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Xander wavered a little on his way home from the gym. It had taken something out of him, this time. Usually, the effort was good, fresh, clean, revitalizing. The burn in his limbs and core was an enlivening smolder that made him feel like he was a sculptor of the ever more efficient machine that he was. He might have overdone it today, though, the way he had to take a second or three for deep breathing. He refocused his vision and carefully staved off the dizziness.

He needed food.

For some, this could be a mild concern that needed attention and for others, a more major one that needed sugar pills. For Xander, it was something else entirely. If Xander didn't find something to replace the calories he'd consumed to fuel the furnace that built his body, he wasn't the one who would pay the price. He swallowed and tried to ignore how his two long, floppy ears twitched back in the direction of the others still eking out a few more sets.

Meat.

One was even outside. He'd heard the sound of a lighter and the puff of a cigarette. A cigarette, outside a gym? Eh. People needed their vices, sometimes even to motivate their virtues. The smell of it caught his nose, though. Something... spicy. An earth-smell, in the smoke, like upturned gravel. He glanced over his shoulder to catch a slender figure, who waved with one faintly illuminated hand. He was famished, and they were right there.

No, no. He teased himself enough just being there with them, especially when the place was sparsely populated on weekend nights like these, when it was easier to isolate one from their surroundings. It was plenty challenge just to suppress his arousal at the scent of them. Thinking about them this way was an unnecessary risk.

He got in his car and drove. The thoughts settled into a comfortable pattern. It was one he had been trained to identify and sit with, ever since his transformation. He had once been soft, passive, easily overlooked. As a lop-eared rabbit with a steady, but often unexciting day job, he still was easy to see past, as long as he wore loose clothing and didn't make eye contact.

Underneath, though, was something else. For a few moments of highway driving, he allowed himself to remember. A gym like that one, filled with acolytes of physical zeniths, all of them bowing to, succumbing to, giving themselves to him. His loose shorts tented until his arousal throbbed against the steering column. He bit his lips and forced his gaze to relax, his jaw to relax, his grip to relax. Soft brown eyes like those hadn't evolved to widen into vast, hunter's voids, but here he was, willing the pupils to narrow again and navigate him home instead of out into the night life.

He pulled into his parking lot. He got out, closed the door, locked it. The night was unusually bright. The reason for it was easy to notice, as soon as he looked up - the blue super moon that had had social media twerking all day. Xander smirked briefly at the thought of a were-bun. A hyperanalytical corner of his brain argued briefly about etymology, reminding him that 'were' was, here, an old root meaning 'male person,' and he already was a were-bun, but goddammit, language is descriptive and dynamic, not prescriptive, so if 'were-bun' in modern parlance means a rabbit-man that becomes tremendous and ferocious under a full moon, then we must accept its colloquial meaning, or all is lost.

Xander took a deep breath. At least the brief, innocuous, intrusive thought had kept him from looping back in on his hunger again. Even tilting his head back down from looking up at the moon, he felt that faint dizziness. He spotted, like someone balancing, on a dull, crimson glow near the entrance to his building to steady himself. Someone was smoking outside. There was some cognitive dissonance about that, but he made himself shake it off and head towards the entrance.

His nose picked up that same smell again. Loam, grinding rocks, and something... cold? Could coldness smell? Must have been something with magic. The stuff was commercialized these days. Fidget cubes with controlled sound radiuses, sex pills, slim-fit shirts. At the low end were DeCultify Rx sprays to ward off minor spiritual infestations. At the high end were mysterious, personal, pseudo-biological golems for use as servants and... Xander's particular experiences ever since having met one. A cigarette with a fancy smell was notable, but not much more so than cloves. He nodded at the guy. It was a red squirrel dressed like he'd walked there from the 1920s. Slick outfit, nice period piece, probably a hobbyist. Xander tried his key.

There wasn't a keyhole. Xander looked down at his hand. It had a keyring in it. The key to his apartment was there. But there was no key to breach the entryway and no keyhole it could find. For several dragging seconds, he simply frowned at his hand.

"Trouble?" asked the stranger. The voice was light and, if a voice could be, matte. It didn't reverberate around the flat surfaces of concrete and steel and glass like it should have.

Xander was embarrassed to realize how much of the squirrel he'd noticed. Slender, lean as a fencing foil, and dressed not just in a casual three-piece suit - the jacket resting on his shoulders, without his arms in the sleeves - but in one with subtle, gleaming, ruby trim. The lighting around him felt like it sank into the man, the way liquid, after thinking for a moment atop carpet, surrenders its surface tension and soaks in, contracting the substrate with it. Despite his bulk, Xander was shorter than the average male, so they were of a height.

The rabbit noticed he'd stared too long without saying anything and swallowed a mouth full of gathering liquid. Social graces swarmed up through his consciousness - another "gift" of his transformation - and coated his body like armor. His posture changed. He had been deflated and confused. He became intrigued and unflappable. The cognitive dissonance dissolved into desire. "Apparently. Swipe me in? Unless you'll be here a while. I could stand a moment to cool off." He neither stretched out nor gestured at his obvious gym clothing. That would have been gauche, and Xander was stages ahead of that. Instead, he posed his feet at the perfect angle such that his body was on display, but it was obvious he could just as easily spare a moment to make conversation as be on his way.

The squirrel took a drag on his cigarette and let his eyes drift up and down Xander's frame. He politely turned his head to exhale wispy plumes of silver-gray. "Bulking season?" he asked.

Something that should have been distant became so close in Xander's brain that he felt its heat like a house fire. The wash of moonlight in the parking lot bristled his fur in a hedonic wave and he felt his weight shift, unbidden, half an inch towards the slender squirrel. "Always," he answered, low and libidinal. In a flash, he wanted nothing more than to make the fellow into more of him.

The other man chuckled and the moment fizzled. "I know the feeling, though I'm sure I don't look it. Been on a bit of a diet, but I'm looking forward to properly filling meals again. I'll let you in," he said. The words were liquid in the way they dribbled over and into Xander's ears. The squirrel stepped between Xander and the door. There was a dim flicker of light and the automatic door slid open. Xander looked down and blinked. He had been sure there had been a card reader, but instead, the door to the entrance was simply open. While he pondered that, he felt the other man, on tiptoes, suddenly brush his nose up under Xander's left ear and whisper something inaudible. No vowels, no vocalization. Only teeth and tongue and lips, consonants his senses drank in. The nose on the inside of his ear was warm and the tongue and whiskers tickled him. It should have been brazenly forward, but instead, it was just something that happened.

Xander walked inside, the encounter forgotten.

Without someone to focus on, the hunger abated. Xander made his way past an alcove of mailboxes to the elevator bay. He paused, wondering if he should check his. That also didn't seem right. He stepped into the nook. The spot where his box should have been was empty except for a hand-written note to call maintenance. Lock must have broken or something. He snatched the note to remind himself, then called the elevator and stepped in.

It felt claustrophobic in here. Even after this long, his breadth still felt unnatural. It was luckily late enough that, especially since he hadn't noticed anyone in the parking lot, he felt safe disrobing a little. His workout tee came off and he observed himself in the reflective walls of the elevator. Yellowy, "sand" fur that was shortest on his front covered the whole of his body. There was pleasant pump still leftover from tonight's workout. It was enough even that he could pick out a few snaking veins across his triceps. The movement of the elevator made him light-headed again and he found himself planning each step towards his apartment and through it, to the refrigerator, where he was more than likely to rip open a jar of peanut butter and swallow the entire thing.

The doors opened. Dirt and flint and a slash of gelid scent. Cigarette smoke hazed the hallway. At the end of it was the same squirrel from before in his strange get-up. Xander frowned as his nape prickled. He'd had more than enough run-ins with high-powered magic to distrust antics like these. He opened his mouth to snap something, but the shifting smoke suddenly thickened with a swirl of activity. When it thinned again, the other man was gone.

Xander waved his hand in front of his face. Unsurprisingly at this point, the smoke wasn't normal. It stung his eyes like normal smoke, but the burn in his throat was more like whiskey than fire. It crept into his lungs with warm, kneading fingers and settled into his fur with a similar, heated texture. As he walked down the hallway, he had a vague sensation of phasing through the stuff, rather than pushing it around him. He crumpled his shirt under an arm. He just needed to get to his door and get in.

He took out his keyring again, but before he could open his door, it opened for him, from within. Half expecting the squirrel again, he snarled, "What the fuck are y- ou...?"

He stopped short as he locked eyes with the man standing in his door. It was a river otter maybe ten years his senior and, stranger than that, it was someone he knew. "Xander?" the otter asked.

"Mr. Weathered," the rabbit answered with a frown. He had to look up slightly. Raided and Weathered was a wolf of a negotiator who led marketing for Intelligent Design, the company where Xander was employed as a software engineer. To Xander, the older man grated. He was the kind of person always putting his fingers in other peoples' pies. The kind of person who made casual demands of people who didn't report to him. And, infuriatingly, the kind of person whose competence, rather than his social manipulations, kept him firmly entrenched in the company. Xander suppressed a hungry lick of his lips with a swallow. The kind of person it would be a pleasure to take down to size.

"What are you doing at my home?"

Xander glanced beyond the door frame into the apartment. This wasn't his place. This was a full-sized condo and one he could never afford. He looked back over his shoulder at the end of the hallway where the squirrel had been. The entity was gone and the smoke was fading. He screwed his eyes shut and opened them again. There was a moment of vertigo as the cognitive dissonance mashed invented memories against perceived reality and he looked back at the otter.

He answered after several long seconds. "I thought it was mine. I um. Have I ever been here?"

"No. What's that smoke?" The otter leaned out to sniff and twitch his whiskers. He wore a champaign-colored evening robe and carried a tumbler full of whiskey. Xander didn't make way. He let their proximity get far too close. He smelled oak and bitter orange over the drink. He almost licked Raided's neck. Barely, he kept himself from tenting his sweatpants. He knew Raided liked men. This would be easy. All he had to do was let go for a moment. Give in to instinct.

"Some squirrel weirdo in the hallway," he muttered in answer. "I think he might be why I... thought this was your place. He's been following me since the gym with magic. Couldn't guess why, though."

"Ick. Come inside. There's been a lot of weird new crime in this city recently. You heard about the houses vanishing?"

"Plural?" Xander accepted the invitation and stepped in. He let his bare upper body brush by the other man's to leave scent on his robe. Raided closed the door behind them after one more glance out into the hall. "I'd heard about the one."

"Three, now. People are speculating a rogue demon, and after what happened at Intelligent Design the other week, I don't blame them. Been great for security system sales, though. We should get into that. You do systems engineering, right? I barely know what 'systems engineering' is." He said it like a joke, but Xander took it flat. Higher-ups, casually unaware of what their peons did. "Drink, while you wait for a ride share? Just water, something harder? Something..." He finally registered Xander's outfit and paucity thereof. "Proteinaceous?"

Xander met Raided's eyes as he licked his lips. He took his time. "I could use a refuel, but unless you keep a stock of protein shakes, a cocktail will have to do."

The otter blinked carefully. His gaze measured Xander's. "Ever since the incident with those... consultants... you've gotten a lot bolder, Xander. I like seeing it." He walked deeper into the condo to step behind a kitchen counter and start pulling out materials for a drink.

"I didn't know you were paying attention." He stopped himself from licking his lips again. There were so many flavors in the air. The subliminal messaging of pheromones had just wafted to him and rather than smell it, he could feel his body and mind respond to it. He walked into the room and took a seat at a bar stool, where he crossed two thick, vascular arms over one another to await his answer. He was tempted to put his shirt back on. He liked every flicked gaze he got from the otter, but he also didn't want to so brazenly put the other man ill at ease, so with a little flaunting and fingering, he stretched it back over his bulk.

Ice _tink_ed into glass and a crystal swizzle stick went to work chilling the tumbler. Raided pulled one corner of his mouth back. "If I see an asset, I make that asset my business. So when you finally became an asset, I started watching."

The lop took a seat on a barstool across from his business superior who was, temporarily, his bartender. "I could say the same of you, about getting bolder. Where is your Assistant, anyway? Shouldn't it be doing this?" Assistants were the aforementioned, pint-sized, anthro-shaped, animated golems that, in this world of modern magical devices, remained an impenetrable black box due to their supreme empathic capabilities and limited capacity to change shapes - something usual, organic creatures simply could not do. They were, regardless, highly prized luxury items, one of which Raided had acquired some months prior.

Raided rolled his eyes while he cracked an egg, separated it, and began adding ingredients to a shaker. Bourbon, egg white, and a dash of sugar syrup. Then, he started shaking. "Called back in by the owner. Something about recalibrating to newly available training data. I didn't even know the things needed updating, but it was right there in the fine print. Should be back after the weekend."

Xander nodded. His mind spun briefly with the implications, but it couldn't pull his focus from the man at hand. "Sucks for you to be alone on a Friday night, then."

That same light smirk replaced the irritated scowl that had overcome Raided's features. He opened his fridge and produced a dark brown ale. He popped it open, tossed the ice chilling the tumbler, then pierced the egg yolk and added it to the cold glass. Rather than responding, he focused on the drink. A few new ice cubes went in with the shaken egg white and spirits for a second shake. Xander sat in silence and let himself indulge in the rich aesthetic of his host's home. Raided was not an ascetic, but the condominium was far from cluttered. Instead, each item in the unexpectedly sparse space was a carefully selected luxury. There were very few hard edges or corners. Instead, end tables were artistic, organic creations; the single chair and loveseat were thickly cushioned; a crystal centerpiece on a low, marble coffee table swirled upward to present a fist-sized garnet sphere Xander knew was the otter's favored stone. Colors were all amber and mahogany and rose quartz with splashes of scarlet and azure, dominated by high, muted, cobalt blue curtains over windows as tall as the lofted main room. There were no pictures of loved ones here. Nothing drew focus. Even a shelf of books had a cascading shape to it rather than the standard rectangle. A small fountain burbled down a bed of river stones near the entrance, creating a constant soundscape. The entire space was soft, soothing, and deeply impersonal.

At last, the drink's elements were combined: frothy-sweet egg whites and bourbon were poured at the same time as the ale over the egg yolk, which spun up colorfully. The swizzle stick gently twisted the ingredients together to avoid losing the carefully aerated volume. Chocolate and nutmeg shavings, then a candied orange peel for garnish resting on the foam, and finally a dash of cherry bitters.

"This is a flip," Raided explained as he pushed the glass demurely to his guest. "A done-up version of a Viking recovery drink. It's meant to be poured over a glowing fire poker, but the smith hasn't responded to my order, yet, and I thought you'd prefer it cold, anyway."

Xander leaned over it and sniffed curiously. "It looks to me like you added an old fashioned to beer and an egg."

"My Assistant does a deconstructed version for brunch sometimes that is to die for. And that, yes, is an old fashioned, a beer, and an egg."

"Skies above, you live well," Xander muttered as he fondled the tumbler. He raised it to Raided in appreciation, then tipped it to his lips. Dark, but bright. Bitter, but sweet. Smooth, but sharp on the nose with the fresh nutmeg and citrus and cherry. Brilliantly cold, but hot from the alcohol content. His eyes widened and he set it down carefully. "Skies above, again."

"You like it, then?" the business-forward otter asked, and at last, in the question, his veneer cracked. A glow of hope shone through and in that illuminated glimpse of earnest anticipation, Xander sensed the otter's felt gap of age and status between them. There was, yes, that decade or so of age and memories, but a vast distance of station and lived experience, and one Raided was attempting, in his calm, cool way, to bridge with the offer of a carefully crafted cocktail.

Time slowed. Xander had become a master manipulator by accident. He had spent time with and around Assistants in ways that had let him osmose their empathic abilities. He knew, therefore, that he could take this moment to stare down Raided and embarrass him for that moment of vulnerability. He knew that he could ignore it and fully fail to acknowledge it and leave Raided in the lurch. He knew that he had power, here, being bare-chested and burly in another man's space. He knew he could glibly highlight it with conversation and seal their friendship with relative ease. Or, he could answer with a genuine, grateful smile, and let this moment be separate from the seduction his thirsty and ravenous brain was demanding he pursue with increasing abandon.

He chose the final option just in time. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I've never had something like this."

If Raided had been a cat, he would have purred. Instead, his expression deepened and warmed with delight and he returned to his own drink. "I'm glad. Witness" - the Assistant, whom Xander had more than met on a very different occasion* - "came pre-loaded with bartending skills, so I've insisted it teach me."

Xander took a proper gulp of his drink and indulged in it for a long moment. "Mm. Well, if nothing else, it's taught you how to pinpoint what someone wants."

"That, I cultivated myself." With sudden boldness, Raided and Weathered stepped around the bar. He stood tall behind Xander for a breath, then rested his free left hand on top of the lop's broad left shoulder and dipped his head down to kiss the rabbit's right carotid. The whiskers tickled where they touched neck and cheek and shoulder. Xander sucked in a gasp, then rasped out a breathy trill as the otters tongue came out to coat the throbbing vein. "Enough foreplay, Xander," he crooned, low and quiet. "Stay the night with me. I know you don't plan to leave, anyway - you haven't touched your phone."

Wordlessly, Xander cupped the side of Raided's face with one paw, then tilted his head back - exposing his throat - and with deliberate slowness, finished his drink in a series of audible, visible gulps. Raided curled his flexible, mustelid neck around to kiss across Xander's throat as it steadily bobbed. When the lop was done, Raided withdrew a step, tossed back his own drink, and set down his glass. Far from the wanton shedding of his robe Xander expected, Raided unbelted it, shimmied out of it, and hung it from the back of Xander's barstool.

Xander scanned his host like a machine. The man was smooth and round, like the rest of his home. He had muscle tone to him, but it was a new thing. The oily, water-resistant fur of the species seemed to spill pleasantly over deltoids and biceps, down lightly toned pectorals, and to a still-soft paunch. He seemed like the kind of person who had been an inverted triangle at the height of swim team training in high school, and then blurred and softened over time as his attention shifted fully to his career. To that effect, his hips and thighs had grown, but never weakened. And at the center of it was a proud, growing erection that, despite his earlier vulnerability, seemed wholly independent of Xander's examination. Raided and Weathered was not the kind of person who needed permission to be aroused - only permission to act on it.

And Xander gave that permission. He stepped down from the barstool, gripped his shirt him, and pulled upward. He heard a swelling gasp of appreciation as it slid up his sweat-damp chest, then, "Stop." Sweat-scented shirt caught over his eyes and head, he relaxed his elbows outward to broaden his exposed chest in immediate display, and he grinned. Raided's hands went to his lower abdomen and crawled gradually upward. Xander crunched his core as the man explored him. He was cobbled, back to front and side to side, in hard, lean musculature. The hands slid up him, then down again, then back up and back down, until thumbs landed on the thick veins following his Adonis belt below his waistband. They and Raided's forefingers tightened, then gripped, then yanked down, stripping Xander bare all at once. A full-voiced, "OH," swelled up from Xander's waist, and he finally finished removing his shirt to place it quickly on his chair and watch Raided adore him.

Xander's semi-erect cock currently rested on Raided's shoulder. Wrist-thick, it pulsed with need as it quickly grew, free from its confines and from Xander's inhibitions.

"It's not... it gets bigger," Raided concluded while his nose was stuffed at the thing's base. He circled it with both hands while dropping his head down to nuzzle under, then mouth at, each of Xander's nuts in turn. They were each easily as big as the garnet in Raided's crystal stand. They had gotten him more than his fair share of stares at the gym whenever he forgot - or "forgot" - his compression shorts.

"It certainly does," Xander groaned. Skies, it felt good to be fawned over like this. He stepped carefully from his shorts and underwear, never stopping Raided, while his cock bobbed its way up to a fiercely turgid, highly vascular, uncompromisingly girthy ten inches. The otter dragged his tongue up, and up, and up the thick, muscular belly of the shaft, until he yawned wide just to surround the swollen, purpling crown of the beast in his lips. Xander hissed, and flexed, and a virile bead of precum immediately coated Raided's tongue in sweet, salty, umami that made the otter groan, parched.

"I'd like you to put that inside me," Raided growled. "It'll take some working, but I want you balls-deep." He circled it with both paws again and put his lips back where they had been to begin bobbing his head slowly up and down while his fingers kneaded the shaft.

"Fu-huh," Xander stuttered. His knees went briefly weak from the expert treatment, but he managed to keep his footing. "Witness teach you this, too?" He was in a state of shock. He had expected sex from this encounter, but nothing like this. The man was talented. Despite the challenge of Xander's breadth, instead of immediately trying to get the beast in his throat and gagging, Raided treated this the same way he did his work: Calm, careful, constant, patient, steady, progressive. He let his saliva, generously mixed with Xander's precum, gradually wet the surface and dribble down over his fingers and thumbs. Once they were wet, he used the circle of his digits to extend the strokes of his lips down the shaft, further and further. His fingers glided over intense webs of veins that kept the organ hard as a steel rod and pulsing thunderously. His jaws yawned wider with each bob of his head and his tongue slid, tight and curious and questing, along the sensitive, broad cock belly. Over minutes, he worked it until precum was dribbling directly onto the back of his throat. The head tapped that soft flesh over, and over, and over, and Xander was forced to curl his toes and tighten his fingers in Raided's shoulders to keep from ramming into him, until finally Raided relaxed his throat, sucked in air through his nose, and dove down to gulp down one, two, four inches of rabbit cock and pause. His throat fluttered, but he didn't gag while Xander whined out a growl of absolute need. The otter's fingers kept tugging and stroking, his tongue curled and swept, and then he released all at once to stand up and blow out, then suck in a deep breath of air.

"Wait," he commanded. He left Xander staggered while he walked deeper into the condo. Xander's eyes bugged out. The pupils dilated wide. He sat down to remove his shoes and socks while he tried to process what was happening in his brain. There was a sharpness in his nose, of flint and loam and heated musk. Haze in his vision and flickering shapes as arousal permeated his consciousness and wrestled with observation, lucidity. Need thundered through his bloodstream as the scent phased out, replaced by the unmistakable scent of Raided and Weathered himself. This was his home. These were his things. They all smelled like him. They all smelled divine.

Xander was still panting and massively erect on the barstool when the otter returned with folded towels, a bottle of lubricant, and an eight-inch dildo with what looked like a comfortable taper to it. He patiently applied the lube, then knelt over the toy and beckoned to Xander with a finger. Weak in the face of his desire, Xander obeyed promptly. He was rewarded with those same encircling fingers and lips and inquisitive tongue, now accompanied by stifled moans as Raided began lowering himself onto the dildo.

The rabbit's senses spun with anticipation. He wanted to pound this otter into the next dimension, and Raided wanted it as well. The idea that Xander was a force that needed to be prepared for, one that was expected, on sight, to be able to perform twice or more in a night, propelled him to a new height of arousal. He felt his fur ripple across his body as his hips moved in slow time with Raided's ever braver, ever swifter descents over his massive girth. He flexed his loins, making his nuts bob and sway with the strength of the movement and shooting micro-climaxes of precum down Raided's throat. He had to lean over more and more, inch by inch, as the otter speared himself gradually on the toy to adjust for the changing angle.

Almost before he knew it, the whiskered muzzle was buried in his crotch fur. The throat rippled in controlled swallows around him one, two, three times, before Raided came up for air. He locked eyes with Xander's. "Fuck my throat and cum," he commanded. Xander nodded fervently.

Raided hyperventilated for a few seconds with purpose and determination, then sheathed Xander's enormous member in his throat. The bun couldn't have held back even without the command. He gripped Raided's shoulders and fucked. His heavy, huge nuts rolled hard against the otter's chin as they bobbed beneath the bucking, frenzied thrusts, until and especially when those thrusts became the hard, slow, needy, gripping, teeth-grinding pounding of immediately pre-climax, and then Xander's orgasm blasted into the otter's gut, warming it instantly. He shouted. One stream, two seconds long; a second, longer; a third, an impossibly drawn-out rope of cum; and then Raided pulled off, desperate for air, but instantly raised both hands to go back to jerking the fantastically productive shaft, which sprayed and splashed and coated with reckless abandon, thickly painting Raided's face, shoulders, ears, chest, spattering on his tail and the floor behind him, even furniture.

Xander's eyes riveted on the scene. Sharp scent of flint and loam. The place belonged to him. His cum was spraying over Raided's belongings. He dropped to his knees and pushed on the other man's shoulders to get him on his back, not even sure whether his climax had ended. The dildo slid out and Xander immediately shoved his tip under the well-lubricated entrance.

"Fuck," Raided gasped, and it was an exultation and a command that was followed without hesitation. Xander gripped over the taller man's thighs with both paws and began pushing himself inward. Raided was more ready than most, but Xander was still impossibly thick. The otter yelped, clawed at the rabbit's shoulders, but didn't push off or away. He took every inch that was offered while the thicker, harder man crawled over him, seeming to gradually envelop him in heat and bulk and frenzied sexuality while rhythmically pounding his way deeper. There was something ineffable in the way the rabbit moved, something both ardent and distant in his expression, something that made Raided feel like a prize and like prey, and it thrilled him to see someone this bared, this raw. He clenched, spread himself, opened himself, giving way to that powerful need, until he felt Xander's crotch pounding against his underside.

"O-o-o-o-oh..." Xander moaned through a shuddering breath. He was on all fours over Raided and sealed against his ass as his body rolled rhythmically, thrusts coming in a double-time that, had he taken a moment to consider, wouldn't have seemed unlike the motion of the cocktail shaker Raided had used. He wasn't vicious - not quite - but it was many seconds after he had hilted, minutes, even, into his fevered fucking, that he finally registered the man beneath him again. When at last he did, he finally took a moment to straighten up on his knees, with those thick otter thighs pulled up on his own, and look down at the man already streaked in his cum. They both took the breather eagerly.

"I kind of, thought, you might have this, in you," Raided panted into the sudden silence.

"I'm a, little shocked, you have this, in you," Xander responded, and flexed while patting the visible bulge of his cock in Raided's abdomen.

"Ah!-hah, it's just nice to, let off, steam." The otter's own, much more normal erection, was drooling precum by now from the vicious assault on his prostate. "Witness does a lot, but it's closer to masturbation."

"The real thing is better," Xander agreed. He began rolling his hips again. "I want to feel you cum," he said. Raided let his head flop back with a pleasured moan and nodded. He lowered his paw to his cock to start stroking. The bun kept his rhythm slow, with occasional double-pumps of his hips that would make the otter gasp and writhe as sensation sparked through him. His body glistened with effort. Muscles, already well-pumped from exertion an hour before, felt and looked tight all across his frame as he drove himself gradually harder.

Too late, he mentally grasped backward at the brief moment of clarity. Frigid scent and a flash of smoke in his nostrils.

Something wasn't right.

But there was a meal to be ravished beneath him, the scents said. He dove inside his own arousal to escape that flash of uncertainty. He accelerated gradually, rocking Raided underneath him easily, but never so hard the otter had to stop stroking himself. Little moans of pleasure issued from the other man. His paw's pace sped and slowed as he modulated his own pleasure and drew out the act. He squeezed with his internal muscles around Xander, playing with tightness and strength and forcing out thick, juicy dollops of precum into his paw. Xander, eager to please, kept his tempo as demure as he could, though each sound of pleasure and each new bright shining pearl of pre urged him onward. He ached to bring out everything he could in his partner. Minutes passed, and finally Raided's fits of rapture and the way they made his insides clench around Xander's shaft grew too much to bear. Unable to cum properly around that girth, Raided bit down and started shuddering madly as his cock spurted and dribbled gyzym. His hips jumped with pleasure and the small font of white shot up and back onto his chest and neck, all while Xander rammed more pleasure and pressure from him. He thrust hard, grappled the other man, crammed them together, and came.

His breath poured, hot and flowing, over Raided's face, while his cum fired deep within, shot after burning shot. Raided gasped and shuddered as his own climax waned. He watched, fascinated, as some great, other force seemed to wrap itself around Xander in the climax and drive him deeper, harder, bigger, needier, the climax growing and growing instead of the usual burst and fizzle. It ravaged Raided's insides, searing deliciously and even seeming to bloat him despite that impossibility. He felt like Xander somehow grew, bigger and deeper with every thrust, mouth looming over him, gaping, panting, tongue lolling, then touching, then tasting, then curling, then lapping, then tugging up, and inward, and deep. Before he fully new what was happening, his head was inside the rabbit's maw and his nose touching the back of that throat. He jerked in shock, but a strong hand clasped the back of his neck and a fierce weight pinned him to the ground. He struggled, flared claws, sought something to bite, but there was no purchase on a body that seemed to slide sharpness off like oil on glass. Xander grew, broadened, deepened, dove, and consumed.

Thissss was pleasure. This was completion. The rabbit gripped the struggling, older man, but barely registered the resistance. It was more important to feel himself being filled, to feel another person being taken inside him. His jaw dropped down and open with smooth certainty - no awkward bulges, no warping of features, just pure, smooth, opening and containment. Head, shoulders, chest, tight arms, struggling core, and wiggling hips, all already coated in Xander's claiming essence; lashing tail, kicking thighs and knees and calves and feet and toes, and rolling onto his back and grasping those feet and shoving down, slamming his teeth shut, squeezing with his entire body, and then Raided was inside him, contained by him, swallowed, owned, controlled, and soon, subsumed. The scent of Raided and Weathered, the essence of him, the being of him, the energy and life of him, were inside Xander, now.

Some conscientious, irritating voice in the back of Xander's head cried clarion that he couldn't kill this man. He needed to keep him. So the bun's transformed body instead sucked mass from him. Thighs and biceps bulged with the sudden gift as weight flowed from prey to predator. Raided felt himself enervated and shrunk. He struggled upward, found the throat, and looked outside from behind flat, yet predatory teeth, to his room, his home, expanding while he diminished.

He cried, "What, what? What is happening, I thought..."

Ignored. Xander stood and sniffed. Sharp frigidity, flint, loam, smoke. Whiskey, hearth-heat, cinnamon. On the couch, there was the squirrel, bearing a smile. He was a dark space in a dim room, with russet fur redder than blood and a black suit limned in fire. He was hideously unperturbed by the squirming silhouette behind Xander's throat.

"My name is A Hoarfrost Glade and Beam of Moonlight," his voice shimmered into the evening air. He took a drag of a cigarette. "And you are a predator on a leash."

Xander stared, but stood gamely, straight, despite his dripping, throbbing erection and the spurts of his cum still glistening on the furniture and floor. He ground his teeth. It cut off Raided's vision of the outside world. He noticed, but only barely. "I'm just. Giving in a little. He's safe."

"He doesn't have to be. Feel him. Listen to him. He has things to come back to. Look at this space." Beam gestured broadly with his cigarette. The smoke sank deep into Xander's lungs and brain. It made him hungry, no matter the meal of another whole person he'd had. That person shrank, and Xander felt the weight at his loins jolt a pound heavier. "You can smell it. All the things that make us what we are."

Xander immediately tossed his gaze deeper into the condo, where Raided's bedroom and office were. He shivered excitedly. There was, in fact, a lot of Raided here that he hadn't seen, and certainly that he hadn't consumed. Why had he never considered it before? People weren't just their minds and bodies. They were the spaces they transformed. The histories they left. The things they gave psychological weight to. He stiffened all over.

"He doesn't need something to come back to. Make it yours."

The rabbit's loins practically jumped. He snarled at the thought.

"Mark it first, if you want. Start with something obvious." A Beam of Moonlight pointed at Xander's eyes, then drew them down to the garnet so proudly displayed on the coffee table. A favored stone was an otter's prized possession. It came with them to conferences, ceremonies, baths, and dates. It was often with them for years, even decades. This one would have Raided and Weathered's oils sunk deep inside it. Xander approached slowly. He picked it up, rubbed it against his leaky, drooling cockslit, marking it with his juices.

That was the way he usually consumed. He'd taken many people down into his sac before. It was bizarre, but it was so... perfect. The place where he made more of what was purely him, to convert other people into his mass, his essence, his pleasure. Where he transformed them. Added them to himself. Where his greater being absorbed their lesser one. He'd been "corrected," after the initial, uncontrollable feasting. Trained to tame and manage the hunger. Taught to keep the prey safe and return them to their original forms. But letting them go always felt... hollow.

Conscience, strident, pitched a riot in the back of his brainstem. A puff of the cigarette, and he smelled smoke and icebergs and dirt. Conscience was swiftly quenched.

He pushed that garnet inward against his slit. The hole widened, elastic and hungry as a throat. He groaned and kept pushing. The soft belly of the still-steely cock stretched downward just as his jaw had and smoothly accepted an offering as thick as the whole shaft. It swallowed and Xander's body bucked. He squeezed down on the hard, unmoving rock. It had always been people before. His heart throbbed. This was a possession, but an important one. Through the alien senses within his cock, he could taste the importance itself. It passed the sphincter between his cock base and scrotum and dropped down between his nuts, nestled there.

His skin prickled. Beam stood, walked to him, grabbed his shaft with one hand and his cheek with another, and kissed his lips. Smoke soaked through his throat and lungs. He trembled as it suffused him. His body screamed for more, more food, more to put inside him. He cried out into the kiss and when he looked down, the garnet had melted completely inside his sac and left it heavy with liquid seed. He swayed his hips experimentally. He realized how far down he was looking at Beam. "Th-that's not..." he protested.

"It is now," crooned Beam. He cupped under that massive shaft and tugged down, urging Xander to buck into his palm. "Now. Claim the rest of this."

Xander's powerful thighs shook, but he complied. He thrust into that waiting, warm, perfect palm, felt his body cry out for release. He pushed, harder, into... smoke? A soft palm? Air? and then he was at climax yet again. Beam wasn't in his path anymore, somehow, as cups of cum spewed across the room. It wasn't enough to soak, but was enough to mark. It claimed the bookshelf, coffee table, sofa, lounge chair, bathrobe, as pleasure coursed through Xander in waves. His scent, a dense, heady bouquet of fresh sweat and hot hay and faint leather, poured over and through the space, and it became Xander's home in moments.

He knelt. The bathrobe was silk, soft, smooth, easy. Raided had worn it. It was easy to stuff a corner inside his slit and then let the internal musculature take over. He sucked it inside, this entire, thick robe. He watched it slip away from the outside world, felt it drunk inside of him inches at a time, watched it vanish entirely. Once it was within, it was his. It began to melt inside his sac, then flow through his body as power. He grew - taller, broader, stronger - and knew he could fit more.

He found a lacquered wooden tray that held keys, a wallet, and a cell phone. He tipped the contents into himself, then pushed, delighted to find he now easily stretched to take the object. Items that had been on Raided for years of his life, that contained tremendous volumes and forms of value, dropped down into Xander's sac and became rabbit cum.

"Mine."

He whirled his head around, looking for more. With each item, his size grew and thus, his capacity grew. Inside his throat, Raided quailed in fear. He didn't want to speak and remind either party he was still there, but he was damned to watch every possession get gulped down and reduced into someone else. He shivered as they melted away. Those were his. But they represented him. What was going to happen to Raided, himself?

Clothing was easiest, so Xander glutted on it. Thousands of dollars of designer suits, decades of memories of class reunions and old bands, all first soaked in rabbit precum and then sucked into the ever-growing cock. With each new item, his body throbbed larger. As each one slipped away, the need to climax grew, but so did the need to swallow more. Eight feet tall now and thirty ravenous inches, lumbering through the space, he next found the stand the garnet had occupied. The crystal slipped within, sank down, churned away to liquid bun. He stared at the coffee table itself. Purchased with intent to define a space and a person at once. It seemed impossible, but... Xander began at one side of the oval. He groaned, pressed, thrust, swallowed, lifted, and before he knew it, had the entire piece of furniture crumbling into molten essence inside him while he grew.

"Mine."

Glorying in his own consumption, he paused to survey. There was something wrong. This all was too much of the otter's, still. It needed to belong to him. Climax had felt inches away with every new thing he had consumed, but the consumption itself had taken vast precedent. He backed himself against the door to the condo, then grasped at his shaft and bucked into his hands. Nuts drooping down to his knees swung heavily with his thrusts. He jerked and pounded in hard, purposeful, pleasure-inundating pulses. He bit down fiercely. He ground with ineffable intent. He stamped powerfully enough the rest of the building had to have heard it, then fired his climax across the room and draped the place in cum.

"Mine," he growled through clenched teeth. "Me." Each shot was a deluge that splattered the space. He held back with impossible control, trod to the bedroom, then festooned the walls and ceilings there, as well, before doing the same with the office. "Mine, Raided. I know you're still listening. Everything you are. Is mine."

His marking done, he proceeded clinically. Computer, tablet, monitors, hard drives. Watches, cufflinks, framed family photos. He outgrew the hallway rapidly with those, and so drove his elbow through the drywall, then kicked once, twice, thrice to make the condo into a single room. The remodeling revealed a safe that weighed a few hundred pounds. Xander lifted it easily. No need to know what was inside. Only that it was all inside him. He stood, eyes closed, as his immensely strong sac held the swallowed lockbox swaying above the floor and whatever precious items within flowed into him. Another foot of height, and all that weight, and even when he stepped back into the main room, his head wasn't far from the ceiling. He felt so dense. He felt covered in waves that only crested. There was no trough. Only growth.

"The whole place," Beam urged from the couch. "All of it."

Everything from the bathroom and shower. Bedroom nightstand. Office side table, then desk. No matter the material, no matter the shape, it all melted into more of Xander. Curtain rods, framed diploma, books and bookcase, smart speaker. He returned to the main room when he couldn't fit inside the others and began scooping miscellanea into himself. He added the lounge chair, then riveted his focus on the couch where Beam once again sat, still smoking.

"Almost done. And don't forget the car, outside."

Xander approached the sofa from one side. Was he fifteen, twenty feet tall, crowding the entire room? He didn't know. He flexed, showering the sofa in precum. He grabbed it in two enormous hands and thrust forward, mindlessly surrounding it in cockflesh. He smelted it into more of himself. Back to the bedroom. Sundering the bedframe, consuming it. Folding the mattress in half, cramming it inside his insatiable shaft and roaring triumph. When the place seemed completely empty, he crawled out to the balcony. His balls dragged behind him, enormous sacs full of what had been Raided's life, a tale told in materials that were now no longer even fragments of themselves: there was only Xander.

He turned with one hand suspending him. He had to relieve some of the pressure, let go some of the sheer weight of everything he had taken inside himself. His cock, now the size of the sofa it had just swallowed, pulsed with even the thought of what he was going to do. He pressed down on the dorsal surface, making vasculature bulge, and rutted the floor. It was soaked with his precum and slick in seconds. He groaned loudly, willfully ignorant to the sounds of confusion beginning to utter from the condo's neighboring rooms. He let his jaws hang open so Raided could watch. The tiny otter barely obstructed his throat. He panted, huffed, seethed, then roared with climax, and cum jetted out of him in spumes. It thudded into walls, painted them up to the ceiling, filled ravaged cabinets and alcoves, layered the floor as he reveled. And when he was done, he took a long moment to observe the inundated space and breathe in, tasting the air, making sure he was the only thing he could smell.

"MINE."

He dropped like a Hulk, identified the car with a brief glance, lifted it in the air, and swallowed it like he had everything else. The sleek construction, all the contents, the registration, the electronics, the rigid chassis, and every memory Raided had made with it, every impression he had used it for, every moment of comfort he had known with it, became the rabbit who had consumed it. He snarled again into the empty air as he loomed over the parking lot.

He felt dizzy. What was left? Raided's office? Did he have a family? What was next? He stood like a giant, two stories of naked, lapine hulk, webbed with ropes of veins. He felt he could crush any of these vehicles against his chest - but why would he, when he could simply swallow them. He looked up at the lights flaring on from the other homes in the building, saw himself being seen, and stood tall. Xander smiled, then carefully licked his lips, and thrilled at how many faces he saw tremble with an excitement they couldn't place as the thought crossed their minds that they, too, might need to join him.

Beam smiled from under a street lamp. He, too, opened his mouth. Xander looked at him. In this moment of pause he felt Raided, still inside him, and heard a wail of terror. Beam's mouth yawned wider. Behind Xander, he felt hot breath pour over him. He looked. The scent of sharpening knives, of sparking flint, of frostbitten flesh, of shattered earth, whelmed his senses and plunged through him. A phantom image of Beam's maw had risen from the ground. A neck that was deceptively slender sloped to shoulders whose breadth swamped the parking lot. The visage of the demon squirrel surrounded him effortlessly. He suddenly remembered vanished houses, missing persons. This was that same predator. Fuck. Just when he was settling into this new size, and he had to be reminded there was always someone bigger and hungrier. In a frantic moment, he did _some_thing to what was left of Raided to keep him safe. He didn't know what. Searing hot breath blew over him. The jaws closed. The head snapped back out of reality, taking Xander with it.

In the sudden quiet and stillness, Beam swallowed and belched lightly. "Always a boon to pick up other folks' forgotten tools, when one is rebuilding," he murmured to himself. "And now that you have him, that means I have him, so if this still works the way it used to..." With a gesture, he sent another spectral maw to snap Raided's condo out of the building completely, leaving a mind-boggling hole that defied physics. With a happy shiver, the squirrel popped the cigarette in his mouth, still burning, and gulped it down. Lights shimmered across his outfit and resolved into a new constellation. "Let's put you to good use," he purred, before slipping out of sight.