Hubris or Humility?
A very short, slightly silly story about a satyr and a centaur just hanging out and enjoying each other's company.
"I could handle the whole thing," Mopsus declared, his eyes drawn to the substantive girth of the treasure bewitching him.
"I've heard that before." Flan scoffed at the satyr's overconfidence and took another swig from his tankard. The seated centaur's tail flicked against the rough floor of the tavern in mild amusement. Though his rear equine legs lay folded beneath his rump, his front legs remained upright allowing him to tower over the satyr. And while his humanoid torso was clothed in plain leathers, his monstrous lower half remained uncovered, as was the preference for his people. And thanks to the view, also likely the preference of his companion who sat across from him.
"I've had bigger," Mop continued in a slightly indignant tone. He set his own tankard onto the table and shifted restlessly in his seat. His own short brown tail twitched with a combination of excitement and anticipation.
"You've had bigger?" Flan questioned gruffly, doubt etched clearly across his face.
"Yeah!" he insisted, looking up to meet Flan's gaze. "I mean, I think so." He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow deep in thought. "It was a while ago... and sure, I guess I did pass out around the halfway point." He sighed wistfully as he reminisced. "All right, so what if it took me most of the night to get the whole thing in me?" He straightened his back and sat up defiantly. "People always underestimate what I can handle! Don't let my size fool you!"
Flan smirked and set his drink on the table. "Well, my mistake. I didn't realize I was in the presence of such a great and talented fae-lord."
Mop slouched back into his chair with a pout. "Okay, fine. I'll admit it. It wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. I was in really rough shape the next day!"
The deep rumble of the centaur's laughter rolled across the table. "How rough we talkin'?"
Mop's cheeks reddened a bit. "Well, I couldn't walk for most of the day... And my guts were an absolute disaster." He cackled at the memory. "And my burps... wow. Talk about the gift that kept on giving."
Flan leaned in, intrigued. "And you're sure you want to put yourself through that again?"
Mop bit his lower lip suggestively as his gaze shifted back to the object of his desire. His mouth began to water as he envisioned all that the possibilities the night might hold. "Well, it's not very often that I get a couple free days like this... So why not? I've got plenty of time to recover."
Flan shook his head in bewildered amusement. "All right, impress me. Let's see what you can do." Flan rose fully to his feet, causing the table to teeter as his haunches bumped into it. "But don't blame me when you're gagging on it and crying into my fur."
"Yesssss," he hissed excitedly and leapt onto his chair, hooves clacking loudly against the wood. "Barkeep!" he cried out, pointing to a sizable cask behind the counter, "Bring me that beautiful firkin!"
The barkeep gave the horned boy a dubious look before shrugging and turning to unhook it.
"Oh, wait!" Mop turned back to face Flan, a seductive grin on his face once more. "Wanna mess up my guts before this ale does?"
"Sure do."
"Fuck yes," he continued excitedly. "Barkeep, the keg can wait! I need the keys to your room with the sturdiest bed!"