FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Description:

In this adventure story laden with intimacy and controversies, Spittor, a feral drake of little renown, ventures into a parched settlement in search for clues. Water is scarce here. Humanity, even more so.

In this hostile environment, tasked with finding an elusive creature that's allegedly the root of all misfortunes the settlement is facing, Spittor happens upon Razzek, a witty reptilian with specific tastes when it comes to his species.

Story written by me , Siranor

***

*The basilisk's victim: Old connections (M/M feral drake x anthro reptilian) *

***

The sun hung low in the sky as Spittor approached the end of his journey, casting elongated shadows over the undulating waves of golden grass. As the drake trudged forth, tail swaying behind with every brisk step, his cushioned feet crushed the brittle savannah underfoot, sending a chorus of whispering murmurs up into the sweltering air. Ahead, the distant jagged line of the canyons, the so-called Teeth of Nar, stretched across the horizon, breaking up the monotonous flatness. Somewhere beyond them, Spittor could discern the wavy outlines of trees, remnants of a forest that might have covered the entire land a long time ago.

As he moved gracefully upon his four nimble feet, the sinuous crest of plates on his head bobbed rhythmically, sometimes raised in alertness, other times flat in contemplation. Despite the beauty around him, the land didn't invite; it warned. A gust of wind carried with it the fragrance of distant water and the faint hum of a settlement's activities, but it also bore an undercurrent of tension, of hidden unrest. His crimson eyes flicked left and right, absorbing everything with the depth of one whose feet knew the taste of nigh-endless travels. Someone who had seen much in the life he's been given.

Approaching the settlement's outskirts, Spittor's apprehensions seemed to materialize with the instinctive raising of his neck plates. Two guards stood ahead, their bodies tense, eyes wide, and weapons drawn. The posture wasn't welcoming. It was confrontational. As Spittor neared, they immediately fixed him down with their cold stares stepped forward, blocking his path.

"Halt, creature! What brings a creature like you to our gates?" The taller guard spat out, eyes locked on Spittor's armored body more than the makeshift harness strapped upon him, which bore the distinct touch of a kinder man than him.

The other guard, younger and more sneering, chimed in, "Who would've thought the tales were true? A purple and yellow drake with...are those...beard scales? You-You look bloody ridiculous!"

The taller guard rolled his eyes at his companion's banter but continued his interrogation. "Nevermind your features, drake. I can close my eyes to those and go about my day fine. But know that your kind isn't welcome here, especially after the recent... incidents. What's with those plates on your head, anyway? Trying to scare off potential threats? Or just hoping to find a mate as weird lookin' as you?"

Spittor, flattening his plates in mild annoyance to show he was no threat, replied, "Hoist your weapons and calm your nerves, for I come in peace. I've heard tales of a creature troubling your people, and I wish to study it. Perhaps even see it, should I be so fortunate. But I am starting to notice that even in my own intentions, I seem to be misunderstood." His voice was calm, yet there was a hint of steel in it, carefully veiled to avoid provoking further ire.

The younger guard, a blonde man with rags instead of proper armor, was still trying to make a jest before he angrily retorted, "Study the creature? Are you soft in the head?"

Before Spittor could reply, he found himself cut off by the know-it-all. "Oh! Another intellectual drake! Maybe you and that monster can get together and built your own little nest, right in the middle of our village 'ere!" He laughed, but even as he did so, his eyes darted around nervously, as if the mocked monster from his jest could appear at any moment.

"Enough!" The senior guard silenced his companion with a glare. He then turned to Spittor, his face softening just a smidge. "If you're here to help, fine, we will take what is offered. But watch yourself, drake. Around these parts, monsters aren't just found in legends."

With that, they reluctantly stepped aside, granting Spittor entrance.

As he walked past the two apprehensive men, Spittor could feel their eyes piercing his back, their suspicions latching onto him even as he disappeared from their field of vision. The reception was cold, but it only served to bolster his determination. He wasn't just another drake bearing an ordinary tale; he was here to rewrite the narrative.

Within seconds, the settlement of Shara'Hazad unfolded before Spittor like a tapestry woven with hardship and skill alike. Buildings stood like rugged silhouettes, their structures primarily made of sun-baked clay, corners rounded and eroded by years of sandstorms. Here and there, the faintest hint of wooden beams protruded, revealing how precious and rare this resource was amidst grasses and sand. A crude mesh made from woven grasses substituted for windows, their designs more for practical ventilation than for viewing.

Narrow alleyways twisted and turned unpredictably between the abodes. Overhead, patches of stretched hides served as makeshift awnings, offering some respite from the sun's unrelenting gaze. The ground, hard and compacted by hooves, pads, and feet alike, was trampled by countless footfalls of both humans and anthros.

As Spittor moved deeper into the settlement, curious eyes followed his every step. From the cracks between doors and beneath the sparse awnings, he could feel the weight of countless stares bearing down on him. Humans, particularly, watched him with a mix of fear and disdain. Their gazes held a palpable bitterness towards quadrupedal visitors dressed in scales, as if they carried the darkness of misfortune upon them.

However, it was not the same with the anthros and other sentient beings. A feathered avian with plumage resembling the hues of a sunset approached him, head tilting curiously. "Never seen a drake quite like you before," she remarked in a distinctly female tone, her voice melodic. "I'm Caeli. Welcome to our humble abode. Don't mind the humans. They often mistrust what they can't understand."

Spittor nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you for the warm reception, Caeli. I'm Spittor. I've come here in hopes of understanding the issues that plague this settlement." As he addressed her in the most polite, human-approved way he could manage, Spittor noticed a group of young anthros, their forms resembling felines and canids, watching him from a distance, whispering among themselves.

"Who is in charge of my summons?"

Caeli clacked her beak, offering Spittor the proper directions. Before long, his path was obstructed by a particularly formidable figure. Vartan. His skin bore the rugged texture of one who'd spent years under the scorching sun, and his gray-streaked beard seemed to hold onto traces of the many sandstorms he'd weathered. His eyes, however, were the most striking a man like him could bear; a cold, steel blue that had seen too many battles, too many losses, and far too much strife.

"You must be the feral those pox-ridden cunts from the ranger's guild sent our way," Vartan began, his voice rough, like gravel crunching underfoot. "Look around, drake. We've built this safe haven with our sweat and blood. Everything is made by men, for men. And we don't need your kind to come tearing it down if you fancy yourself a nest."

Spittor stiffened under the man's threatening gaze, yet tried to maintain a proper composure. "The sole reason behind my presence here is to help, not to harm. If not you, someone in your settlement requested me here."

Vartan leaned in, his cold gaze unwavering. "Did they now? Perhaps they've forgotten how we deal with creatures that threaten us." He paused just before his clenched knuckles turned white, letting his words sink in. "I've heard you're after the basilisk. Find him, deal with him. Or perhaps you'd like to join him in the tales we tell our children to keep them away from the tangled expanse of the green-lands."

Caeli, sensing the escalating tension, intervened. "Vartan, enough. This isn't the way."

Hear her as he might have, Vartan's attention remained fixed on Spittor. "Do your task and keep to yourself, creature. Consider this your only warning. There's no room here for another monster."

Vartan's departure left a heavy silence in his wake, broken only by the gentle rustle of Caeli's feathers as she adjusted them. Spittor caught himself admiring the delicate details of her plumage, each feather appearing as if painted by the fiery fingers of a setting sun.

She met his gaze, her eyes warm, almost amber against her vibrant facade. "Apologies for Vartan's harsh words. We don't all share his views." A soft sigh escaped her beak. "Water scarcity has made many here paranoid and fearful over the past few seasons. The basilisk has never been a problem until Vartan deemed it so. Ever since he sent his gorram hunters into his lands, the basilisk became cold. Relentless. Our numbers thin, while he remains unyielding."

"You're one of the water-seekers, aren't you?" Spittor observed, noticing the satchel she carried, which bore markings suggestive of the sacred liquid the people in these parts sought more than any other thing.

She nodded with a touch of pride. "Yes, I lead a team of scouts, always in search of new sources. Water is life, especially in these parts."

A soft breeze swept through, carrying with it the scent of baked clay and distant vegetation. As it rustled Spittor's plated crest, Caeli caught sight of the intricate patterns on the drake's hide. "Your scales," she began, a hint of wonder in her voice, "they're like the sun reflecting in the rapids. The interplay of purple and yellow is... mesmerizing!"

Spittor looked down, the compliment catching him off guard. "I...thank you, feathered friend. They've always made me stand out. Not always in a good way." He admitted that with a slight tap of his tail against the hard cobbled pavement of the ground he stood on. "I hope to do my duty uninhibited and resume my travels at the earliest. Care you lead the way to a resting place for someone like...me?"

The two walked side by side, their differences apparent, yet bridged by mutual understanding. Caeli's light, graceful steps contrasted with Spittor's more deliberate, ground-anchoring stride. Every now and then, their eyes met, silently speaking what words often failed to.

Spittor hesitated for a moment before he asked, "I came looking for someone. A friend named Razzek. Pale like the sand, striped with the brown of Nar across his back. Do you know of him?"

Caeli's face shifted, a shadow of realization crossing her features. "Razzek? Yes, I certainly know him. He often frequents the meal hall. You can find him there. Salivating over a steak, no doubt." She paused, considering. "Would you like some company? The humans can be... difficult, especially during the heartier meals."

Grateful for the offer, Spittor nodded. "I'd appreciate local aid."

The meal hall was an expansive area, surrounded by clay walls and covered with patches of hides to shield the diners from the desert's volatile temperament. Inside, the hum of conversation ebbed and flowed. Most tables were occupied by groups of humans, while anthros and other creatures sat on the fringes, showing the subtle divides within the settlement.

As Spittor entered, whispers filled the air, eyes darting his way. Some regarded him with curiosity. Others, with animosity. Yet no matter how the few reacted to the drake's entrance, the many paused and tensed. It was as if a cold draft had entered, sending chills down spines. He felt Caeli's reassuring presence beside him, her feathers ruffling in subtle defiance against the room's change in mood.

While they navigated between tables, a sudden jeer rose from one corner. "Look, it's the feral's pet bird!" A piece of dry bread flew through the air, narrowly missing a ducking Caeli. Spittor's eyes flared crimson, but a gentle touch from her feathery wing kept him in check.

Razzek looked up from his meal, and for a moment, the hall's chatter seemed to fade away. His long, slender frame was highlighted by the flickering light of the lanterns, accentuating the grace with which he moved even in the simplest gestures. Sandy-colored scales, interlaced with stripes that mirrored the serpentine elegance of his form, adorned his limbs and back. His eyes, alert and keen, glinted with a mixture of relief and concern as they locked onto Spittor.

"Spittor! If that isn't the drake we've all been waiting for!" Razzek's voice, though filled with warmth, bore an undertone of caution. He rose, navigating through the tables with a dancer's grace in order to greet his old friend.

However, the reunion was marred by the hall's crowd. "Think you've been wrong, Ordo. I see two ferals and a pet bird," sneered another human, his voice dripping with malice.

Another threw in, "Should we throw them scraps outside an' have them feast from a bowl?"

With each jibe, Spittor's posture became more defensive, his scales seeming to sharpen at their edges, while Razzek tried to maintain an air of dignified calm. Caeli, on the other hand, bristled but held her tongue, eyeing the perpetrators with a cool disdain.

"They don't know any better. If we leave them to it, they'll soon tire of-"

"Yer cunt?" the closest patron, a barrel of a man shaggier than a bear, rose up to meet Razzek's gaze. "There somethin' more you wanna say to us...scaled cunt?"

"Enough of this nonsense!" Razzek's voice sliced through the mounting tension. "I apologize for the disturbance, friends," he patted the burly man, then turned around, addressing the crowd, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Let me make amends towards a group I feel I grieved with the mere touch of my words." With a swift gesture, he signaled the servers. Soon, trays laden with food and fruit squeeze appeared before the jeering humans. "On my tab. All of it," he added with a clap of his scaly hands.

The gesture worked, momentarily silencing the taunts, as the humans found themselves distracted by the unexpected bounty presented before their greedy faces.

"That's not going to sate them for long, but it's a start," Razzek's eyes still held a flicker of disappointment. He turned to Caeli, a softer expression forming. "Thank you for stepping in, feathered friend. The comfort of your presence here, especially to Spittor here, will ever be remembered."

Caeli smirked, a glint sparkling in her verdant eye. "Of course, Razzek. Though, I must say, my tracking skills did lead us here faster."

Razzek chuckled. "Always a competition with you, isn't it? Remember that time in the western canyons when I proved you wrong?"

Caeli laughed, her feathers ruffling in amusement. "You mean when you got lost and I had to find you?"

Spittor, observing the exchange, felt a warmth spreading inside him. Despite the hostile atmosphere, there was comfort in witnessing the bond between the two, short as that might've been.

Razzek turned his attention back to Spittor. "It's good to see you too, my dear scaly friend," he said, embracing the drake's neck as well as he could without rising too much suspicion. "Though, I wish the circumstances of our reunion could stand to be more favorable. Recent...difficulties made many apprehensive to every four legged visitor we had over the summer. If food drives a man wild, then lack of water turns them deadlier than a beast!"

The warmth of Razzek's embrace enveloped Spittor, bringing with it a rush of memories. It wasn't just the words they shared; it was the way Razzek's fingers traced the scales on his side, the way his thumb brushed against the crest of his neck. Each touch felt genuine and bold, hinting back at the history they shared, a bond that had grown and evolved over many adventures spent looking over each other's safety.

"I've missed that scratching for sure," Spittor murmured, leaning into the finesse of Razzek's delightful dance of claws along the narrow spaces between his heavy plates. "The settlement...it's not how I remember last time we plucked fruits from the Angharthar oasis."

Razzek let out a long hissing sigh, his fingertips caressing the sides of Spittor's face as their eyes temporarily met. "Things change," he said softly. "People, their beliefs, their fears. They morph with time and soon become an unrecognizable beast we must either cower from...or vanquish."

Before the moment could linger further, a boisterous voice shattered the atmosphere. "Looks like we've got two lizards getting cozy right in the midst of our meal, boys! Anyone up for some entertainment tonight?"

Laughter erupted from a nearby table, the gleeful eyes of a group of humans boring into the pair. The remarks grew cruder, with each comment attempting to outdo the previous in vulgarity.

With a swift, almost protective motion, Razzek drew Spittor closer, as if to shield him from the venomous words. His eyes, normally calm and steady, now flared with quiet intensity. "These brutes are proving an abhorrent waste of my coin. We should leave before wits completely drains from their heads," he whispered.

Caeli, having overheard, fluttered down next to them. "You shouldn't have to hide," she said, a steely edge to her voice.

Razzek shook his head gently. "It's not about hiding. It's about choosing the terrain of our battles." He turned to Spittor, his gaze softening. "We'll find somewhere quieter, my friend. Somewhere we can be ourselves."

As they began to move, Caeli touched Razzek's arm lightly. "Be safe," she told him. "And Spittor, it was a pleasure meeting you. Take care of our mutual friend here."

Razzek smiled warmly. "Always," he promised.

Leaving the raucous laughter and snide remarks behind, Razzek led Spittor towards the beast pens, an area set apart from the heart of the settlement. Here, amidst tall vegetation that seemed to shield the place from view, the gentle hum of the evening wind and the low murmurs of the animals brought a sense of calm compared to the boisterous nature of the humans.

"They're not always like this," Razzek began, indicating a pen filled with creatures munching on dried husks and meager grains. "The feed's been sparse lately, and water is making life increasingly difficult with its increased absence."

Spittor approached one of the troughs, his nose wrinkling as he sifted through the assortment of grains, dried fruit, and other edible waste the humans threw in there. Letting the grains slip through his fingers, he made a face, his crest rippling in mild disgust.

Razzek chuckled, his earlier tension easing. "Yes, it's not the finest meal a drake could have," he admitted. "But I might have a solution." With that, he approached a young boy nearby, slipping him a few coins. The boy scampered off, only to return a few moments later with fresher produce.

As they settled down to eat, the difference was clear. Razzek's food was aromatic, fresh, and immediately brought a pleased hum from Spittor once he bit down on the succulent meat at the center of the food-basket.

With the food quickly turned to nothingness, under the dim glow of the evening stars, Razzek began the meticulous process of preparing Spittor for the second part of his ritual. With practiced hands, he poured water from a clay jug into a shallow basin, the sparse droplets echoing softly in the stillness. The water, with its mirror-like surface, seemed a precious gem amidst the rustic surroundings of Shara'Hazad.

"Come here," Razzek beckoned as he carefully folded a soft cloth into quarters, creating a plush pad to work with through the drake's hard plates.

Drawing closer, Spittor watched intently as Razzek dipped the cloth into the basin, saturating it thoroughly, then squeezed it, ensuring it was damp but not dripping too much and waste the precious fluid. The importance of conserving water was not lost on either of them.

Starting at the head, Razzek gently cleaned around Spittor's eyes, being cautious not to let any moisture drip into them. He worked his way down the drake's face, tenderly scrubbing the plates on the top of his head, making sure to remove any accumulated dust.

When he reached Spittor's neck, Razzek's movements turned slower. More... methodical. He cleaned between the expressive plates on the purple drake's neck, ensuring no debris was trapped in those spaces that would be impossible to clean by his kind. His hands worked rhythmically on their way down, moving to Spittor's back and tail, where the thick armor provided a challenge. But Razzek, with his intimate knowledge of Spittor's physique, knew exactly where to press and where to glide. He insisted with practiced strokes when needed, lingering just enough to get the job done.

With the back of the body done, the drake's limbs were next, each paw lifted in turn. Razzek's fingers deftly cleaned between each toe, removing the coarse dust and ensuring each claw gleamed in the ambient light. The intimacy of the moment grew as Razzek's hands approached the sensitive area between Spittor's legs. Even though no sand grains could visibly be trapped there, Razzek knew the savannah's grit could be treacherous, and cleaning this area was a precautionary ritual they both understood.

"If I may bring forth a controversial suggestion," Spittor began with a playful smirk, "a bit more lubrication might feel nicer down there."

Razzek chuckled in response. "Water's our gold here," he remarked, emphasizing the value of their sparse resources. "But if you would prefer something stickier, I may be persuaded to arrange something of that sort.

He stuck his tongue out at that, its bifurcated tips almost touching Spittor's surprised snout.

"Grrh, careful. You never know when a drake's instincts may nip on that thing." Spittor said playfully.

"Perhaps I'd like that." Razzek answered in return, a warm smile spreading across his sinuous reptilian face.

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the weight of all the trouble they had in the meal hall seemed to disperse. Right here, trapped in this very moment, stood the essence of their time together. A time of joyful banter interlaced with nuances of something more intimate.

"I appreciate this lavish treatment, Razz, no matter where it may lead next," Spittor further relaxed, breaking the silence with a soft growl. "It's been a long road all the way here, in the shadow of the Teeth of Nar. Perhaps, one day, we could conquer one of their peaks together."

"Perhaps," Razzek's hand paused, the wet cloth resting against Spittor's side. "I hope you know you're always welcome here. Regardless of the circumstances," he replied softly.

Continuing his ministrations, Razzek worked to ensure every last trace of Spittor's journey was washed away. The drake's muscles relaxed under the attention, the weariness of his travels melting away bit by bit, until only a satisfied rumbling remained.

Razzek took a step back, appraising his handiwork. With a nod of satisfaction, he patted the drake's head as he would a dog. "There you are, looking as regal as the day we first met, my dear puppy!"

Spittor huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes. "Regal? Me? More like a roughed-up wanderer."

The tawny reptilian simply shook his head, a knowing smile gracing his lips. "To me, you'll always be royalty," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth.

As they settled into the rustic stall, the comforting scents of hide and hay enveloped them. Their makeshift beds were simple, but offered a place of reprieve from the settlement's prying eyes. Razzek patted the hay beside him, and Spittor willingly lay down, resting his head on his friend's lap. The intimate position felt natural, as it happened to be a posture of camaraderie they had shared countless times during their treks together many years ago.

Razzek began to stroke Spittor's crest gently, the touch soothing for the lazy reptilian. "Since we last met, there have been a few other improvements besides the basilisk you already heard of. My work has evolved," Razzek started, choosing his words carefully. "It's not just about water anymore."

Spittor tilted his head slightly, pleading for Razzek to continue. His crimson eyes glistened with intrigue, absorbing every word the reptilian could offer.

"For starters, the tales of this so-called monster have been distorted through fear," Razzek sighed. "You've heard the insidious whispers that gave birth to those exaggerated beliefs, no doubt. Claims that it drains entire ponds, leaving the land more parched than a dragon's vent after a week-long mating season. Stories of it stealing away the young ones from their nests, or causing the few animals we raise here to vanish. Some say the sound of its hiss can burrow into your ears, lingering day and night, until the mind becomes too weary to fight it. Some anthros genuinely think the only escape is to... to commit the unthinkable."

"That sounds about as true as that time when you glued branches to my sides and called me a dragon."

Razzek chuckled. His fingers traced the plates on Spittor's head, a gentle counterbalance to the weighty words. "There are even wilder rumors than those, my dear drake... Some say its eyes can entrance you, bind your will to the beast's own wishes. Others speak of a haunting melody it hums, which lures creatures to their doom, like a mermaid, or a siren, or whatever. I've strayed too far from the sea to know its legends. But you know what I mean, right?"

He paused after the rumbling confirmation, letting his words sink in. "Of course, there are plenty of stories of the beast being an omen of ill fortune; its presence signifying the end of days for Shara'Hazad as we know it."

Feeling the tension build, Razzek offered a tender rub behind Spittor's ear plate, a spot he knew the drake adored. "It's become a scapegoat for every misfortune. If a water source dries up, it's the beast's doing. If someone goes missing, they were taken by the creature."

"And if someone spends their passions in the warmth of their dreams? Is that the beast's doing?"

"Of course. Why would you think otherwise?"

Spittor's muscles relaxed under Razzek's touch, but his eyes remained sharp, darting up to meet his friend's. "What's the truth, though? You've always had a knack for seeing past tales."

Razzek hesitated, his fingers momentarily stilling. "They've indeed been transforming fears into stories so long, most can't tell fact from fiction unless they take action," he said softly. "I've... met the creature, in a manner of speaking."

Spittor's eyes widened. The unexpected revelation sent a ripple of surprise down his spine.

"It's not the malevolent force they claim it to be," Razzek continued. "Though, I won't deny it's powerful, enigmatic, and...very attractive, if I am being honest. I've had... exchanges with it. Brief, fleeting moments. But it's clear it seeks something, something beyond mere survival. As for what exactly, I've yet to figure out."

Razzek's touch became more tender, as if he was sharing a secret just by the brush of his fingers. "I can't tell you everything, Spittor. Not yet. But know this: things aren't always as they seem. No matter whose tongue weaves them."

"Would that include you too...Razzek the lizard charmer?"

"Why don't you find out?" The reptilian teased.

The evening breeze blowing from the verdant wildlands tugged at their senses as Spittor followed Razzek as he ventured into the sprawling expanse. Overhead, the constellations danced in a mesmerizing ballet, their luminescence piercing the velvety night. Tall grasses, silhouetted by the silvery moonlight, rustled with the whispered secrets of the savannah. The nocturnal symphony of chirping crickets and distant hoots from unknown creatures added layers to the ambient serenity, giving off a tranquil feeling.

In the distance, a cluster of baobab trees stood tall, their gnarled silhouettes casting hauntingly beautiful shadows. Pools of water, scarce but treasured, mirrored the heavens above, turning them into shimmering oases of starlight.

Spittor's eyes, though built for the dark, drank in the panorama with a mix of wonder and caution. This was territory unknown to him, and yet, the stillness of the night whispered of peace. Beside him, Razzek's lithe form seemed to blend seamlessly with the wild, his sandy scales glowing faintly in the moonlight.

"You remember our last scuffle, out in the open like this?" Razzek mused, breaking the silence. A sultry note seemed to thrum in the air.

Spittor's eyes flashed, the memory of that night vivid in his mind. "When you discovered my... versatility, with the very tip of your cock," he rumbled, the playful undertone evident. The evening had been filled with exploration, and other passions. A most beautiful dance of mutual discovery and raw physicality.

Razzek's lips curled into a smirk. "And you discovered that beast-riders aren't just skilled with exterior mounts." His fingers glided over the ridges of Spittor's back, tracing the patterns like one would a beloved map.

A deep chuckle emanated from Spittor. "That... they are not. Though, the term 'beast-rider' took on a whole new meaning that night as you pushed me within a throb of release with the very first series of thrusts."

Razzek's fingers moved downwards, tracing Spittor's muscular flank gently until they sneaked behind it. Once he found what he was looking for -much to the drake's hissing delight- Razzek insisted on Spittor's vent, tracing its outline with a circular motion that barely grazed the fleshy lips of his friend's greatest weakness. "I remember the sensation like yesterday," he whispered against the feral's rippling of a hiss, "the feeling of being enveloped by your greedy muscles, of being connected to your needs in the most enticing way I've ever tasted..."

Spittor's eyes darkened behind half-closed lids. His rising desire, the memories of that night, became too warm all of a sudden, threatening to overpower his allured senses. "Grrhhh...I too remember every pulse, every movement you worked within me with the spearing might of your thrusts," he replied, voice laden with lust. "To feel your warmth fill me after the eighth...It was... unexpected. But exhilarating nonetheless, rrrhhhh!"

As Razzek continued to slowly close in to the center of the fleshy gap, the rising anticipation stirred deeper noises, raw and untamed as the wildlands surrounding them. But beyond the physicality stood a deep-seated trust forged from countless experiences of that lascivious nature. Neither of them dared to share such intimacy with just anyone.

Razzek leaned in closer, his breath hot against Spittor's earhole as his wet finger broke the line of pre that tied Spittor's slit juices to his hand, a bit too prematurely for the former's liking. "Shall we relive that memory?"

The mere suggestion of coupling sent a jolt of anticipation down Spittor's spine. He nodded without any further words uttered by his hissing jaws, lost in the whirlwind of sensations that promised to engulf them both.

As Razzek's fingers traveled along the sinuous expanse of Spittor's form once more, every touch carrying a tenderness that contrasted with the ruggedness of the wildlands around them, he teased his quadrupedal partner further. The scales he found, usually hard and protective, seemed to soften under the reptilian's practiced touch, bending to the will of his costly desires.

"Perhaps..." the purple drake pushed the tawny reptilian gently with his snout, forcing him to stand on his feet. "We can start...down there?" Spittor nudged again, this time, lower.

Choosing a clear patch of soft grass, Razzek gracefully lowered himself with a warm smile spread over his face. "I had hoped we can settle your needs first, but since you insist..." he spread himself in invitation, the delightful tint of his smell entering the drake's breath from the very first second, Spittor's keen eyes were immediately drawn to the intimate fleshy display as his nostrils shuddered, hungry for more. He took a step closer, and another, barely restraining his growls. The moonlight, diffused and soft, illuminated the hidden parts of Razzek's body, painting a picture that was as delicate as it was primal.

Spittor then crouched as gently as he could without outright pouncing his friend, there and then. His tongue flicked out, tasting the air like a snake, as if he wished to preserve the allure of exploration as much as possible. Once his taste receptors picked on his friend's usually alluring tastes, his eyes softened, throat rippling with a seething growl of pure need.

"Mrrrahhh....I have not seen anything so captivating in days! Nor have I smelled the best meat I can ever ask for," he rumbled, glazing his tone with genuine admiration for Razzek's exquisite slit.

The sandy reptilian's eyelids fluttered slightly in silent invitation. "Then show me how much you truly desire this view, and...its dripping wet contents."

With a mix of reverence and hunger, Spittor approached like Razzek dared him to, his warm breath puffing over Razzek's exposed vent. As he brought tongue upon hot folds for a taste, a series of tremors coursed through the reptilian's form. His fingers clenched in the grass beneath him, teeth barred in a barely contained hiss. "C-continue..." he uttered out, each lap of tongue that followed, every caress over the dainty center of his vulnerable male-hole stirring his bliss to new heights. of their surroundings. The rhythmic lapping created by Spittor's lashing tongue strokes created an ambient backdrop in the serenity of the forest, decorated with hisses of adoration and encouraging caresses.

"Th-aaahh...that's it...right there." Razzek's gasps became more pronounced as he pressed the drake's snout harder against his opening, each one laden with throbbing pleasure. His body arched in tandem with Spittor's explorations, the tremors of the drake's lapping assaults weakening his defenses. His fingers, which had been once again drawing gashes into the soil, now sought Spittor's head again, threading through his scales, urging him to focus on the wet center of Razzek's pleasures.

"Raaaaahhhh!" With a sudden urgency, Razzek gripped Spittor's jaw, lifting it just enough to break the mesmerizing connection between slit and tongue. He held the dazed drake in place, licking his own sweetness from Spittor's snout. "You're doing good...doing great..."

"Mrrhhh..." Spittor rumbled, his unfocused eyes betraying his feral nature. The beast took hold, and no amount of reasoning could part him from the object of his desires for long. The challenge in his eyes was clear: to take, to consume, to make the moment theirs and theirs alone.

"Take me," Razzek breathed out, voice quivering with anticipation, "all of me!"

Spittor's response came down hard, both immediate and voracious. The sounds that filled the air turned raw, primal, and unapologetically intimate. Wet, rhythmic motions created by deep tongue thrusts punctuated by Razzek's gasps, each one sharper than the last.

As Spittor took in more, saliva and pre alike splattering around Razzek's vent his vocalizations joined his partner's increasingly harsher hisses, a series of deep, resonant growls that vibrated through Razzek's very being. The combination of sounds - the slickness, the gasps, the growls - amplified the intensity of their connection.

Razzek's senses swam in an overwhelming tide of pleasure, every nerve ending alive with anticipation for the looming tightness that threatened to crawl out of his vent-hole. Each breath he took became more ragged, syncing with the escalating rhythm of Spittor's attentions. The build-up seemed to echo the wild heartbeats drumming in his ears.

The tension within him grew, pulling tighter and tighter, threatening to pulsate out of his vent in rhythm with his cock. Once Spittor found his little nugget, he began suckling on it with all his might, like a bear drawn to honey.

"Mraaawwwhhhh!" Razzek yowled. Spread legged, he pushed the drake's head into his slit as hard as he could while he humped his face wildly, eager to sink his emerging erection inside that heaven of slickened heat.

He...couldn't last long. His tail twitched involuntarily, his limbs stiffened, and his fingers dug deeper into the creases between Spittor's plated scales. The world seemed to blur into the throbs of his increasingly sensitive erection, with only the ripples offered by Spittor's delightful suckling anchoring him to reality.

Just as the climax seemed on the horizon, a tsunami of sensation poised to crash over him, Spittor pulled away. Razzek's eyes snapped open. Several blinks of disbelief followed the increasingly weaker thrusts that came to a stop, along with a sharp, angry hiss.

"What...why...?" His eye-slits narrowed at the sight before him: three pulses of clear fluid, each landing on the ground, glistening in the pale moonlight instead of being consumed by the drake's voracious tongue, as intended.

"Why stop?" The absence of Spittor's presence at that crucial moment felt like a rug pulled out from under him.

His breathing fell heavy, each huff laced with the decaying disappointment of frustration. The symphony of groans, so alive in this hot, beautiful night, was abruptly replaced with a low, warning growl. "Spittorrrrr," Razzek hissed, every syllable dripping with challenge, "you'd best have a reason for denying me at my fockin peak!"

In response, Spittor's tongue darted out, languidly licking away the remnants of fluid that still clung to his snout. Each movement looked deliberate, teasing Razzek in the extreme! And then, just before Razzek prepared another rebuttal, with a grace that seemed impossible for a creature of his size and stature, he turned around, positioning himself to display his own dripping needs.

Tail raised, he revealed a sight that left Razzek momentarily speechless. The drake's gesture was clear: an offer, an invitation for something even better. And though the act of pulling away moments ago had been unexpected, this new development provided an even bigger surprise.

Razzek's astonishment draped over their surroundings in muted silence, eyes widening as they took in the sight before him.

"Wait...you want me to...mate you??"

With no words but a needy growl and an even hotter wink of his tail-vent, Spittor melted aggressive stance his scaled friend had adopted a moment ago.

Razzek's gaze softened, replaced by a mix of curiosity and intrigue. "Well...guess we're doing plan hole, then!"

Rising, his own arousal still evident in the healthy throbs that kept his member bouncing, he leaned forward, letting his tongue dance over the very tip of Spittor's emerging length. Delightful tastes latched onto his tongue, yet, before he could even properly digest his findings, Razzek remained with his tongue hanging.

A guttural growl, deep and commanding, erupted from Spittor's throat. The tail's slap was more than just a physical act; it was a demand. A call for urgency. A clear message that now was not the time for gentle teasing.

Pausing for a brief moment, Razzek looked deep into Spittor's hungry eyes. "You realize this will be over before you even have the chance to accommodate to my length properly, right?" he warned, voice husky with the weight of his arousal.

However, Spittor's resolve remained unshaken. His exposed member, now dripping with anticipation, slid out further, driven by the need to be taken; to be had. The glistening droplets spoke promises and desires, making Razzek's caution seem almost irrelevant in the face of such feral need.

He acquiesced, hands on the drake's haunches, tip probing the flesh parting between the plates of his tailbase. Within a single, delightfully smooth thrust, the tightness of Spittor's tailhole enveloped him. A strangled hiss escaped through gritted teeth, the overwhelming sensation nearly too much for his aroused senses to cope with. Every inch of him seemed to pulsate with raw, unbridled pleasure, as his ridged glans paved the way for the equally sensitive ridges of his underside to follow.

With every deliberate thrust, the once stoic Razzek slouched over the drake, groaning and snapping at the air as he mated with all his strength. "Warrmm...kkraaahh...tighter than I remember!" he panted, fingers trailing along Spittor's scaly flanks, trying to ground himself amidst the torrent of bliss that rushed over his throbbing nethers. In a whirlwind of raw emotion, he clutched the drake's muscular haunches tighter, anchoring himself with claws upon scales as drops of seed heralded the coming of his climax.

"Raaaahhhh!" He roared with one last deep thrust, slamming his hot, drenched vent against Spittor's tail-plates. The world spun, bright stars dancing behind Razzek's closed eyelids as pleasure finally burst out of him in a thick, splattering lance that lubricated Spittor's delightfully squeezing hole. The rhythmic spasms of his cock seemed to mirror's the drake's hungering squeezes, each stronger than the last, met with the tightening grip of Spittor's tailhole, seemingly intent on milking every last drop from him. Time seemed to freeze over, each moment stretching into the vast reaches of orgasmic infinity, until, slowly, the waves of pleasure receded, leaving Razzek breathless and sated.

Drawing back, Razzek's gaze was immediately drawn to the unmistakable sign of Spittor's need, now fully bloomed and glistening in the moonlight. "Let me take care of--" his words were cut short as Spittor's tail wrapped around him, drawing him into a tender embrace.

In that simple act, everything melted away apart from Spittor's nuzzling snout and gentle licks that cleansed Razzek, each touch filled with affection and adoration. The tender grooming proved a welcome change of pace next to their earlier frenzied coupling, giving them both the chance to recover.

Pulled close in a perfect spooning position with the drake's forepaws clutching him tight against his powerful chest, Razzek hissed gently under the persistent throb of Spittor's arousal against his own receding one.

"How peculiar," he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "last time we found ourselves in this position, you made quite the joke about the 'drake riding' you put me through. Seems the tables have turned."

"They'll turn again next time. Have no worries."

The cool savannah breeze wafted over their hot bodies, chilling the warmth exuding from their aroused forms. Within the cocoon of Spittor's arms, Razzek felt both protected and cherished. As they lay there, the stillness of the night around them, the conversation slowly drifted away from sexual memories, towards more pressing concerns.

"You mentioned the creature's scent at some point during our time in the barn," Spittor began as he nuzzled his captive gently. "I've heard tales of its pungent aroma but never quite understood what it does. How it works. Is it true that it can wrap one's mind and ensnare our senses?"

Razzek chuckled softly, his vibrations felt through Spittor's chest. "It's nothing like I've ever smelled before, and believe me, drakes like you can get quite spicy when you're aroused. But his...it's different. There's a suave allure to him, almost... like he's in heat. It's impossible to describe with just mere words." He hesitated a moment, choosing his words with care. "The night after I encountered him first, I had the wildest, most vivid dream! It felt so real. Almost... too real."

The drake's curious gaze bore into him, waiting for elaboration. Razzek's body warmed up in embarrassment, for he knew the implications were clear in his eyes. "It was a dream of passion, of longing for his scent, his touch, his warmth. I woke up in a... compromised state."

Spittor's teasing smirk widened. "More compromised than now, with a drake's member throbbing between your legs? How creamy did it get?"

Razzek playfully reached back to caress him, feigning indignation. "Wouldn't you like to know? Perhaps," he whispered, fingers tracing down Spittor's forepaw, "I should just show you instead."

The sensation of Razzek's fingers tracing along the underside of his jaw next made the drake rumble with joy. And as those fingers wandered downwards, gently brushing against the drake's sensitive nethers, the growl acquired deeper tones, his pleasure evident in the gentle squirt that followed.

"Rrhhh...don't just...grab my head like that," the drake warned with a hiss. "else I'll finish faster than you!"

"Ahhhright, we'll take it slower. One nub at a time."

The teasing continued in the advertised way, Razzek's playful exploration eliciting deeper, more insistent sounds from Spittor the closer he headed towards the base of the shaft. The anticipation in the air became thick with the drake's need. Every touch, every sound, every rub of cock between athletic reptilian legs intensifying their desire for a mutual finish this time.

With deliberate slowness, Razzek shifted his position. On his fours, he lowered his snout on the same level with Spittor's painfully engorged member. For a moment, he simply admired the pulsating shaft, his breath warm against its length. Then, with the softest of touches, he began to lick it. Tasting first. Then sampling in more enticing ways. His member, impressive and distinct, glistened in the dim light. The glans, resembling a series of ancient terraces carved on a hillside, boasted a set of pronounced ridges along the crown of the glans. These undulating grooves coursed down, leading the eye to the pronounced and swelling knot at the base. Each ridge, bathed in the muted light, added to the enticing aspect of the drake's cock; a cock that few could simply admire for long.

In Razzek's eyes reflected a mixture of admiration and anticipation in between every kiss of his tongue. With every rhythmic beat, Spittor's member seemed to beckon him closer, inviting him to delve into the intricacies of its form. The alluring ridges, prominent and distinctive, promised a texture unlike any other upon tongue, hand, or ass.

Gently, Razzek brought himself closer, the warmth of his breath contrasting with the cooler air of the night. With the tenderness of a practiced lover, he let his tongue glide over the length of the shaft, tracing the pronounced ridges from base to tip. Each upward motion, accentuated by the soft, wet texture of his tongue, sent shockwaves of pleasure through Spittor, flaring his need to thrust, to knot...to cum.

The drake's breathing grew erratic after three passes, each inhalation deep, filled with feral need. His muscular body twitched and writhed in response to Razzek's ministrations. Every lap, every gentle kiss driving the drake wilder. Spittor's world seemed to reduce to that very moment. The tingling caresses of Razzek's skilled tongue, the gentle caress of the night breeze, and the pulsing need building within him. As the intensity of Razzek's attention on his ridged glans increased, Spittor's whines grew louder, more insistent.

Feeling that his partner tethered on the cusp of release, Razzek made a bold decision. Swiftly, but with great care as to avoid rubbing any part of his scaled form against the sensitive cock, he shifted his weight, crouching in such a way as to fit the drake inside him. With practiced ease, he guided the drake's ridged tip to his own vent, pausing momentarily to savor the sensation with a deep, satisfied hiss, before allowing Spittor entry.

The initial stretch was intense, the unique shape and texture of Spittor's member sending tremors of pleasure through Razzek. The ridges of his glans, so alluring to the touch and taste of his tongue, now played a far different song of sensations inside him.

The intensity of the slickened cavern of flesh he found himself in struck the drake deep. Spittor's groan of pleasure seemed desperate, as were his thrusts. He positively shuddered as he tried to fit in more of his member, making the reptilian hiss in response at the limited space available. Still, Razzek remained on top, working himself in and out along the drake's ridged glans, their rhythm, synchronized by lustful desires.

As tension coiled tighter and tighter within Spittor, he felt the undeniable sensation of his tip beginning to swell. This engorging was subtle initially, but with each pulsating throb, its prominence grew. The increased size seemed to anchor him deeper within Razzek's dainty hole, the ridges of his length working in tandem with the swell of his knot to keep him snugly in place within the reptilian's squeezing hand-grip.

"Almost there...almost there..." Razzek winced. "I'm close too...but I want to feel your seed first...before I hump your cock to clmax."

As the drake mewled with need inside him, Razzek could feel the change in Spittor, not just through their physical connection, but in the heightened tempo of the drake's breath against his scaled neck. The anticipation of release made them both strain with pleasure, one thrusting his way in as best as he could, while the other milked a cock that would never fit fully inside a male slit with hand and slit alike.

The first jet of warmth came down hard, catching them both slightly off-guard. It felt like liquid affection traveling across the bridge formed by their entwined genitals, making its presence felt deep within Razzek's dripping vent. The second followed almost immediately, just as potent, painting his insides and the cock hiding within with fervent urgency.

By the third and fourth, Spittor's body seemed to have settled into a rhythmic dance of moaning release, each pulsation from his tip accompanied by a moan or grunt of pleasure. With every spurt, Razzek's insides welcomed the warmth. He even began to thrust back against Spittor, massaging his own hidden cock along the delightfully bloating ridges of the drake's spurting cock.

The fifth and sixth were slightly less intense but more prolonged, seeping with a languid pace that contrasted with the initial burst. Razzek could feel the contours of Spittor's member stretch him apart, every ridge and bump pressing down upon his flesh, more acutely with each subsequent release.

As the seventh and eighth pulses came, the intensity began to wane. But what they lacked in force, they made up for in duration, painting Razzek's insides with a more nuanced lingering warmth.

During these moments of ecstasy, Spittor stretched his neck, trying to bridge the distance between them, longing to lick Razzek in a gesture of gratitude. But the gap was too vast. Instead, a deep, resonating roar of bliss echoed from the drake's chest, ringing through the night like the howl of a horny wolf.

The afterglow, bathed in silvery moonlight, proved serene and intimate as they both laid in that awkward position, catching their breaths while still tied by the goopy effects of their union.

"I...think we can separate now. My back is beginning to ache, and I'm not even going to speak about my tail."

"Rrrr...I'm done too..."

As Spittor began to pull away, the messy evidence of their union became arousingly apparent. Milky strands, thick and viscous, dripped down on the pool forming below their union, creating a silvery trail in the moonlight. The overflow from Razzek's well-stuffed vent was a tangible mess, glistening reminder of a drake's virility.

The afterglow had slowly faded in the steadying rhythm of their breaths, replaced by a practical realization. The cool night air, previously their ally, now seemed a tad too chilly on their exposed forms. Spittor leaned in, using his long, smooth tongue to lap and clean away the remnants of their intimacy from Razzek's splayed scaly form.

Razzek shivered under the gentle yet persistent touch, appreciating the care that Spittor attended him with. Every swipe and curl of Spittor's tongue inside or outside his vent proved both tender and meticulous. In that quiet moment, bathed in the muted silver of the moon, an idea began to form in Spittor's mind.

"If I may suggest," began Spittor, pulling back slightly from the creamy mess to meet Razzek's eyes even as he licked more produce off his lips, "this quest I'm on, it would be so much more... manageable with a crafty lizard by my side."

He attempted to keep his voice nonchalant, but the hopeful glimmer in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

For a moment, no words were exchanged, just two souls communicating through an unspoken language of glances and slight facial expressions. But eventually, Razzek sighed. "You know I can't, Spittor. Much as I wish I could, responsibilities tether me here. The human leader...Vartan... he's impulsive, and without someone to keep him in check, who knows what he might do."

"I understand," Spittor sighed, his downturned gaze stirring Razzek's heart. "But think of the adventure, Razz. The open wildlands we'll traverse, the challenges we shall overcome, the triumph we'd share when we gang up on that basilisk of yours!"

"Adventure makes me giddy, that much is true," replied Razzek, "but is adventure worth the danger we'd invite? Not just from Sithrik himself, but from those who might pursue us, or worse, connect me to you. I can't risk drawing attention to the outpost."

"Sithrik?"

"The basilisk. That is...his name. Address him appropriately. Beneath those scales hides a sensitive creature wounded by time."

The silence that followed was punctuated only by the distant scurrying night creatures and the rustling of dry bushes carried by the wind along the endless expanse. Spittor took a moment, then rose up to full height.

"I believe you can clean the rest yourself. The heat of the day here is too much for me to bear, so I will make my way to Sithrik at night. On this very night, even."

Razzek looked up in shock. "So soon?"

"The basilisk- Sithrik shouldn't be made to wait," Spittor replied with determination. "And every moment I delay could mean danger for the village."

Razzek nodded in understanding but still visibly torn. "I wish I could accompany you," he whispered, drawing Spittor into a tight embrace. "Take care, dear friend. And remember. Tap your tail three times on a rock once you reach the oasis. That's how Sithrik will know you're friendly.

"Gratitude...for everything you've offered," Spittor murmured into Razzek's ear, holding onto him with his own mighty forepaw for an almost painfully long amount of time.

They separated without further words.

Razzek watched as Spittor's silhouette disappeared into the darkness, the night swallowing him whole. He whispered a quiet prayer to the spirits of the wildlands, hoping they would watch over his friend, guide him, and bring him back safely. And then, with a heavy heart and memories of a night that would remain etched in his soul forever, Razzek made his way back to the outpost while the drake treaded further into the night.

***Want to support me create more stories?***

A) Get a story+art ych combo here. Special guest...my fluffy self!

1. (m/m anal fluffy love) https://www.furaffinity.net/view/53310379/

2. M/M dom sub dubcon bondage mating dragon in heat https://www.furaffinity.net/view/53396889/

B) Throw a few snacks at the dragon here https://ko-fi.com/siranor0720

C) Commission me! The latest promotions can be found here https://www.furaffinity.net/journal/10678471/