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CATCH AND RELEASE

Nettie's almost made it to end of shift before his phone growls at him.

He jumps a little, sending his mouse skittering across his desk. He glances around, heat rising up his face, but nobody's paying any attention. His phone is out of his pocket before he can think better of it.

The PredDater logo stares up at him, just as eye-wateringly glib as always. His heart dances a quick jig behind his ribs, but he's got more self-control than to open his favorite hookup app at work. He smoothes his throat-feathers back down beneath the collar of his shirt and takes a steadying breath. He's got work to do. Rent to make. Responsibilities to-

The phone growls again. The cartoon lion in the logo grins at him knowingly.

"Fuck off," Nettie whispers at it. He glances around the cubicles again, half-expecting to see an HR rep sprinting toward him with a workplace misconduct slip in hand, but no one's looking. The office is Friday afternoon dead. It's almost home time anyway--and it's been a long, dry week.

Nettie's due for a fix.

Fuck it.

He's got some messages crowding his inbox; some scattered 'hey's of varying degrees of interest, a few bots phishing for his security info--and two chats from a new user called_Cock-o-dile37._

Nettie snorts, shuffling closer to his desk. He's got a good feeling about this one.

hey birdy, says the guy with the trashy username.you sure you're on the right app?

Nettie snorts again, but his face is hot despite himself. He's never thought of himself as easy, per se--but the amount of times some randy carnivore has baited him in with condescending nicknames and bad grammar is proof that he isn't all that hard to get.

_I'm right where I want to be,_Nettie types. The phone growls approvingly.

_fuck yeah,_the guy sends back, followed by a photo.

He's a crocodile, go figure. Built heavy, with nicely-filed scales on wide shoulders and a pale underbelly visible beneath a violently pink tank top. He's in a park somewhere, smirking at the camera like he thinks he's hot shit.

Nettie stares at the photo, grinning. He hasn't had reptile in a while. He wonders if the guy is flexing, or if his arms are just naturally-

"Nettie?"

The phone hits his desk, screen-first, hard enough to echo in the quiet office. Nettie turns, face on fire.

"I, uhh..." Nettie swallows. "Yeah?"

"Happy Friday, dickhead. You coming for drinks?"

"Uh," Nettie can feel a feather pop loose from where he'd smoothed them down. First one, then another. Traitors. "You guys go ahead."

"You sure?"

Nettie nods his most convincing nod. "Yep." Under his palm, his phone growls. "I've got stuff to do."

As soon as his coworker wanders off, Nettie flips his phone back over, shoving his things into his shoulder bag.

did I scare you off, birdy?

Not even a little,_he sends. Then, because he likes poking big predators with sharp sticks,_no one looks scary in a pink tanktop.

He only waits a few seconds before the ring tone sounds--another photo, this time on a front porch. The crocodile is lounging on a sun-chair, shirt balled up in one hand, upper body on full display. He's grinning wide enough to show the sharp teeth at the back of his smile. And he's definitely flexing.

A little shot of adrenaline shivers down his spine, flight-instinct and fuck-instinct melding into a slurry of noise in his veins. A corkscrew turns, low in Nettie's stomach. He presses his knees together, grinning.

your turn, birdy.

"Swish," Nettie mutters.

Nettie digs through his phone for a photo, leaning over his screen, wary of the people filing out of the office around him. His fingers are a little shaky, but he finds a good one: the photo-Nettie has a cheeky over-the-shoulder grin, mussed orange and grey plumage, and tailfeathers fanned out above his favourite set of briefs. He doesn't remember the guy who took it, but whoever it was, they should have been a photographer.

pretty, the lizard says. you always dress that slutty?

Quick and casual, Nettie undoes the front of his shorts and snaps a quick picture. He does, in fact, always dress that slutty. Or, rather, as slutty as business-casual will allow, which is usually enough.

It is this time.

won't need those, the guy sends, highlighting the second photo. be a good bird and lose 'em on the way here.

Nettie grins, zipping back up with one hand and texting with the other.Who said I'm coming over?

It's still five minutes to closing, but the fever's got him now, so fuck it. Nettie taps the elevator panel a half dozen times in quick succession. It doesn't make the car come faster--but it helps with the nervous energy puddling in his sternum.

The next message is an address. Nettie clicks his beak, basking in that familiar out-of-his-depth unease that kicks his heart rate up and has him light-headed. The place isn't far. Looks like a nice place.

With a little huff, Nettie scrolls back up to the photos, considering his options. He's staring at the easy curves of the crocodile's midriff when the nail hits the coffin with a digitized growl.

don't make me chase you, birdy.

come here.

***

Nettie takes the bait.

He stops by the bathroom on his way out of the lobby, jittery with excitement. He locks the door, drops his shorts, and shimmies his briefs down his thighs in a hurry, phone growling away on the counter. He's getting hard just from the sound, his dick peeking out from its slit like some perverted pavlovian dog. Whistling absently, he pulls his shorts back on, tucks his length away as best he can, and nearly leaves the bathroom with his underwear balled up in his fist.

Nettie clicks his beak, pausing for a breath. Then, he takes a photo of himself in the mirror, shorts undone, briefs dangling from two fingers.

dirty birdy,_is the response. Immediately, that's followed by,_good little prey, because this guy gets the game he's playing.

The taxi is stifling, and Nettie spends most of it trying to act casual, as if he isn't about to get fucked half to death by a carnivore twice his size. He's got plenty of practice in that area--but the fact that he got talked out of his pants before he ever met this guy has his mind firmly in the gutter.

The house is a one-story affair. The front porch looks exactly like the picture, complete with sun-chair. The only thing it's missing is the shirtless crocodile.

That's a good thing, probably. Nettie takes a minute after the taxi departs, fiddling with his phone. If he's going to turn around, now would be a great time for it. Barring that, he should probably let one of his friends know what he's up to. That would be the smart thing to do. The safe, sane thing.

Savouring that thought, Nettie opens his phone, switches it to airplane mode, and tosses it into the grass next to the road. His breaths start to come a little faster as he watches his lifeline tumble into the ditch and disappear. He undoes the top button of his shirt with trembling fingers. Just like that, he's off the ledge, free falling with every step.

The porch steps squeak a bit, and Nettie makes no attempt to hide his approach. He knocks on the door, loudly, just because traps are meant to be stepped in.

The guy is massive--six-and-some feet of broad, scaled reptile, grinning down at the little bird who landed on his stoop. He hasn't put his shirt back on, which is a nice touch.

"Hey," Nettie says to the crocodile's sternum.

"Come here."

Nettie shivers a little at the sound of the guy's voice. Low, coarse, and just a little impatient. Liquid fucking gold. Nettie practically skips forward, fully expecting to be hauled off his feet.

Instead, casual as anything, the big lizard pulls up the front of Nettie's shirt with one hand, then slips his fingers into the front of his shorts. It's so sudden and careless that Nettie barely has time to enjoy the attention before his shorts are loose on his hips and the big man slips two thick fingers between his legs.

Nettie lets out a little squawk, then a gasp as those probing fingers find his slit. The shrinking voice of his common sense scolds him--it's broad daylight, and here he is getting handled like deli meat by some guy he just met. His face burns, and he shoots a quick look over his shoulder, scanning the neighboring windows for onlookers.

The big man doesn't seem to care. He fondles Nettie right then and there, one hand playing with his quickly protruding dick, the other twisting the hem of Nettie's button-up into a makeshift handle, pulling him up closer. Nettie's own hands push lightly against the crocodile's forearms, but the protest is token at best. When he squeezes his legs together around the crocodile's thick fingers, his shorts slip a little further down his hips--when he spreads his legs to stop them from falling, the big man palms him roughly and laughs.

"Can-" Nettie starts, swallowing thickly. He's starting to get light-headed. "Can we go inside?"

The crocodile hums, like an engine turning over. Nettie can_feel_ his chest vibrate with the noise. "In a minute," he rumbles, teeth flashing. "Where's your panties?"

"Pocket," Nettie manages. One of the big man's fingers rubs across the edge of his slit, while the others grind his dick against the soft plumage of his thigh. "Fuck. Front pocket."

"Fish 'em out for me."

It's a balancing act, scrabbling in his pocket with the crocodile manhandling him. His shorts are dangerously close to puddling around his ankles right here on the front porch, and it's getting harder and harder to come up with reasons that would be a bad thing. The big man's whole hand is between his thighs now, palming him greedily.

There's a familiar pressure building in him by the time he holds up the briefs. He's flushed, shaking a little, grinding into the crocodile's hand like he's forgotten where he is.

The big man slips his hand out from between Nettie's legs--Nettie whines a little, flushing hard when he sees the mess he's made of the guy's fingers. He takes the underwear from Nettie's outstretched hand, grinning.

"Next time," The crocodile says, tossing them to one side, "don't even bother with these."

Nettie doesn't see where they land--he's too focused on the way the crocodile's slitted eyes rake over his exposed stomach, and the thought of how ruined his shirt is going to be from his man-handling. Nettie leans back a little, testing the croc's grip. The reptile's thick arm barely even moves.

Nettie's mouth is dry, his whole body jittery. "I just like taking them off," he says, breathlessly, and the crocodile snorts.

"I fuckin' bet," the croc says. He eyes Nettie's shorts with a grin. "Those too, birdy."

Nettie loses the shorts in a hurry--it's easy, with the big man holding him up like he is. The crocodile whistles.

"Doesn't take much with you, does it?" The big man twists his shirt a little, pulling him in close. They're still outside, in plain fucking view, and now he's naked from the waist down, but Nettie is so far beyond caring. "What do I call you?"

The crocodile's other hand snakes around his waist to grab a handful of his tailfeathers. Nettie shivers, flushing hard as he answers. "Prey. Slut. Whatever."

The crocodile rumbles again, low and ominous. "Figures. Dirty little fucker, aren't you? Hanging out where all the carnivores can see, looking this good--it's like you want to get eaten."

A little stab of irritation cuts through the wanton rush. "I_am_ a carnivore, actually." He clicks his beak, just shy of the reptile's wrist.

"No," the crocodile drawls. His slitted eyes rake down Nettie's front--followed by his claws. "You're not." The croc drags a blunted clawtip up the length of his dick, and Nettie's whole body twitches in response. "You're just a lost little bird. A pretty piece of_meat_."

A little danger light goes off in Nettie's mind at that--and he basks in its warmth._That's the shit,_he thinks, deliriously. He must say something like it aloud, because the crocodile nips at his throat and laughs.

"Dirty bird," he mutters, breathing the words across Nettie's collarbone. "I bet you taste like prey."

Without warning, the crocodile picks him up_--oh, fuck--_ just grabs the backs of his thighs and_picks him up_ like he doesn't weigh anything at all. Nettie wraps his legs around the big man's waist, crossing his ankles over the thick mass of his tail. The reptile's grip is tight, claws pressing hard enough to hurt, tugging at his feathers, dimpling him with bruises. Only then, tangled together like a rutting pair, do they stagger inside, the crocodile gnawing gently at his throat, Nettie grinding his dick into the other man's stomach, sucking in shallow, terrified breaths.

The crocodile drops him bodily onto the bed. As soon as he's free, Nettie starts frantically undoing buttons on his shirt while the big guy fumbles with his belt. The crocodile finishes first, and doesn't wait--just grabs Nettie by the ankles, pulls his legs off the edge of the bed--and then he's on him, licking a long stripe up his stomach, shoving his scaled snout beneath the last two buttons of his wrinkled shirt.

Nettie works faster.

By the time his shirt is open, the crocodile has moved his attentions downward, prying Nettie's legs apart--and then there's a tongue on his dick and sharp teeth nicking the inside of his thighs and Nettie's breath catches in his throat.

"Hold on," Nettie says, higher an octave. The crocodile pauses, shooting him a look from between his legs. "I'm... fuck, slow down a bit."

The crocodile grins--Nettie can feel the pinprick points of his teeth as he does. Smirking, the reptile ignores him and gets back to work, faster and more insistent than before.

This is _not_how this normally goes. Nettie pushes at his snout ineffectively, shuffling backwards, vying for some room to breathe. He's not some fucking quick-shot, and he's not about to spend himself like a teenager in a back seat. "H-hey," he manages, sounding desperate, even to himself. "Just-"

Almost lazily, the crocodile reaches up, splays his fingers across Nettie's chest, and pushes him flat into the mattress, not slowing down in the slightest. His broad hand is as wide across as Nettie's whole chest--and_oh,_ he's holding him down one-handed and that's pushing all the right buttons. Nettie grabs the thick forearm holding him down and tries to move it--the crocodile snorts, and pushes down on him hard enough to squeeze the breath from his lungs.

Nettie gasps thinly, pinned in place. He squirms, breaths coming hard and shallow, buried to the hilt in the crocodile's busy maw. "Oh," he says, with the last bit of breath he has before the crocodile digs his claws into the soft spaces between his ribs and the knot in his stomach comes undone.

He cums, twitching in the crocodile's grip. It's all he_can_ do, twitch and cum and suck in shallow breaths under the reptile's heavy palm. His heart flutters, pumping its cocktail of panic and fear and ecstasy, diluting him. He can't breathe. It's euphoric; every feather on his body standing up, his talons curling the air, his beak falling slackly open as the whole world turns into a quiet blur.

"Fuck," he wheezes, once the pressure on his chest eases off enough for him to speak. There's spots in his vision. His legs are draped over the crocodile's shoulders, but he can't remember when that happened. The reptile's tongue leaves him with one last, languid lick before he untangles himself from between Nettie's legs and stands.

The crocodile looms above him, grinning that same sharp grin. The insides of Nettie's thighs prickle at the sight. Slowly, the big man leans down, resting his hands on either side of Nettie's head. Caging him in.

"You _do_taste like prey," he says, licking his teeth. "Roll over."

Nettie sucks in an achy, shaking breath. His chest hurts; he can feel the vague shape of the crocodile's hand, imprinted into his plumage. Some of the feathers have come loose, others bent or flattened by his squirming. A few are broken. It's going to take ages to preen.

Nettie rolls over.

The bed's massive--crocodile-sized; he has to pull his elbows in and stand tip-talon to keep his over-sensitive dick from rubbing on the sheets. The crocodile straddles him, and then the warm weight of the predator's cock drops onto his tailfeathers, reaching the curve of his lower back. Nettie shivers, his own spent dick jumping to attention. He's big.Really big.

The reptile hums, low and pleased, frotting his length against Nettie's tailfeathers. One of his massive hands disappears from Nettie's peripheral vision, reappearing to fondle his ass. Nettie drops his face into the sheets and raises his hips, grinding himself back into the larger man's groin.

He hears the crocodile rummaging in a bedside drawer, then the soft snap of a plastic lid. It's considerate of him, lubing up--not all of Nettie's poorly-thought-out hookups are so conscientious. The brief pause gives Nettie a moment to orient himself, slow his heart, catch his breath. Sober up.

He never asked the crocodile's name. The introspection is sudden and unwelcome, a touch of guilt sneaking in through his haze.

"If you're not going to fuck me," Nettie says, raising his head and glaring over his shoulder, "I'm just going to leave."

The crocodile looks at him, affronted--and then grabs a handful of Nettie's tailfeathers in lube-slicked fingers and grinds his cock into his wet handful of plumage. Nettie huffs, face hot, watching the big man turn his feathers into a slick, rumpled mess.

The crocodile meets his eyes. The naked hunger there snaps Nettie's beak closed--for about a half-second.

"Stop playing around and-"

The crocodile grabs him by the head-feathers and pulls, arching him backward until he's staring upside-down into his slitted eyes. The reptile holds him there, without effort, while Nettie squirms and tries to swallow. It's harder than it should be, with his throat bared and his back arched painfully.

It's a long moment before he gets a response. The crocodile breathes down on him, then raises his lube-slicked hand to close around Nettie's beak like a muzzle. Nettie can smell the bitterness of the lube, feel it smearing into the soft feathers beneath his chin.

The crocodile regards him, eyes narrowed. "The next time you open that pretty mouth," he growls, "I'm going to spit in it."

Nettie's hands --which had gone white-knuckled into the bedsheets-- go slack. Nettie reaches behind his back, fingers fumbling for the crocodile's lube-slick cock in apology. The reptile rumbles at his touch, and, after a moment, releases his grip on Nettie's jaw.

As soon as he does, Nettie locks his eyes on the crocodile's--and opens his beak wide.

The hand in his head-feathers tightens painfully. Something twinges in Nettie's back as the crocodile arches him past the point of comfort--then, with a sneer, the big man spits into his open mouth.

"Nasty little cunt," The crocodile hisses. He spits again, this time down into the mess of Nettie's tailfeathers. "Spread your fucking legs."

Nettie does, and then he's face-first into the rumpled sheets, the crocodile's cock pressing into him. He bites into the comforter, smearing spit --his own, and the crocodile's-- onto the fabric, gagging at the taste. The thick head of the reptile's cock opens him eagerly, and then slides home. Nettie makes a muffled, wet sound through his mouthful of sheets and relaxes his hips as best he can.

He's taken knots thicker than the crocodile's cock--but he's out of practice, and he's never fucked a crocodile before, and he's finding out in lurid detail that they have_ridges_. The croc enters him too quick to appreciate them, but when he pulls out, each wonderful little ridge pulls him further apart.

The croc is saying something, but Nettie isn't listening--his next thrust is hard and mean, dragging Nettie's dick over the sheets and making him clench instinctively around the reptile's girth. He squeezes mindlessly around the warm thickness inside of him, shivering as the cock pulls back with a series of lurid little pops.

The crocodile fucks him without rhythm, sloppy thrusts that get harder and rougher until Nettie's thighs are tingling with the impact and his breathing starts to sound like sobs.

"You fucking love being played with," the crocodile snarls, dark and derisive, sinking into him in choppy little thrusts that push wild sounds from Nettie's lungs. He speeds up, fucking him brutally before he sinks in to the hilt, pressing Nettie down by the hips, crushing him into the bed beneath his weight. "Still want to leave?"

Nettie hiccups a little, and shakes his head--he doesn't have enough breath left for words.

"No," the crocodile breathes. "No, you fucking don't." He spits onto the curve of Nettie's back and starts rubbing it into his feathers. "You're not going anywhere until I'm done with you."

The crocodile flexes his cock inside him. Nettie twitches, then grinds his dick against the sheets, rocking his hips. He can't scrape together enough of his senses to come up with something clever. His heart is pounding hot blood, his senses a puddle of lust--and electric, paralyzing fear. His phone is in the grass, far beyond reach. Nobody knows he's here.

"Bite me," Nettie mumbles.

"Louder, birdy."

Nettie raises his head. Sucks in a deep breath. "I'm a pretty piece of meat," he slurs, and means it. The crocodile rewards him with a shallow thrust, the last ridge of his cock spreading him open. Nettie drops his head with a groan, baring his shoulders. "Bite me, fucking-"

The crocodile's jaws clamp shut over his collarbone.

It's not hard enough to break skin--but the effect is immediate. The fluttering of his jugular so close to the needle-weight of sharp teeth flips a switch somewhere deep, and Nettie goes limp; just in time for the reptile to pull his hips back and start to fuck him.

There's no resistance this time, no teasing or clenching or talk. The impacts of the crocodile's hips against his ripple up his whole body as he dangles helplessly in the big man's jaws. His beak is open, and distantly, he can hear the wanton noises dribbling out of him, the heavy grunting of the reptile, his wet breaths trickling down Nettie's collar.

The crocodile shifts, angling his cock down, stretching Nettie thin between his hips and his jaws. If he were lucid, it might have been painful--as it is, Nettie's body is loose and relaxed, a wet, warm toy for the reptile to rut and wreck and fuck and eat. Nettie's dick bounces with every thrust, batting insistently into his stomach--and then the feathers of his belly grow warm and sticky.

When the crocodile loosens his jaws, Nettie falls bonelessly onto the sheets, like a puppet with cut strings. Nettie breathes thickly, lying where he fell, as his senses trickle in around him like smoke. He makes a mournful, wet sound as the crocodile pulls out of him, one ridge at a time. Thick warmth dribbles out after him, the crocodile's thick cum matting his thighs and dripping onto his crossed talons.

"Fuck," the crocodile grunts, and with a dopey surge of pleasure, Nettie realizes he'd came. The croc wipes himself clean on his tailfeathers, and Nettie twitches in response, feeling the crocodile's cum track slowly down one leg. There's a little puddle beneath him, too, soaking into his stomach.

"Fuck," the crocodile says again, this time with a huff of laughter.

"Mm-hmm," Nettie murmurs. He feels drugged. Laconic. Like a beloved, discarded chew toy, waiting to be picked back up.

He doesn't realize the crocodile left until he hears his heavy footfalls and gets a tap on the hip. When that gets no response, the reptile rolls Nettie over, like a drunk frat kid.

"You okay?" he says, with what sounds like real concern. Nettie sighs, resenting that. He may as well have thrown a bucket of icewater.

He's got a bottle of water and an advil in his hand. Nettie sits up to take the bottle, slugging it eagerly. The painkiller, he waves away with a scoff.

The crocodile laughs, flopping down onto the bed. "Masochist," he says.

Nettie stretches his legs, each well-earned ache blooming anew. The feathers on his chest are still flattened from the rough treatment. A few are missing, scattered across the damp sheets. His thighs are wet and sticky and sore and it hurts to breathe.

"Yep," he slurs, voice ragged and burry around the edges. "Where's my shirt?"

The crocodile gestures lazily off one side of the bed, and Nettie leans over to retrieve his poor button-up. It's wrinkled and stretched at the hem, and some of the buttons have come a little loose, but that's fine. It just has to cover up the wrecked mess he's made of himself until he gets home. He'll have to walk--he's not getting into a cab looking and smelling like a man fucked to two orgasms. And he's not about to stay for a shower.

"So," the crocodile says from the bed. He's watching Nettie dress with a lopsided grin, looking over his handiwork. "You're a freak, right?"

Nettie pauses, his shirt half-buttoned. "Sure," he rasps, a little warily.

The crocodile lounges against the headboard, slitted eyes roaming greedily over Nettie's mussed feathers. He's a loud thinker. His ridged cock rises a bit between his legs. "Wanna try something?"

Nettie looks down at his ruined shirt. He's had his fun; twice over, in fact. All he needs now is a plausible excuse and a few more buttons done up, and he can start his walk of shame. Pick up his shorts from the porch, find his phone, go home to a hot shower and an ice pack. His bed is calling.

He'd listen to it--except, of course, that his own bed doesn't have a leering, naked predator in it.

Nettie pulls his half-buttoned shirt over his head with a sigh and drops it back to the floor. "Alright," he says, and the reptile's eyes light up. "Fair warning, though: I'm not a cuddler."

"I figured." The crocodile swings his legs off the bed and starts rummaging through the closet. Nettie watches, a little interested despite himself. The muscles in the big man's back, the soft thumping of his thick tail. The restrained power of his every movement makes Nettie want to crawl back into his mouth.

When he turns around, he's got a butt-plug in his hand.

Nettie blinks. The plug-end of the thing is a rubbery, egg-shaped bulb, nearly the size of his fist. Its flat, stopper half looks like a metal almond, completely smooth save for a little stud protruding off its face, like the tip of a clevis pin.

The crocodile rolls it between his fingers, grinning. "You know what this is?"

Nettie rubs his fingers together and nods. Of course he knows--in the same way he knows about sounding rods and electrodes and latex boxes; the kind of trivia that comes with a heedless sex-life and connection to the internet.

It's a chastity device.

A slit-plug, specifically.

Nettie wants his shirt back.

Being denied access to his own dick isn't something he's entertained before now, and now that he_is_ entertaining it, the neglected voice of his common sense gets loud. The plug puts him in mind of a canine knot; if that thing goes inside him, he doesn't know how to take it back out. His heart patters nervously. It's the same vertigo he gets looking over the edge of tall buildings--or staring into rows of grinning teeth.

Put like that of course, it sounds delightful.

"Yeah," Nettie says, drawing the word out to give himself a moment to think. "So... that's not really going to mesh well with my lifestyle."

"Why?" The crocodile smirks. "Because you're a slut?" He looks Nettie over, lingering on the mess between his legs. "You'll still have the good bits to play with."

The oft-ignored thought,'What am I doing here?' rushes past like the blare of a semi-truck: deafening, then gone. It leaves him cold and unsure, stark naked in a predator's den. He still doesn't know this guy's name. What's going to happen if he says no?

His dick is getting hard again.

The crocodile senses his indecision--or maybe smells the blood in the water. The reptile shrugs casually, even as his slitted eyes fix on the crease of Nettie's thighs. "It's just a kink," he says off-handedly. "It's not for everyone." His scaly tail flicks lazily as he lopes toward Nettie, slit-plug in hand.

Nettie lets him approach--then lets himself be backed up against the wall when the predator steps into his personal space.

"You, though," the crocodile purrs, trailing the tip of the plug down Nettie's ribs, "are_exactly_ who this is for."

Gooseflesh follows the plug down his stomach, until it comes to rest against the crook of his thigh. Nettie swallows. Finds his voice. "Sell me on it," he says, meekly.

The reptile's grin is audible. He rakes his teeth behind Nettie's jaw, nipping at the crook of his neck. "I already did," he purrs. "You came harder from getting fucked than you did when I was going down on you."

Nettie's face burns, watching dumbstruck as the crocodile rubs the tip of the plug over the opening of his slit. "Do you have one in my size?" he breathes, only half-joking.

The crocodile chuckles. "Oh, birdy," he says, sweetly. The crocodile runs a thumb over the smooth metal of the plug's cap--and pushes in the pin. With a soft, metallic_snik_, the plug elongates, tapering into a point. When he takes his thumb away, the pin pops back out, and the plug swells, wide as a canine knot. It looked smaller in the crocodile's massive hand. This is a bad idea. It's a really fucking terrible idea.

"Okay," Nettie blurts, speaking it aloud before he can think himself into the smarter option. "Cool."

When the crocodile grins--in that way he does that shows all his teeth--Nettie's heart starts triple-timing against his ribs.

"Good prey," the reptile coos, and Nettie knows he's made a brilliant mistake. "Spread your legs."

He does.

"Hold out your hands."

He does that, too. Still grinning his sharp grin, the crocodile grabs Nettie's wrists in one massive hand, raising them above his head and pinning them against the wall.

Nettie breathes heavily, eyes locked on the plug in the crocodile's hand. He drags the thing back up Nettie's stomach, then brings it to rest beside the emerging tip of his dick.

"Shouldn't..." Nettie swallows. "Shouldn't we lube it, or something?"

The crocodile pauses, considering that. Then, he raises the plug to his smug fucking face and_licks_ the thing, rolling it around on his tongue like a popsicle. When he's done, the smooth black silicone is wet and shining.

"Deep breath, birdy," the crocodile croons, thumbing the pin back down. The plug tapers.Snik. "Relax."

Nettie doesn't really know what to expect. The crocodile_rolls_ the tip of the plug into him, pushing his half-hard cock back inside his slit. Nettie sucks in a breath--he's never been one for slit-play, and the sensation of something sliding_into_ his opening is deeply disconcerting. Distantly, it reminds him of his first forays into anal, when he wasn't quite sure which part was supposed to feel good, and he hadn't yet figured out how not to hurt himself. He bites down a curse, then lets out a meek little chirp as the reptile pushes the plug deeper. The thing really did look smaller in the crocodile's hand--now though, even tapered, Nettie isn't sure it's going to fit.

"H-hey," he gets out, before the crocodile bites him, hard.

Nettie shudders, the plug twists, and with a lurid little lurch, it seats itself inside him. The pressure is warm and weighty, and he closes his legs around it with a groan.

The crocodile rumbles happily, the sound vibrating through Nettie's collar bone and into his chest. "Good boy," he croons, licking his teeth. "You taste so fucking good."

Nettie's throat-feathers flare. The needle-weight of the crocodile's teeth lingers, a hot web of stinging points scattered across his collarbone--he'd broke skin. He's gone a little slack in the crocodile's grip, hanging from his wrists, knees pressed together around the odd weight in his groin. The pin makes a clicking sound when the crocodile removes his hand, and the edges of the plug flare wider, knotting it in place.

A long, wet noise dribbles out of Nettie, half languor, half shock. His dick twitches, pressed against the wall of its new enclosure. He keeps his footing when the crocodile lets him go, thankfully, but the plug doesn't make it easy. Each time he shifts his weight, the thing finds a new angle, brushing nerves inside his sheath that he didn't know he had. He can feel himself getting hard--or trying to, maybe, it's hard to tell. Either way, the feeling is insistent, and bizzare, and out of habit, Nettie reaches down to stroke himself.

It doesn't work, obviously. His fingers meet slick metal. He thumbs the edge of his slit, blinking down at his groin in morbid curiosity. The plug is lodged deep, and surprisingly discreet. If it weren't for the mound of steel lightly parting his folds of his slit--and the stretching, straining sensation of a warm knot inside of him--it might not have been there at all. The little clevis pin pokes out near the top of his slit like a stubby metal clit. Gently, he pushes it in, mewling in relief as the plug tapers, taking some of the strain from his groin--though it presses harder against his dick.

Tentatively, he presses two fingers against the plug, pushing it deeper, grinding the end of it against his trapped dick. He groans at the sensation, bucks his hips, then hisses in surprise as his fingers slip off the pin and the plug fills back out. He presses it again, then lets it go, slower this time. His legs are shaking. His thoughts are dull and slick. It feels like frotting a dildo.

"Shit," he mutters, insensate. "What the fuck."

His breaths start to come a little faster. He could probably pull the thing out--the release pin is begging to be pushed again, and the bottle of lube is lying on the floor, and the crocodile's busy digging through the closet again and... and.

Who's he kidding?

Nettie sighs, pulling his hands out from between his legs and rubbing the mussed feathers of his collarbone. The teeth-marks are going to be there a while, bruised where they aren't bleeding. He's starting to ache beneath the crooked ruin of his tailfeathers, a familiar, not-quite-pleasant kind of ache. He shifts on his feet, the plug pulling and pressing and sitting heavy inside him, already infuriating.

Nettie totters over to the bed and sits down.

When the crocodile lumbers back over, Nettie leans back on his hands and does his best impression of a man who wasn't just playing with the sex toy lodged in his slit. The crocodile grins, lopes over, and uses his knee to push Nettie's legs apart. He's got a little silver padlock in his hand; tiny, like a toy version of the real thing.

The crocodile stands between Nettie's open legs, grinning down at him, dangling the little lock from one claw.

"So?" he asks, smugly.

Nettie meets the crocodile's slitted stare. "This is the weirdest shit I've ever done."

The crocodile laughs. "I doubt it," he says, with an edge in his voice that sounds like admiration. Then, he crouches down, and threads the little lock through the end of the pin. Nettie looks away--but he can't miss the sound of the latch sliding home.

Still crouched between his legs, the crocodile grabs him by the thighs, spreading him wider. "Go on, birdy."

Nettie takes a breath. Looks down. The little silver padlock hangs from the pin, looking more ornamental than anything else. Slowly, with the reptile gazing up at him between his thighs, Nettie reaches down and pushes the pin with two fingers. It barely goes in a millimeter before the padlock clinks against the steel face of the plug. The plug barely twitches.

Nettie flushes red. He takes his hand back and puts it behind him before the crocodile can see his shaking fingers. "Happy?" he asks.

Without warning, the crocodile leans in and drags his tongue up the length of Nettie's sealed slit. Nettie groans, shuddering as the weight of the crocodile's tongue jostles the plug inside him. His dick twitches, prodding his need against the slick silicone of its confines. The crocodile licks him again, slow and languid, flicking his tongue against the padlock with a grin.

"Oh, birdy," he says, low and husky and satisfied. "You have no idea."

The crocodile licks him again, then plucks Nettie's shirt from the floor. Nettie takes it from him and, still sat on the edge of the bed, dresses. He's keenly aware of the crocodile watching his every movement.

The reptile stays between his legs, but doing up the last button of his shirt feels like breaking a spell. His shorts are still out on the porch. He needs to find his phone.

When he stands up, the crocodile stands too, loping back over to the closet. He's humming as he digs around, tail thumping off rhythm. Nettie stretches, wincing--then, he turns before he can do anything else he regrets.

He makes it as far as the front door before he hears the reptile's heavy gait trailing after him.

"Hey. Birdy."

Something jingles. Nettie turns, bristling, to see the crocodile leaning against the foyer wall. He's holding a set of keys in his hands.

"Forgetting something?" The crocodile says, lightly mocking. He holds out the keys, patient and inviting--like a bear trap.

"Right," Nettie says, cautious and just a little confused. He takes a tentative step back inside, pretty certain that this isn't how this is supposed to work. "What's the point of..." he gestures vaguely toward his lower half, "if I'm going to have a key for it?"

His only answer is a lazy shrug. Once Nettie's within reach, the crocodile reaches down, taking the little padlock between thumb and forefinger.

"You'll be back," he says, low and serious enough to send a little thrill up Nettie's spine. The crocodile plays idly with the padlock, grinning down at him. "With or without this. Don't act like this wasn't fun."

Nettie's going to say something clever -really, he is- but then the crocodile tugs at the padlock, pulling him a half-step forward with a gasp. He shuffles his weight, whimpering as the plug pulls up at a new angle in the crocodile's grip.

Flushed and standing close enough to feel the crocodile's cock stiffening against his stomach, Nettie turns the reptile's words over in his head. No way in hell is he coming back here--the fear-factor is never as strong the second time anyway. And besides, this is usually the point where he's staggering home, picking his phone up from wherever he'd tossed it and re-evaluating his life choices through the lens of post-nut clarity.

Reigning in the shreds of his dignity, Nettie holds out his hand, expectantly. The crocodile grins down at him, and for a tense, lingering moment, Nettie thinks he's going to lead him by the padlock back into the bedroom.

Smirking ear to ear, the crocodile places the key into his palm. Nettie steps back, and the crocodile lets him go with one last predatory grin.

"Be seeing you, birdy."

Nettie closes the door in his face.

It's early evening; still light enough that anyone passing by could see Nettie standing there, naked from the waist down. He grabs his shorts and tugs them on, stumbling crookedly down the steps and away from the porch as quickly as he dares. His legs ache, and the plug finds new ways to remind him of his recklessness with each shaky step. He can hear the little padlock clinking gently against his sealed slit as he limps across the yard; a diminutive sound, barely audible.

Nettie kicks his way through the tall grass next to the road until he finds his phone. It's dead, because the universe wants him to know he's an idiot.

He stands there in the ditch for a long moment, rubbing his beak, slouching under the weight of the day. He's exhausted. Sore. Wrung out like a cheap towel. In the glow of the streetlights, he starts to notice spots of red dotting the white collar of his shirt. Like a constellation in the shape of the crocodile's jaw.

It's a long way home, on foot--and it's only getting darker. With a sudden chill, Nettie wonders how many nocturnal predators live in this part of the city; how many darkened alleyways lie in wait between him and his doorstep, just begging to be walked through.

Nettie takes a steadying breath.

And then, grinning to himself,sets out to find them.