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"We're..." Zeboul rubbed his bicep, unsure of what to do with his hands, anymore. "We're friends, right?"

"What?"

Despite not having eyelids, the snake winced.

"What?" Oman asked again. This was weird, now. Awkward.

"I. Um. Okay, I can. I can tell how you feel about me, I shouldn't have. Have asked that."

Oman frowned, and fondled the tail in his hand idly.

"Oh, now you're confused..." Zeboul hung his head. "I don't... um... I told you I'm five days old, right? I don't know what I'm doing. I honestly don't. At all. I know how to use my body, but that's. That's it, and I've... I've never met anyone except Strix, and now, I... I."

Oman's mouth set into a line. He didn't know how to have this conversation any more than Zeboul did.

"I mean," Oman started saying, and was about to say, 'I just met you', but that wasn't what he meant.

"I don't. We -- you don't have to be friends with me. Obviously. I don't... none of this was really my business, and I'm getting all up in it."

Oman closed his eyes. It was time to be honest.

"It's okay, Zeboul," he said. "I... hn. I liked it?"

"I can smell that... I can tell that. But that doesn't make it okay without your permission, which I only just now realise you're giving me," the snake said, some of the awkwardness draining away. Not nearly enough, but some. "Thank you, Oman."

"You're welcome," the monk said, "Zeboul."

They looked at each other a moment. Oman reached into himself, and tried - really tried - to pull something out.

"No-one's looked after you, either," Oman offered.

"It's not the same. I was born an adult. People -- Strix actually made sure I was born fully-formed. There's no childhood for me to have missed."

"Right. You're not lonely at all."

"Oh, stop."

"You're desperate for me to like you," Oman continued. "And I. I do. Okay? I do."

"Oman."

"We're friends. I'll... allow it. It's - it's fine, being friends when you just met."

"It's not real, though."

"That's debatable," Oman said. It was a little out of character for him to talk like this: in times of doubt, he mimicked his teammates. 'Debatable' was latrans' favourite word. "Besides, you can... read my... feelings."

Oman pursed his lips. It felt awful to say. 'Read my feelings'.

"Hn. I like you, and you know that, and like it."

Zeboul nodded.

"I'll forget the kid gloves," he said. "You don't mind finding out about my powers as we go. You like the danger. So let's just keep going, and if it gets too much for you, I'll stop."

Just like that, Oman started getting hard. Curse it all.

He worried, for a second, maybe Zeboul didn't want that.

...If he didn't want that, though, he'd stop.

Oman thought - what if I can't say anything?

But Zeboul would know.

The fact he was an 'empath' was terribly convenient.

"Besides," Zeboul said, warmth flooding back into his voice - warmth and heat. "It's for your own good. Silly."

"Ah." Oman closed his eyes, and, reflexively, he said "stop it."

"Sh, silly boy. It's not your call."

Oman looked up at him in shock, and found himself choked by the tail he'd been fondling for so long.

"Silly boys don't get to say no."

He was fully hard, now, straining on the pants. They were the only clothing he really owned, thinking about it. Which he wasn't. Shouldn't have been. Stupid.

The side of Oman's mouth quirked up, and he forced it back down.

"I'd like to be friends," he said, eventually. The choking coil loosened, and draped off of him.

"I believe you," replied the snake. "I... I can feel that. But it's important that you say it, too." He pursed his scaled lips. "You're holding something back... what is it? Can I push?"

Oman thought he didn't know what he meant, but on reflection, he had a good idea of it. He was apprehensive in an underlying way that most people weren't. He knew this, on some level.

"Yes?"

An aura of many colours flashed around Zeboul's head, and Oman felt his claws come out fully. They rubbed at the scales beneath and around him.

"Oh," he said. "Sorry?"

"It doesn't hurt me. I thought you had to focus to get them out." Zeboul took one of Oman's hands in his larger one, and examined the strange weapons. He flicked his tongue out over them, for the second time since meeting him. "But dogs don't retract their claws, do they?"

"Do you like how I taste? 'Friend'?" Oman's eyes half-lidded, and he clambered over the snake's thick body, closer to the torso. "Was this your plan all along, hm?"

"I -- pardon? Well, if you have to know, you taste... erm..." Zeboul was quite taken aback by this, and on instinct, he moved back a bit. Oman was unfazed, and continued to clamber towards his face. "I didn't start this conversation, Oman, how could..."

"You're hungry," Oman said, and draped himself on Zeboul with a strange languidness. His clamber slowed to a crawl, then a creep. For all the purposeful masculinity before, sexual intimacy was jarringly natural. "And you're lonely."

"I can't deny that." Zeboul looked at Oman fondly. This was moving oddly quickly. The monk was already slipping off his pants. "Where do you suppose I'll find --"

And that was all he could manage to say, before Oman pried his jaws wide open with both hands.

Zeboul gargled in shock.

The hero's feet, pressed together, moved in an arc as Oman's legs arched round and slid into Zeboul's throat. A shocked shout failed to get out.

"This is what you wanted, wasn't it?" Oman grinned, wild. "I taste good, don't I?"

Zeboul muffled a mild protest, but he couldn't, quite, stop himself swallowing. The force of Oman's strength shoved him hip-deep, and he was, indeed, delicious.

"Oh," Oman said, "oh, you're warm, Zeboul... take all of me. I know you'll let me out."

"Gggflg," Zeboul replied. "Gffdd."

"So we're agreed," Oman sighed, voice softer now, as if slipping into a bath. The smooth walls of Zeboul's throat constricted him on all sides, but it didn't push him out. No, Zeboul's throat was built for taking in something of just Oman's size. He slid down to his chest, spreading his toes in the hot, wet core of his friend.

Then that muscle holding his body loosened, and he lost his grip, and Zeboul pushed his scalp right down.