FSE

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Rone settled her hands into the wet undergrowth while continuing to lay in wait for prey to pass through the moonlit clearing. It had been at least thirty sunticks since she started, naught having passed by for her lean limbs to snatch. Her wings fidgeted, teased by the occasional breeze of crisp air. Flying worked better for spotting, but that went both ways, and only the most infirm of creatures failed to hide from a dragon--a problem wyverns and griffons didn't share, owing to stronger senses of smell, though few members of either species shared her dark green mottled pattern. Better yet, she had in quality the latter's eyes and former's frills.

But of course, no horns. Dragons didn't have them. A point to the 'verns. And one to the griffons for their muscles, proud and majestic demeanour too.

Her stomach growled, threatening to expose her to any that should pass.

Should any.

Hunger had raked at her stomach's walls for a legion of ticks. She would've already fed had Srik, who always lounged at the grounds, stuffing himself like his father Arios and unlike his strutting brethren while others went without, ruled his gut, the reverse true. And though the forest bore healthy leaves and plentiful fruit, suitable prey ne'er roamed in abundance. Arios made sure of that.

The undergrowth behind her disturbingly became more enticing to rub apon by the second; she had other issues to resolve. Her claws spread as she rose, wings itching on prickly leaves.

Paws padding soft sent her back down.

From between two trees poked out a narrow snout, followed by red fur (with patterns she knew foxen had but couldn't recall when seen): a fox, one far too rakish to be worth the effort of e'en standing, and skittish withal; it scurried through the clearing, sniffing as if searching for something. Droplets fell from its little black nose while it roved dangerously close to her hiding spot, inhaling what was probably the dominant scent here, hers, for whate'er reason, despite her perfect blending into the foliage--was her heat that pungent?--till its eyes narrowed and it dashed off, having realised clear what it had smelt. She watched its rear, to check whether it yet had any meat, as it, a vixen, fled, swaying gait as tight as her gaze, bright red of thighs surrounding white of centre--circling a flicker of pink. A bit, still not enough, although she licked her jaw.

She would eat plants again tonight, so again began to rise, but the air shifted, and leaves blew, pushed by something. Flaps, wings. She stilled.

At the clearing's opposite side, closer than she'd like, landed, not alit, Dastel; he ne'er was an elegant flyer despite his best efforts, taking aft his sire. While Dastel, in tune with his onyx scales and slender form, oft chose prowling over strutting, she was sure he took aft Arios in other ways, if not as how Srik gorged himself, then as the rest of his brethren who hounded those they saw as challenges for unsavoury ends. She'd been all but chased by some of the very same ages ago, a good token to have been spared worse, for she had not their leg strength and thus ground speed, and they heeded not her absolutes, disinteresting her in the first, no matter their aesthetic shapes. Fortunately, she learnt from such experiences how to prevent anyone or thing from entering her.

He stole around the clearing's edge, too searching, steps near inaudible. Slender but taller than his brethren and far more mindful of his tail, which he kept up from the ground. Supple albeit narrow thighs and, all over, wet keeled scales--had he skulked through the forest floor?--that gleamt white ribbons with each controlled stridden flex. His wings stayed half mast, alert as he always was. Seemingly smart. In truth, a pointless exertion; fiends sometimes attacked babs, but ne'er fulls, especially not ones tall. If he did otherwise, those annoying droplets wouldn't trail down the gentle curves near the bases of his winglimbs and continue preventing his back's drying. Though they gave a sparkle to match those keen black eyes of his...

Which rested on her--on her hiding spot. The leaves became all too spiked, scratching membranes, as he started walking towards it, she, whose wings tensed to prep, but he stopped to touch the grass with his foreclaws, eyes narrowing at the vixen's pawprints and following whereto they led; ah, his quarry it turned out.

He spread his wings and, not quite matching the fleer's path (and thus would ne'er find it in this forest's expanse), leapt to the sky, leaving her unmolested, having no idea she hunted at night, let alone had been near, smell sense lacking turned favour, yet he may not have had ill-intents, and meeting him alone would have given ample time to explain longings, plus space to escape should he have turned rotten...and he may have said yes.

With a curse to herself she rose. She was sick of plants. Tonight she dined on meat. She soared and flew over the way the vixen had gone: a sloppy trail trodden in fear on the paths lying neath gaps in the canopy. That fox would be hers.

Aft ten sunticks, she neared the mountainsides, wherenear in the canopy opened a slade--which a small pond joined and several rills ran through--at the centre whereof lounged the vixen, supine, stretching. Relaxed? Her paws kicked the air, kneading invisible tufts of wool.

Rone alit at the slade's edge. The vixen rolled, yet stayed not on her front, rolling again onto her back, then leered at she who slowed as the former's tongue lolled and slid across foreleg fur, a fluffy tail set awag and tucked between hindlegs. Not running.

"What manner of sport teases their devourer?"

"Oh oh, oh, teasing, am I? Quite a way of seeing my frivolous play. Since when have dragons e'er spoken to their prey?"

Rone suppressed a gasp at hearing her speak, which only dragons, wyverns, and griffons could do, and began circling her rightwards, eyes narrowed. "I am in no hurry. You're mine, fox."

"That I am. I see you found me by sight rather than scent, as you haven't fled from me yet"--do foxen reek?--"but know I smell you. Why don't you cease your waiting and join me? You've neglected yourself for far, far too long."

"My waiting? You've been observing me? You really should run."

"Little with my eyes, most my nose. I've noted your preferences; how alike they are to mine."

She turned so only her left faced the vixen, glancing sidelong while her hidden mouth corner rose.

"Surely I would lie slain by now had that bothered you or if you wanted me as food. Yet perhaps you do want to dine on me, crass as that phrasing be."

Her wings spread somewhat, eliciting a flitting gaze from the vixen that slipped through her scales all over. As she opened her maw to speak, the awkward bulk of her tongue made itself all too known, slight swelling unswayed by the night air's chill. "Are you, offering to let me...?" Her slit began to swelter, flaring; a familiar heat revealed its having built since she first spotted this vixen.

"Let? Don't make me beg." Her tail started curving from tween her hinds. "To our mutual benefit, darling, come."

She found herself walking towards her, the promise of that silken fur charming, but only less so than that of no clutches e'er coming of this. But with one who looked insapient... "You trust me, why?"

"Well, to compare, you're unlike that brooding and far too quite male. I'm still surprised you can't smell his scent on me--"

Dastel's shadow appeared, his flying being barely above the canopy showing it all too late, before he landed in the slade, too close for either to flee, to walk towards the vixen, who rose, only for Rone to clasp her flanks--firm, a slight yield gone to tensed fear--while staring at him, though they were unlikely to come to blows given the risk and low reward.

"Rone? Was it Rone?" Each word started soft then ended hard, as though he only remembered his rank halfway then lost focus anew.

"This one belongs to me. Leave. Go, find something bigger to munch on, son of Arios." She suppressed a mild gulp, for the moonlight faded from his flanks as his wings spread to intimidate, sending a splash of water, and he puffed his chest, the effect tarnished by slim frame. "Sun knows you need to." Still, she couldn't help but linger on how he angled his broad span to forfend a single drop from landing on her and the vixen.

His chest deflated and his eyes widened yet stayed on the vixen as he forced a groan through that elegant neck of his. "Another jest, but from a face rare seen, one which heckles I'm skeletal." He huffed. "Don't force me to fight you. Let her go." He turned walking to striding, keeping wings spread and shredding bits of grass sans trying to. "I've been hunting her for too long to let her die to another's claws."

She started backing towards the trees, clutching the vixen to her chest. Why would he hunt prey so small. "Stay back. Don't come any closer or I'll..."

"Rip me to shreds, or tear me apart? Please, I'm a third over you. Now, release her."

Her tail met a tree and her heart thumped, tightening her grip on the vixen, who, though stilled, disapproved with a yip, and Rone, having no safer path left, said, "You wouldn't stop two females from having sex with each other, would you?"

Six yards from her he stopped dead and his tail dropped onto the wet grass. "What?"

"You...you wouldn't stop..." Her words faded as she reeled from them herself, such a play abhorred by e'en the wiliest she knew.

A strange relief washed over his eyes, striking uprush to his words. "I...what does that, what does that have to do with anything? Why would you both being female matter? That's plainly ridicul..." The vixen's eyes caught his, and he sighed, turning from them. "Fine, fine. Have your fun. But I won't leave till I hear it lest it turn out you've lied to me for a chance to fatten yourself; sun knows, you need to."

His barb flitted by; she'd already laid the vixen supine on the dry grass under the tree's greatest bough.

"I'm Oiri, by the way," she whispered to Rone.

"Oiri..." Her claws started at her waist. They trailed south, stopping occasionally to grip fur into clumps, feeling the thickness of it, till finally, they rested at the edge of her mons, which seemed heavier than she last saw of it. She traced the rounded backs of her claws, adding slight pressure. Legs fell, then tensed. And slowly, ever so slowly, she lowered her head.

Those hips rose to reach her first; the resulting squelch and suddenness startled her, freezing her in her tracks, but the warm wetness, the heat currently pressed against the end of her snout, the welcoming, small slit and accompanying plump lips: all so intoxicating. She closed her eyes, holding her up against herself for a moment or two longer.

Could she really do this, with a, albeit sapient, fox?

When her eyes opened, her maw followed suit. Once awkward tongue, now revved by heat and made agile, lolled out with ease to curve downwards and inch towards the fur at the front.

Oiri said, "Mmm...I knew I chose right," laying back so that her head turned up and lay against the grass. "Take all the time in the world."

It was strange, going down on one who seemed as prey. If not for her heat, desire would have frosted e'en at this precipice. But to fall here and glide so freely to the cushions alow--it cast all unease 'cross and o'er the mountains, and her own spine arched, sparks tingling up her spine to her raised rear.

She winced just before her tongue touched fur, but thankfully, it was slick wet and easy to push through. Yet when she reached her mons, the flesh, stiff for a moment then soft, yielded not, but rather permitted her to pleasure it.

"You're amazing," she said either to Oiri or her body; to which, she shamefully could not tell at this point.

The answer came in the form of hindpaws slipping behind Rone's frills and pulling, requesting more pressure and pushing.

This she craved to do all along: to have her snout right against the fox's sex, feeling and tasting the hot wetness there, and at last, she licked down her slit, the savoury fluid mingled with specks of sweet. She loved how doing so caused Oiri to moan, to arch her back and spread her thighs farther apart, further loosening her body to request pleasure.

White and red fur, all hers...

Thumps. From behind. Joined by heady, albeit somehow fresh and cleanly, aroused scent in the air that e'en she could detect. Dastel's.

She rose and--

His head appeared next hers. "Do either of you mind if I help you with this?"

Not behind, beside. "Not at all..."

Oiri coughed, gaze stern on Dastel.

He turned his head in shame. "Sorry. Do you want me to partake, and do you consent to my involvement?" Did they know each other?

"Yes," Oiri said. "Rone?"

The small ridges lined across each of his face scales lay parallel to the larger ridge that edged from the in corner of his snout and sat alow the top right ridge. While she had seen them before, they pleased the keen eye e'en more up close. Could she really? With the son of a monster?

"Rone?"

She shook herself. "Yes, I want you and I consent, though, what is going on?"

Oiri yipped to grab her focus. "From the start, Dastel here had intended the same for me as you had, my irreverent short walk notwithstanding. But your needs, made clear to me through my watching, I saw surpassed his, and I had noticed how you two gazed at each other when none looked."

He said, "Very little work in the way of removing those stereotypes from your people. You should have told me of your plan."

"Shall I apologise, or will you slake your thirsts?"

An awkward pause followed, heads turned away, the talk having softened their hearts, but the time silent, the time quiet only billowed their furnaces; their heads turned back to her, maw corners' upturning yanking out a near fearful yip. They dipped at the same time and bumped into each other. Rone grumbled, making to apologise to he, whose face had turned pensive, stopped by high-pitched yip-like giggling from Oiri.

They stared at her.

"Ahem, excuse me. Please, resume."

As they so did, their tongues stayed apart at a respectful measure of a crowded inch. He was tidy, careful to collect every stray drop of arousal and saliva; she, less so, acting more like a wild fiend feasting bar entering.

Spurred on or challenged by her fervour, he hastened his swipes across Oiri's mons, with each one moving closer and closer to her clit, whereas Rone had already begun redragging up along her vulva, just touching the edge of her line. Yet they neared her clit at the same moment, both stopping, hesitative as their tongues hovered half an inch not only from her clit but each other.

"You two have no idea how elegant you both are," she said, the slight rise of her hips luring them from their indecision. "And together; I implore, for my sake, for yours, continue!"

The pause collapsed and their tongues met. So too did their salivae. Finally did they heed, sans giving in to, their yearnings; their tongues slid across and along that of each other, the gentle bumps of hers embraced by the coarser yet flatter texture of his.

E'en as they almost forget to tend to her, her clitoris pulsed from their display, such visual delight near enough to bring her to fruition, but their wants led them back to her slit together, their joined tongues sliding all over, along and up. They slowed at her clit, pressing, for they both knew her preferences, her needs, one from experience, the other, likeness.

Rone tentatively touched the lower mid of her own tail to his, noting his gaze; he approved, nodding, and she wound her tail around his. He tried to mimic her; it took several stretches and bends for his to wrap around hers, higher up, but he managed it nevertheless.

Once more did Oiri rest her head back, stretching the rest of her body, experience well resisting the jolts of delight that would make many squirm, yet pleasure remained undiluted. The two snouts nestled into comfortable place tween her hot thighs, doubling their focus, their shared conviction.

Dastel brothe deep satisfaction as Oiri gasped. "Delicious, sweet like salted orange."

"Yes." Rone lapped, playing with her clit, and put pressure on his tongue to taste more of him. "Taste me further."

He did so at once, joining on the moaning as they sank their snouts against Oiri's slit, tasting, inhaling together. Many moments and drainings later, he lifted his head and stole a lick at Rone's face before returning to Oiri's slit, chortling when Rone returned the gesture. She wanted to run her tongue around those ridges...but joining was

With tails still coiled, tongue joined, slit engulfed, and clit kissed, they all moaned. Their sounds swirled through and tween the trees. Oiri bucked back and forth as wave aft wave hit her till at last she froze with her hips raised, still peaking, then fell towards the grass, two tired arms catching her as she cooed faintly, her fall mimicked by Dastel and Rone, who both, exhausted by their climaxes and eager to rest, yet managed to inch up to beside Oiri to press their snouts to her muzzle, Rone sneaking a little lick.

They lay there awhile, basking in the aft of relief, limbs languid and sometimes sprawled. It was peaceful, quiet. Eventually, Oiri rolled backwards, startling the two, before dragging a lick across Rone's snout and then Dastel's. A final nuzzle for each neck, and she stepped back and fled sans so much as a sound, winking at them as she escaped to the forest.

"They'll never see us coming, if it comes to it," Rone said as she and he cosied up, unwilling to depart and part yet.

"Indeed, should we so need forfend my brethren."