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You didn't get many Snakes in villages this far North. Or at least, they were always pretty well-off if they moved there, coming in their retirement. It was too cold for them most of the time, so they had to be able to afford the energy costs to heat year-round, to insulate wherever they lived.

That made Cieran quite rare.

This rarity made Douglas, a human, a little wary of himself.

He'd always fantasised about what he did with Cieran, ever since he was little. Even before it took on a sexual element for him. He'd watched a movie when he was five, on TV: a romantic comedy with Rattlesnakes. The two males in the love triangle -- this was before you got gay rom-coms -- 'fought' for the lady. But they were Rattlesnakes, so their instinct was to 'dance'. They'd fold around each other in twists and coils and smoothly slip over one another, and continually try to push the other's face into the ground. They never sweated, never blinked, but you could see them panting, and hear them hissing, and see their bodies and tails flatten and narrow with those gasps for air.

Douglas wanted that. He rough-housed with his siblings, of course. Having three brothers and two sisters, it was inevitable. He was oldest, though, so he always won, except when he pretended to lose to the youngest ones (or when he felt encouraging). That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to be smaller than whoever he fought. He'd fantasised about it being friendly. About friends wrapping around each other like family, but wrapping tighter than that, pushing down.

And Cieran happily obliged him. Douglas' arms would be wrapped in Cieran's moss-green and black coils, as would his head, and his legs, and his feet. Cieran would tease him for what felt like days, but it was only hours. Sometimes, with Douglas wrapped up and trapped, Cieran would slide his forked tongue under and between his prey's legs - or through his auburn hair - or tickling him --

Douglas had always fantasised, too, about hypnosis. Before he'd ever seen hypnosis in a show or on stage, he'd heard it described to him. (He had no idea who described it.) Looking in the hypnotist's eyes would put you under his spell, and would make you sleep, but not sleep, and it sounded like it would feel so, so good.

And Cieran happily obliged him. There was a difference, apparently, between his eye-spell and 'real' hypnosis, but Douglas didn't concern himself with that. Sometimes Cieran made him believe he was someone else, or forget things, or remember things that weren't there -- and as Douglas had read before, for most people, all such things wore off in a few hours. The point, though, was relaxation. Most of the time, a hypnotic play session was just Douglas staring into Cieran's unblinking dark red eyes, listening to his whispers, and mirroring his smiles. And it felt so, so good.

Cieran was a dream come true. So, Douglas was wary. Humans were most common in this area - they dominated everything. Douglas never wanted his friend to feel used. Or even for Cieran to be used. He wanted to make Cieran happy.

And Cieran happily told Douglas how happy he made him, but it felt like that was because Douglas wanted to hear it.

Douglas eventually tried to tell him this. They'd just played, just spent a long, lazy Sunday being wrapped up in each other, Douglas spacing out to Cieran's voice and eyes, wrapped up and squeezed tight in that long, green body.

It was late enough in the evening that Douglas could no longer make out much but the difference between the light and dark scales on his lover. The pale slate-green over his face, sides and back now just looked pale grey, and the broad black scales covering his front and belly, and the black zig-zag down his back, looked less black-green than pitch. His eyes, though, were clearly red, forever glowing very softly.

"But I..." Douglas sighed, because Cieran's fingers dug into Douglas' scalp, careful of his ponytail. "Cieran, can I talk for a second?" Cieran tilted his head. "I'm serious."

"Sounds serious," Cieran said, wrapping his arms around Douglas' neck convivially. The zig-zag pattern that ran along his tail ran down his arms, too. His coils relaxed their hold on Douglas. "Sure."

Douglas was silent for a long while, and Cieran patiently waited for him to form his question.

"You've never... asked me anything," Douglas said.

"I could ask you plenty, if you're okay with that. You're a mysterious boy."

"I, I... I mean, asked me to do anything." Douglas squirmed a little. Even in this dim light, his pale skin showed up against his dark sheets and Cieran's dark, broad front-scales. "For you."

"Oh!" Cieran's tongue flicked out over Douglas' ear, but for once, that wasn't deliberate. The Adder did this when he was unsure of something. His friend shifted his shoulder a bit, to let Douglas' ponytail hang over there instead of getting crushed up against his neck and back. "You said, ages ago, that you wanted me to make you suck my dick. Let's try that next time."

"That's not... I...." Douglas shifted his arms from their bonds, and wrapped his hands around Cieran's forearms. This didn't count. Douglas had brought it up, so this was just another instance of Cieran pleasing Douglas. "I wanna know what you want."

"Oh, you do, do you...?" Cieran's coils tightened and slipped over Douglas, with the two under the bedsheets, deliciously warm in this early Spring. "Well... first of all, I do this to you because I love doing it to you, and because I love pushing my subs' happy buttons. Your face and noises when I do stuff to you are what I do that stuff for. But, there's a little more that I want..."

Here it comes again, Douglas thought. You're having a party...

"See," Cieran whispered in Douglas' ear, "We're having a potluck at my place this Friday...."

"I...." Douglas fidgeted.

"Don't say you can't cook. You made us those nut-things. I even liked them."

"It's...." He felt more trapped than when he was being constricted earlier.

"Don't say you don't like meeting new people. You're an events manager for a huge music festival."

"I'm."

"Breathe, Dougie. Breathe, my boy, don't worry, I'll never force you to do anything," Cieran murmured, and Douglas obeyed, breathing out through his mouth, in through his nose, and deeply sighing out. There was another short silence as Douglas gathered his thoughts.

"I love you," Douglas said.

"Loving me doesn't stop me cooking for you," Cieran said, perhaps unfairly.

"I love you, so much, and, and," Douglas squeezed Cieran's arms, which tightened around him, "And if I make people fight at your party, if I don't get on with your other subs, or your flatmates, you'll... you'll see bits of me you don't like."

Cieran laughed, very softly, the same way he did when Douglas struggled against his coils.

"How violent do you think these things get?"

"...A little? I dunno, Cieran, I just. I know I'm being crazy, but feels like I'd be taking a risk. I'd risk losing you." Cieran's tail coiled around Douglas' feet, giving them a squeeze. "Mgh."

"Douglas, I swear to you, no level of bickering or fighting with my friends will make me love you any less. I won't stop playing with you if you don't get on perfectly with all of them." All of Cieran tightened around Douglas.

As a streetlamp went on outside, more of the room became apparent. The many intricate and violent fantasy scenarios on the posters on Douglas' walls soothed him, as he remembered the albums and songs, and the sweat and intimacy of the concerts. He never decorated with bands he hadn't seen.

"Oh," said Cieran, "who are they?"

"Hmm?" Douglas looked up, and Cieran pointed to a framed photo on his dresser. There were seven Wolves in the photo, waving to the camera. Their fur was wet, and shone in the sun - they'd all been at the beach. "That's my family. I took it before I moved here."

"Huh," Cieran said, a soft hiss touching his voice. "You said your first band was called 'Raised by Wolves'. I thought that was just teen edginess. Politically incorrect teenage edginess."

"No, I just don't have any imagination," Douglas laughed. "Write what you know, right?"

"Right." Cieran didn't wrap his arm back around Douglas' neck, but slipped it between his own coils, to rub the slim man's belly with his palm. "The guys living with me are Werewolves. Calm ones. Not the same, I know, but I think you're gonna get on. They're sort of their own Pack."

Douglas thought about it. He didn't actually know any Wolves in town, and he'd lived there for long enough to know that the only ones he was gonna meet were the ones attending or working the festivals he put on. Here today, gone in a week. He missed the closeness he had with his family, and with the other Wolves he'd known back home in the South.

"You're tempted..." Cieran kissed Douglas' cheek. "You don't have to say yes, and you don't have to answer today."

Douglas ended up answering yes, by text, on Tuesday. An early heat wave had started.

He didn't want to go overly formal, but he did want to make a good impression, but it was too hot now for too much clothing... he settled on a band shirt, a more-or-less colour-matched kilt, and sandals. And beef stew. An Adder and some Werewolves probably wanted lots of meat.

Their place was on the opposite side of town from Douglas' apartment, but it was the same kind of old brownstone Douglas lived in. The same long lattice of identical windows. Somehow that made it weirder. At the door, he was greeted by a black guy, laughing about something -- he was wider than Douglas, though that wasn't hard; he was just a little shorter, and his eyes were bright and happy.

"Douglas!" It wasn't quite like being greeted by an old friend, but it wasn't far off. The guy's voice was deep, with a lisp. He had on a brave chartreuse v-neck, showing a chest hairier than Douglas had ever seen on anyone. It was amazing, really. So thick that you couldn't see the oak-brown skin under it. Douglas found his hand and arm being gripped in an extra-manly, two-handed handshake, and smelled something organic and wonderful about the guy. He must have just been cooking. Or working out? Something. God, that chest. "I'm Josiah. Cieran's told us all about you. C'mon in."

Not letting go of his arm, Douglas' strong new friend led him through a cream-walled hallway to a living room with plush carpeting and dark red walls. A long sofa sat on one side of the room, a big TV on the other. No-one else was there, but there were noises from the next room - the kitchen, surely. Douglas must have been the first guest to arrive.

"H-hi," he said. "Yes. Um. Shouldn't I take my shoes off?"

"Yes," said Josiah, not breaking eye contact, and not letting go of Douglas' arm. "Yes, you must."

Douglas laughed, feeling better already.

"You can keep them on if you want," Josiah said, relaxing his grip off Douglas by increments.

"Thanks, but I'd rather not mess up your floors," said Douglas, undoing his sandals. Cieran had a bit of a foot kink, probably because he didn't have any feet himself. Part of how Douglas dressed for this was to please Cieran.

"I should warn you - oh my god, is that beef?" Josiah lifted Douglas' other arm, bringing the bag to his nose. "Oh, my god, that's beef. You angel! You angel."

"You should warn me?" Douglas squinted as Josiah took the bag from him.

"No, no, come through," Josiah said, proceeding through the door to the kitchen. "Guys! The D is here!"

"Oh, my God, the D!" A deeper voice than even Josiah's answered, with a thick accent - he was from this town.

"I told you not to tell him we were calling him that!" And there was Cieran.

"Hi," Douglas said, looking through the door. The kitchen was well-used. The local guy was ginger, and younger than Douglas and Josiah, but seriously built. And, for some reason, topless. "I'm the D."

Cieran slithered his tail over to wrap around Douglas' ankles, tripping him into a waiting pile of Snake. Josiah daintily took the bag with the pot of stew to the table before it could spill, and fetched a slotted spoon for it.

"H-hey!" Douglas struggled with the ever-tighter knot of Snake around his bare ankles, terrified of accidentally flashing the other two. "I don't even know this other guy's name!"

"Greg," said the local guy, squatting down next to Douglas and offering his hand to shake. Douglas took it, but this lost him leverage with Cieran's tail, which pinned his other arm to his side. "Relax," Greg added, tugging Douglas towards him - and he didn't have the strength to resist it. They were face to face - Greg's clean-shaven, freckled face to Douglas' bearded, pierced one. Douglas tried not to mentally map Greg's pecs. "You're used to this much contact with your friends, right? Well, we're friends."

Douglas laughed, again, unable to bring himself to argue, or off the floor. Greg's hands fell to Douglas' knees - only just onto the fabric of the kilt, but his thumbs dipped under, onto his skin. The ever-tightening scaly manacles nearly forced Douglas' legs open. Douglas tried to ignore that Greg only wore sweatpants and flip-flops.

"You must be another of his subs," Douglas said, trying to draw his knees back together and finding himself unable to. He looked Greg in the eyes - they were both a little hard now. Cieran's tail snuck, inch by inch, up the kilt, up his legs, onto his thighs... "Or are you living here? kuh -- Cieran, please."

"Hm?" Cieran didn't turn around, setting the table, as though completely uninvolved in the conversation. His tail reached and softly circled Douglas' balls. "What's wrong?"

"Did you not tell him?" Greg said, losing the low and husky tone he'd been using.

"I told him everything. I told him potluck, werewolves, other subs, flatmates."

"Yeah. Who else is coming?" Douglas asked, not sure if he wanted to be split open and reamed on the kitchen floor by a stranger in front of one of those stranger's workmates. His legs were getting tired, which made him fatten up completely, very obviously to Greg.

"It's just us," Josiah said, softly. He spooned some of his own concoction, whatever it was, into a big glass bowl. "We're his subs. And flatmates. And Werewolves."

"With the... just the two of you?" Douglas relaxed considerably. This potluck was only for the initiated. As his struggle stopped, so too did the insistence of that round tail-tip, which now just sat in the space between Douglas' legs. Stimulating, but not distracting.

"There was another one," Cieran said, "Bryan, but he's just moved out. Found a job he wanted elsewhere... and that's everything ready. Who's hungry?"

"Me?" asked Douglas, but as he started to stand up, Cieran's slippery tail slipped from its place on his perineum to go inside of him, and he gasped out, and fell onto all fours.

"Silly guy," said Greg, shifting so he was sat cross-legged in front of Douglas, holding him up. He brushed his nose over Douglas' in slow circles. "You gotta pray before you can eat..."

"Actually," interrupted Josiah, primly. "You have to set the table. Come on! Playtime later! Don't make me do everything myself!"

Cieran slid out of Douglas and let him free. Greg rummaged his knuckles over Douglas' shoulders for a moment, before lifting him back up to his feet.

"Let's eat," he whispered to Douglas, as if it was a secret.

There was a surprising amount of root vegetables at this potluck, but there was plenty of food for all of them. Was it really a potluck if all of them lived in the same place, used the same kitchen?

Josiah had made a plentiful quiche, and roast carrots and parsnips, both with 'plenty' garlic. Cieran made a similarly large goose pie. Douglas' beef stew went down well. Greg had stuffed a chicken with sausage meat and sage and shared it with the other two humans, and had roasted another, unstuffed bird solely for Cieran. It ended up being solely for Cieran, anyway, because he unhinged his jaw and swallowed the whole thing.

There was far less in the way of footsies and inappropriate tail-groping at mealtime, which made it easier to talk.

"Oh," said Josiah, noticing Douglas' shirt. "You like Fleshflower Rot too?"

"I've only seen them a couple of times, but yeah," Douglas replied. "I love them. Especially since they got rid of that first vocalist."

"What?" said Cieran.

"You don't wanna know," Josiah said, nodding to Douglas. "That poor audience."

"What? What happened?" said Greg.

"You don't want to know," Douglas said, nodding to Josiah. "At least it was raining."

"Yeah. Were you there?"

"I, uh, I organised the event," Douglas said, eyes cast down. "We'd heard he drank, but that was his first offense."

Dinner was consumed rapidly - at least, by the three that lived in that apartment - and everyone was thanked for their contributions. There was no room for any dessert, yet, so they waddled over to the long couch in the living room, and Cieran, Josiah, and Greg fell into a comfortable pile of each other. Cieran lay back, and let Josiah and Greg fold his coils over themselves as though they were blankets. Douglas stood, awkwardly, in front of them. The plush carpet felt lovely under his feet.

There had been no alcohol. This was sort of to be expected by the attempted tail-fucking earlier. Cieran seemed just a little amorous, tonight, and in Cieran's book, kink meant no drink.

Cieran's tail hooked around the back of one of Douglas' bare knees.

The sun had set.

"C'mon in," Cieran said, making eye contact. In the soft gold light - a single oil lamp, on the table - his red eyes were a weirder ruby than usual. "My good boys."

Josiah stretched out at Cieran's left, stretching out - and removing his socks, then his jeans, his v-neck. On the other side, Greg sloughed off the wife beater, having stepped out of his shoes to go onto the Adder to begin with, and pressed his face down into Cieran's coils. Cieran ran his scaly fingers through their hair.

"Sleep," he said. "Go to sleep and change."

Their eyes flashed red, in unison, then a dirty gold, and they stretched out as though waking up. The pair moaned almost in unison, and Douglas watched as silver and black hair started to sprout over their bodies, first as thin and spare as Douglas' own body hair, then a downy coat covering them, then...

Douglas had never watched werewolves transform before, so he took in Josiah's and Greg's uncanny stretching of forelimbs, thickening of fingers, and elongation of faces with some interest. There was less Wolf in Werewolves than you'd think, Douglas' mother had told him once. There was some Wolf, but mostly, it was a human body trying its best to be a Wolf. This imtitation was not quite flat faced, not quite snouted like a real Wolf. Their claws and fangs were bigger, relatively, than a Wolf's, and showed all the time. This contributed to their reputation.

Silver and black fur gained iron greys as it grew, and Cieran's questing tail squeezed around each of Douglas' thighs to bring his attention back to the Adder.

"Now," Cieran said, and the noises of sleepy pleasure the Werewolves made in their long transformations started to fade in Douglas' mind. Eventually, it was just soft and uneven background music. Douglas had looked in the Adder's eyes, and let the pleasure of his power in. He could feel the slight tingle as he knew his own eyes were turning ruby red as well. He saw a little pink in the centre of each of Cieran's pupils... pink dots which were each then a thin, spiralling line, and he realised the thread ran throughout each eye, they were spinning, slowly. The pink occurred in Douglas' eyes, as well. Black-red and bright pink became all he knew, overwhelming everything else - everything he knew, that is, until Cieran spoke.

"I'm going to make you an offer. You won't decide tonight, Douglas, but you'll decide. It's best you hear the offer from me, seeing what you need to see, while you're nice and focused, nice and relaxed, nice and receptive."

"Yeah," said Douglas, grinning the grin he always had while under Cieran's pleasurable spell.

Cieran smiled broadly. Technically, he was always smiling broadly - a Snake had fewer expressions than a Mammal, not least because the Snake couldn't blink. If he were human, he'd have been flushed with arousal, protectiveness, and a sense of deserved power. As it was, he only smiled.

"You've been my good boy for a long time now, Douglas," Cieran said, lowly. "You've been dutiful, and you've allowed yourself to receive what you need from me. You've communicated everything you're okay with, everything you're not... so, I know you to be a good man, at playtime." Idly, he let the tip of his tail slip inside Douglas' hole again, under the kilt, relishing the heat. Cieran bathed a lot, not just for cleanliness but to keep his keeled scales very slippery and smooth. "I'd like to invite you to trust me with your life."

The long-haired metalhead smiled even wider, showing his teeth now. He sighed, helpless, happy. Good. Cieran slithered a little further into him, drawing another happy sigh - the little pain of initial penetration was well behind Douglas now.

The other boys were almost fully transformed, eyes closed, thick tongues lolling out in happy sleep. They just breathed, now, no longer whimpering or keening. Greg kicked his leg out a little, dreaming of... Cieran flicked his tongue... a hunt. Lovely. Cieran kneaded his fingers into their fur.

"I invite you in here, with us, now that my other boy is leaving... but those who leave the Pack's den are still family. You'll meet Bryan fairly soon, I think. I don't expect you to give me any money. I do expect you to give me what I need. What you need. What we need... you'd become one of my little Pack, here. Josiah would bite you. You'd turn into a happy little half-Wolf whenever I made you do so."

Cieran was hard, behind his vent - the sides of his cloaca were swelling and coming into view, a horizontal line across his pelvis. His two cocks were not quite ready to come out, but Greg and Josiah had started snuffling, sensing their lover's pleasure.

"You'd be my puppy all the time, though. Human or Werewolf." Cieran raised the thick trunk of his body and wrapped one loop of it around Douglas' shoulder and chest. "My sleepy, playful puppy. Your work life wouldn't change... your social life wouldn't change... I suppose you'd have to explain to those who can smell it that you're a Werewolf, though...."

Douglas laughed, softly. The idea really did seem to hit something inside of the man. Cieran was glad he'd paid attention to that Wolf scent on the boy when they met... he'd probably longed to smell in the same detail that his family did since he was a child. Longed to see as they did, understand the world like they did, even if only sometimes.

"Do you like my other boys, Douglas?"

"Pretty," Douglas whispered, faltering, as Cieran slowly rotated the very tip of his tail in a circle. "Safe."

"Just like you," Cieran said.

There was a burst of sour musk as Cieran's twin cocks slid out of their vent, arching out and dripping thick precum. The hypnotised wolf-men padded at the coils around them with half-hands, half-paws. Wicked and blunt claws pressed and pulled. Cieran eased his hold on them, and they crawled over him over on their furry bellies to smell Cieran, taste him. Softly, their tongues - almost entirely human, thick and wet, just bigger, longer - circled each glans.

Douglas moaned, because the scent was strong enough that he could smell it, too.

"Cieran," Douglas keened.

"Take off your shirt, Dougie," Cieran murmured, trying to keep his concentration on Douglas as his pups wrapped their lips around him. He lifted that one loop off and above the man to allow him to disrobe.

Douglas obeyed, slowly - but not slow so as to give a show. Slow, because he had all the time in the world, under Cieran's spell, with the warm feeling of submission and protection covering all his other thoughts.

"Oh..." Cieran slowly let his tongue stretch towards his prey, "I love your sweat so much, Douglas. You've always tasted so good. Even from over here. Man, boy, and wolf, and pup."

Douglas laughed again, quieter, but with more feeling. Yeah, Cieran thought, he needed this.

"Of course," and Cieran slithered further inside Douglas than he had ever gone, stretching him out, and holding him in place with his coils, "you're not, quite, a man right now, are you?" Greg and Josiah's cheeks rubbed together as they each swallowed Cieran whole. "You're a bitch in heat, who needs filled up full."

The hypnotised human boy's lips parted in a long groan. Cieran had, in the past, managed to turn several conversations with Douglas into instant sessions, no matter what was being discussed, just by describing him as a bitch in heat. It didn't even require hypnotic reinforcement. Douglas wanted, badly, for his body to have some sort of sexual season with no 'off' switch - though his fantasy didn't go that much further than that. He'd explicitly said he never wanted to make any babies.

"We can all smell it. We all know what you need."

He slithered his tail just a little farther into Douglas' hole --

"What your body needs."

-- and pulled it a little back. Slowly, gently, Cieran began to fuck Douglas, but he didn't draw in and out, not deliberately... he moved from side to side, against his boy's prostate. A slow and teasing almost-fuck.

"Need you," Douglas mewled. His hands clutched at Cieran's coil around his shoulder and chest.

"Yes," said Cieran, pulsing in the mouths of his wolf-boys and in the ass of his human boy, "I know you need me. That's why I'm giving you me. You understand? I'm yours, my boy."

"Thah... thank you..." Douglas' eyes were tearing up a little.

"You're very welcome. I need you, too," Cieran continued, perhaps unfairly, but he knew that his eyes' hypnotic spell never altered anyone's free will...

...unless, that is, they were a Werewolf. But Douglas didn't need to know that, yet.

And this subject had, so often, spoken of his fantasies of being overwhelmed for real. Resisting with all his strength, and losing. Having his memories and feelings changed, or used 'against' him.

"Undo your kilt, little Douglas," he hissed, softly. "Be honest with me."

This was the only trigger Douglas had ever had put in him: 'be honest with me', when said by Cieran, meant nudity. Douglas' hands fell from stroking the coil around him to clumsily undo the belt clasp on the kilt, which folded out and revealed his legs and cock - as well as what Cieran's tail was doing to him.

"There's a chair behind you, to your left," Cieran said, knowing Douglas didn't want his gown on the floor. Douglas, staring into Cieran's eyes still, reached behind, and - found it. Good. "Good."

Greg and Josiah had definitely woken up from the spell, because they were sucking and slurping at him with skill. It was exquisite, and he rubbed the backs of their necks in encouragement... before reaching under them. They arched up, squatting now on long feet, to let Cieran wrap his black-palmed hand around their cocks.

"Let's all cum," said the Adder magnanimously, "then we'll talk about your decisions. How does that sound?"

"Yeah," said Douglas, the only boy in the room with his mouth free to speak. "Please."

Cieran undulated inside Douglas harder, bringing him down to his knees - and pulling the coils round his legs up to put him on his face, so he could see what he was doing and fuck him at a better angle. He never lost eye contact with Douglas, but he was broadcasting the pleasure his boys were giving him, now, almost giving the long-haired boy the exact feeling of having two of your own cocks sucked off at the same time. He gripped his two boys, and worked them in a steady rhythm - then faster --

Douglas bit down into the nearest bit of Cieran as hard as he can, as his orgasm was wrung from him by the tail inside his ass, and both of Cieran's cocks shot into both his boys' mouths, and he twisted their cocks in turn, and was painted one side at a time.

"Fuck," said Cieran, in his normal voice. He slowly let his tail slip out from inside Douglas, and giggled while Greg and Josiah, his eager pups, lapped up their cum from his hips. Douglas blearily looked up - so lost in Cieran's spell for so long he was sort of hungover - and, seeing their example, lowered his face to lick himself from Cieran's scales. "Fuck, yes. Thank you, thank you, that's -- that's enough. Get up here, Douglas."

Cieran bumped Douglas up into the pile of them with a pile of himself, and would around his hands and ankles while the Werewolves in his possession licked the sweat from Douglas' neck, pits, chest, arms... Greg, whose fur had more of a gold tinge than Josiah's, hooked his claw into Douglas' hair tie and pulled it out, letting his soft hair fall over all of them.

"Fuck," Douglas said, apparently agreeing with Cieran. He kissed the Adder's face, and just laughed when the thick forked tongue slid into his mouth and down his throat to choke him a little, before sliding out. This was how they kissed after a session. Greg gently lapped at Douglas' aching hole, soothing the pain somehow, as Josiah snuffled into Greg's belly, warm, furry arms wrapped around the boy's middle. "Fuck, yeah, I... I, umh, Cieran...."

"Sleep here," Cieran said, "tonight. Sleep with us. You can decide tomorrow."

Douglas grinned like the cat who got the cream.

"Say 'please'," he said.