Endurance training
This is a Slit Day illustrated story collaboration
Description: Recently returned to the tribe of his upbringing, Elargar is sent on a menial errand by his former master, only to find a drake in dire need of training in the ways of the spear.
The characters in this story belong to me and Secret Cave
Artwork done by The_secret_cave: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/thesecretcave/
***Endurance Training***
Elargar's claws toyed with the bit of string tying up the mouth of the bundle, fraying it further with each step that carried him to Sharanna's Falls. The scavengers deserved its contents more than whoever Undrethyl carefully packed this food for. At least they possessed the honesty of their survival instinct, whereas the Stillpine drakes best adapted to suit their current circumstances.
They not only swelled their numbers with so-called apprentices from the surrounding tribes and assimilated their cultures, but adopted even the comforts of questionable usefulness, such as well-equipped barns and stables to shower mounts with lavish attention. An intriguing--even delightful experience-- for Swiftpaw, yet a fist-clenching one for him at the thought of another's hands laid on his truest friend and companion.
"That is Undrethyl. Rescuing others from their bleak fate. Shouldn't surprise me that he's found another pet..." The drake's teeth pressed tight against each other to seal further thoughts. Only raving lunatics spoke to the wind. Those, and drakes too used to the warmth of their mounts between their legs. What outlandish custom forbade the presence of mounts in a few select areas? Couldn't he comply with them by asking Swiftpaw to accompany him for this stretch of the road, then remain in the woods sheltering the waterfall in their embrace?
The mere notion tightened Elargar's already fretting stomach, his sumptuous tail ruffled with unreasonable frustrations he knew to be false for the most part. Several years had passed since he had last been in this village, not the one of his birth, but that of his conquerors, a history that only Undrethyl still dared mention out of courtesy for his child.
Apprentice, actually, to best use the most fitting term of the present times. Was this new drake an apprentice himself? Plucked from a home his young mind no longer recalled but for what others had told him of it?
Elargar cared little, if at all, for that. Though the curiosity--and even longing at times--to know his blood parents nudged him the wrong way at times, his now matured insight had led to the acceptance and forgiveness of Undrethyl for his role in it. After all, it would have been highly hypocritical of a mercenary to think less of a once renowned warrior burdened with the orders of others.
At least said warrior had laid his spear to rest and took a new craft to repent for past deeds, whereas Elargar still favored the life, if only because it kept him and Swiftpaw ever close.
His mount would have quieted his roiling thoughts. Like him, the Pinestalker did the bidding of another, always serving, always loyal, relishing his purpose, that of enriching the lives of others. Though fiercely intelligent, the species fared ill within a tribe's society if not put to task or paired with a drake, loathing aimlessness more than they yearned to roam the woods free, like their kind had once did.
Such troubles dwelled in the mind of Elargar too, ever restless when given ample time to ponder on matters only the thrill of battle could hope to vanquish. No other drakes rose in his path, for only a select few, the uninitiated or the despondent, sought the secluded waters to wash themselves off the heaviness of their burdensome existence. Elargar's thoughts once again sailed to Undrethyl's new apprentice, preferring to paint him target and see unwanted worries flee his heavy temples.
Should he simply hand him the food? Loiter for a moment? Perhaps even...impart a lesson or two upon him? It depended on what he found, of course, for if there was one type Elargar seldom suffered, that had to be the lethargic drake, indifferent to his fate and its outcome.
The tranquil murmur of the thin curtains of water slipping down the several ledges encircling the alcove where the drake trained dwarfed the hiss of his sweeping warstaff. More interested in the bearer than on the worn oaken stave, Elargar paused behind a rise, the dark top of his head well concealed by the earthen colors of the dripping walls and cliffs. The young drake's patterns intrigued him, bearing the look of thin rain clouds dispersing into the vermilion tone of a setting sun. Was it paint? Or birth markings? From his distance, he couldn't quite discern, suggestive as the stripes adorning his calves and shoulders looked.
Much as he wanted to remain locked in that dour, simple, impassive mood that would see him back to his Swiftpaw posthaste, Elargar found it impossible to subdue a chuckle at how the drake's long ears flopped around in unison with his swings, followed by the two sets of little fins sprouting from the end of his cheeks. He had the proper constitution for a spear wielder. Lean, strong, lithe, his speed and reaction to the pace set by the pillar of water he chose to battle promised to forge him into worthy combatant, but his unrefined technique begged to differ.
Beginners shouldn't encumber themselves with added weight, like the orange drake did to bolster the strength and endurance of his arms. They needed to feel the flow of their weapon of choice; to ease into its pace, learn from its limitations, and allow it to become an extension of their limiting arms. True, the rocks of varying sizes crudely wrapped to his forearms with dried vine strings compensated for the lack of a worthy adversary, adding an extra layer of difficulty to what Elargar divined to be Undrethyl's First Flow. Whoever this drake was his, he somehow earned his father's admiration to impart his technique upon him, one which only two drakes alive knew of.
The snarl etched upon Elargar's muzzle expressed but a fraction of the animosity boiling within him. Was this supposed to be his replacement? This bumbling, sluggish, panting mess who aimed only as far as it was comfortable to his already fatigued arms? He shamed Undrethyl's teaching and worse, sullied his efforts as an apprentice himself, one who embraced the pain of training rather than let it consume him.
Deep breath. Hold it in. Exhale. Let the buzz of rushing water in. Allow it to cleanse and carry away the grime of past prejudice, for he knew nothing of the drake and understood Undrethyl's motives even less. When adequately soothed, greet the stranger.
Elargar's heart jumped in his chest higher than that of the orange drake when their eyes met, the spray accentuating his bristled nape.
"I--I could have hit you! I'm sorry!"
"You missed me. By a wide berth, too," the furred drake noted, eyes steering to the end of the staff that stood more than an arm's length away from him. "But I welcome you to try."
The orange one's flabby ears sank at the challenge, fins following suit. "I'm...not a warrior. Not yet. Merely an--"
"Apprentice," Elargar added, studying him as he stepped into the shallow pond accumulated in the alcove, the gentle slanting allowing it to slither down the sides without pooling up higher than his toes. "We both seem to share the same master of spears."
The stranger's golden eyes beamed with sudden understanding. "Ooooh, so you're him! You're his son! Though..." he immediately set aside the sparring stave as if it singed his unworthy fingers. "I forgot how he called you..."
The way he fondled the tip of a downcast ear while agitated lifted Elargar from his dejected state somewhat. This whelp was no more than a lost soul clinging to whoever showed him kindness, taking up this craft solely to conjure pretext to stay under Undrethyl's roof. He lacked the discipline, the willpower, and most importantly, the fortitude required of someone required to claim lives, if needed be. No drake who cringed in fear at hurting their visitor with a blunt staff could ever hope to be elevated above their humble, naked status.
"I'm Elargar. I'm a mercenary," he put it in the simplest and shortest of ways, enough to explain his long absence while adding context to it at the same time. "And if you lived with Undrethyl but for a day, you'd understand how he loathes idle paws."
"He sent you here...for me?" The drake eyed the outstretched bundle, then settled his attention on the two spears resting on his back, one bearing a sharpened stone tip adorned with two feathers, the other a far rarer and more elegant weapon that demanded respect. "That other spear, it's--"
"I'll also oversee your training, if only for a moment," Elargar said, only for his jaws to firmly lock a second later. Fool! Why let pride delay his return to Swiftpaw?!
"My...training?" the hesitant drake almost dropped his food from his timid hands, tail arching in fright. "I'm...I'm not really..."
"No, you aren't," Elargar put it in the bluntest of forms, deflating his companion's verve. Something about his expressive eyebrows shrinking in thought, or his eyes losing their fire, stirred a gnawing feeling of emptiness inside Elargar, one that refused to vanish no matter how bad he tried to shrug it off.
"But you can be, if given proper guidance. You can eat later," he snatched the bundle back from him, impaling its top into the tip of his common spear, settling it on a ledge well outside of anyone's reach. "Right now, I wish you show me what gave you the right to be here, in this consecrated place."
To bolster courage, Elargar tossed him his other, far more precious and elegant spear, the one he gawked at like an entranced magpie. The drake's bumbling paws fingered its swirling shaft, only for it to slip past his unsteady grasp and land into the water with a sound as subtle as its flowing design.
"Pfft, you're not a wind user," Elargar scoffed at his unnecessary panic--or maybe reverence with a tool designed to take lives, regardless of its magnificent beauty. "It wouldn't feel any more different to you than the stick you waved about like a stable drake. Now, pick it up, and let it steel your confidence."
"I...I don't want to..." a placid, almost submissive whine crept out of the drake's doubtful muzzle. "It's not for the likes of me!"
"Pick it up," Elargar insisted, this time on a graver tone. "For if I do, I'll carve this place into a lake and you alongside with it."
The drake instantly paled, leaping away from the spear, tail curled so far between his legs it reached his very chest. Though Elargar believed such superstition to be ballad material only, certain impressionable drakes still believed the magic channeled into such weapons to not only preserve its full strength, but be amplified a hundred fold by them.
And even so, wind just wouldn't cut through rock like the ones tied around the orange drake's arms, let alone punch holes into the enduring, jagged cliffs of a waterfall not even the rapids could hope to smoothen.
"There," the timid drake somehow found the courage to lift Elargar's prestigious spear, pointing it slightly to the side, as if expecting it to shoot pockets of concentrated wind. "What do I do with it?"
"Attempt to cut through this piece of useless wood and disarm me," Elargar seized the training staff, whirling it to test its balance and speed, finding it satisfactory for the task at hand. "If you manage to draw blood, I'll not only give your food back, but I'll abstain from taking my well-deserved half for the trouble."
"You can have it without any of this...well, this," the drake hefted his new spear, weighing it, gauging its deadly potential. When bestowed with one of those rare weapons only a few dozen drakes in each tribe got to hold, let alone wield one, even the flimsiest and least coordinated of fighters couldn't help but be overcome by its ancient force, pushing them to at least try it. "I'm used to sharing."
"Perhaps you might share your name then, along with those ridiculous weights. Seems like you can use all the advantage you can get."
Elargar shifted into the flowing stance of the serpent style, spear arm set to his back to prevent the drake from reading his intentions.
"I'm Istaryl. Gratitude for--"
His words ended in a shocked yelp as he found his paws swept from underneath him to crash into the ankle-deep water.
"First lesson. Never drop your guard."
"I...we didn't even--"
Elargar silenced his unworthy lips by pressing the end of his staff against them. "Are you going to talk your way out of it? Or prove yourself capable?"
Istaryl's sweeping strike was unexpected, but he misjudged the distance, the tip of his blade sailing through humid air only.
"Good. An opponent whose mouth gets ahead of him has to be punished severely for his error."
"Then you deserve ample punishment!"
Istaryl recovered his footing much swifter than Elargar gave him credit for, challenging him not with rudimentary stabs, but calculated arcs, diagonal slashes meant to imbalance him quickly followed by swings to his feet and tail. Elargar avoided countering them for the time being, letting the fluidity of his form overcome Istaryl's attempts, his grin widening with every missed opportunity.
Slap! The solid wood whacked the middle of Istaryl's tail, drawing a sharper than expected yowl.
"You've got a strong, thick tail. Use it."
His snout scrunched in concentration and anger alike, Istaryl lunged forth, closing the gap separating the two drakes. Instead of aiming for presumed vulnerabilities, he now focused on cutting Elargar's weapon in half and claim victory by disarming him.
Bold. But futile. A simple side step saw momentum carry Istaryl's spear all the way towards the sky, a mistake which he punished by slamming the length of his staff against his back.
"Gahhh!" The drake whittled under the might of the strike, falling to his knees. "You're too nimble!"
"And you too bold, given restrictions," Elargar tapped the weights slowing him down. "Conserve your strength, or see weakness exploited.
Istaryl pushed himself up with the help of his spear, mistaking it for a walking stick. All Elargar had to do was knock it off balance, and the rest of the orange drake followed.
"Enough," Elargar put premature end to their contest. "You are not without skill, but if the endurance of your arms concerns you, then we should better start with that."
"How?" Istaryl remained down in the water, rubbing some of it on the sting of his back and tail. "Aren't these enough?"
Elargar responded by reclaiming his spear from frail grasp and slice them off Istaryl's arms faster than the orange drake could blink.
"Useless. I've a better method, Undrethyl's method. It never failed me."
Elargar's intensity enraptured Istaryl, enough for the drake to scrounge to his feet and offer timid nod.
"On your arms," Elargar's fingers pointed at the sodden floor.
"On my arms...right here?" Istaryl's voice swelled with doubt and apprehension alike, undoubtedly fearing that it was a ploy to wound already raw morale.
"Right here," the furred drake repeated, a wave of excitement traveling down his nape fur and all the way to his softly wagging tail. "Assuming those arms can take your weight."
"They can, but--"
Elargar loosened a frustrated groan at all this tiptoeing around this crucial lesson. "I'll support you, if that is what it takes to steel trembling muscles."
Istaryl's face immediately brightened. "You should have said so from the beginning!"
Every inhibition mysteriously vanished, Elargar's subject did as requested, vaulting forward to shift his weight onto his arms, tail adjusting to compensate for his upside down position. As promised, Elargar grabbed his thighs to support him, only that...he didn't expect Istaryl's desperate tail to hug his waist, nor for his naked sheath to connect with his crevice in quite such a...noticeable fashion.
"This isn't so bad!" Istaryl's cheerfulness was all but deafening, the drake's hips playfully wiggling against Elargar's lap to adjust himself, no doubt. "How many paces?"
"Full circle along the cliffs, until we return to this exact spot. Assuming your arms can take the strain," Elargar added a bit to his words, his disquiet with this made manifest.
"With you helping me, I'm sure I can manage. Let us begin!"
Barely a few sluggish steps in, and Elargar's head already began to swim among the fuzzy clouds of unrestrained arousal. Not that he wished it, of course, but what male wouldn't react at all to the constant friction between fuzzy sheathe and slit?
"I think I'm getting used to this," Istaryl confidently rocked his groin against Elargar's stiffer, more prominent genitalia, probing for the wet touch of his peeking tip against the naked, receptive entrance of his aroused, moistening slit. "Are you fine helping me complete the remaining half?"
Fortunate that Elargar's ear tips bore the darker shade, so that Istaryl's knowing, mischievous glance didn't find them boiling with embarrassment at the sudden turn of events. The smaller drake practically beamed with satisfaction, deeply aware that he took the lead, physically and erotically.
"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? Closeness is what makes brothers in arms out of soldies," Elargar nodded absently, more preoccupied with the soggy warmth of arousal luring him in, daring him to slip inside, to work himself free of the caging tightness of his cumbersome sheath. "Keep going, before your arms give in."
"One of us will give in, that's for certain," Istaryl muttered, hushed enough to stir more of Elargar's blood towards his temples without calling for reply without having the furred drake paint himself as insecure with his sexuality.
Surprisingly well balanced--mostly thanks to Elargar for balancing his haunches and lower back, of course--Istaryl continued along the edge of the alcove. He passed by the curtains of water rather than go through them, preferring to maintain the heat trapped between their genitals, to keep the coldness from dispelling the strings of clear arousal connecting sheath to warm, soft, inviting slit.
Don't dwell on it. Listen to the water. Focus on its ordeal as it tumbled down the cliff, always moving, never still, never peaceful.
Elargar's breaths evened. His tight chest loosened, and his ears began to register the spray alighting upon their perked form, cooling the fire raging within him. The tightness down below began to lose its potency, each throb dimmer, less noticeable, as if it never existed in the first place.
And then, warmth. Sudden, slippery, wet, tapered heat probing at his opening, growing in both restlessness and size.
Istaryl. He--he gave in, for no male needed to spare a peek to confirm the obvious. Though Elargar tried his best to keep his features nonchalant, his back straight and his tail curled into an elegant arch, the same couldn't be said for his instinct. The sensuous and intimate touch of another male's humid member coaxed his thicker, blunter, far more reluctant length throb by stronger, more noticeable throb. Even when met with the resistance of his outstretched sheath, his knot swelled nonetheless, gorging on the future promise of blissful release.
"Break," Istaryl gasped for breath, his arms shaking yet steady.
"You should rest your arms," Elargar advised on the most even tone he could muster, drawing on his years of practice to see himself out of this...whatever this was. "There is no shame in it for a first timer."
"Give up?" The drake tilted his head back to cast his incredulous look on him. "After we made such amazing progress?"
"Then keep going before I--" Elargar cut off, his tongue sweeping away the truth in an instant. "Grow bored enough with your sluggish pace to just pull back and watch you fall."
Istaryl laughed through his deep, panting breaths. "If we fall, we fall together. So better put in the effort!"
When he said that, he meant it, for he traded away the portion smoothed out by the waters for the fragmented steps towards the edges of the alcove. That seemed like a mighty irrational thing to do, one that made spit pause in Elargar's throat.
Yet, he immediately understood why, for the gaps between the raised protrusions meant that Istaryl had to alternate between the two. With each shift in elevation, his crotch inadvertently bucked into Elargar's lap, forcing the gasping, wide-eyed furred drake inside his orange companion more than a few times. The terse motions allowed little room to feel much of anything, much less to argue his decision. What they achieved without doubt, however, was peel back Elargar's stubborn sheath little by little, until only his stubborn, engorged knot remained trapped therein.
Pounding panic filled Elargar. It echoed through his temples, converged into a tight uneasiness within the pit of his stomach, its vile shudders rocking him to his core. Discipline alone maintained his steps slow and even, his façade irreproachable. But deep down, squeezed between fur and smooth hide alike, his erect, needy member threatened to ruin him more than it already had, for there was no shrinking it again through willpower alone.
Like a comforting blanket, Istaryl's half-grown malehood flopped on top of his, barely a concern to the huffing and puffing drake who pressed on.
"Almost there," Istaryl grunted, alluding to the finality of their predicament in quite the obvious fashion, one that would only end with Elargar inside his treacherous yet blissfully ripe and appealing slit. "Just a few more steps and uhhhhh!"
Elargar saw it. He noticed how the sly eel bent his elbows on purpose, all so that his powerful tail finally had the pretext to coil around Elargar's middle. With his arms no longer straight, the orange drake stood much lower, the spread of his legs ample enough to require but a simple swish of his underbelly against Elargar's lap to take that eager erection into himself.
"Nghhhh!" Elargar's jaws snapped shut, followed by his shuttering eyelids. Heat. Wetness. Tightness. Such smooth, trembling, quaking, groping tightness! Compared to a female, Istaryl's insides felt far more constrictive, for they had to accommodate not one, but two cocks, one which stood a fair bit thicker than his little, flaccid noodle!
Elargar's hands immediately seized his lower back, pressing tight against it to hold it against his groin. The other hand went to Istaryl's tail to keep it from swinging too broadly and interrupt their union, all while his hips surged against his companion out of their own accord, instinct all but taking over.
"More..." Istaryl's shuddering huff filled Elargar's muscle with debauched purpose, tugging on a side of him that his discipline had yet to fully conquer. "Hold nothing back. Not even your knot."
Elargar tried to do the opposite while he still retained control over his senses, but Istaryl had none of that. His arms kept fumbling for purchase, all to ensure that his groin never remained still; that the jerking motions of his body pressed and pushed against Elargar's knot, demanding that it entered him all the same.
"I'm--" Elargar, for all his bravado, whined like a puppy while inside his companion, overtaken with the overpowering need to empty the tightness welled within his taut sack. "I should...pull out before I yarrrh!"
That last shove against his knot coaxed a sharp, pleasured gasp out of him, for it undressed part of its bulbous form, exposing it to the same sweltering heat that already embraced his cock from all sides. Trapped, besieged by the steadfast resolve of a drake who exploited his numerous days absent release in the vilest of way, Elargar's only way out was forward, into the very depths that he feared to find unable to take all of him inside.
His thoughts reduced to naught but the pressing need aching in his knot, Elargar's wobbling hips tried a nervous thrust, sending his spade-shaped tip against Istaryl's dormant member, spearing it like the cunning little serpent that it was. Deep, electrifying pleasure immediately seized him, lashing through his member like a fiery arc before halting within his knot, where it added to the bottled tension on the brink of bursting.
Istaryl's thighs clenched tighter around his middle, swaying in unison with the bucking motions of his, still refusing to give up the effort of sheltering all of Elargar's inside. Impossible as the task seemed, his flushed, quivering slit began to drool their combined precum, every shallow thrust of Elargar, every bold shove of Istaryl, contributing to its smearing all over Elargar's showing knot.
Maddened by this ceaseless teasing, Elargar's hips began drilling into Istaryl with the finality of his climactic ascent. Lines of precum wormed down his cock, some pattering into the water when he pulled back to prepare a stronger subsequent thrust. Others streamed down Istaryl's belly, serving as lubrication for the edges of his puffy, outstretched slit, preparing it for the final blow.
At his wits' end, with no more strength to give, Elargar leaned forward, mounting the remainder of his strength into one final push. At the same time, Istaryl's calves dug into his hips, shoving his soppy entrance against Elargar, the combined force of their motions unwrapping the last of Elargar's knot from the taut clutch of his sheath.
"Khhhhhrmmmm!" The strained sound of growling release flitted through Elargar's gritted teeth as he felt his seed burst out of him like a crashing wave, blanketing the entirety of Istaryl's diminutive length with thick, pent-up longing. His entire cock felt aflame while squeezed, groped, milk by Istaryl's hungry walls, especially his oversensitive knot that bore the brunt of such mind-reeling tightness.
Elargar's wavering balance only withheld for a few more spurts before the drake toppled under the dizzying blows of too intense a climax, breathlessly clutching Istaryl's fallen form, ensuring that they remained locked in that timeless realm of ubiquitous pleasure.
"Haaahhhhhhhhhh," came Elargar's long exhale once his throbs began to die down, senses returning to his fuzzy mind. His knot remained fully engorged, its might not yet spent, ensuring that his partner took everything he yet had to offer, including the slower, less debilitating trickles.
"We...made it, didn't we?" Istaryl nuzzled the tip of Elargar's nose, wearing a wicked but fulfilled grin. "Quite the intense training, this... Is that how you train with other drakes too?"
That final, mocking lick drew a faint chuckle from the frazzled drake, his soaked fur barely of consequence amidst the warmth radiating from his groin.
"This isn't training," Elargar whispered between deep huffs. "It's--"
Istaryl's fingers on his lips robbed him of his thoughts.
"It's what we both needed. But perhaps...you could use some more endurance training yourself, my stern, pent-up companion!"
Elargar considered biting those insolent fingers, to wrestle himself free of the perversion of his training, yet his tongue licked them instead. He licked him!
And in return, so did Istaryl, avoiding his muzzle for obvious reasons to dash his wet affection all over his furred cheek instead.
"I didn't plan for this," Istaryl's warm, friendly gaze bespoke of his honesty. "It just...happened, as if an omnipotent force guided me against your..." he glanced down below at their messy union, slit and sheath slathered with clear and ivory fluids alike.
Elargar slipped his hand between Istaryl's massive ears to stroke that addled mind of his. "The force bears a name. You'll soon know the extent of it."
***The End ***
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