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Milo stirred reluctantly from warm and carnal dreams, trying with all of his might to cling to the sounds and sensations that were already slipping from his grasp. They fled anyway, of course, as they always did. The drake relinquished his hold on them and slid into the waking world with a sigh. He glanced around in slow disorientation as he reached down to stroke idly at the stiff, unfulfilled excitement that his dreams had left throbbing between his hinds. Realization struck, and half-lidded, orange eyes shot wide open. Grinning, Milo rolled, tangling himself up in the blanket in his attempt to escape the bed as quickly as possible. He hit the floor with a sharp curse and a thump that ached, but that hopefully wouldn't purple his blue scales. It took him a frustratingly long moment to struggle free, but as he stood, the frustration melted away, unable to withstand the overwhelming excitement that curved his mouth into a wide grin. It was morning! Today was the first day! His shoulders and wings quivered with glee. No summer camp for him this year! No, the camp was for children. This year, he'd be partaking in the real festivities.

Despite his excitement, Milo forced himself to take a deep breath, right the mattress on the low bedframe, and straighten out the sheets that he'd pulled to the floor with him. The second bed was already made up. Not that Milo would've wasted his time making Reyleth's bed for him anyhow. No, the only reason the fact was relevant to him was because it meant his brother had succeeded in finding a companion who kept him overnight. Or that his brother had neglected to wake him up before he left. Deciding to believe the former, Milo laughed.

"Good job, Reyleth."

He stretched his wings, bouncing on his heels. His member flopped stiffly as he did, pulling a sound from his chest that got itself wedged someplace between a laugh and a cough. Tossing the strap of his satchel over one wing, he trotted out the door of the room and into the upper floor of the Randy Raven without waiting for his malehood to shrink back into his sheath. Decency didn't much matter today, as no one here would be hiding their arousal for at least a solid three weeks. Nonetheless, a heavy blush colored his face as he bounced down the stairs and through the mostly empty dining room. A few stragglers who hadn't quite finished their morning meal chuckled at him as he passed, at least one remarking that she remembered being so young and eager. Milo barely registered them, or even paid any heed to the tavern itself, deciding that his breakfast could be patient enough to wait until lunchtime.

The door swung open just before he reached it. He swerved and stopped, narrowly avoiding a collision with a large, white-scaled drake and his smaller, greener companion. The green one merely nodded at him with a slight blush as they passed, but the larger drake gave a wide smile and a hearty laugh, as though expressing a perpetual amusement. Milo offered a nod and a good morning to each of them, sparing the green drake a slightly longer glance than he spared the other. He was a bit smaller than the green, but he'd be smaller than most drakes his age anyway. And that aside, he rather liked the shape of those hips...

A shake of his head failed to dislodge the blush clinging to his cheeks. He shook it anyway. A dragoness was what he wanted... first, at least. Maybe he'd find one of those two drakes again later. Or both of them. Milo laughed at the illicit images racing through his horny mind and trotted out into the street.

He made it halfway across the square before he realized that he didn't know where exactly he was going. Reyleth had been to Honeycrest for his first Festival the previous year. Unfortunately, Reyleth wasn't here to show him where to go, on account of having spent the night in someone else's bed.

"Good job, Reyleth," he huffed, before turning about and sprinting back into the Randy Raven with a humorously put-upon smirk.

"Louis?" he called, putting his forefeet up on the bar, "Hey, Louis, how do I get to the field?"

The barkeep held up a talon while he finished his conversation with another patron. Milo resisted the urge to huff again. Instead, he hopped up onto a barstool and waited, squirming impatiently and casting a long look around the room. His eyes settled on that green drake again, who was chuckling quietly at something the white one had said. Milo's flagging erection jumped at the sight of the not-so-well-hidden member jutting out from between those emerald hinds. Those barbs and nubs looked very interesting indeed. His own member had a similar ridge along the underside, but he was fairly sure his own barbs weren't so pronounced. Were the green's barbs fleshy and pliable like his, or did they become rigid as stone with excitement? A tiny shudder rippled down his spine at the thought of either prospect.

The white leaned over and whispered something that made the green jump and glance sharply around the room before meeting Milo's eyes with a heavy blush. Milo blushed in return and jerked his head back around to the bar, just in time for Louis to walk up to him.

"Good morning, sir. Directions to the field, was it?"

Both eager to get on with the day's activities and heavily embarrassed to have been caught staring, Milo could barely pay attention to the barkeep's explanation. He was almost certain that he could feel green eyes on his back, and icy-blue ones as well. In fact, he could practically hear the mirth gleaming in the latter. Distracted, he had to ask Louis to repeat himself several times. At least Louis didn't seem to mind it much. Running a bar during Midyear probably required a lot more patience than just one distracted firstyear could manage to exhaust.

Finally, freshly armed with navigational knowledge, Milo fled the lingering gazes of those two drakes, bursting from the tavern and sprinting down the street. His member bounced pleasantly as he went, and a smile cracked wide through his blush.

By the time he crested the ridge above the field, the summer sun had made it quite well up into the sky, and it occupied itself by bouncing its light cheerfully off of waving banners and brightly colored tents. Varicolored flashes of vibrant scales mingled with each other amid wide trees and garish cloth, all pressing far closer to one another than would've been proper at any other time of the year. He trotted down the slope, trying to focus on not tripping rather than on the sights and sounds in front of him. He was fairly sure that he could see at least three pairs of dragons going at each other, far off around the outskirts of the field. Others made their way over the hills ringing the festival grounds and out of sight, very clear in their intended activities. Much closer, a dragoness gave a long, keening cry that tied his gut into an eager knot and filled his head with thoughts of thrusting and finishing. Ears perking and swiveling to direct his eyes in search of the sound's source, he stumbled distractedly, only just managing to catch himself as he reached the bottom of the hill. Before him, at last, churned the oft-fantasized-about Midyear Festival, in all of its alluring glory.

Dragons of diverse shapes and sizes moved in a loose, chaotic swarm, chatting and flirting and laughing as they moved from booth to stall to tent, their swirling, shifting colors almost disorienting for a moment. Bawdy tunes floated above the crowd, occasionally joined in by the revellers as they walked, stood, or... engaged each other off to the side. Instruments played the accompaniments from somewhere out of sight, mostly percussion, strings, and woodwinds, magically amplified to be heard over the commotion.

The wind shifted, blowing toward him from across the field and carrying with it a mingled cocktail of food and sex that utterly intoxicated him. He sat back on his haunches for a moment, closed his eyes, took a long pull through his nostrils, and savored it, letting it pump more blood into his malehood, letting his mind race along with his heart, letting his hips tremble and his tail twitch. When he couldn't stand to wait anymore, he opened his eyes, squared his shoulders, and trotted into the fray.

Most of the dragonesses he saw were already paired up with someone else, and those who weren't all seemed to be a touch too large for him. Not that he had anything at all against a larger dragoness, mind, but he rather wanted his first partner to notice when he started into her. The thought cast a very ruddy hue across his cheeks, laying it atop the rather deep blush that had already settled there. He laughed to himself and trudged on, trading easy greetings with dragons with whom he shared a mutual sexual disinterest, but finding no one that seemed both available and appealing. Of course, the smells and sounds made it rather difficult to focus on his search, occasionally coaxing his hips into tiny, involuntary movements which weren't terribly conducive to walking. No one seemed to notice that, at least. Or at least, no one seemed to pay it any mind.

With a huff, he made his way to one of the booths and snorted out a laugh. The booth housed a game of ring toss, with pegs sculpted into exactly the sorts of shapes that he honestly should have expected them to be at Midyear. A sign above the booth declared "Cock-Ring Toss" in garish and shameless lettering. The drake working the booth raised an eyeridge at him, but made no comment. He looked rather bored, in spite of everything going on around him. Milo paid a coin and took a few throws, winning a tiny felted... toy... of the sort that one wouldn't exactly give to a hatchling. Or a child. Or, probably, leave out in plain view during any season but Midyear. Or really even use, for that matter, as cloth and stuffing probably wouldn't do very well for practical use. The toy went into his satchel to be forgotten until it was found again, and he walked away from the booth, laughing, blushing, and scanning the crowd.

At last, in a shimmer of green, someone caught his eye, standing by herself and looking around as though she too were seeking a partner. He loped into a trot and opened his mouth to call out, only to be cut off by a flash of red scales and a suave, confident voice. She laughed in a very won-over sort of way, and Milo smirked deeply as she flicked the other drake's chin with her tail. He shook himself though, forced a smile into his bearing, and laughed at the coincidence.

"Good morning, Reyleth," he greeted, closing the remaining distance with a brief jog, "getting an early start?"

His brother turned and faced him, purple eyes gleaming with a hint of alcohol.

"I think you're starting late, Milo, unless you've already had a partner or two."

His breath hinted more strongly at alcohol than did the gleam in his eyes, though his steady stance and clear speech said that it had still only been enough to loosen him up. He cast a glance at the dragoness, who tittered behind a forefoot, a sound which struck Milo as both very fake and far more arousing than he would've expected. Desire surged, an unbidden image rising from the murky depths of his thoughts of her turning around, of him climbing up and pushing her down. For a brief instant, he felt the strangest need for her to turn and run. Reyleth shattered his reverie.

"Wait a moment..."

Reyleth shook his head with a look crossbred from a smile and a grimace as the dragoness threw a forefoot over his shoulder and leaned heavily into his flank.

"Oh no, did I just? Oh man... Sorry for the cock-block, Milo."

"My fault for being too slow," Milo shrugged, "I'd fight you over her, but I'd hate to wound your pride by beating you up so early in the day."

He traded chuckles with his brother, who was better by far at scuffling and probably a third again his weight to boot.

"You could always share me..." the dragoness cooed, dragging a salacious look from the horns on Milo's head down to the horn standing between his legs. He blushed, looking her over in return and liking what he saw. But his gut churned uneasily. She was attractive, for certain, but the idea of sharing his first dragoness felt unappealing. He'd shared a lot of firsts with his brother, but sharing his first fuck was a little... well, it was a little No.

"Uh, no thanks. Maybe, ah, maybe later. I'd rather start with... um..."

He trailed, searching in vain for words that he might be able to force through his teeth without blushing himself into oblivion.

"A more one-on-one sort of session?" Reyleth finished for him. By the look on his face, he also felt pretty much the same about sharing this particular experience with him. Milo bobbed his head in poorly-hidden relief.

"Yeah."

The dragoness offered Milo a humming nod of cheerful indifference and stuck her tongue in Reyleth's ear. Reyleth jumped and breathed something that was probably a profanity, eyes unfocussing and legs wobbling. Looking quite pleased with herself, she wrapped her tail around his neck and started off. Reyleth let her pull him away, tossing his head briefly over his shoulder to shout, "Good luck!" before disappearing around a dunking booth. Milo smirked.

"Good job, Reyleth."

A well-aimed throw dunked the drake on the seat of the dunking booth, to the great delight of the dragoness who'd made the shot. Her victorious whoop snatched away what little of Milo's attention hadn't been claimed already by the clunk and splash of the dunk itself. She wrapped limbs around the drake beside her and pulled him into a deep kiss, perhaps deeper than the situation really warranted. Milo's hips rocked at the air as they pulled at each other. Definitely deeper. The kiss slid into something that looked quite a bit more passionate than a mere celebration of a minor success. The dunked drake climbed half up onto the edge of the tank and clung there, watching, beginning to pant. His shoulders and wings rocked, his forelegs flexing, as he ground his hips against the side of the tank. Milo's hips mirrored the motion. The dragoness wrapped her tail around one of her partner's hinds, nudging at his balls with its tip. He nipped at her ear with a heated growl, and she gasped.

Milo's hips rocked too far, and he lost his balance for a moment. He shook his head sharply and tore his attention away from the kissing pair, eager to find a partner of his own to become entangled with. Swallowing fruitlessly at the lump of tense excitement knotting itself up in his chest, he looked around, not too certain of where exactly he ought to be searching. A sound pelted at his attention, a heavy, rhythmic commotion layered over with cheering and laughter, louder and more persistent than the general clamor. Not having anything much else in the way of a direction to go in, he trotted toward the noise and found himself at the back of a dense, standing crowd gathered in a large square free of tents and stalls. Taking advantage of his smaller size, he pushed his way to the front to see what the deal was. And fell back onto his haunches with a bump, forgetting to breathe.

He'd seen illustrations, of course, and even caught a glimpse or two of the act itself. Many glimpses, in fact, during the last couple of days. Hell, he'd seen quite a bit of it in the last ten minutes! But there was something fundamentally different about the way that enormous drake pounded at the dragoness below him, wings pumping and tail thrashing. The dragoness nearly matched the drake in size, but she moaned like a feeble and helpless thing beneath his weight, beneath the teeth clamping around her neck, beneath the hammering of that thick, heavy member. The site of their union dripped, each powerful thrust squelching wetly with heated passion and sending more of their mingled pleasures running down their thighs. The crowd around them cheered, shouting suggestions and encouragement. Neither dragon looked around, or even opened their tightly-shut eyes, but each sound the crowd made seemed to thrill the pair more than the last.

This... this was a far different sight than anything Milo had seen before. The rest had all been casual, incidental, people who became so caught up in the heat of the moment that they didn't care if others saw them, or who simply wouldn't have cared to begin with. But, these dragons did care that they were watched, and they reveled in it. Never in his life had Milo seen anything to quite prepare him for the sudden, striking realization that voyeurism could work both ways.

He stared, enthralled, claws drifting downward to brush at his aching member. The contact startled him, and he shot his wandering forefoot an accusatory look. A quick glance around told him that he'd be far from the only one indulging in a little self-pleasure though, and so he slipped fully into the spirit of the occasion and gave himself an indulgent stroke or two. Excited as he was by the show, a stroke or two was almost too much, and he froze, releasing his malehood carefully. Some ten feet to the left, a less careful drake let out a grunting snarl as he failed to hold himself back and painted the grass with his pleasure. Milo had just enough time to suck in a calming breath before a dragoness immediately to his right gave a long, shuddering moan, locking eyes with him when he whipped his head around to face her. His attention flickered down to where she'd buried her tail in her nethers, and she grinned a hot, hazy grin, pulling her tailtip free slowly. It glistened, a single gossamer string of her climax trailing down from it for a brief instant before snapping. She lifted the tailtip up in front of her nose and waggled it at him.

"I'm Teyla," she purred, almost frighteningly abrupt, "wanna fuck?"

The moisture left Milo's mouth. His member jumped and throbbed, hips quivering with the prescient ghost of instinctive movement. He briefly assessed the difference in their heights, found it to be fairly small, and nodded. In half the space of half a blink, claws latched around the back of his neck and teeth latched around his throat, not tight enough to hurt, but certainly tight enough for a very firm grip. Tight enough to seize control, to assert dominance. The world spun, and he grunted as his back became quite suddenly acquainted with the ground. Heat surged through every fiber of his being, pulling a gasp into his shuddering chest. Impossibly far away, the crowd cheered, and he got the haziest impression that some of that enthusiasm might've been for him. Her chest pinned him down as she dragged it back slowly down his belly, lifting her head to stare at him, panting, tongue hanging out, a possessive growl trailing from her throat. She gave her hips a wiggle, the scales of her raised hindquarters gleaming golden in the sunlight. His own hips jerked as her chest slid over his member, teasing at his barbs and driving a thrill up through his veins and straight into his heart, where it exploded and flung his every muscle into action.

With a low cry, he wrapped his hinds around her shoulders and ground against her chest. His wings fluttered helplessly, and his talons tore at the grass beneath him. His member throbbed and ached, desperate, insistent, searing any articulate thought from his mind. Giving a throaty laugh, she pushed his hinds down with her wings, spreading them, pinning them, before lifting her chest and dropping it down onto his tail. Her hungry stare fixed on his twitching member, and her claws fixed on it as well, stroking his length roughly and levering it around in a circle. It felt good, incredibly good, but it was far too much far too suddenly, and he wasn't too sure that he actually liked it. But, with his body curling in on itself, he couldn't quite pull in enough air to say as much. He couldn't even open his eyes enough to see what exactly she was doing anymore. He could only ride along, a hapless leaf caught up in a raging gale of overwhelming pleasure.

She grunted, and the weight on his tail dramatically increased. Thankfully, her grip loosened and fell away from his malehood, leaving him enough space to suck in a much-needed breath and have a look at his situation. Another drake, quite a bit larger than himself, had climbed onto Teyla's back and bit down on the scruff of her neck. The drake's hips rocked, questing, seeking, his member prodding once, twice, and thrice, before finally finding its mark. Her eyes rolled skyward as the drake sank most of his length into her with one sharp thrust, jolting all three of them hard. He growled long and loud, meeting Milo's eyes conspiratorially before releasing Teyla's neck and taking her horns in his forefeet. He shoved her snout against the base of Milo's throbbing malehood. Milo gave a thin, strained cry when her tongue snaked out and wet his achingly stiff flesh, and a spurt of precum jolted from his tip to wet his belly. The shock of it, at least, loosened his tongue enough that he managed words.

"Actually, I'd like... I'm not really... This is a bit much for me. I'm sorry."

The drake stared at him for a moment, then nodded understandingly and pulled Teyla's head back.

"He needs us to slow down a little," the drake rumbled. Teyla's eyes focussed slightly.

"Shit, wait..." she slurred through a lusty haze, "you're just a firstyear, aren't you."

Milo nodded as the larger drake backed off a little, letting Teyla push herself shakily up off of Milo's tail.

"Oh, damn. I didn't realize. Sorry I overwhelmed you like tha-aah!"

Her sentence chopped off into a pleasantly startled shout as the other drake levered her up so that all of her weight rested on his malehood, growling at how suddenly she sank down onto it, curling around her smaller body, and taking her neck back into his jaws.

Freed from the threesome, Milo rolled onto his belly and lay there a moment, doing his best to ignore the erotic sounds all around him while he caught his breath. The patch of grass between his talons was far less interesting to look at than literally anything else in his vicinity, but at least staring at it didn't make his leaking member throb any harder. Finally, he gathered his feet beneath him and stood. He started to leave, but Teyla stopped him with a shout.

"He-ey! Hold on!"

Milo turned. He tried to focus on the hazel of Teyla's eyes. He tried to ignore how the drake held her up with his fores wrapped securely around her chest while thrusting up into her. Thrusting long and deep. So deep. So impossibly deep... He failed. He couldn't imagine where in her body all of that length went, how she could fit so much pistoning flesh inside of her. When she spoke, each thrust chopped a word in half.

"Yo-u're cute. Wh-at's your na-ame?"

His cheeks became even redder than they already were, which, at this point, was really quite a feat.

"Milo."

She groaned at a particularly sharp thrust, going limp and dangling from the drake's forelegs for a long moment.

"Let's tr-y and me-et up a-gain, Mil-o," she managed, then added, "Oh fu-u-uck..."

But, he doubted the last part had been meant for him. He paused a moment to consider the offer. She'd gotten rather close to frightening him, but in a more controlled setting, without other dragons around...

Her tongue lolled from her mouth, hanging down obscenely far below her chin. Milo rather wanted to know just what she could do with a tongue like that. The thought made him shudder, made his hips tense up, and he smiled.

"Definitely. I'll, um... I'll be around the Randy Raven at dinnertime."

She laughed breathlessly and called out, "It's a-haah... a d-ate!"

Milo's stomach tried to drop into the depths of the earth, but he nodded, excited.

"I'll see you there."

With that, he turned about and pushed his way free of the crowd again, which was a much easier feat than pushing into it had been, on account of the fact that just about half of the crowd had since climbed on top of the other half. Shaking his head in a slightly successful attempt to clear away some of the haze, he trotted off in search of a less intense partner, letting his imagination run wild with ideas about what he'd be doing after dinner. As he made his way back into the lanes between tents, a voice struck him sharply from behind like a slap to the back of the head.

"Young drake!"

He spun toward the shout on instinct, eyes wide and heart nearly splintering his ribs. A tone like that meant trouble, particularly trouble that he was liable to be in. The dragoness, imposing and large, bore down on him with all the grave disapproval allotted to a matriarch who has raised several children and found herself hardened considerably by the experience.

"What do you think you're doing here?" she demanded. He blushed and laughed, thinking in a fit of blind, foolish optimism that she was joking, but her glare wilted his smile.

"Well," he started, trying and failing to hold her gaze, "I was kind of hoping to get laid."

Her eyes bugged out so far that he thought they might burst in her head. Instead, what burst was anxiety, and it burst in his chest. A split-instant later, her voice burst incredulously from her own chest.

"Excuse me!?"

He began to panic.

"Not by you, no offense... I was hoping for someone a little closer to my age. Not that there's anything wrong with an older dragoness. I mean, not that you aren't quite young, I'm sure..."

She cut him off with a shriek of incandescent rage that caught the attention of several other individuals, all of whom wisely elected to scurry away rather than risk involving themselves. The lane around them went from fairly crowded to rather empty in a matter of half-seconds.

"Get back to the camp with the other children, or so help me, I'll... Oh, I'll see that you never do have a Midyear, even after you're old enough!"

Milo shook his head as understanding dawned on him, carrying a hint of frustration in its learned claws.

"I'm not a child."

"Really? You look like a child to me. Now, are you going to return to the camp, or am I going to have to take you there myself?"

Frustration gave way to anxiety again. If she decided to move him by force, there was nothing much he could do to stop her, with her being roughly thrice-and-a-half his size and all. Not only would letting her take him to the camp chew up a significant portion of his day, but he also didn't at all like the thought of the thorough embarrassment all around when the camp volunteers checked the roster and confirmed that he wasn't on it.

Milo never had much enjoyed the embarrassment of others, still less when he was involved in it.

"But, I am an adult, look..."

He fished around in his bag for a moment until he found his pendant and hung it around his neck, shuddering at the wave of magic that washed through him when its protective enchantments took hold. He brushed away the thought that he'd very nearly engaged in some rather raunchy acts without the benefit of that protection.

"How many children have these?"

The dragoness remained stalwartly unconvinced.

"All that proves is that you stole it from an older sibling, or else that you bought it from a less-than-discerning vendor somewhere around here. I was young and curious once myself, believe it or not, and, having raised a number of them myself, I know a child when I see one."

Now, mistaking him as an adolescent because of his size was one thing, but something about the way she spoke that particular word in italics just went a touch too far. Anger flashed through his nervousness, burning it away along with a decent portion of his respect for his elders.

"Go make fun of someone else's size," he growled, turning around and storming off, "I'm done arguing with you."

She gave an enthusiastically offended scoff, but didn't pursue him. Milo sucked his teeth as his anger faded briefly to relief, only to be replaced by indignation. He was a little on the small side, sure, but he wasn't child-sized!

...Right?

The question refused to be waved off, and it put a sizable dent in his confidence. Teyla and that drake had seemed to think him plenty large enough, but they'd also seemed pretty lust-addled. Maybe he was just too small. Was there any girl here actually suited to his size? Would any girl be interested in such a smallish drake for any reason other than convenient proximity?

Under the press of his anxiety, the sunlight on his scales and in his eyes became an unpleasantly oppressive burden to bear, and he decided to take shelter beneath a nearby tent. He paused a moment once beneath its shade to heave a sigh of relief. Faint magic woven into the fabric walls muted the noise of the crowd outside. In the blessed quiet, a few breaths in and out was enough to soothe him a little and drive most of the blush from his face. Until his eyes adjusted and the blush leapt right back into place.

A variety of malehoods leered at him in the relative gloom, startling and shocking him for a brief instant before he remembered where he was and on which day of the year, and also realized that none of them were attached to drakes, nor, for that matter, were any of them real. Although, he mused as he approached one of the shelves, the craftsmen that made the things had gone to a great deal of effort to ensure that it was as easy as possible to forget those latter two details. Blushing again and denying the urge to give one of the toys a stroke or two, Milo walked further into the tent. He glanced sheepishly at a rack of leather straps and harnesses on the far side, both mystified and rather intimidated by the sort of activities they seemed to imply. A few creams and oils of more straightforward purpose garnered far less of his attention.

The salesdrake nodded at him, asking if he needed help finding anything. Having not noticed that the salesdrake was there before, Milo squeaked a no out through his startled blush and hurried to flit around a corner. The drake said something about not testing the merchandise, but Milo barely heard it, freezing when he spotted someone else further down the aisle he'd ducked into. He was pretty sure he recognized her, though it took him a moment to figure out where he'd seen her before. Thankfully oblivious to his presence, she set a toy back on the shelf and picked up another with a small laugh. Such distinctively yellow scales should've been easier to remember, but he'd seen a lot of pretty girls over the last several days. She laughed again, and he remembered Reyleth flirting with her in the tavern the night before, though his brother had already disappeared by the time her shift had ended. Milo wished he could remember her name. Most girls probably wouldn't appreciate being called "waitress" outside of work.

She hefted the very phallic object thoughtfully in her claws, mouth half-open, as if considering wrapping it around the toy. He quivered at that mental image, and again at another image that evolved from the first, a more personal image. An image that included him, or rather, a very specific part of him.

Was she as horny as he was? Surely, if she were, she could find a partner with no trouble. Still, he thought he could smell her arousal. He jerked his head away before she could notice him staring and turned to face the shelves on his end of the aisle as casually as he could manage. The toys in front of him were nearly thrice as thick as his foreleg and had a hole in the center modeled after a very particular part of the female anatomy. The obviousness of their purpose made him blush as his claws hovered, not quite touching them. He moved to the next shelf over, where they seemed a little more appropriate for his size, and picked one up. The bright rubber felt surprisingly soft and pliable in his grip. He pressed a digit against the opening, and his face heated at the startlingly, almost unnervingly erotic sensation of slipping inside. His eyes flicked briefly to the tag as his lower lip worked itself between two of his fangs.

If only it weren't so pricey...

But Milo shook his head. He ought to try the real thing first before buying a toy like that, right? Another small laugh pulled his attention back to the dragoness, and he risked a glance. She had picked up a new toy, smaller than the other two, much sleeker and smoother, and giggled as she bent and twisted it in her talons. She shot him a very deliberate glance, giving the toy three slow strokes, and he jerked his eyes back to the shelf in front of him, heart hammering an adrenal rhythm against his ribcage. She giggled again.

Giggles were always fake, so his mother had taught him, but they usually meant a girl was interested enough in a drake to make fake sounds to get his attention.

He swallowed hard, risking another glance. She wasn't looking his way, and he took a moment to flick his eyes up and down, seeking something to compliment her on, something that she was in control of, rather than some physical feature that she wasn't. That piece of advice seemed too general now. Other than her choice in shoulder bag, he wasn't sure at all what he was supposed to focus on, and her body was distracting, so distracting...

His glance dragged on into more of a gaze, running carefully, admiringly across her body, beginning to look rather than search. The cheerful yellow of her scales brightened into white on her belly, feet, tailtip, and the front of her muzzle, as though she had dipped each part in white paint. The effect was striking, almost as striking as her curves. He imagined her beneath him, imagined his claws wrapping around her middle, and his hips gave two eager little thrusts at the empty air. The toy in his grip seemed much less interesting now. Setting it down, he licked his lips, swallowed hard at the tightness in his throat, and walked up to her, wings mantling and chest puffing out.

"Excuse me, miss..."

He cringed at himself. What was he doing, calling the dragoness "miss," as if he weren't an adult himself? Stupid. Stupid! She turned to him anyway, her very blue eyes making no secret of looking him over.

"Hello. Find anything interesting in here?"

She set the dildo back onto the shelf, a grin curving her mouth, eyes flashing. His voice acted on its own volition, smoother and suaver by far than he'd ever felt in his whole life.

"You're the most fascinating thing I've seen all day."

Nerves ate through his gut, heating his cheeks and scrambling his thoughts into a tense, accelerating panic. What was he doing? How trashy could he possibly make himself sound? But she giggled again, standing his every scale on end and tying his lungs into a knot.

"Are you just here to look, or do you want something more?"

"I..."

He choked back his own voice, dying internally. He couldn't just tell her what he wanted like that! He looked like a child. It would sound absurd. She would just laugh at him.

"Nothing, it's nothing. I'm sorry... Nevermind."

Maybe he should just spring for the toy. At least he couldn't embarrass himself in front of a piece of rubber. For that matter, the rubber wouldn't think he looked too small to be an adult. He turned sharply about and started to trot away, but she pinned his tail to the ground beneath a forefoot so that it pulled taut, yanking him back onto his rump with a startled grunt.

"Hold on, there."

He gulped and looked back at her over his shoulder. She smiled, eyes glinting in the dim light.

"My name's Syrille, by the way."

Appearing satisfied that he wouldn't flee at the first chance he got, she released his tail, staring at his haunches for a long moment before dragging her gaze back up to meet his. The color of her eyes rather matched the blue of his scales, but he mentally swatted that thought away as both untimely and irrelevant.

"Milo," he said with a nod. In spite of his nervousness, he looked her over again, very much liking her slender curves, her confident bearing, and the playful sharpness of her gaze. The scent of her arousal was growing, definite and well beyond all doubt now. Was that really because of him? He blushed harder.

"So, Milo," she grinned, "why get a girl's attention only to run away? Playing hard to get?"

"Oh, no, I just... I didn't realize you were so much bigger than me..."

She smirked, raising an eyeridge.

"Not like that," he corrected, "I mean, you're very nice and slender, only you're bigger than me. That is to say, I'm much smaller than you."

Her smirk curved upward, and her other eyeridge rose to join the first. Her amusement flustered him even more. Panic rose again, driving his words out faster and faster.

"Not that I'm small, or I guess I am, but not, like, smaller than average, except for my body. I mean, I'm proportioned. Correctly. Not like you... no, wait! Your proportions are very nice, of course. I just mean that... well, um... Your satchel goes very well with your scales. Wait, that's not..."

He drew a deep breath and huffed it out, cheeks blazing and chest twisting itself into an awful tangle. His burning ears laid flat along the sides of his neck. The pit in his stomach could've swallowed the whole world.

"Can I just stop talking now? I'd like to stop talking and disappear."

Syrille laughed a very bright, friendly laugh, and he thought that her laugh was very pretty, not at all unlike her.

"Oh no," she chuckled, hiding it behind a forefoot, "Don't do that, Milo! I'd rather you didn't disappear. I think you're very sweet."

He turned around to face her fully, still sitting, but letting his ears rise a little so that they only half-drooped.

"Your proportions are also very nice," she added, "and I doubt you're as small as you think, at least compared to me. It's only my third Festival, after all, and I'm not exactly overgrown for my age. I think our sizes seem rather... compatible."

Milo's heart leapt for his throat, overshot, and ricocheted off of the roof of his skull, dragging arousal and excitement up with it.

"Oh... well... do you... I mean, would you... um.. Uh..."

She grinned and giggled yet again, eyes gleaming in unmistakeable interest. The more certain he became of her intent, though, the tighter his throat seemed to clench around any words that he tried to speak. His only articulate thought was utterly useless, running laps about his head screaming, "Say her name. Say her name! Girls like it when you say their name!"

Apparently oblivious of any of that, she tilted her head to the side, ears held high at attention.

"Yes?"

"Syrille?" he croaked. The thought paused in its lap-running to give a mental cheer and proceeded to continue urging him to say her name, because girls like it when one does that. Her hips gave a wiggle that finally silenced that thought. The movement travelled along the length of her tail in a long, smooth motion, ending with a salacious flick of her tailtip that sent a shiver vibrating across his whole body. Something cracked and gave out in his mind, and his voice again flew from his mouth, unchecked by any logic.

"I'd really like to fuck you, Syrille!" he blurted, clapping his claws over his muzzle with a gasp as soon as the words had left his mouth. The salesdrake laughed from elsewhere in the tent. The world spun as horror tore Milo's heart raggedly out of his chest and stuffed it back in upside down and backwards. He felt all of the blood that had flushed his face drain away, leaving his scales deathly pale. That one thought returned uselessly for just long enough to cheer again at his use of her name in the outburst. Her gaze tilted up and away as she bit her lip, humming in mock consideration.

"You know what, Milo? I think I'd like that."

The ground beneath him either fell away or ceased to matter, and he swayed slightly as horror polymorphed into elation.

"Really?"

She giggled yet again, and the sound carried him up into a dizzying glee.

"Yeah. Let's get out of this tent first though. I know a pretty good spot in some trees not too far away."

Milo regained his balance far more quickly than he'd expected and nodded at her, not trusting himself to speak. She led, and he followed, mesmerized by the sway of her hips. Her tail lifted every few steps, not quite enough to actually show him anything, but just high enough that it almost showed him everything. He dipped his head to try and sneak a look, but she must have seen it, because she dropped her tail with a teasing giggle, shuffling her wings and tossing a heated glance over her shoulder.

"Coming?"

He jogged up beside her with a laugh. She greeted several other dragons as they passed, and paused for a moment to stare at the two large dragons who were still going at each other in the open area, to the delight of the watching crowd. Rather, to the delight of those who were still watching and not just going at each other themselves. Two drakes and a dragoness had joined in with the first pair since Milo had fled, having no qualms, apparently, about the disparity between their sizes. Another drake had joined the one with Teyla, and they worked in tandem to fill both of her lower entrances while a third drake filled up her maw. Similar clusters of moaning pleasure dotted the grass all around, sometimes linking together in long, tangled, meandering chains. Someone scurried around between the clusters, appearing to take bets, probably on which of several drakes was going to climax first, or, more likely, which was going to last the longest.

Milo stared, captivated by the complicated tangle of bodies, all thrusting and quivering. The smell of seed and lust set him to swaying on his feet again. Syrille tugged at him with a wing.

"Are you alright, Milo?"

She leaned over to whisper into his ear.

"Want to join them?"

He shuddered and blushed, almost collapsing in embarrassment.

"No..."

A part of him very much did, but he was still a little frightened of that part of him.

"Maybe... um... maybe later. There's just so many of them, all, well, together, and they're doing... I'd just never imagined that you could do so many different things."

"Oh yeah," she laughed, pulling him along with a wing over his back, "People around here get pretty creative."

He laughed back in both relief and agreement. Her flank bumped his, and he stumbled slightly. Finding his balance again, he dug deep, excavated some of that secret, impulsive confidence, and wrapped his own wing around hers to lay it over her back as well. She purred, and excitement swelled in his chest.

Once they were past the last of the booths and tents, her pace slowed for a moment, becoming contemplative. Milo slowed as well, puzzled, watching her as she slipped from beneath his wing and withdrew her own. She tensed, shot him a sly look, and bounded toward the edge of the field. His legs threw themselves into a sprint before his mind could quite process what was going on, tearing off in pursuit. He thought he caught a glimpse or two under her tail before catching up with her, but it had hardly been a very clear look. Still, his malehood throbbed with fresh vigor as they paused at the top of the hill, panting lightly.

"Over there should do nicely," Syrille said, pointing a talon at a stretch of trees, the nearer portion of which was just barely too thin to count as forest. Milo raised an eyeridge, but she cut off any questions he had with a wave of her wing as she started down the slope.

"Come on. I know a place."

The hill blocked much of the sound from the Festival, leaving the air empty but for birdsong, wind, and the lusty growls of several pairs and trios of dragons who'd shunned the publicity of engaging each other in the festival grounds but hadn't quite made it to anyplace truly private before succumbing to their desires.

Milo kept pace with her as she trotted down the slope, but then she shot off again, making another chase of it. Something awoke in Milo's chest, burning, consuming, expanding, driving him to catch her, to capture her, to pin her down and make her his. The tall grass whipping at his legs and belly ceased to matter as he sprinted, pumping his wings with each bound for extra distance and speed. She risked a half-glance back over her shoulder and gave a whoop at how close he had drawn. He whooped back and laughed.

And then they were in the trees, weaving, leaping, dodging, refusing to slow. The trunks grew closer and closer together as they pressed deeper, never slowing. He rebounded off of one, narrowly avoiding a collision, and sprinted on after her as if nothing had happened. Size utterly forgotten, he was fire, lusty and primal, agile, filled with a deep hunger and an ancient, timeless exhilaration. His mind glowed with something like the thrill of the hunt, but deeper, better. He laughed again, finding a burst of speed buried somewhere deep beneath his soul and using it to gain on her. Her tailtip whipped inches from his muzzle, he dug deeper still and found the space to bunch his muscles and spring, exploding forward. She burst into a clearing ahead, turning sharply aside to dance around his pouncing lunge. He cried out in surprise, tumbled, came up again, and rounded on her, but she was rearing up, buffeting the air with her wings, eyes both wild and sharply focused. Laughter danced upon her lips.

She came down heavily with her forefeet, a faux strike, stamping at the ground. He reared and lunged in an attempt to get his weight on top of her, and she danced back before he could quite make contact, prancing around behind him. He turned on his heels to make another attempt, but she flopped onto her flank on the soft grass and rolled, laughing. She stopped on her belly and met his gaze. Milo's blood sang with adrenaline. He bounced, prancing once, twice, haunches high and chest low, tailtip flicking playfully, before flopping onto the grass himself. Some of the adrenaline bled from his veins.

Pulling his satchel off and tossing it to the side, he glanced at the stream that ran nearby, thought about cooling himself off in it, and discarded the thought. His gaze fell back upon Syrille, following her curves more purposefully than before, travelling slowly, deliberately, brazenly. Sunlight peeked through the trees to dapple her scales, shifting sensually with the gentle summer breeze. Her shoulders shifted, wings shuffling, tailtip swaying slowly and emphatically, revelling in his attention. A coo left her throat that set fresh fire into his veins, pulsing with a stiff, fluid heat. His hips rocked, rubbing his length across the grass, the friction pleasant but falling maddeningly short of enough. She giggled and rolled onto her flank, holding her legs just right so that her nethers were suggested by the meeting of her thighs without quite being revealed. He found his legs gathering beneath him, pushing him up, standing. The touch of the breeze felt suddenly alien on his member, strange and thrilling. Or perhaps it was the weight of her gaze upon it. The heat flaring in his cheeks felt all too familiar. Her tongue emerged and drew along her upper lip slowly, seductively. Hungrily. Her mouth bent into the slightest and slyest of smiles. She giggled. His hips bucked at the air.

"I've never done this before," he said, only half paying attention to his own words. She was very distracting. Her smile widened and sweetened. So did her voice.

"Oh? And you chose me for your first time?"

Another giggle bounced her shoulders as she slowly lifted a leg, giving him an unobstructed view of her glistening nethers. Entranced and ensorcelled, his jaw hanging slack, Milo's legs carried him closer. His member flexed urgently, dripping. He thought about just climbing on top of her and letting his body do what it wanted, but that seemed unforgivably rude. Besides, he rather liked looking at her, and his hips would block the view. On another, far more distant note, he rather wanted her to enjoy the act, and climbing up and humping away didn't seem like it would be a very good way to make sure that she did. Blood roared in his ears. Blood also roared in places far, far lower, far hotter, far stiffer. He hesitated, wavering. The tiniest of laughs escaped his chest, carrying the tiniest hint of nervousness.

"I'm not really sure what to do."

Which wasn't entirely true. He knew exactly what to do eventually. It was getting to the point when part A slides into part B and pumps in and out that was the issue. Again, he rather wanted her to enjoy it.

"With me, you really can't go wrong with a little taste."

He shook his head, mouth stretching into a tight, quivering grin and ears folding back. He knew the answer, of course, but he asked anyway, because he didn't quite trust himself to think it.

"A what?"

She raised an eye ridge. Her voice broadened further, somehow managing to pucker in a way that almost made his trembling legs give out beneath him.

"You heard me."

She beckoned him with a claw and rolled onto her back.

"Come here."

And he did, slow and eager, until his snout was a thin breath away from hers, captivated by the azure desire in her eyes. He thought about closing the gap, wondering distantly if it would be alright to try to use his tongue in his first kiss. But, she laid a talon on his nose, chuckling.

"Not here..."

Her talon left his snout and her whole forefoot found the top of his head, pushing it toward her belly.

"Lower. Taste me lower."

Realization struck, and his legs did give out for an instant, not quite enough for him to fall down onto her, but enough that there was no hiding that he'd started to drop. Luckily, he couldn't find the mindfulness to feel embarrassed. She pushed him further down, closer to the source of the scent that wrapped around his thoughts and pulled them all into alignment with a single, primal desire. Almost too suddenly, it was before him, scant inches away from his muzzle. He tried to suck in a calming breath, found the heavily scented air to be utterly intoxicating, and laughed a feeble, husky laugh. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, and she folded her forefeet against her chest and purred at him in wordless permission.

He collapsed onto his belly, trapping her tail beneath his weight, but a little coo of pleasure told him that it was alright. The scales of her inner thighs radiated heat, burning against his forefeet as he pressed down and spread her legs apart. She hummed in approval, and her tail wiggled beneath him. His tongue left his mouth and touched the peak of her outer folds, furtive, quick to retreat, as though only doing so because it had been dared. A shudder wracked her, travelling along her tail so that it wrapped around his at the base. The grip squeezed his balls, and a tight, squeaky moan pressed itself from his throat as his hindclaws dug at the grass. Pleasure danced tremulously along his spine.

He tried again.

A little more boldly, a little more solidly, he pressed the tip of his tongue against the very top of her slit. She shuddered again, lightly touching his head with one forefoot before folding it back against her chest. Another deep breath and another tongue-stroke, longer, slower, starting at the bottom this time, savoring the heat and the taste, drawing up along the length of her entrance and ending with another lingering press at the peak. The touch earned another shudder, and he pressed harder, grunting when her hips jolted and she gave a tiny cry. Curiosity rose, surfacing from the depths of lust and driving him to ask what and why about the where he seemed to have discovered. A lesson from some point in the recent past tried to surface as well, insisting relevance, but it drowned and fell away, far too academic a thing for such a primal, physical moment. He pulled his tongue back, moaned at the taste, and adjusted his position. His forefeet planted closer together, so that he could lay a digit each on her mounds and pull at them, parting the outer folds to reveal the inner. She moaned softly, tail shifting its grip on his. With a moan of his own, he let his hips rock once, twice. A hood of flesh glistened at the peak, no longer hidden. He worked a digit over, used it to tug the hood upward. She flexed and groaned, laying her forefoot lightly on his head and resting its weight there. He stared for a moment before that lesson surged to the surface and told him what he was looking at. And what it might do if he treated it right.

His tongue rasped across it, and a hiss squirmed up from her chest. She pressed down on his head with a gaspy sort of laugh.

"Deeper first."

She shuddered as he met her eyes. Again, he obeyed, the nape of his neck tingling in excitement. He saw her gaze sharpen a touch too quickly, but didn't in the least process the fact. Instead, he moved the digit away from her clit and dabbed at her inner folds with the breadth of his tongue. She pressed harder, bumping his snout into her mounds, but he was already dabbing again, and again, and again. The fifth dab became a plunge, parting her inner folds and plying a few inches into her depths. Her claws prickled at the scales of his head as she flexed and moaned. He moaned back, plunging again, deeper. The sensation of her heat melted into her taste, heady and full, incredible, heavenly, but it was the sounds she made that set his heart to hammering and his hips to trembling. He plied deeper, twisting his tongue around experimentally, falling into a rhythm. She clutched at his horns, her other forefoot joining the first, pressing and releasing in time with his questing tongue. She sucked a sharp gasp, pressing harder for a moment before relaxing again with a laugh.

"No," she murmured, "not yet,"

It took several seconds for the question to form in his mind, but only the barest instant for him to decide to test it. He plunged again, prodding at the same spot, grunting in triumph when he got a similar response. That place too, he remembered vaguely, was sensitive. But inspiration struck, distracting him, and he tilted the angle of his head. And sucked.

Syrille let out a shout of pleased surprise, clutching at the back of his head. He glanced up at her twitching face.

Like that? his eyes asked. She pressed his snout down again, harder, hips rocking in unmistakeable answer.

Fuck yes.

She tore her satchel from her shoulder and shoved it back behind her head before pressing down again impatiently with her left forefoot. He sucked again, riding the rocking of her hips. A buzzing haze clouded his head. His tongue plunged again, found that spot, prodded it in time with another suckle. She moaned and bucked, hard, murmuring desperate affirmations at him that he scarcely heard, let alone understood. Her free forefoot pressed against her belly and slid down, finding her nub with a pair of digits and rubbing at it in small, frantic circles. He sucked, prodding, glorying in how her face tightened and loosened all at once, in her gasps, in her moans. Impulse drove at him, goading his tongue deeper and deeper. Goading him to do something else, a growing desire for an outcome, a triumph, a victory in a contest that some deep, fundamental part of him had become convinced was happening. The taste of her pleasure burned around his tongue, filling his mouth the way her quavering voice filled his ears. A growl left his chest, feral and unconstrained.

He reached up and nudged her forefoot away, rubbing at her nub with his own digits for a moment before pulling his head back just enough to run the tip of his tongue around it. She gasped, whimpering, hips trembling, and he suckled at it. Her voice cascaded over his ears, pounding at his perception, helpless and small. She writhed, jerking in time with the swirling of his tongue about her clit, utterly and completely under his power. Thrilled, he growled again, sinking his tongue back into her depths and just barely grazing over that sensitive spot with his top teeth.

She tightened around his tongue with a shuddering gasp, ankles crossing behind his horns and anchoring him in place as she trembled and spasmed. Her insides clenched and released rhythmically, drawing his tongue deeper as she mewled into the sky. A wash of liquid bliss thrilled over his tongue and into his mouth, earthy and rich and smokey-sweet. He moaned at the taste, probing deeper and wriggling his tongue around as much as her pulsing tightness would allow. Her forefoot pressed onto the back of his head, her ankles pulled him even closer, and she moaned.

Realization hit him with the force of a kicking pack animal, swelling him with pride and lust that spiralled together into a rising torrent. He glanced up to see her doubled forward, eyes hazy and slightly crossed, jaw slack, panting, and his hips thrust again, grinding his length along her twitching tail. It flexed in response, and he grunted, humping again. And again, and again, continuously, each movement a little smoother as his own lust slickened her scales. Her muscles began to relax around his tongue, clenching less tightly each time. He withdrew, plunged again to prod and rub at that secret place within, tilted his head, and sucked. She quivered, the tension and tightness redoubling for a moment along with more half-articulated encouragement. Her tail began to writhe. His hips continued to rock as he stared into her blissfully tense face. Finally, the clenching slowed and stopped. Her expression relaxed, her gaze focussed, and she leaned back, releasing her hold on his head.

"Fuck," she breathed, "Holy shit, Milo..."

He grinned, lapping at her entrance and savoring the lingering taste of her climax. The climax that he'd caused. A shudder gripped his spine. She moaned and cooed at him as he cleaned her, curling her tail so that it pressed against his balls in rhythm with his stroking tongue. He moaned back, breath heaving, hips rocking, drawing his head back only when he could find no more taste to devour. Still, he dipped again and searched, tongue-tip diving in to run another lap around her clit. She hummed a happy, satisfied note, gripping his horns and tugging his muzzle away from her nethers.

"There's a lot more of me than just that, I promise. Come here."

She tugged him up toward her head, and he obliged, climbing over her. Filled with a heady mixture of lust and boldness, he dropped onto her chest, met her eyes, and lowered his hips ever-so-slowly to meet hers. The slick heat of her outer folds met the underside of his malehood and coated it instantly. Her hips rocked, grinding her entrance against his fleshy barbs and shooting a thrill up his spine that curled his toes. He growled and shifted, grinding back. She gave a hum of unexpected pleasure. He laughed. Her eyes caught his, and he stared, captivated, hips stirring faintly. His claws found her haunches, and hers wrapped around his shoulders, tugging wonderfully. Her heartbeat throbbed into his chest. The wind itself whispered encouragement in the trees above.

"I think I'd like to kiss you," he murmured, mind hazy with pleasure, "would that be alright?"

"Absolutely."

Their lips met a little more intensely than he'd expected, but he melted into it, letting his eyes flutter closed and teasing at her lip with his teeth. She chuckled, moving a forefoot up to the back of his head and pulling him into a deeper kiss. Her tongue pressed into his mouth, and he groaned, grinding harder into the heat of her nethers, flexing his tongue against hers, suddenly clumsy. Claws prickled at the base of his skull, tugging lightly at his ear. His claws flexed, gripping at her haunches and pulling her into each roll of his hips. She complied, humping against him, wet and hot and unbelievably soft. She pulled her tongue back and broke the kiss with a soft bite at his lip. He shuddered.

"Milo?" she whispered, pausing to nibble at his jaw, "Milo, I'd really like it if you... if you'd put it in."

And then she pressed into another kiss. With a shuddering thrill, he pulled back his hips and pressed forward, gasping in surprise as his tip found its mark on the first try and sank into her hot, quivering flesh. He jerked his head back, breaking the kiss so that he could stare at her with wide, half-focussed eyes. She smiled up at him, squirming beneath his weight, forelegs curling submissively against her chest. She cooed. His hips moved on their own, jerky and uncertain, gaining little more than the few inches already achieved with the first plunge. He tried again, and again, lost in her gaze, in the scalding softness squeezing around his member. She smiled and moaned his name, pressing rhythmically up into his hips until his thrusts fell into rhythm with hers. He moaned her name in return, voice shaking. She giggled again, the breathless sound setting his hips to rocking harder and faster. He grunted as his pace increased, pressing into the pleasure, lengthening his strokes. He pulled too far back, slipping free in his haste and humping twice, thrice before heaving a put-upon huff and sitting up to straddle her tail.

She gazed up at him, panting, tongue lolling, forefeet curled submissively, expectantly at her chest. She cooed and wiggled her hips, and he grunted at the friction. Slick with lust, his member throbbed against her slit. He placed his forefeet on her belly, leaning slightly over and staring down at it, contemplating his next move. She moaned as he put more of his weight onto his forefeet, pinning her more effectively and also freeing his hips to slide back and forth ever so slowly. The pleasure built slowly, luxuriously, molten and churning with his hips. She moaned again. His lip worked its way between two fangs as he sucked air through his teeth. Glancing up at her face, he saw her meet his gaze and mouth the word "tease." He blushed even harder and looked down again, grinding twice more before pulling back slowly, decisively, using a forefoot to line himself up, and plunging back into her folds. She sighed with pleasure beneath him. He drew back slowly, still watching, mesmerized, unable to look away as he sank back in, deeper. And again. And once more, his pleasure building. She moaned and whispered something he was far too distant to parse out, but he did glance up at her, and understood her look. His forefeet found her chest, then her shoulders, and he laid down on top of her. Her claws found his hips and dug in. She nipped at his shoulder, and he wondered suddenly. His snout found her ear, nuzzling briefly at the crook of her jaw.

"How's this?" he breathed, scarcely finding his voice as she pressed her hips up suddenly into his thrust.

"A little slow," she teased, nibbling at his ear in turn, "But wonderful."

"Faster?"

She bit at his neck, a hard nip, just behind his jaw. And he understood. His pace picked up, not quite of his own volition, each plunge melting into the next, each time getting a little deeper. She pulled at his haunches with each one, thrusting up. He felt pressure growing, blood swelling the base of his member, too soon! Far too soon! But he couldn't slow, couldn't let up, not with her moaning and squirming beneath him like that. Not the way her voice played wordlessly over his ears, the way her teeth played at his scales, or her claws at his hips. Her tail wrapped around his, working with her claws to pull him down. Heat and wetness enveloped him, squeezing rhythmically, drawing him in. He groaned, mouth agape as his vision blurred. Impossible, undeniable pressure growing, pleasure tensing in his gut, his hinds. He felt her stretch around his knot, not quite managing to take it. And again, getting a little further. And again. And again, driving spikes of pleasure through his veins so that his claws tore at the grass and dirt and his own tail tightened around hers. And again and again and again, until his whole body trembled with the effort of holding back the torrent, tense with futile desperation. Still, he could not stop.

She bit at his ear again, breath hot and heavy, and jerked her hips violently upward just as his came down. He sank in with a wet, audible pop. And he spasmed, hard, his wings flaring and flexing, blood roaring almost as loudly in his ears as his voice did in his throat. She might have made a sound of fulfillment or triumph, but he wouldn't have known. All he knew was the intensely undulating pressure squeezing around his malehood, the rushing, unstoppable torrent bursting free, pumping out of him and into her in time with his feebly flexing hips, the tight, firm grip of her teeth on his shoulder. Her hinds wrapped around his hips, trembling, pulling, as her forefeet scrabbled for purchase around the small of his back. Lungs spent, he sucked in a breath, and mewled out something that wanted to be a roar, but couldn't find the volume. She jostled beneath him as she writhed, laughing in pleasure. He laughed as well as he came down, his climax ebbing into sporadic, feeble spurts. His breath came in ragged heaves and puffs, carrying a little of his voice each time it left his throat.

Syrille stroked his back with her claws, humming in clearly exaggerated satisfaction. He let it go. It was fine. He rather liked that she still made fake noises at him, especially since she'd already gotten him and didn't really need to. It only added to his own sense of satisfaction. A laugh shook his shoulders as he pulled back his head.

"How... um... how was that?" he managed. She smiled and rolled her hips in a lazy grind.

"Not bad," she said. He smirked, confidence draining.

"Just 'not bad'?"

She giggled at him, dragging a light clawtip slowly up along the side of his neck to tease at the back of his jaw. The touch sent electric tingles radiating outward under his scales, tilting his head slightly to the side with involuntary tension. A sigh leaked through his teeth as he rolled his hips in a lazy hump of his own. Their sexes squelched faintly, his seed starting to leak past his slowly shrinking knot. The tiniest of moans slipped free.

"It was good, Milo," she laughed, "Not spectacular, but hey..."

The clawtip made the journey in reverse, only for another to draw upwards on the opposite side. He shuddered.

"I'd do it again. I rather plan to, actually."

Her gaze sharpened and she raised an eyeridge.

"Unless it wasn't good for you?"

He blushed and shook his head.

"Oh, no! It was... it was absolutely..." his blush deepened as he trailed, struggling to find any words that adequately described the hitherto unknown heights of pleasure he had reached. He found it rather difficult to remember much what it had felt like, except that it was certainly quite good indeed. He smirked, digging out that strange suave confidence he hadn't known he possessed that morning.

"Not bad," he grinned. And she laughed.

"Just 'not bad,' huh?" but her voice was obviously teasing, even if her eyes weren't twinkling merriment.

"Maybe I'll have to try again."

With that, she shifted, braced her forefeet against his chest, and heaved, throwing them both suddenly over so that he was on his back and she was on top. He stared, stunned, as she raised her hips. They moaned in unison as his member pulled free, leaving her to drip their collective mess onto his belly. His member slapped against his stomach, half-firm and still shrinking after his release. She slid back, drawing claws along his scales until her muzzle hovered over the uppermost reaches of splattered mess. An undignified coo left his muzzle as her tongue dabbed at the seed, and again as she continued to lap at it, lower and lower, until she had to shift his member out of the way with a forefoot so she could lap at the messy scales around it. She nibbled at his sheath, drawing out a whimper that cut off abruptly as her tongue found its way just inside. She worked it around the very edge of his sheath, ignoring Milo's feeble squirming and kicking, before drawing a long, luxurious lick upward along the barbed underside of his shaft. He groaned, hips flexing despite the fact that his member was still half-flaccid from his previous release. She swirled her tongue around the tip, steadying the shaft with a forefoot as she trailed a long lick down to the base. Shorter licks replaced the longer ones, cleaning up the sticky fluids all around his member until there was nothing but her own saliva shining on his flesh. Then she took the head of it into her maw and suckled, and he moaned and squirmed again, not growing hard, but feeling the unmistakable rise of pleasure in his member nonetheless. His body undulated, rippling, putting his every muscle into slowly humping up into her muzzle. She laughed in her throat, the sound vibrating pleasantly through his tip, and then released it, pulling her head away. A thin strand of saliva hung between his tip and her lolling tongue for a moment, but snapped as she moved back up to stand over him. Her teeth found his throat, nipping firmly, and he moaned. His hips pumped faintly at the air, and his claws raked her flanks harmlessly, seeking purchase. She moaned back.

And then his stomach gurgled, a sharp, insistent sound that somehow cut through their accelerating breathing like the sharp crack of a snapping branch. She froze, and he froze, blushing madly from pure embarrassment. Releasing his neck and raising her head, she tilted it at him with a questioning smirk. His stomach gurgled again in answer, and he hid his face behind his claws with a tiny squeak. She laughed.

"Hungry or something?"

He pointedly did not move his forefeet from in front of his face before answering.

"I skipped breakfast."

She laughed again, and he peeked between his claws just in time to see her glance at his rapidly retreating member. Her tail unwound from his as she stepped lightly off of him.

"I'm kind of hungry myself, actually. Maybe we could get some lunch and pick this up afterward?"

Milo rolled over reluctantly and nodded as he got to his feet. His legs trembled and almost didn't want to hold him, but the weakness was born of embarrassment, and it passed quickly.

"Second go is always better though," she said with a wink, retrieving her bag and gesturing with a wing for him to follow as she strode toward the trees. Milo snatched his own bag, slung it over his wing, and trotted after her. This time, she kept her tail raised for him as he followed, hiding nothing, making sure there was no doubt left to him about the mess he had made with her. His heart fluttered and his member made the tiniest of jumps, stirring again already at the sight. Their mingled pleasure dripped down her thighs, open and shameless, confident. He liked that.

He trotted up beside her as they left the trees behind and crossed the tall grasses beyond. His stomach grumbled yet again, reminding him of its earlier complaints. He ignored it. She shot him a very meaningful, salacious grin, and let her words practically swim in exaggerated lust.

"Now that we've both had a bit of relief, we can be more relaxed about it too."

Milo smiled and nodded with an enthusiastic laugh. He rather liked the sound of that.