sandbar’s tip, smearing under his flare, spreading over his length and making each ensuing stroke slicker, smoother, infinitely better. He could feel himself nearing his peak already, and he slowed down enough to let the pulsing, tightening sensation pass. As he came to rest, his balls pressed against Gallus’ again, the loose fuzzy skin wonderfully warm against his.

“Fuck…” Gallus sighed, eyes shut, shoulders tensed. He must’ve been close too. Good thing Sandbar had stopped himself. He wanted this to last. He wanted to savor this moment — the only one of its kind he might have this week. It’d be silly to call it a “downside,” but it certainly was a fact of life: he had lots of pussies to choose from among his friends, but precious few dicks, and that could be tough when you liked both of them just about equally.

Tough, but manageable. Especially if Ocellus helped. But that was something to think about later, if they were up for it.

Sandbar leaned down, brushing his lips over Gallus’, letting the griffon take the lead in kissing him rather than the other way around. He twitched his hips, barely moving at all, just enough for the ridge of his flare to prod against the underside of Gallus’ curvier, pointier head.

“That feel good?” Sandbar murmured, nuzzling his nose into the griffon’s beak.

“Yeah…”

“Tell me how good.”

Sandbar pressed his hips flush against the griffon’s. Gallus grimaced and groaned. “Hohfuck,” was his first answer through gritted teeth, before he collected himself with a couple paced-out breaths. “You know how good it feels,” he said next.

“Yeah.” Sandbar kissed Gallus’ neck, right by his collarbone, trapping a little pinch of skin between his teeth as he suckled and Gallus hissed with pleasure. “But I like hearing you say it.”

“You know that’s usually my line, right?” Gallus grunted — his voice hitching as Sandbar twitched again in his lap.

“Yeah, but now I’m saying it,” Sandbar mumbled into the griffon’s neck, before dragging his lips up towards his ear, flicking with his tongue as his voice dropped into a whisper. “And I want you to enjoy it.”

Sandbar felt Gallus’ cock jump against his — how he didn’t cum right then and there, the pony had no idea. Every part of Gallus was fully, unyieldingly erect, from spine to limbs to burning-hot prick. He had seconds left to work with. He made the most of them.

“So don’t hold back,” Sandbar crooned into Gallus’ ear. “I want all of you.”

He dragged his hips forward and back, stroking the griffon’s cock with his own once, twice — more than enough. A strangled groan, almost a whimper, left Gallus’ throat, and Sandbar felt him erupt beneath him. He felt every throb of his cock, every jet from his tip, every boiling-hot splash of his cum across both their stomachs and chests — dripping down off Sandbar’s abs, pooling in the creases between the griffon’s.

And Sandbar felt himself right there with him, a couple extra sloppy thrusts all it took for him to rocket over the edge too. Through almost-shut eyes, he watched himself paint Gallus’ groin and chest with his load, their jizz mixing together on top of him, his whole bottom half buzzing and seizing and sounding out a mutual, mind-melting orgasmic beat.

They clutched onto each other, riding it out, their ragged arrhythmic breaths tainting the melody their bodies made together — and then the tension drained out of them, and a wave of euphoria washed over them, and they crashed together on the couch, heads parallel, quickly-cooling semen squished between their chests.

Ugh. Gross. Whatever. They could clean up in a minute.

“Y-You gotta stop flopping onto me,” Gallus shakily said once he caught his breath, gesturing with his hands as he wrapped them lovingly around Sandbar’s back. “Makes a mess.”

“Next time you can be on top,” Sandbar mumbled, face pressed into the couch cushion. It smelled like Gallus — spicy and citrusy. It made his own head spin faster. It was really nice.

“Next time I will be,” Gallus muttered into his ear — sliding his hands down Sandbar’s back, squeezing his ass again. Sandbar shivered. That’d be really, really nice.

In the meantime, though, Gallus was warm, and not that sticky, really. And he was stroking Sandbar’s back, and nuzzling into his ear, and craning his neck — looking at something beyond the wonderfully Gallus-scented couch cushion.

“No, we didn’t mind you guys watching. Glad you asked.”

Sandbar forced himself to look up. Smolder was kneeling on the couch next to the two boys, hand wedged between her legs, cheeks still glowing with what must’ve recently been rapt attention. As Sandbar peeled himself off Gallus’ chest and settled onto the griffon’s thighs, he saw Silverstream on their other side, just about a mirror image of Smolder in every way.

“It’s an orgy, bud,” Smolder shot back — still idly working her hand beneath her. “Kinda hard not to watch.”

“Plus it’s so hot when you guys do that,” Silver added, shuddering a bit. “Like, you have no idea.”

“I have an idea,” Sandbar chuckled, rubbing a few feathers on Gallus’ crest between his fingers. Gallus snorted and grinned, leaning into the contact, thanking him with another grope.

“I’ve got an idea too,” Smolder said. She was staring at Gallus’ chest, or rather at the milky streaks laced overtop of it. She had a look in her eyes Sandbar only ever saw well into Friday nights — a ravenous look, some holdover of ancient draconic desire that it took a couple orgasms and a particular bit of visual inspiration to draw out of her.

Gallus was about to save himself a wet wipe. So was Sandbar, if Silver’s likewise-hungry gaze was anything to go by.

Sandbar swung his leg back over Gallus and flopped next to him on the couch, shoulder to shoulder and buttcheek to buttcheek. As he spread his legs, Silverstream slotted herself between them, right as Smolder did the same for Gallus.

The hippogriff smiled up at him, winked, then extended her hand and tongue together — both landing on his softening cock, the latter dragging up its length and onto his stomach up to the top of his ribs, collecting a mouthful of spunk along the way. Next to her, Smolder swirled her tongue — longer, thinner, even more dextrous — around Gallus’ tip, waiting until he leaned into Sandbar and groaned before she shifted herself upwards and sealed her lips around his cum-drenched belly button.

“Thanks,” he told Silverstream, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She let out a happy hum, swallowed, and came back for seconds, saturating his belly in saliva as she sucked up each strand of jizz he’d splattered onto himself. His cocktip poked into the underside of her chin, then pressed up into it. He was hard again. She let out another happy hum when she noticed.

“No problem,” she sighed, her smile broken only by Sandbar’s shaft sliding between her parted lips.

Sandbar settled back into the couch, letting the warmth of Silver’s mouth soak into him and settle in the center of his pelvis. He was still sensitive, and every touch of her tongue sent shivers up his back, but she took things slow for him, letting him recover a bit every time she pulled back and taking her sweet, savoring time when she sank her lips back down to his base.

Gallus wasn’t so lucky. Smolder had gotten every drop of cum off his stomach in seconds and looked desperate to get more straight from the source, bobbing her head rapidly over his tip and vigorously stroking every part of his shaft outside of her mouth. The expression on Gallus’ face was somewhere between “This is the greatest moment of my life” and “I’m going to die right here on this couch.” Probably didn’t matter whether Smolder saw it. She didn’t look like she was going to stop.

Sandbar felt the couch shift as someone sat down to him — way too big to be Ocellus, unless she’d morphed without him noticing. He turned and smiled as Yona put her arm around his shoulders, drawing his head down onto her breast as she watched Silver blow him.

“How’s Sandbar doing?” she murmured, planting a soft kiss on his forehead as she scratched her fingers behind his ear.

“Sandbar’s doing great,” he said, returning the favor with a peck on her chest, a few inches above her — clearly well-attended-to judging by its shine in the dim light — nipple. “Where’s Ocellus?”

“Ocellus is fine,” Yona told him. She caught Silver’s eye as she spoke, waiting for an affirmative nod from the hippogriff before continuing. “Just needed a minute.”

“Hmm,” Sandbar hummed. “A minute” for Ocellus could mean a few different things: a bathroom break, a moment to clean up, or something else. Secretly, he really hoped it was something else. Those nights with Ocellus were his favorite.

“Meantime,” Yona went on, “Yona could use some help.”

Sandbar smiled — both at Yona’s words and at Silver’s tongue flicking under his tip. “What kinda help?”

He looked up and saw a lecherous grin spread across his girlfriend’s face — and then followed her gaze over to the griffon next to him.

“The kind Gallus can help with too,” she said.

Sandbar smirked, and gently guided Silver off of him, and worked his hand behind Yona’s back until he could squeeze it around her ass. Scratch that: these nights were his favorite — especially if Ocellus could help too.

Double-Cheeked Up On a Friday Evening (Hella Ass) (The Sun Is Not Out)

When Yona was younger, a pony had visited the village where the yak had grown up. It was winter — or what passed for it in Yakyakistan, where “summer” was a single bead of sweat under your hood one odd afternoon in August — and the pony thought he’d been prepared for it. A group of ice fishers had found him draped in icicles under an outcropping of rock, bluer than his fur from cold, and brought him back to town for a hot meal and a hotter fire to eat it by. It was the first time Yona had ever seen a pony. Frankly, Yona hadn’t thought that much of him.

He wasn’t rude or greedy, far from it. The only words that escaped his chattering teeth in his first hours with them were “thank you,” in a garbled tone clearly learned from a book rather than a yak’s voice, and it remained his trademark phrase over all the weeks he’d called the village home. And he’d learned more words too, as he spoke with the elders and heard the old stories and worked himself ragged helping any way he could, learning from repeated experience how nice fresh snow felt against muscles overworked from carrying oil jugs and tying nets.

But he’d also tried to teach the yaks words too — concepts, and meanings, and contexts foreign to every yak Yona had ever met. He’d meant well, and was eternally patient with intrigued and irreverent pupils alike, but Yona found him confusing nonetheless. Yona didn’t see a point to learning a new language when the one yaks already had was perfectly good, especially when that new tongue seemed so concerned with style over substance.

Ponies didn’t just have names — they had pronouns, short shared words in place of chosen distinct ones, and adjectives and idioms and countless other ways of sorting and separating themselves the moment someone met them. Not necessarily useless words, sure, but hardly necessary either. Day to day, it didn’t much matter what shape a yak had under shapeless layers of coats and skins, or what hung between a yak’s legs or from a yak’s chest when every other body part worked the same as anyone else’s.

And that was what Yona couldn’t help but think while the pony stayed in the village. Yona was Yona, not “she” or “I” or “yak a different shade of brown from another.” No pony was going to change that. Not even a friendly one who smiled when he complimented Yona’s knack for learning things quickly, and who etched into spare scraps of driftwood drawings of trees as tall as mountains and cities of sturdy houses built from their trunks — images of impossible things Yona lied awake at night staring at once the pony eventually trekked back home.

Even after the pony had sent a letter to the village in a burst of magical green fire inviting them to participate in a “Friendship School,” even after Yona had been chosen as the village’s most promising potential student, the finer points of the Equestrian language still eluded the world-trotting yak. There were more adjectives than those the pony had mentioned, more idioms, even words and phrases stolen wholesale from other languages — and above all, an expectation that Yona learn them all quickly, and stick to them, and be polite to the rare pony who stuck their nose up and grumbled over a forgotten article or preposition or, stars forbid, pronoun.

But in the end, it was worth it, because Yona had lived up to the school’s purpose and then some. Yona had blossomed beyond all expectation through Gallus’ acerbic wit, Smolder’s hardy resolve, Silverstream’s exuberance and Ocellus’ adaptability. Yona had met Sandbar, come to know his measured thoughts and pensive gaze and effortlessly kind heart, fallen for him in a way usually described only in books rather than words and motions.

And most of all, Yona had learned that sometimes it did matter what a yak or pony or any other creature had hidden under their clothes — provided, of course, they knew how to use it.

Thankfully, Yona was a fast learner. And Yona had exceptionally good taste in friends.

“Hmm?” Gallus hummed, snapping to attention as Yona’s fingers grazed the back of his neck. He hadn’t even noticed the yak approach him, hypnotized as he was by Smolder and Silver groping and rubbing against each other on the floor, sloppily swapping what remained of the cum they’d licked off Gallus and Sandbar back and forth across their tongues.

Yona couldn’t really blame him. It was a pretty hypnotizing sight. But Yona had something else for him to look at — something small and square, pressed into his palm as the yak leaned over and kissed him. He wrapped his hand around it, and Yona felt his eyelashes flutter as he blinked in recognition. The yak pulled away and stepped back, pulling the griffon up off the couch and leading him forward with a crooked smirk and just-so-angled hips.

Another bit of knowledge that Friendship School had provided: with just a bit of knowledge and a bit more practice, boys were really easy to boss around. It was Yona’s second-favorite thing about them. The first stood stiff between Gallus’ legs, bobbing left and right as he stumbled along, and between Sandbar’s legs as well where he sat on the floor waiting for his partner and friend to walk over.

As Yona knelt, Sandbar leaned back and laid flat, inviting the yak to crawl overtop of him and straddle him at the hips. Yona settled right below his waist, hands running up and down his chest, soft slick folds pressing his cockhead into the little bump of muscle and minimal fat just under his navel. He bit his lip as those folds began to slide back and forth — as Yona ground against him, warming them both up, lips curling at the corners as Sandbar’s face crumpled in pleasure.

The yak leaned forward, elbows on either side of the pony’s head, breasts dangling just far enough for the nipples capping them to brush delightfully against Sandbar’s pecs. He grabbed one in each hand, kneaded and squeezed, leaned up to plant a kiss under Yona’s chin that tingled like an electric spark — and in the same moment, he shifted his hips, angled his tip, and thrust upwards, parting Yona’s folds, slipping inside.

Yona’s hips dropped with a smack and took him to the base — then lifted — then dropped again. Sandbar let out a shaky sigh almost pitched high enough to be a moan. He might be pretty fresh off a climax, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the ride just as much as the destination.

And hopefully, the same could be said for Gallus. Still riding Sandbar’s rapidly-slickening dick, Yona leaned even farther forward, chest squashed against the pony’s, hips flared, fully exposed to anyone watching and — hopefully — waiting for a sign to jump in.

That was the sign, Gallus. Jump in already.

Sandbar’s hands shifted and clapped down on each side of Yona’s ass — and finally, Yona felt another pair of hands land just above them, squeezing gently, bracing the body attached to them as it got down in a bow-legged squat above Sandbar’s knees. After another moment, Yona felt a dollop of chilly slick liquid, and then a thumb on top of it, smearing it into the pucker just above Sandbar’s pistoning prick — and then the soft head of Gallus’ hard cock, wrapped in the condom handed to him earlier, prodding and pressing and nearly penetrating.

The yak’s head dropped — lips pressed against Sandbar’s — throat vibrated with an amorous groan as Gallus pushed forward. Yona’s backdoor opened around his head, allowed him inside, clamped down as inch after inch of his shaft stretched it wider and sunk in deeper. When he bottomed out, Sandbar did too, both boys’ hips flush against the yak’s skin, both cocks filling Yona as completely as any creature could ever want.

Yona shuddered, and clenched up, and let out the closest thing any yak had to a moan — a drawn-out sigh, and a voracious grin, and two identical glances backwards and then down that served as a silent order: “Keep going.”

So they did — slowly at first, awkwardly, sacks bumping together as their hips flexed and their cocks plunged arrhythmically in and out. Yona smirked, thinking of a joke that a surprising number of creatures didn’t realize was one: “It’s only gay if the balls touch.” Sandbar found it funny too. In fact, he chuckled each time it happened, lip clamped in his teeth again, pace slowed down seemingly just he could be definitely-not-gay with Gallus a couple more times.

Yona squeezed Gallus’ prick, and Gallus squeezed back — with his hands on Yona’s ass, and with his balls down on top of Sandbar’s. He was in on the joke too. It had taken him long enough to be, Yona thought — and that was the last thought Yona had for a bit, because the slight pause was enough for both boys to find their flow.

As Sandbar thrust in, Gallus pulled out, and with every motion their cockheads rubbed together inside Yona, separated only by thin flesh and the pulses that rocketed through Yona’s core every time it happened. The yak went from sighing to grunting to silently gritted teeth, eyes tightly shut, throat peppered with kisses from Sandbar underneath as he and Gallus thrust faster and fucked harder.

It wasn’t hard to cum like this. All Yona had to do was relax a bit and let Sandbar and Gallus do all the work, something that had once felt wholly unnatural to the yak. It had almost been a problem, even, when Yona had first started dating Sandbar — not because he was impatient, but because he desperately wanted to please his partner and worried it was his fault he couldn’t.

It wasn’t, and never had been. Yona was just used to self-containment, and at first pleasure like this had felt too much like the opposite, too much like the growing pains of leaving home and living in a place far away from it in every possible sense.

Even with a pony worth trusting completely, and a griffon too for that matter, it still took Yona a bit to work up to it. But eventually, Yona did — and the yak’s reward was a heart-skipping throb, and an avalanche of fire and ice from head down to twitching toes, and spine-arching vision-blunting bliss.

Somewhere way in the distance, Yona heard a drawn-out sigh — maybe from Sandbar, maybe a moan. There hadn’t been any rush of air from his throat, or flex of his tongue against Yona’s. Must’ve been Gallus, then. He seemed like he was enjoying himself.

Yona felt Sandbar’s lips pull away, and looked down at his blurry face. His hips slowed a bit, from thrusting to something like swaying, like grinding on a sweaty dance floor to the thumping rhythm of an overworked speaker. Gallus followed suit a moment later, and time stretched with Yona as he bottomed out, each new moment of afterglow just as overwhelming and delectable as the last. When the last shudder wriggled out of Yona’s spine, Sandbar’s lips returned — kissing, caressing, adoring.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured — and despite knowing that already, despite hearing it often from friends and lovers and all manner of other creatures, Yona blushed anyway. It was one thing to know yourself, but another entirely to feel it — to be connected to the image in your mind’s eye all the way through, instead of just superimposed on top of it.

It had taken Yona years to feel like this — years of watching smaller and differently-shaped girls from across an impassable mental gulf, of hearing lots of new words that made no sense and a few that made far too much, of feeling like there was no hope of ever measuring up to a standard no yak was ever built to meet. And there wasn’t, of course — because they had no chance of measuring up to Yona, to a body carved like stone and soft like snow in springtime, to someone Sandbar loved so much Yona couldn’t help but feel the same.

To her.

Yona used to hate that word, that expectation, that label made by foreign creatures with foreign ideas about what someone was and should and could ever possibly be. Yona still rarely thought of it, still hardly ever felt any connection to it. But with Sandbar, and good friends, and the new kind of strength they’d helped bring out to match the kind Yona already had… sometimes, it fit.

Like right now. Like when Sandbar looked up at her, and saw her inside and out, and cherished every single part of her. And she told him how she felt in the best way she knew how, pressing her forehead to his, whispering so only he could hear:

“I love you.”

He shifted his hands, slid them behind her head, held her as he kissed her and whispered back. What he said didn’t translate very easily — Yona’s native language shared little structurally or semantically with Equestrian, and as much as she appreciated his effort, Sandbar’s accent was awful. But she understood him nonetheless, what he’d said and what he meant and what, if you did translate it, was short and simple and so deep-down wonderful to hear:

“Sandbar loves Yona too.”

And that was enough. Yona shivered, moaned, and came again — soaking Sandbar’s pelvis, clenching around Gallus’ cock hard enough to make him grunt. If the griffon was uncomfortable, he got over it quickly, driving his hips against hers and his shaft deep inside her, opening her wider and lifting her just a bit higher over her peak with every steady slapping thrust, until suddenly he stopped again, every muscle tensed, hands vice-gripped around her ass.

She couldn’t feel his cum inside her — the condom saw to that, and a few other things as well — but she certainly felt him cumming, felt his shaft twitch as his seed pulsed up and out of it, sending shudders rolling down from his shoulders through his clawed hands. She gripped him as hard as she could, accentuating his pleasure, finding no small amount of it for herself, until he huffed out a satisfied sigh and withdrew, leaving her a bit emptier in one way but more than fulfilled in others.

Sandbar still hadn’t cum yet, though. In fact, Sandbar had his head tilted back away from Yona, looking upside-down at something out of view — or someone, as Yona looked up and saw for herself.

Ocellus had had her minute, and had come back to drop onto her knees before Yona, eyes wide and cheeks pink, lips parted and shaking as she took in lusty gulps of air. Arousal radiated off of her, from her transfixed expression to her hardened nipples to the in-and-out flexing of her abdomen — and most of all, the turgid, twitching shaft between her legs, a bit shorter than Gallus’ and a little thinner than Sandbar’s, protruding out over a tight sack the same periwinkle shade as the rest of her.

“H-Hi,” the changeling said in a trembling, thin voice. “Can I… I-I mean, would you, um…”

Yona and Sandbar shared a glance, then a smile, then directed both up towards Ocellus, who flushed an even deeper red. Yona knew how much Sandbar loved when Ocellus felt like this. Truthfully, Yona loved it too — and now, together, they could show her just how much.

Sandbar slotted his hand into the crook of Ocellus’ knee, gently tugging until they shuffled awkwardly forward. When they were nearly straddling his head, Yona wrapped her own hand around Ocellus’ thigh right where it started to curve up and out into their butt, pinching and poking until Ocellus had gotten close enough for their cock to bump against Yona’s lips.

She smirked, and winked up at Ocellus, and slowly extended her tongue, flicking the tip ever so delicately under the changeling’s. Ocellus jerked, and clapped their hand over their mouth, and let out a muffled squeaky moan as Yona licked them again, each stroke longer than the last, slathering their shaft in the kind of love you didn’t need to be a changeling to feel.

Yona slid her lips over Cell’s head, and Sandbar propped himself up so he could nose his muzzle into her sack, brushing his lips over and flicking his tongue between shallow ridges of soft blue skin. Together, they worked their way closer to each other, Yona sliding more of Ocellus’ cock into her mouth as Sandbar went from smooching the changeling’s balls to gently suckling on one. Ocellus did nothing but tremble, and that was just fine with Yona. When she let her free hand come to rest on — and then tightly grip — one of Yona’s horns, though, that was even better.

When Yona’s nose bumped against Cell’s pelvis, they humped forward a little, pushing their shaft a millimeter further over Yona’s tongue. They weren’t long enough to reach her throat, but that suited Yona fine too. Bigger could be better in lots of ways, but “proportional” was always best — Ocellus’ cock fit them perfectly, and fit in Yona’s mouth like it was designed to be kept there. Actually, maybe it was. They were a changeling, after all.

“Ahh… hmm… S-S-San…”

Ocellus tried to speak, and every time she did, Yona dragged her lips up and back down her shaft, lavishing her with her tongue along the way. If she wanted to ask Sandbar something, she’d have to mean it, and he’d have to feel like listening. He didn’t seem worried about it at the moment — he’d switched from one pliant little orb to the other, rolling it between his lips as he smoothed out the skin covering it with the flat of his tongue.

“S-S-Sandbar, your… can you…”

He slowed his pace enough to show Cell he’d heard them, and kept it steady enough to tell them they needed to be more specific. They did their best, even as Yona sped up — saliva trickling down Cell’s shaft from where the yak had switched from gentle swipes over the changeling’s head to loud and lecherous slurps.

“J-Just… little f-farther back… please…”

If she’d been able to, Yona would’ve smiled. Ocellus had asked so nicely for what she wanted, Sandbar couldn’t do anything but give it to her. He shifted forward a bit, rigid cock bouncing as it slid out of Yona’s pussy, and pressed his nose right where Cell’s pussy might’ve been on another night, fondling the backside of her sack with his ever-dexterous tongue.

The effect was instant. Ocellus seized up, bending at the waist and thrusting into Yona’s mouth, their breath leaving them in a shuddering rush. Yona softened her lips and curled her tongue, drawing Ocellus deeper inside, encouraging them to put her mouth to good use.

And they did — thrusting again and again, each one a little harder and faster, whining in growing rapture as they gave Yona the sloppy, indelicate face-fucking she’d been silently hoping and begging for. Sandbar couldn’t keep up for long, so he switched from caressing Cell’s nuts to kissing the insides of their thighs and hooking his hands around their butt, egging them on with smooches and squeezes in what he knew were all the best spots.

Yona could’ve stayed like this for hours, tingling from head to toe, using Ocellus for pleasure and being used by Ocellus for the same. But she knew she wouldn’t have to. Cock or pussy or both at the same time, it didn’t matter — Ocellus had always been, was now, and would probably always be a hair-trigger. It was everyone’s favorite thing about her.

At the same time, Yona felt what Sandbar saw: Ocellus’ shaft jumped in Yona’s mouth, and her balls tightened above Sandbar’s nose. Yona opened her mouth, pulled back just enough for Cell to feel fresh air around her twitching dick for a moment, then grabbed it firmly in her hand, stroking vigorously and mercilessly. She met Ocellus’ eyes right before they rolled back into the changeling’s head — then she stuck her tongue out, shut her own eyes, and felt Cell’s climax ripple through all three of them.

Thick gobs of warm cum spurted across Yona’s muzzle and into her open mouth — one, two, three, and after that Yona stopped counting. Beneath her, she could feel Sandbar repositioning again so he could catch every droplet that didn’t pool on Yona’s tongue, and so the weaker pulses from Cell’s cock as they crested the top of their peak could land closer to his own lips.

It didn’t taste sweet, like Ocellus was in all other ways. It was cum. It tasted salty and thin and a little bit chalky. But the low and unrestrained moan Ocellus let out, the feeling of their pleasure dripping down Yona’s chin, the sight she saw when she cracked her eyes open of the changeling slumped on their butt and almost comatose in front of her? That was delicious.

As Ocellus flopped spread-eagled onto her back, her dick deflating until it came to rest on her spit-soaked sack, Yona felt Sandbar’s hands wrap around her shoulders. She looked down at him, and a dollop of jizz dripped off the end of her nose, plopping down on Sandbar’s flushed cheek.

“Heh,” he chuckled, as she chuckled with him. “You look good like this.”

“Yona always looks good,” she shot back, before pausing and wiggling her hips. Sandbar was still hard, his tip poking up into her entrance at just the right angle to stretch her a bit without squeezing inside. “Feels like Sandbar wants to make her look better,” she added.

He smiled, and angled his hips, and pushed against her — a statement of intent that hit Yona’s heart like a spray of kerosene into a hot air balloon’s burner.

“I know exactly what I want,” he crooned.

Yona smiled, and squeezed him, and sighed in satisfaction as he led her onto her feet and back towards the couch. Their friends could handle themselves. For now, all she wanted was Sandbar, and all he wanted — in mind, body, and every word anyone had ever thought of — was her.

Taking the L-Word

Love, Silverstream had concluded after years of thought and talks and experiences of all kinds, was bullshit.

The popular kind of love was, anyway — the kind shown in kitschy movies and written about in cheap novels, where one creature had to convince the other to be something they previously weren’t, and destiny and fate and undefinable feelings were in control more than the creatures living through them. That sort of love was supposed to be an otherworldly force, undeniable and unconquerable, a passionate kiss in the rain and a defiant embrace in the face of death.

Silverstream had seen rain — seen death. She had felt it wash over her, cold and senseless, a force actually bigger and stronger than any mortal thing it touched. She had watched it batter creatures into being something other than what they previously were — something quieter, twitchier, more likely and sometimes even more eager to explode into frustration and rage.

There was nothing impassioning about living through it, nothing romantic about defying it. It happened whether you wanted it to or not. And love was not like that.

Love, she had learned from friends and enemies and all manner of creatures in between, was a choice. It was an action taken or not taken, an idea expressed or consciously left unspoken, a conversation spread across several hours or compressed into a few words. It was looking at someone else and not just wanting them to be happy or safe, but wanting them to be better, and wanting to make yourself better so you could help them be the best they could possibly be.

Hugging, kissing, fucking, being fucked? That wasn’t love. It was affection, certainly, and usually lots of fun, but it was one piece of a puzzle that didn’t always match the picture on the box it came in.

Love was knowing that when your arms fell away, your lips parted, your climax drifted into afterglow and your partner’s touch faded from physical memory, they’d still be there when you needed them. They’d wake up beside you in the morning, or smile at you across the table, or just sit by you as you grit your teeth over a test grade or laughed at a half-remembered joke, or grappled with the knowledge that life was short and creatures could be evil and there was a part of you you’d had in childhood that you were never going to get back — that evil creatures with short lives had taken from you — no matter how hard you tried or how wonderful life had been since.

Love was forgiving yourself for that. Love was knowing someone else did too. Love was trusting them to know who you were, and to enjoy the parts of you that you liked and live through the ones you didn’t, and to lose time and sleep and higher meaning with you because you were having so much fun just purposelessly existing together.

In other words? Love was bullshit.

And that was basically why Silverstream liked this part of Friday nights the best — so late into the evening that it was nearly morning, multiple hours and orgasms already past, nothing much more than fumes left in everyone’s proverbial tanks. There was always love between her and her friends, not just on these nights but on all others and the days attached to them too. But right now was when she felt it the strongest. Right now was when she knew it was real.

Right now, Gallus was lying behind her on the couch, chest against her back, arms wrapped loosely around her midsection, legs bent in tandem with hers so his knees slotted neatly behind her own. She was a tiny bit taller than him, so he couldn’t quite fit his chin overtop of her head, but he didn’t seem to mind. He seemed just fine brushing his beak and cheeks into her neck, taking measured breaths in and out that tickled against her skin, leaving little smooches and pecks along her shoulder that left lingering tingles inside her spine.

She wasn’t sure how many times he’d cum tonight — her own count was four, so she’d been a bit too occupied to keep count for anyone else. All she could tell for sure was that he was hard right now, his cock slipped between her legs and the top of his shaft pressed against her lower lips, and that his breath on her neck hitched just a bit every time she slightly shifted her thighs and gently pushed her butt against him.

Neither of them did anything to push things any further. Both of them just lied there on the couch, enjoying the other’s presence, loving each other with little motions and quiet noises and lots of words left unspoken but not unsaid.

On the couch’s other side, Sandbar was on top of Yona, hands braced under her arms, eyes closed and tail twitching as he kissed between her breasts and languidly thrust into her. Yona watched him through lidded eyes, one hand resting on the small of his back, the other caressing his face and rubbing softly through his hair. Every time Sandbar sighed, Yona did too, and both of them flexed a bit — pressing a little closer together, pushing and pulling a little deeper inside.

They loved each other, in all ways and forms, and Silverstream loved watching them. From the small shifts in Gallus’ posture as he kissed her neck, she could tell he did too. Each of their motions was a statement in a conversation, a question followed by an immediate answer: “Does that feel good?” “Yes. Does that feel good?” “Yes.” They played off each other so well, patiently and silently, perfectly harmonized. It must’ve felt amazing. It felt almost as good just being near it.

On the floor between the couch’s wings, the last two members of their group weren’t quite as harmonized, but no less fun to observe. Ocellus was upright in Smolder’s lap, head dug under the dragon’s chin, arms bunched up over her chest. Smolder had her hind legs wrapped around the changeling’s thighs and her hands wrapped around Cell’s cock and balls, gently pumping and fondling as she muttered in her partner’s ear. Silver couldn’t see what Smolder was saying, but she could sure see the effect it had on Ocellus — in their squeezed-shut eyes and deep-red blush, and the barely audible whimpers that followed Smolder’s every whispered word.

This was how Friday nights always ended. They’d start in different ways, roll through different partners and positions and — in Cell’s case — sometimes sets of parts, but when things drew to a close and they were all rubbed and licked and railed down to the most basic of base desires, this was where they’d all end up. Smolder would dote on Ocellus, Yona and Sandbar would drift into another world together — and Silver would want Gallus, and Gallus would want her in return.

Silverstream laid her hand over Gallus’, laced her fingers through his, drew his palm up her abdomen until it bumped the underside of her breast. He took over from there, sliding his palm over her nipple and pressing down, squeezing gently in a steady rhythm that matched the kisses he placed on the bony bump where her spine met her neck. She sighed, and smiled, and snuggled deeper into him, full of a giddy sensation that felt like a flower infinitely blooming inside her chest.

It wasn’t that Silverstream wasn’t a fan of orgies. It was more complicated than that in some ways, simpler in others. Maybe the best way of saying it was that she could stand to go without them. She enjoyed being a third for Sandbar and Yona, relished the taste of Smolder’s pussy and the feeling of the dragon’s extra-long tongue inside her, and of course everyone adored everything about precious little — or big — or any size and form of Ocellus.

But if she were to pick any of them to go steady with, to commit to and stay with and love exclusively over any other creature, it’d be the griffon holding her right now. It’d been the creature who’d rolled his eyes more than smiled at her when they first met, who’d sat with her when old memories grew too big to keep inside, who’d shared some of his own with only her and found strength in the fact that she found strength in him.

It wasn’t quite what Yona and Sandbar had. Silver hadn’t told Gallus aloud she loved him like that, nor had he told her. But she knew it anyway, and knew someday it’d be translated into words both of them already understood as feelings. For now, this was fine. For now, she just liked cuddling with him, almost as much as he did with her.

Not that he’d ever admit how much of a softie he was, even though he was so totally obvious about it. Even though if you got close enough to him and touched the right spots and showed him the sort of love that few creatures filmed or wrote or really even talked about, he’d lavish you with little kisses and caress you with tender touches, and purr deep in his chest like he was doing right now.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t have to admit it. It was enough for Silver to know he felt it — to know, in his and her own way, what they had was real.

Over the rumbling in Gallus’ chest and the occasional squeak from the floor, Silverstream heard a hitch in Yona’s soft sighs of pleasure. She looked up just in time to see Sandbar ever so slightly quicken his pace, barely withdrawing before thrusting back into Yona, elbows locked out and jaw clenched as he got closer and closer to completion.

Yona groaned, shuddered, and pushed him over the edge with a roll of his hips and a tweak of his ear between her fingers. A single soft grunt escaped Sandbar’s lungs, and he went stiff as his climax rippled through his abs and chest, slumping back down onto his girlfriend only once the last pulse had wriggled out of him and as deep into Yona as any part of him could reach.

Silver felt a pang of inspiration below her waist, and then felt Gallus’s cock rub more intently against her opening. He was inspired too — but not from the other couple on the couch. On the floor, Smolder and Ocellus had switched positions: the former had laid the latter down flat atop the carpet, straddled them at the waist, spread her lips with two fingers and sank down onto her partner’s cock, taking them to the base in fluid and decadent strokes.

Smolder wasn’t whispering anymore, just grinning down at Ocellus as she groped their breasts from above and rolled her hips up and down, back and slowly forth at — judging by Cell’s slack-jawed expression — an utterly overwhelming pace. Silver’s own breath left her just looking at it. Cuddling could wait. Right now, she wanted some of that.

And Gallus gave it to her — opening her legs with a commanding tug of his hand, rubbing his fingers over her entrance to make sure she was ready for him, surging forward when he heard her consenting, encouraging moan. It took a few strokes for him to fully enter her, the not-quite-dampened skin of his cock tugging a bit painfully against her folds, but in seconds he was smoothly hilted and she was wriggling in his arms, cooing into the couch cushion as he squeezed his hands around her breasts and planted his lips on her neck and thrust into her with a blissful groan.

She wrapped her hand around his again, fingers laced, saying with every insistent squeeze, “Don’t just love me, take me.” He squeezed back — “You’re mine.” — and braced his feet in a crack between couch cushions so every new stroke could be more powerful than the last.

He was still purring, but it was loud enough now to sound more like growling, like there was nothing else in the world he wanted but her. It sent a thrill through Silver’s core like nothing else she’d ever felt, and each time Gallus’ hips smacked against hers and she felt his shaft stretch every secret part of her, that thrill reverberated from head to tail and back again, stronger and more deliriously fulfilling every single second.

She knew Yona and Sandbar were watching them. She could feel their eyes on her, even though her own eyes were a bit too blurry to be sure, and the knowledge spurred her towards even greater heights, sent goosebumps down her back and up her arms and through each saturated inch of her throbbing pussy. On second thought, maybe she was a fan of orgies, full stop. Going exclusive would be nice, but so was watching other creatures enjoying themselves — and especially so was being watched herself.

Silverstream lifted her leg a bit higher, rolled a bit further into Gallus behind her, encouraged him with an airy gasp and a girlish moan to help her give the rest of their friends a show worth remembering. He grunted into her shoulder and fucked her faster, thighs clapping wetly against her, shaft surging in and out at an angle that left every inch of his length — and every millimeter of his writhing partner — exposed to anyone who cared to look. Silver shut her eyes and pressed her face into the couch cushion, yielding completely, submerging herself to depraved, rising, almost peaking pleasure.

She came with a muffled groan, wantonly clenching around him, and the prideful grunt he let out when he felt it was enough to chase the ecstasy of orgasm with a heady rush of tingling adoration. She felt his lust, and his love, and both of them driving deeper into her as a mark of carnal territory — she could fuck other creatures, and so could he, but when and where it mattered most, she belonged to him, and he knew it, and she craved it.

As her climax tapered off, he flipped her onto her belly with firm and commanding hands, rolling on top of her in the same motion, hilted inside her the whole time. He pushed himself onto his knees and pulled her up with him, his grip unyielding under her belly, directing her into just the right kneeling, compliant position for him to line his hips up behind her and withdraw from within her and–

Silverstream moaned into the couch again — an involuntary, venerating, euphoric noise. She kept moaning as Gallus kept fucking her, driving his whole length into her, using her to heighten his own pleasure and knowing it would send hers skyrocketing. It was all she could do just to stay upright, just to arch her back and tense her thighs and submit to every single thing he could imagine doing, so long as it kept feeling this amazing when he did it to her.

She knew he was watching her — staring down at her soaked folds and spread cheeks, at his cock disappearing inside and between them, at the flush in her face and the drool dribbling from her open mouth as stars, fuck, she was about to cum again. She wanted to feel him cum with her. She wanted everyone to watch it happen — to see the man she loved claim the woman he loved back.

His hands tensed around her hips. His rhythm grew more insistent. He bottomed out inside her once, twice, and then stayed there, pushing into her, grunting as his climax hit and his seed spread through her, filling every crevice until it squeezed back out of her and all over her quivering lips. She remembered to breathe, barely, as each throb from his cock was matched by one from her cunt, as endorphins flooded her brain and trickled delightfully down into her heart. It was heavenly. It was perfect.

It was a mess, dripped and smeared and a bunch of other liquid-y words all over the fully ruined blankets on the couch. Thank goodness Ocellus was doing laundry tomorrow.

Speaking of whom, Ocellus seemed — when Silverstream gathered enough of her wits to crack her eyes open and point them towards the rest of the room — like she was in about the same place as the hippogriff was. She’d switched positions again, putting Smolder on her back and erratically humping between the dragon’s legs, buoyed by gentle squeezes of Smolder’s heels into her back and hushed encouragement from the dragon’s lips into the changeling’s ear.

It was almost a mirror image of Silver and Gallus: Smolder directing from the bottom, Ocellus on top like putty in the dragon’s hands. But the feeling — the emotion — the love was the same, and as plain as day looking at them. All Smolder wanted, in her eyes and her body and deep down in her soul, was for Ocellus to feel beautiful and wonderful and loved — and Ocellus could feel it, and put that feeling into every thrust, driving herself and Smolder both towards a final collective peak.

Distantly, Silverstream felt Gallus gently guide her back onto her side, his soft cock slipping out of her pussy, his chest and legs pressed into her again as he hugged her tight enough to feel like he’d never let her go. It made the sight in front of her all the better — matched the face-to-face embrace Yona and Sandbar shared next to them, and the still-coupling pair on the floor. They all basked in the moment together, watching the same show, waiting for things to end exactly as they always did.

Ocellus’ ragged pants pitched up into whimpering groans. Smolder tugged them flat on top of her, squeezing their ass, kissing once under their chin — and they cried out in bliss, buried to the hilt, balls tightened and twitching beneath them as they gave Smolder every single thing they had left to give. Judging by the grin splitting her face and the satisfaction lingering in her eyes, it was everything Smolder wanted and more.

Ocellus stayed that way — stiff as a board, cock pumping more and more cum into Smolder’s pussy until it leaked out from around their shaft in frothy white streams — until they physically couldn’t anymore. They collapsed on top of Smolder, and Smolder held them as their orgasmic groans faded into reverent coos.

And with that, all six creatures decided silently, the night was over. It had been another great one, Silverstream thought, and so did Gallus based on the gentle kiss he placed on her cheek, and the harder, deeper one he shared with her when she turned towards him and pressed her lips to his. They were satisfied, in every way possible, and exhausted. It was time for bed.

Or, Silverstream thought after shifting her legs and cringing a bit at how sticky and nearly-crusty the motion felt, maybe a shower first. Then bed. Definitely then bed.

La Petite Mort De Soi

Ocellus was having the most wonderful dream.

She couldn’t quite recall how it had started. She remembered flopping down onto Smolder’s chest, sinking into her cinnamon-y scent and sweat-dappled chest, being half-led and half-carried down the hall and into one of the bathrooms. Things started getting fuzzy after that — she was pretty sure Smolder had helped her clean up, and was absolutely sure it had involved the dragon hugging her from behind, soapy hands roaming over her breasts and across her belly, softly around her thighs and sometimes firmly between them.

They might’ve morphed again — they remembered Smolder fondling them for a bit, then fingering, and different flavors of pleasure from each slippery motion. They remembered the heat of the water, and of Smolder’s breath on their neck, and of her lips against theirs, slow and passionate and comforting like a quilt on a cold winter night.

And then… they weren’t sure. Maybe they’d gone to bed. Maybe they hadn’t. Maybe in a different life, Ocellus might’ve wondered whether they were dreaming at all, or whether this was just another incredible moment in a night stuffed full of them. But they knew better, for good reasons and not so good ones.

When she was young, changelings hadn’t dreamed at all. That part of themselves was locked away, along with so many other things, by ignorance and fear and a lifetime of being told that those two things were all any changeling would ever amount to.

The first night after they all changed, Ocellus had woken up shouting and soaked in sweat, the awful afterimage of her very first nightmare still superimposed into the blackness she saw when she tried to blink away her tears. She hadn’t slept the rest of that night or all of the next, unsure which world was real and which wasn’t, terrified of getting lost in the false one without even realizing it.

But with time, and patience, and help from the family she’d formed at home and the one she’d found at school, she’d learned how to live in the real world and live through the one in her dreams — and eventually, even control it. With practice, and plenty of inspiration, she could make her dreams quite the opposite of nightmares, neither beginning nor ending but simply starting right where things got good.

And that was how Ocellus knew she was dreaming — because she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten back out into the living room, or how all her friends had gotten there too, or how she’d managed a morph so small that they all towered over her, eight and nine feet tall compared to maybe three for her. But it didn’t need to be real to feel amazing, to set her heart hammering and her gut fluttering and her pussy — her cock — every part of her achingly, breath-stealingly aroused.

Ocellus was in Smolder’s lap, or rather in Smolder’s clutches. The dragon’s hands — more like claws, really — wrapped fully around them, stacked one atop the other, squeezing possessively and vibrating with every rumbling growl Smolder emitted as she leered down at them. Ocellus tried to meet her eyes, but couldn’t stay focused for too long — kept losing her concentration as one of Smolder’s fingers rubbed both her nipples at once, and another tremendous digit swirled between her legs and along the underside of her cock.

Smolder turned them around, and Ocellus found something else to distract themself with: the tip of Sandbar’s cock bobbing in front of them, his lower head the size of their upper one, his shaft nearly as wide as their torso. They opened their mouth helplessly, begging for something impossible to happen — and it did. Sandbar’s tip squeezed past their lips, his pre soaking their tongue, and their neck and chest and whole entire body stretched as his length slid smoothly into their throat and painlessly down to somewhere in their throbbing belly.

Between their legs, they felt more pressure — a second monstrous cock, big enough to bump against both their thighs at once as it prodded into their gushing snatch. It felt like Gallus, pointed at the tip and ridged where his head transitioned into his shaft. It felt like it couldn’t fit inside a train carriage, let alone a needy, slutty, two-foot-tall changeling.

But Ocellus needn’t have worried. As easily as if she were made of rubber, she felt herself expand again as Gallus penetrated her, imaginary organs rearranging just so he could use every inch of her twitching body for his own gargantuan pleasure. She couldn’t imagine herself really moaning in this position, so she gurgled instead, her wings buzzing behind her, her cock — tiny by comparison, practically non-existent — bouncing in submissive delight.

They weren’t gentle with her. They didn’t need to be. Sandbar and Gallus used Ocellus like the toy she wanted to be for them, sawing in and out with near-violent speed, ruining her for any purpose other than the pleasure of creatures as big and strong as the two of them. She gurgled again, happily, deliriously. Smolder’s claws were still around her — stroking up and down, jerking both boys off inside her, driving them deeper inside until their tips smushed together near where her ribs were supposed to be.

Ocellus imagined only one way this could get better, and then, of course, it did. Through bleary eyes, she saw Silverstream and Yona on either side of Sandbar, each stroking a stiff shaft the size of a beer can — no, a stack of six cans together — no, six whole kegs — between their legs. Ocellus couldn’t see their faces. She imagined them leering down at her just like Smolder surely was, just like Sandbar and Gallus and every creature in the world with a hint of desire that teeny tiny Ocellus — under a foot tall, still shrinking — could in any way satisfy.

The changeling felt a throb inside them, felt their destroyed cunt widen another foot as Gallus’ shaft swelled inside them — and then the deluge began. Rivers, lakes, oceans of jizz pooled inside them, filling them almost instantly, building up more and more until their belly ballooned out underneath them to the size of a melon, then a beach ball, then a whole parade float and beyond.

Sandbar hilted himself in their throat, pulsing and shuddering as he added to the flood. Cell’s arms and legs spread farther apart with every shot of his gut-bursting load, and soon their body were more cum than flesh, distended into a warm and wobbling blimp built solely to contain endless and ever-growing love.

They didn’t see Silver and Yona cum, just felt it: twin fountains of steaming spunk spraying onto them, covering their back like a blanket, soaking and then submerging their face in a pure-white flood. It was all over them, all around them, rising, shuddering, closer and closer to finally–

And then Ocellus woke up.

She drifted up from unreality slowly, fighting it the whole way, squeezing her eyes shut and wrinkling her nose and hoping against hope for just ten more seconds of mindless fantasy. She’d been so close, and still was — but as consciousness won out, the throbbing in her core faded into shudders, and the slickness between her thighs began to feel chilly rather than mind-breakingly hot.

Dammit. Every time, her dreams ended too early. She still hadn’t figured that part out, even with lots of practice.

It wasn’t all bad, at least. Smolder was with her in the real world too, regular-sized but still soft and strong and cinnamon-scented, with her arm around Ocellus’ shoulders and her chest serving as a warm and wonderful pillow. Ocellus felt the dragon’s arm lift away from her back, and then her hand against her frill, stroking gently, rising a bit with her chest as she sighed.

“Nice dream?” Smolder whispered. She was smiling. Ocellus could tell from her tone, and from the way her fingertips brushed lovingly over her scalp.

“Mmmm,” Ocellus quietly hummed back. It was enough of an answer to get a little chuckle out of Smolder, and another delightful stroke of her fingers.

“Well, don’t stay up on my account,” Smolder murmured.

Ocellus didn’t need to be told twice. They were already nodding off again, and every second that passed — the deeper Smolder’s heavenly scent burrowed into their brain — drew them closer back to dreamland. Hopefully right back to where they’d left off. They could already picture themselves laid out on a sun-beaten rock, swathed in the shadow of a mountain-sized orange monster, shivering with glee as the Dragon Lord Smolder pointed her godly, lust-filled gaze down towards them…

They were teetering on the edge of oblivion, about to tip all the way over, when they heard another voice somewhere above them.

“You still awake?”

Gallus’ voice was barely audible — if he’d spoken a few seconds later, Ocellus would’ve slept right through it. But he hadn’t, so she didn’t, and now she couldn’t help but eavesdrop from behind her eyelids.

“Not for long,” Smolder whispered, so the vibration of her voice wouldn’t disturb the changeling on top of her. Too late for that, but very sweet nonetheless. “Cell was dreaming. Feels like a good one.”

“I bet,” Gallus chuckled. Ocellus felt a puff of air brush over her forehead. Gallus must’ve looked down at her, smiled as he let out that satisfied noise. Just barely, she suppressed a shudder. She wouldn’t mind feeling his breath on her face again, or his hands creeping over the sheets towards her hips, or anything else that might follow either of those.

But if Ocellus had a secret thing for being woken up by someone having their way with them, Silverstream surely didn’t. And when Ocellus took a chance and cracked her eyes open, she could see that was who was lying fast asleep against Gallus’ other side, snuggled deep into a pillow with her arm thrown lazily over the griffon’s stomach.

Buying a Chrysalian King bed was such a good investment, Ocellus thought for the umpteenth time. The four of them fit in it comfortably with room for Yona and Smolder if they’d squeezed a bit, and if the pair hadn’t retired to their own bedroom after the night’s main event had ended. Ocellus did enjoy a good cuddle pile — especially when she got to be the thoroughly-creamed filling in the middle.

“Gallus?”

Smolder was whispering again, breaking what Ocellus hadn’t really realized was a fairly long silence. They’d already shut their eyes again, so they only heard rather than saw Gallus shift slightly to look Smolder’s way, moving delicately under Silver just like Smolder did under Cell.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Smolder sighed, barely. To anyone else, it would’ve just sounded like a normal breath, but Ocellus could feel an ethereal tingle of tension underneath it — a cap on a much bigger emotion that, they realized as Smolder gently squeezed their shoulder, had been ready to bubble out from under it for a while now.

“This can’t last forever,” Smolder said.

For a moment, Gallus didn’t seem to know what to say. Ocellus did — she just didn’t want to say it. This wasn’t a conversation she was supposed to hear, and in the end Gallus said the same thing she would’ve anyway.

“I know,” he murmured.

“I want it to,” Smolder whispered, the most vital word reverberating between her ribs and rumbling inside Cell’s head atop them. “But…”

“I know,” Gallus replied. It wasn’t a question, but Smolder answered it anyway — not with her words but with her hand around Cell’s shoulder, and her shift under the sheets to get closer to Gallus, and her silence that echoed around the dark room and through the entire apartment.

Nothing could last forever. It was what Ocellus had told herself when she was young, when all it seemed like a changeling could ever aspire to be was a spy, a liar, a thief of love they would never earn or deserve. It was what she’d told herself when she’d been led into her new school after the change, trembling from head to toe, absolutely positive that she’d end her time there as friendless and terrified as she’d began.

It was what she’d repeated inside her head like a mantra with every week and month that passed, with every new friend she made and extraordinary experience she had with them, with every spark of love she was given freely and every momentary hollow space those sparks opened up inside her. She knew she’d earned it, that she deserved it… that Ocellus did, anyway. But the longer she spent away from home, the less she felt like Ocellus, and the less Ocellus felt like her, and the more that hollowness seemed to grow until it tainted every moment of every day with an undefinable pallor of wrongness.

She’d spoken about it with school counselors, chatted about it with commiserating classmates, puzzled over it and obsessed over it and nearly given up on ever knowing exactly what it was, until suddenly she understood it more clearly than anything before in her life. Until one day, hanging out with Smolder after classes at college, she’d cracked a joke about she probably wouldn’t need to study for an upcoming test, and Smolder had laughed and called her bluff: “Girl, please, you’d study for a magazine quiz about which boy band member you are.”

Ocellus had laughed back, then fallen silent, then sunk into the couch and stared at the wall as whatever words Smolder said next dissolved beneath the echo of the ones she’d said before: “Girl please, girl please, girl please.” At some point, Smolder had noticed Ocellus wasn’t listening, gotten her attention, asked her if she was okay.

And it had just shot out of her, the thing she’d never acknowledged but always thought, never understood but always known, the scariest six words she’d ever say aloud:

“I don’t think I’m a girl.”

The moment she’d said it, primal terror had ripped through her, then indescribable relief, then a dizzying mish-mash of both — and then she’d felt Smolder sit down next to her, wrap her arm around her shoulder, pull her in for a gentle hug that didn’t need to say anything other than what it did, which was “I’m still here.”

“What do you think?” Smolder had asked her, her tone softer than any Ocellus had ever before heard from her. And Ocellus — shaking, out of breath, feeling like she’d just jumped off a cliff without knowing whether her parachute would open before she hit the ground — had told her the only truth she had to tell:

“I don’t know.”

Even now, Ocellus still wasn’t totally sure. It changed by the day, sometimes by the moment: “she” would fit best, then “they”, then back and forth again. She’d been mortified about it at first, still thinking like an old changeling would, part of her still believing that things just had to be one way or the other, and you couldn’t be both or neither or something else altogether.

It was their friends who had convinced them otherwise, who not only still loved but treasured the real Ocellus, and most of all it was Smolder who had listened as they thought aloud, hugged them on days when those thoughts became too much to think through, been the first creature in the world to see them naked and told them — love in her gaze, lust in her curling lips and tongue — that they were perfect exactly the way they were.

Things had moved kind of quickly after that. Ocellus had sensed the tension between Smolder and Gallus, put two and two together, suggested in a moment of wine-enhanced courage one night that, y’know, if he wanted to and she wanted to, they wouldn’t mind being between them. And then Silverstream had joined in a few nights later, and Yona and Sandbar both after that, and pretty soon they’d needed to get organized just to make sure everybody got time with everybody else.

And that was how Movie Night began: a creative compromise that quickly became a tradition, and such an eagerly anticipated one that they all often stayed totally celibate outside of it, saving their energy and enthusiasm for a single explosion of passion at week’s end. Well, they tried to save it, anyway. Ocellus could be patient about a lot of things, but sex wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t her fault her friends were hot, or that well-loved changelings had libidos like bunnies in springtime.

“Hey.”

It was Gallus again. Ocellus felt Smolder twitch as his free hand found the dragon’s and wrapped around it.

“It doesn’t matter how long this lasts,” he whispered. “It’s good right now.”

“I know,” Smolder said. What she didn’t say was what they all knew she thought about sometimes: the future, years and decades and maybe centuries forward, when most mortal creatures would’ve gone to the next life and left a few other creatures behind. Nothing could last forever, but with care and a bit of luck, dragons could get pretty close — and griffons, ponies, yaks and hippogriffs and changelings couldn’t.

Smolder tried not to think about it. Ocellus tried to help when her brain forced her to anyway. But Gallus was better at it than Cell was. He — with his bright-blue plumage and flexible preferences, and his tender heart once hardened by what he’d once called his family — knew better than any of them what being alone really felt like.

“No, listen,” he went on. “You see Cell there? They love you. And if they had a million years or a single day left to spend with you, they’d love you the same way.” He shifted again. “Silver here? She loves you. Yona loves you, Sandbar loves you…”

“You love me?” Smolder wryly interjected.

“Despite your best efforts, yes,” Gallus said through a chuckle. “That’s all life is: loving creatures and things and all of everything, one moment at a time. And when those moments end, there’ll be new ones, and memories of old ones. All we can do is enjoy the ride.”

“Phrasing,” Smolder murmured.

“You’re insufferable,” Gallus replied.

Gallus raised his hand and rested the back of it against Smolder’s belly, knuckles bumping gently against the tips of Cell’s fingers. Ocellus felt them both lean towards one another, and heard their lips meet and stay together.

She smiled, and chanced another look up. She couldn’t see much beyond the bottoms of their chins, but she could see and hear and feel the comforted hum vibrating in Smolder’s throat, and the happy distant purr emanating from Gallus’.

She could also see Silverstream looking at her through half-lidded eyes, tucked up against Gallus’ neck so her head was pressed right against the rumbling in his chest. The hippogriff smiled across the sheets at Ocellus, who winked back. Then they both closed their eyes, keeping their secret to themselves.

“I know you’re awake, Cell,” Smolder said.

Or not.

“No‘m not,” Ocellus mumbled. “Havin’ a good dream.”

“I bet,” Smolder shot back. Ocellus could tell she was smirking, from her tone and from how her lips felt when she pressed them softly into their forehead. “Better get back to it. Got a busy day tomorrow.”

Ocellus sighed, snuggled in closer, and bit their lip in anticipation. They knew nobody in the apartment had any real plans tomorrow, which meant they could stay in bed all day if they wanted to. Maybe their friends would too. Maybe it’d be like just they’d dreamed. Maybe it’d feel so good they’d want it to last forever.

“‘Cause you’ve got laundry to do.”

Or not.

“Fuck,” Ocellus muttered, right before she fell back asleep.

Author's Note

Watching It For the Plot

Piranhacane 3 was a terrible film, and that was exactly why Gallus loved it so much.

Or, well, maybe “love” was the wrong word. He appreciated it, rather, for what it was: a series of two-dimensional images depicting one-dimensional characters, strung together into what had been a three-dimensional motion picture event when it first came out in theaters. In other words, it was the quintessential crappy movie: flashy and gory enough to be titillating, but cheesy enough that you could zone out for most of its runtime and really not miss anything important.

He’d tried to pay attention — sort of like how he tried to focus on the lecturer in his Microecon class, and not on how the gap between the hard back and lumpy seat of cheap college classroom chairs perfectly framed Silverstream’s ass in front of him, like it was a viewscreen built to fit two pillowy denim-wrapped cheeks and absolutely nothing else.

On the other hand, that was what movies like this were made for: focusing on anything but the main event. They were made for teenagers making out in the theater’s back row, frat brothers passing a bowl around after a party, or — in his case — sharing a sectional couch with his five housemates on a Friday night, knocking back drinks and enjoying what was quickly becoming his favorite weekly tradition.

He was in the middle of said couch tonight, with a perfect view of the TV that he’d at least had his eyes pointed towards for most of the evening. His attention, though, had more often shifted to the right or left: to Yona and Sandbar spooning next to one armrest, or to Smolder flopped over the other with her trademark cocktail — Firebolt cinnamon whiskey and Pepper M.D., light ice and even lighter pours of mixer as the night went on — propped against her prodigious hips, dripping condensation onto her comfy-looking cargo shorts.

Occasionally, he’d noticed Silverstream shift in place between him and Smolder, legs criss-crossed around some fruity concoction she made with vodka, bitters, and enough sugar to stop a normal hippogriff’s heart. But more than anyone else, he’d been distracted by the little changeling in an off-shoulder blouse slotted between Silver and him, tipsy off one glass of wine, sinking ever deeper into the crevice between catty-cornered couch sections with every irreverent scene that played in front of her.

Most of the time, Ocellus was the most patient creature Gallus had ever met, whether she was tutoring younger students after classes or doing prep work for the various clubs she’d joined or, more often, founded on campus. It was one of his favorite things about her, right up there with how she always smelled a little bit like lavender and the way she thoughtlessly bit the corner of her bottom lip whenever she was concentrating really hard.

Tonight, though, Ocellus had been anything but patient. She’d started squirming almost as soon as Gallus had hit “Play” on Webflix, and with every minute that passed, she’d grown more and more restless, and snuggled deeper and deeper into the side of the griffon next to her — nuzzling into his shoulder, playing with his bottom shirt button, slipping her fingers through the belt loops of his slacks and twisting in her seat until the hand he’d thrown across her shoulders was cupped around her butt.

He’d ignored her, of course, as he always did. That was part of the tradition, after all: the movie came first, no matter what. Even if every second that ticked by left a natural-born empath like Ocellus positively marinating in one of the most intense kinds of emotional energy there was: controlled, contained, ever-increasing desire.

Everyone else felt it too, if not quite so strongly, and they’d started showing it around the third act: a brush of Smolder’s foot against Silver’s thigh here, a flick of Sandbar’s hand under Yona’s spaghetti-strap top there, and for Gallus an occasional flexing and tensing of each of his fingers in succession, just enough to keep them from slamming down and squeezing until the changeling beside him squealed.

The waiting was the worst part, but also the best. It was torture sitting here for 90 minutes, wound up like an overtuned guitar, pretending not to feel a thing — but it made the rest of the night, the release, feel so much better.

Finally, he got his reprieve: with a shrill scream from the film’s bloodied, doomed heroine, the screen cut to black, and the credits started to roll. Gallus set his empty beer bottle down on the coffee table in front of him, glanced at the remote next to his coaster, almost picked it up, and then thought better of it. White text on an almost-black screen actually made for pretty decent lighting — he could see the outlines of bodies around him, and not much else. He’d have to feel his way forward instead.

“So,” he said as he leaned back into the couch, turning his head so he could catch Ocellus’ just-visible eye right as he pressed his palm into the supple flesh beneath their shorts. “What’d ya think of the movie, Cell?”

Ocellus blinked at him, opened their mouth as if to answer, and then didn’t. Gallus felt their weight shift and then land again as they threw herself onto him — straddling him at the waist, flattening themself against his chest, grabbing his face with both hands so they knew where their lips could come crashing down with a plaintive, possessive moan.

They were a messy kisser, and always had been as far as Gallus knew. Even Smolder could be coaxed sometimes into taking things slow, enjoying the moment rather than the raw sensations, but Ocellus? Ocellus overwhelmed you, laced their hands through your crest and soaked your whole face and pulled you so close it was like they wanted to meld your body chemically into theirs, so that you – once you got your bearings – could take control and overwhelm them.

And that was what Gallus did. He wrapped his hands around Ocellus’ midsection — just under her ribs, where her dainty form tapered so much his fingertips almost met at her waist — and pulled her down onto him, so she could feel exactly how impatient he’d been too. She whimpered into his mouth as his shaft rubbed against her, and she shifted away from his mouth so she could sink deeper into his embrace, hips haphazardly jerking as she ground herself up and down his rigid length.

Since he had a second to spare, Gallus glanced at both ends of the couch, already knowing exactly what he’d see. To his right, Yona had her head turned so she could kiss Sandbar hungrily and grind her ass into his crotch all at once, groaning with satisfaction every time his hand — slipped under her shirt up to the elbow — kneaded into her breast. To his left, Smolder and Silverstream were in more or less the same position, albeit up on their knees and with Silverstream facing forward, eyes squeezed shut in bliss as Smolder — topless already –- nibbled on her shoulder and squeezed both her tits over her wrinkled T-shirt.

A year ago, he might’ve been shocked by the scene, maybe even horrified. Now, though, he just smiled, tilted Ocellus’ chin up towards his with an authoritative thumb, and kissed them again. The movie was over now — and that meant the real show could begin.

For a couple minutes, he just let himself get lost in sensation: in Ocellus’ lips against his, her weight in his lap, her quivering body yielding to his every touch. As he ran his hands up and down her sides, she put her own to work on his shirt, undoing button after button until there was nothing blocking her fingers from rubbing over his chest and exploring around his back to where his wings and spine met.

The scent of lavender filled his nose, sinking deeper into his brain with every breath, and when he felt Ocellus’ tongue poke into his teeth, he pushed it back into her mouth with his own, relishing in the happy little noises he drew out of her throat. Her legs twitched as he shifted his hips, his trapped head poking into the humid heat between her thighs — a few layers of fabric all that stopped him from slipping inside her.

He could’ve changed that at any moment. Part of him ached to — his hands tingled against Ocellus’ belly, slowly creeping lower, folding the waistband of their shorts over so he could gently pinch the bony edges of their hips.

But for now, he forced himself to lift one hand and wrap it around their calf, tugging pointedly until they swung it over him and swiveled in place. They ended up seated sideways in his lap, both legs arched over his thigh, his steady hand behind their neck the only thing keeping them from tumbling onto the floor.

Ocellus looked up at him, faceted blue eyes half-lidded, chest heaving and already flushed. “Gallus…” she whispered. “Please…”

He let his free hand come to rest on her sternum, drumming his fingers against her collarbone, peeling the top of her blouse away from the soft, warm skin underneath. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath her top, or under her shorts for that matter. He’d been able to tell from the moment she sat down next to him, and been reminded with every touch the two had shared for the last ninety minutes. It had made the wait for this moment excruciating — and he was about to make sure she knew it.

“Please what?” he murmured down to her.

“Mmm…”

Ocellus’ hand darted towards their groin, surely so they could shimmy out of their shorts and get things really moving. Gallus caught their wrist mid-motion and gently pulled it back towards their chest, where it gripped their breast instinctively as they let out a frustrated grunt.

“I want you…” they said, eyes squeezed shut, contorted face a wordless plea for him to do anything and everything with them they wanted.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, tone husky enough to send a shudder down the little ling’s spine. Stars, he loved it when she felt like this: petite in every possible sense, barely five feet tall and so light she might break if you were as rough with her as she wanted. She was beautiful at any height, and in any form she felt like taking on a given day — but when she was like this, when she fit in his lap and barely fit any other part of him, she was just perfect.

“I…” Ocellus started to say, and then she trailed off as Gallus hooked his finger under her blouse and tugged it down, until she had no choice but to free one arm and then the other so the whole top could gather in a wrinkled pile at her waist. Her breasts were like the rest of her: small and soft and sweet as Silver’s cocktail, the perfect size for his hand to press into and wrap around and squeeze.

She moaned, and then moaned again as he switched from her left breast to her right, as he rolled her nipple between his fingers and then pressed the pad of his thumb into it. She slipped her own thumb under her waistband, and Gallus nudged it away again, this time leaving his hand in its place.

“I wanna hear it,” he crooned, slipping one finger after another an inch into her shorts, feeling her jolt with every tender touch. “I wanna hear you.”

Ocellus tried to obey him, but for the moment, words were beyond them. All they could manage was mumbled snatches of sentences and haggard gasps of air, and more lovely little twitches as his fingers crept further down their pelvis. One row of his knuckles vanished from view, then two fingers, then almost his entire hand — and finally, they told him what they wanted.

“T-Touch me…”

So he did — as lightly as he could, with the tip of a single finger, right on the little bud usually hidden beneath petite, perfect petals. They were soaked, searing-hot, and as he rubbed around their clit in a soft, lazy circle, they grit their teeth and hunched forward in his lap, clutching his opened shirt with one hand and clapping their mouth shut with the other.

“Like this?” he asked her, knowing the answer, thrumming with a need to hear her repeat it. Ocellus squeaked, nodded, and convulsed as his hand slid lower, as he cupped his fingers around her mound and let one rest over her entrance, pressing into her, almost slipping inside. The hand she’d had over her mouth slammed into his knee, and the one that had been knotted into his shirt fumbled around in his lap, scrabbled for purchase on his pants button, dove beneath it once it was undone until her fingers found his cock and clamped around it.

“You want me to fuck you?” Gallus sighed. One knuckle crept inside her, then two, then his whole finger — joined quickly by a second — all the way up to his palm, pushing slowly in and pulling languidly back out until they landed on the ribbed spot in her core that made her go rigid from head to curling toes. “You want me to make you mine?”

“Y-Y… y-y-ye…”

He cut them off with a flex of his arm, pulling them into his chest so they could answer with their lips instead of their lungs. They kissed his neck fervently, desperately, rubbed their thumb under the head of his dick and quaked in his grip and grunted, groaned, squealed louder and louder with every beckoning stroke of his fingers until, all at once, the tension broke.

Their cunt clenched around his knuckles. Slick fluid drenched his palm. Ocellus went stiff, then slack, then completely limp in Gallus’ lap, slumping against his shoulder, their final ecstatic yelp still reverberating through his gut. Gallus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in – then, chuckling, he kissed Ocellus’ forehead right under their horn.

“You’re doing laundry again,” he informed her. In response, she whined into his chest, gave his cock another squeeze, and accepted her fate. Not that she wasn’t used to it by now. Laundry duty going to the first housemate to finish was another part of the tradition — and while the movie always came first, Ocellus almost always came second.

Gallus didn’t have to look around to confirm she’d “won,” but he did anyway just to see how the rest of their friends were getting along. Yona and Sandbar were fully nude, the former splayed out on the couch with her bottom half draped over an ottoman, and the latter kneeling beneath her legs and — if her expression was anything to go by — doing downright magical things between them. He couldn’t see either Silver or Smolder’s faces, but he could tell they were pressed together near the couch’s armrest, and the view he did have of them — Silver’s glistening pussy on full display, Smolder’s knee grinding into it — didn’t exactly suck.

He could’ve sat there and watched them go for hours, but he knew he didn’t need to. He loved all his friends, and they loved him, and they had a lot of time to show and share that love before the night was over. For now, he could focus on Ocellus, and on how their breathing was starting to slow and their hold on his dick was getting more insistent.

He leaned down to kiss her, and she leaned up to meet him, miles more relaxed than she’d been a few minutes before. When he slid his fingers out of her and lifted them towards her face, there was no point counting knuckles — eyes closed and face drained of stress, she opened her mouth and enveloped them all at once, suckling down every drop of her essence, flicking her tongue against his fingertips so he knew exactly what she wanted to be doing instead.

With a grin, Gallus gently pulled his hand free and used it to tug her shirt and shorts down past her knees so she could kick free of them completely. She returned the favor as best she could, unzipping his pants and lifting herself off him just long enough for him to shimmy the garment down over his ankles.

She settled down back onto him, and for the first time that night her pussy grazed over his shaft with absolutely nothing between them. A sigh shot out of both their throats, and Gallus felt a shudder roll down Ocellus’ spine — then he nudged her forward a bit, leading her off the couch and onto her knees, hooking his hand around her head so he could guide her gently, firmly, finally into slipping his cock past her eagerly parted lips and into the warmth of her waiting mouth.

Ocellus moaned in satisfaction as Gallus’ tip reached their throat, and Gallus grunted as he settled back into the couch, sparks of bliss flitting down his shaft and through the base of his tail. There was no doubt about it: this tradition was by far the best one he’d ever been part of.

Maybe he’d pick a better movie next time, though. Something with a plot to it, at least.