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Ceyric yawned widely, for about the fifth time in the last minute or so. The only thing more difficult than building a winter borough was convincing oneself to rise from it after near four months of slumber. He was warm, still infinitely drowsy, and had not yet moved a paw that final increment that would serve to remind him just how very, very stiff he'd be upon standing.

Speaking of which. . . .

He turned his neck just far enough to glance down at the overgrown tufts of fur struggling to hide the 'stiffness' in his lower extremeties. If there was anything worse than hibernation aches and drowsiness, it was the four-month-long buildup to a world-class morning wood.

"Damned. . . ." he muttered, gruffly. . . finding his voice comically thick from months of sleep. He probably had to piss, too, but it was hard to decipher beneath the overwhelming need for release of. . . other bodily functions.

He rolled prostrate on his back for a moment, stretching out his limbs as best as he could in the confines of his borough, which granted, wasn't terribly far. A few thoughts flitted through his head in the moments he took to adjust to movement, and the flow of blood, again. Like. . . how the hell did bears do this? They had to quadruple him in bulk, easily. He'd heard somewhere through the grapevine about some metabolic slowdown or something of the like, but as a whole, it didn't make sense. I mean, he'd seen bear shit. Enormous. Nothing that crapped that huge should remain in a confined space for four or five months.

He glanced down past the lighter fur splattered down his belly, then sighed. Damn. Still there. And after a thoughtful consideration of bear shit. Nothing was chasing this thing away.

He hiked up one leg, arching his body forward to close the distance between his torso and the budding pink tip of his cock with his muzzle, knowing he could only maintain such a crunch for a few moments. But hell, if he was gonna be stiff and sore anyway, he might as well get in a few good laps at himself while he bore it. Maybe if his body was desperate enough, he'd spill at the slightest effort.

The instant his muzzle closed with the head of his length, he remembered why he missed being an adolescent pup. Gods, he'd been so much more flexible, then. . . and one could always count more on themself than the chance at winning a bitch, or finding lone brothers whose fangs could be trusted. Nothing beat self-service, for convenience.

He lathed his broad, pink-and-speckled tongue over the head of his cock, dipping down as far as he could to let it slip carefully between his teeth. He played at it a bit, feeling the saliva well in his mouth at the taste of himself. Salty, musky. . . familiar. Sort of like that ashen-backed coyote he'd shared a den with on the hunt last summer. . . .

Goddamn, he really wanted to cum. He could feel his cock rising from its' sheath, bolstered by his quickening laps, and, he came to realize, the thick moans emanating from his throat. But it was for naught. At length he found himself forced to pull his head up, gasping as his body unfurled from the terribly uncomfortable, near unbearable position. This wouldn't work.

And now he was harder than ever.

There was a strained grunt, as the mud-caked, rotting log was shoved aside from the root-dug cubby hole that had served as the young Cerberi's borough for the winter. He emerged at long last into the innocent, peeking rays of morning, pawpads feeling out the dry, caked mud and long-since skeletal leaves piled at the entranceway, as his yellow eyes adjusted to the light. One tail shook off the remnants of the dusty residue from inside his borough, while the other stretched and curled up for a moment.

He sighed, and looked around the burgeoning forest. The first green shoots of the daffodil weed were poking up through the mashed undergrowth slush from the winter. He could even hear a starling, in the distance. He allowed himself a slight smirk for a moment, at the expense of the wolves who'd mocked him last fall. Yeah, Cerberi hibernated. No matter how macho it was to stick out the winter, bear the cold and the hunger with a fanged grimace, and boast about it come spring, digging in to sleep and just. . . skipping the whole damned thing made far more sense. Fuck wolves. Ornery buncha' bastards, anyway."

Something flitted across the field of his vision, briefly obscuring one of the rays of light that'd been tickling his muzzle. He blinked, making the mistake of staring up for a moment, and blinding himself.

"Augh. . . ." he groaned, blearily running a paw over his eyes, and trying to chase the glare away. And then, there it was again. That brief flicker of light. Had to be those starlings he'd heard earlier. He tried to look up again, shielding his eyes somewhat, this time. Whatever it was was beginning to annoy him.

Something tickled the fur just along his spine, like a small, centralized breeze. But the forest was still. He froze a moment, dimly sensing before the very last second that this probably wasn't a starling. . . .

Then the tiny claws dug into his fur, like little toothed combs catching on a knot. Four of them, grabbing at tufts of backfur, before an unnaturally warm pant of breath joined them, across the back of his neck.

Ceyric didn't think he'd ever yelped so loud in his life. He fiercely swung a paw back behind him, to grab and tear off whatever demon monster was about to devour his head, and batted at thin air, when the thing disentangled itself, and leapt free. There was a strange, chirruping squeal, and he glanced skyward just in time to see the vaguely batlike silhouette whirl overhead, long, thorny tail trailing behind it.

Again, panic nipped at his heels. . . .

. . . for a further three seconds or so. And then he realized all at once how much a fool he'd made of himself.

"Damnit, creature!" He cursed at the chirruping, circling little fae wyrm. . . whose noises he now realized were mirthful laughter.

"What a brave young Cerberi!" The little dragon cackled, as it continued to loop about in the air just out of reach of his paws. "Scared him near out of his hide, I did! I think he is still shaking!"

"What pleasure can there be in startling bystanders for the sport of it?!" He growled, scratching idly at his back, where the little fae dragon had tugged out a few stray hairs. "You pulled out a few clumps of my fur, you ripe little bastard! Don't you have anything better to do?!"

The thing careened down towards the ground at a speed that made Ceyric hope for a moment it had overshot and would face-plant into the mud. But of course not. Fae were wily little creatures. . . especially those of the draconic variety, and they rarely made spectacle without that infuriating clever knowledge that they could do so spectacularly. It not only executed a perfect, four-paw landing, at mach 5 pseudodragon speed. . . but corkscrewed in the air on its' way down.

Once it landed before him, multicolored wings curling at its' sides, body a sheen of sky-blue mottled scales, he was taken a bit aback by the beauty of the smallish creature. It was only the size of a small cat, with a long, thin body, curved spindles of horns adorning its' head and down the ridge of its' neck and back, and spotty, opalescent flecks of color all along its' wings and back. It tilted its' small, angular head at him as it surveyed him, gold eyes blinking both eyelids.

"The Cerberi's words don't match his body." It spoke, in a whistling, lyrical tone.

"You're one to talk." Ceyric muttered, kicking some mud off his footpads, and making sure a few flecks of it flew in the pseudodragon's direction. "You're a bold little creature for one so small."

"No, no!" It chirrupped, again with that odd, faint laughter. "I mean for one who acts so mean to Berary, you seem happy to meet me!"

Ceyric just quirked an eyebrow at the creature for a moment, before belatedly realizing what it meant, (mostly based on where it was staring, with those little gold eyes) and nearly crawled back into his own skin.

It's a pity his cock wouldn't do the same.

He clapped a paw over his. . . apparently still!. . . exposed length, trying to sandwich the thing between his palm and his belly, and chase it away. Good Gods, this thing was just determined not to leave!

And the damned fae wyrm was laughing again!

"Cerberi likes Berary quite a *lot*!" It mewled, blue tongue flicking out from between its' tiny, toothed jaws, as it laughed.

"It's Ceyric, alright?!" The Cerberi belted, brow knitting and ears lofting back as he loosed a low, annoyed growl. "At least stop calling me by my breed! You wouldn't want me calling you a pseudodragon, or a wyrm!"

The creature stopped laughing for a moment, to puff up its' scaled chest. "Of course not! Because I'm not!"

"Right! You're. . . Berak, or. . . Bertrice, or whatever. . . ."

"Berary! And I'm a *male*!"

"Whatever. . . you're a fourth my size, and covered in scales. Pardon me for not noticing." He said, dryly. . . sitting back against the tree he'd dug the roots out of for his borough, and sighing. "I could never tell with dragons, even when they're fully grown."

He closed his eyes, and let out another long breath, feeling the sun wash warmly over him for a moment, and taking it in. The forest looked, and smelled like he remembered. The faint tang of cold still nipped at his nose, and the scent of rotting leaves and bark was everywhere. . . a deep, aromatic must he would spend the next six or seven months absorbing into his fur, and his memories. When the great hunt came, he would need the scent to track his prey, and the memories to keep him warm at night.

So lost was he in his reverie that he only came to remember the little fae wyrm when its' pacing brought it a bare foot away from him. He opened one eye, and glanced down at the little creature, who was staring at his twin tails. He swatted at it with one.

"You aren't gone, yet?" He muttered, questioningly.

The creature continued to stare, and he followed its' line of sight. Past his tails.

"Again with that?" He growled, getting a little past annoyed, at this point. "It's really not your business, and I don't appreciate you staring at my-"

"Cerberi needs a mate." The little creature chirruped, interrupting him.

"Yeah, Amen. . . but unless you know a good bitch or a stud who can get here in the next few. . . minutes. . . I think I'm handling this one, solo. Or at least, I would be, if some beady-eyed little cretin wasn't gawking at me."

"I'm a stud!"

Now it was his turn to laugh. And hard.

"You're three feet of stubby, miniaturized dragon! And. . . two of that is your tail! Honestly! Go find another dwarf lizard, or something. Leave me the hell alone, already."

The creatures smallest eyes narrowed to gold slits, as it hunkered down on the ground between his legs. "Are you saying you don't like me?"

Ceyric sighed. "Look, it's not like that, ok? Don't get all watery-eyed. we're different species. Drastically. . . different species, in fact. It ain't even that I don't find you. . . ah. . . attractive."

"Berary is beautiful!" It chirruped.

"Yeah, you're real pretty." He had to grudgingly agree. "But you're also, y'know, small. Like really small. I mean I bedded a hare once, but, that's really as far as I've stepped outside my breed-"

"Berary will show you!" The creature insisted, beginning to pace forward towards him. Ceyric resisted the urge to jerk back a leg, as the wyrm began to close the distance to his lower extremeties. He stammered for a moment, struggling for the right thing to say. On one hand, he really didn't much like where this was going. Why the little creature had taken such an immediate interest in him worried him, and fae-bred dragons were legendary for their connivery and egos.

On the other hand. . . fae-bred dragons were legendary for their connivery and ego, and he was wary enough to know that insulting the creature's pride by turning it down might end with a season's worth of grief. Even the smallest of the dragons always posessed some form of magic trickery. This creature clearly had something up its' sleeve, and it might be for the better to let it have its' way, and be done with it.

As it turned out, he had little choice in the matter. The creature fluttered up and landed once more on him, this time settling its' tiny paws on his abdominals, tail settling down between his legs. He found himself dumbstruck for a moment, as it caught his eyes with its' own. There really was something entrancing about a dragon's stare. Even a pseudodragon's eyes proved captivating.

"We make deal." The creature said, in that lyrical tone, again. "I help the Cerberi. . . and then Cerberi stud shows *me* a good time!"

"Ah, I. . . ." He paused, knitting his brows a moment in confusion. "Wouldn't you be far happier with one of your own breed? I mean I don't really know how I'd. . . ."

It quirked its' head at him.

"You're really small!" He repeated, trying to force some logic into the creature.

"Size means little. I will show you." The pseudodragon flitted upwards, suddenly, wings unfurling to their full, light-catching splendor. Small flecks of luminescence caught the sun as it rose a foot or so into the air, hovering over his stomach. He briefly thought for a moment that he saw it's scaled mouth turn up in a smile, before the air around him began to shift, and tingle at his skin. He knew magic when he felt it, and this aura was powerful. Far moreso than he'd ever felt from a fae wyrm.

He found himself leaning back against the moss-covered bark of the old tree, before a sudden heat swept over his body, chasing away the nipping cold of the spring morning. He felt his anxiety melting away, and wondered idly if that was due to the spell, as well.

"Well," he murmured, admissively, "that is rather. . . nice."

This time he was certain he saw the dragon smile, and he let a gruff breath out, suddenly, as that warmth slipped down his body to a more specific spot. Something soft, hot, and somehow seemingly. . . wet?. . .began brushing over his cock. He found his claws digging subconsciously into the wet earth beneath him, legs falling open like they were made of lead. And Gods, he couldn't help himself. He uttered a low, helpless moan.

"What. . . ?" Was all he could manage.

"I knew Cerberi would like." Came a somehow huskier tone, from the pseudodragon.

"C-Ceyric." He reminded it again, somehow stumbling over his own tongue, which at this point was coming dangerously close to lolling out of his mouth like he was an adolescent in heat, again. Whatever magic that creature was working on him was intoxicating. He'd swollen full to brimming just in the last few moments, and his head was begging with the first few beads of precum, already.

"Could. . . you. . . ." he stammered, feeling somehow suddenly abashed by his words from earlier. But moments ago he was scoffing at the creature, and now he was about to beg it to deepen its' ministrations. He shut his jaw. He had an ego, too.

"Hmnnnh?" The dragon sung, quietly, tail dangling between his legs, still. It was nearly twice the length of his body, and, he suspected, purposefully brushing over Ceyric's rear each time he fluttered his wings. The dragons legs were splayed playfully about in mimicry of Ceyric's own position, and he did indeed have to admit that the creature's sex was now noticable. Perhaps that had been the point. The two small, tawny sacs along his pelvic bone sat neatly between his scales, the smallish wet glint of pink peeking out from just above them. His pinky would have dwarfed it. . . but he chose not to comment on that fact, at the moment. Let the wyrm discover the difficulties that would cause when his'turn' came. For now, Ceyric was much enjoying his own.

He realized he'd been staring a bit too long at the creature's endowment when a sudden physical tingling at the head of his length tugged him back into reality. He gave a soft, muffled whine, and glanced down to discover what was causing it. The little fae wyrm's tail had found a better use than teasing, at last, and the little blunt tip of it was running over the sensative tip of his cock, tracing along the tiny slit and the minute amounts of leaking precum.

"Nnnhhh. . . ." he groaned, low and long, and he let his head thud back against the tree behind him. That spell, whatever it is, wouldn't let up, and it was driving him mad. He was hot, and wanting, and his thighs were beginning to quiver. To make matters worse, the fae wyrm had let its' tail slip fully down his root, and was beginning to wrap softly around it. He found its' scales surprisingly warm, and smooth. He'd always thought dragons would be coarse as sandpaper. . . and now he found himself wanting to feel more. If the *outside* of a dragon felt this good, he wondered idly between another strained groan, how would they feel on the-

"Oh, fuck!" He belted, suddenly, as the little dragon's tail, corded muscle and smooth scale, tightened around his cock, like a constrictor. For a moment he was struck with a bolt of fear, but the creature only sung softly in an oddly comforting tone, and began to slip the length of his tail slowly up and down.

Once the real pumping motion was established, his resolve to maintain his dignity disintegrated fairly fast. He found himself digging claws into the ground beneath, and working his aching cock against the dragon's pace, hips rising ever so slightly at an erratic pace to further the motion as much as he could. He could feel his seed rising, and he didn't fight it. His body was shuddering and weak with its' need to cum, and he sensed but a few moments before it all ended that he would probably drench such a small lover. But again, he was far past caring, at the moment.

He stiffened at long last and loosed himself with a howl, the combination of the dragon's tail and his spells working him ceaselessly through the much-needed climax. He dimly registered the first spurt splashing the fae wyrm's scaled chest and belly, and felt the warmth of his further release on his own chest, and collarbone. But he didn't care.

It felt too damned good.

He gave a few, final shuddering moans, as the last quakes shook him to the spine. His vision was blurry, his body felt numb, and his tail could not stop thrashing about in the leaves at his feet.

Best hibernation wake-up. . . ever.

He felt the creature's tail slip free of him, finally, and fluttered back down to the ground. Oddly enough, the odd heat from his spell did not seem to recede. He let his eyes slip open to small, yellowish slits, to regard the creature in his post-coitus haze.

". . . damn. . . ." was all he could really manage.

"You like?" The little dragon asked, impatience only vaguely concealed in his tone. It wasn't hard to see why. The creature's own root was *more* than visible, hanging stiffly beneath its' belly, and remarkably large in comparison to the wyrm as a whole. Now it was *almost* as big as his pinky.

Still, a promise was a promise.

"Yeah." He responded, at last. . . and weakly tried to push himself up a bit, still using the tree for support. He gave a lazy smile. "C'mere, dragon. I'll show you a good time."

There was a sudden kickup of wind, in time with the pseudodragon loosing a slowly growing growl, which startled him in volume. Ceyric found himself pressing his back to the tree, still trying to break free of the haze from his rather intense orgasm, in the face of a suddenly. . . growing sense of. . . fear. There were powerful, powerful magics at work here. It was almost as if. . .

The ripple in the energies of the world around him finally gave way, and Ceyric cursed, as the glamour the little dragon had coated itself in slipped away.

"Fuck!" He yelped, stumbling clumsily to his feet, only now coming to equate the heat he'd been feeling all the while, since the creature arrived, to its' true source.

The immense, regal blue creature before him towered near three times his height, once diminutive physique rippling into its' full grandeur. Massive, leathery wings folded to its' back, and horns near the length of his forearm crested down from its' cheekbones to encase its' skull, and dip behind. And those gold eyes stared *down* at him now, instead of up.

Almost suicidally, he glanced down along the beast's scaled belly, to where a now far more impressive, and still very erect length hung, expectantly. He felt his ears turn back, as his jaw fell open.

"My turn." Came a deep, rumbling breath from inside the mystical beast's maw.