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Mog Moogle, in his infinite wisdom, decided to write a story featuring my character. While it's not the first time that he's done this by a long shot, I felt it only right that I throw something back at him for his efforts. Twenty-four non-consecutive hours of effort later and you have a sequel to his piece, Forced Issue. I don't normally like writing with Faora as a character, but he'd probably kill me if I didn't. I don't need murderous moogles chasing me around. So... enjoy, I suppose!

• Journeyman Meridian

Forced Entwinement

Alchemy blended the fields of chemistry and magic in a way that most who didn't take the time to study it ever understood. It required careful concentration, a steady hand, a quick mind and the aptitude necessary to combine those skills with the arrayed ingredients. Faora possessed the latter three, even if he thought the field itself was less worthy than pure magical study.

The little mouth wrapped around his cock however was doing its best to sap any concentration he had.

Teeth grit and eyes firmly focused on the table before him, the blue dragon forced pleasure from the forefront of his mind as best he was able. Algarr root extract. Slurping tongue at his tip. Essence of nightshade. Gagging throat taking him deep. A half-ounce of salt... right? Stifled moans. Drop of liquefied djinn smoke... that was for sure. Room full of musk.

The dragon shuddered as he felt his shaft flex. Not even half of it was wrapped up in the mouth under his desk, but soft paws worked around the length not engulfed in such a way that not an inch was neglected. He clenched his jaw as he tilted his head up. The vials containing his essences were still floating safely above the wooden surface as his claws raked gashes down the table's side, but they wouldn't remain there for long at the rate things were going. "Must you do this now, you insatiable little beast?"

A wet, almost obnoxious pop_heralded the slurp of the mouth's owner sliding off the tapered tip of the dragon's shaft, and he heard a chuckle under the table. There was a little bump before the moogle's silly little head-ball-thing bobbed up against his chest. A grinning face followed shortly, splattered with pre and with lips covered in drool. "You need a reminder _why I'm like this, Fae Fae?" he countered with a giggle.

With some effort, Faora lifted a hand to his face and rubbed it with a heaved sigh. True. The spell he had used - that he had been enticed into by the Archwizard, he couldn't forget! - had been his doing, yes. The consequences however were not. "We both still have studies to attend to, Mog," he growled, even as his shaft flexed beneath the table. It launched a new little splattering of pre across the white fur of the moogle's chest.

"Feels like you're doing just fine!" came the cheerful reply, before that head ducked back down again. "Besides, _I_found the time to finish my work for the day!"

At least while he was talking, he wasn't putting that muzzle to work. Faora took a deep breath as he focused the majority of his attention on his work again. Liquefied djinn smoke reacted badly with salt, and if he didn't create an arcanic bond between the two he'd end up with a blackened face. Mog had mercifully - unfortunately? - stopped his ministrations on the dragon's malehood, leaving him free to focus.

The paws that rose from beneath the other side of the table weren't a big enough distraction to prevent Faora from mentally drawing the ingredients out of the vials and swirling them together in the air. Sparks flickered between them as he felt something furry brush past one leg. Teeth grit again as a corner of his mind wondered what in the six hells Mog was up to.

Sudden heat against the tip of his shaft sent the dragon's eyes wide, and he yipped and would have fallen back if not for a tug at his hips. A glance down showed not the moogle's hands but his footpaws wrapped as best they could around the larger male's hips. They gripped there while the head of his shaft, unseen behind the table, bumped against something pliant, wet and warm.

Sudden need gripped him, and the dragon fought it just long enough to cut the combination of the alchemical elements. The materials shifted shakily in the air as they hurriedly were telekinetically stuffed back in their vials and stopped up. A wave from two fingers sent the vials to opposite sides of the room to settle on whatever surface was within the dragon's sight. "You are going to be the death of me," he sighed as he flicked his fingers again and sent the table skidding away.

It broke the moogle's hand-hold on the other end, but a quick flicker of the dragon's thought provided an invisible bed of force to sustain his position. He lay out as if on a physical bed before the dragon, with Faora's tip pressed against a very un-male slit. The other side effect of the scroll he's unfurled and used - been enticed to! Enticed, mind! - to try and bend the moogle's frustrating habits to more manageable levels; that feminine entrance replacing his masculine assets.

Just like the pull to fill it, both from mental pressure and the insistent tug of those little footpaws. The work was cast off as the moogle beneath him began to giggle again, and the dragon reached down to grab a hold of the creature's middle. He almost felt as though he could wrap his fingers clear around Mog's middle in spite of his squirming, and wondered once more if it was more of the spell's magic that made him so, for lack of a better term, capacitive.

He was almost hilted in a single, titanic thrust that any onlooker would have thought painful, brutal or sadistic. Certainly the growl in the dragon's voice as he drove his ridged length into that tight, wet heat was deep enough that most would think it threatening. The moogle below just went slack, eyes rolled back in his head with a grin stuck to his face. "Are you happy now?" he grumbled as he drew his hips back for another sharp thrust. Once more he made it almost all the way in; in spite of their repeated couplings over the last couple of days, the moogle's cervix was still a fair barrier to the dragon's induced lusts.

"Dunno... are you breeding me yet?" groaned the moogle from below.

Faora's eyes narrowed as he squeezed tighter at Mog's hips. "Give me a little time and I will be."

"Mmm... then I'll be happy in a little more time!"

The long-suffering sigh that slithered out of the dragon's throat was hidden by a moan of pleasure as the moogle squeezed down around him, squirming and writhing around his malehood. Mog's little belly bulged with each inward thrust that the dragon made, both of his paws came up to slowly rub over it each time it appeared.

The concerns that had been risen in the wake of the spell's casting had not abated in the dragon's mind at least, but it was clear that Mog had completely embraced the changes he'd undergone. The way he squirmed to try and get more of the dragon's shaft into him was clear proof of that, even if there was just about nothing more to give. Almost every nook and cranny was filled, and his tip kept jamming up against the moogle's cervix with each thrust.

Any concerns that Faora had about taking the moogle had been obliterated with logic after their first time. If he could be made pregnant, their first effort would have done all the damage. There was no sense in trying to be careful, and the delicious texture of the moogle's insides wrapped around his shaft was so close to pure pleasure that Faora wasn't sure he could tell the difference. He couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to.

It wasn't worth the frustration of trying to game the moogle. The spell that bound them wasn't so much an erosion of the dragon's will, but more a supplement. Every touch and squeeze and taste and smell and thrust was deliciously accented in ways he'd never imagined. Each new coupling was better than the last. Each time, the moogle seemed to take his shaft in a way that left him something close to speechless; a feat in and of itself.

But sacrificing his control of the situation wasn't something the dragon was a fan of. With a huff of hot breath he squeezed Mog's middle tighter and released his control of the field of force under the little creature's back. Mog only dropped for a moment before Faora lifted him up again, and his little yip of surprise as he was hoisted high and his tunnel was left devoid of the dragon's length echoed in their shared dorm-room. "Fa-ae!" he whined as the dragon carried him across the room.

"Hush," was all Faora offered in reply as he forced the moogle's back against the wall. He looked down at his shaft and grasped it by the base before he fed it up and into Mog's passage again, and he rolled his eyes at the satisfied little moan-sigh that rolled out of the moogle. "See, you little harlot? We're not done yet."

"Good!" Mog replied, tongue slack for a moment like a canine's as he arched his back off the wall, shuddering as the dragon's tip teased his depths again. "You promised a breeding!"

The dragon began to growl again as he watched the moogle's smug little smile and realization dawned. He could sense it at the edges of Mog's surface thoughts. The little bastard had engineered the whole situation! He'd worked Faora up until he'd gotten exactly what he wanted! "Oh, you sneaky... you meant to interrupt my work, you... you lust-addled little beast!"

Only the most innocent of grins stared back at the dragon - the feat made all the impressive with the belly-straining length of dragon cock buried between his legs at the time - as Mog shimmied himself down toward Faora's hips. "I'm a moogle," he insistently replied, though any further words were stolen by a particularly rough thrust up and inside him.

Mog's intent was clear, though; Faora could sense this in him. He grit his teeth again as his mind raced in parallel with the bucking of his hips. Mog's libido seemed without end, and the knowledge that he'd harbored secret lusts for Faora for months just seemed to provide him an inexhaustible supply of need to tap into. No matter what they had just done, barely hours passed before he was trying to coax the dragon into another round of passion. For as much a test of concentration the moogle's presence was, Faora wondered if the Archmage truly understood the volume of Mog's demands.

His eyes lit up with a devious little thought, and he gave the still-grinning moogle a teeth-bared little smile of his own. Even mid-coitus the sight was intimidating enough to give the smaller male pause, and though his expression twitched with pleasure each time that ridged length split him open, Faora could see his smile slack with more than just that intense sensation. "Uh... Fae... whatcha thinkin'?"

"That I've a promise to keep," he replied as his grin broadened. The moogle had wanted a thorough breeding, that much was for sure. The way he squirmed and writhed around Faora's shaft drew him closer and closer to achieving that end, but it was with new purpose that the dragon thrust up into him. No more. No more of his nagging. No more teasing nips at his knees. No more sneaking under his robes to sneak licks up under his tail. No. This time he'd secure himself some respite!

With that thought, he shifted his grip from the moogle's hips to his legs and pried them wide. Spread as his little body was by so much malehood already it did little to ease the dragon's thrusts any, but that wasn't the point. The point - which the moogle would soon be getting, Faora thought with a grin - was to expose that second little hole he had.

No sooner than he'd spread those fuzzy legs than his tail lifted, and the smooth tip rose to poke and probe at that entrance. Mog's eyes went wide all of a sudden as he gasped with the new penetration, and Faora grinned wide at him as he slowly fed an inch into him, and then another. His hips never ceased their assault, ramming his shaft up with growing vigor.

Now being stretched out from both sides, the moogle seemed to be momentarily shocked into a stupor. His head lolled back against the wall and rose and fell along it with the heavy thrusts from his partner. He was still conscious; Faora could feel his insistent squeezing at both his shaft and his tail. They matched the pounding of his heart and the pace of the dragon's thrusts, sucking him inward and gripping him before relaxing as he drew back for another plunge.

There wasn't so much space inside the moogle's body for Faora's tail, not with all the room already taken up by the shaft that plugged his front. That didn't seem to matter to him, as he twitched and squeaked in pleasure as that tail tip wriggled about within him. It had more maneuvering room than his shaft, but the dragon matched their movements as his ridges flared against the moogle's insides.

It would have been possible to stave his climax off for another couple of minutes, even against the onslaught that was the squirming moogle working over every inch of his malehood. Faora didn't fight it, though; instead welcoming it eagerly with a more rapid series of thrusts into Mog that made the little moogle's body twitch limply against the wall. There was no resistance, conscious or otherwise, as he struggled to even lift his legs and wrap them as best as possible around the larger dragon's hips.

That was the moment the dragon had been waiting for. He summoned all of his mental alacrity and channeled it into a spell, and his fingers twitched against the moogle's side as huffed breath hid words of arcane power from his partner's ears. New energy and heat suffused his body; vigor that swept along every nerve as it raced toward his shaft.

If Mog could feel the change in the dragon's body, he only reacted favorably to it. His squeaky little moans lifted in pitch as he trembled in the beginnings of his climax, as Faora felt the tingle of magic working at his insides. Just another couple of seconds, another handful of thrusts, and then...

His eyes rolled back as the heat building inside him peaked at that perfect moment, and he released the spell's energy just as he released his seed. Buried to the hilt inside Mog in a single thrust that breached the moogle's magically-granted cervix, he delivered the first thick spurt of his essence precisely where Mog wanted it. Indeed, the moogle's head leaned back against the wall with his own eyes squeezed shut with pleasure.

But that was just the first drops of the flood. Energy surged along the dragon's shaft as his ridges flared, heat pulsing up through it as his seed thickened and pumped all the harder. What was normally an intense but shortened orgasm had been driven on through a careful combination of magical enchantments. A half-dozen full spurts filled the moogle's womb as he squirmed atop Faora's shaft.

And then the spell worked its power.

The flood refused to abate. Pleasure continued to sing and surge through the mage's body as he kept his partner pinned to the wall, belly swelling with the volume of his donation. If Mog had noticed what was happening at that moment, he was only driven to greater pleasure of his own; his arms and legs quaked as he flailed, stretched even further than he had been before by the larger male's efforts. Discomfort was abated as some of that magical heat flooded through him along with the dragon's seed, imbuing him with some greater capacity for Faora's augmented offering.

By the time a full minute had passed, the moogle looked beyond pregnant and Faora's climax was only beginning to taper off. It took another half minute for the dragon's high to relent, leaving him slack-jawed and panting heavily. Instinct took over as his arms continued to keep Mog held up, lest he drop the cum-laden little creature roughly to the floor. He opened his eyes - when had those closed, anyway? - to take in the sight before him and smirked. Perfect.

The magic had done its work. Swollen in the middle to what was in the usually-serious dragon's mind a comedic proportion, his inflated belly was the focus of both of Mog's searching paws. They ran across the furry surface, and he could feel through his still-buried shaft the way that the touch made his canal tingle. It sent a sympathetic surge of pleasure through the dragon's spent shaft, offering up the last dregs of seed he had to give to the overstuffed mechanic. "Much... much better," he muttered, as he started to lower Mog to the ground again.

His shaft and tail both slipped slowly free as Mog was lowered down, the former without much mess spilled to the floor thanks to the spell. Indeed, the vast majority of his seed was stopped up inside the moogle's body still, and he seemed to marvel at this even as the dragon stepped back. "I... didn't know you... could do that," he panted to himself, paws still playing slowly over his belly. One began to reach down toward his sex, but he found himself unable to even reach it.

"I felt inspired," the dragon replied as he fought to steady his breathing. His handiwork laid out before him, he couldn't help but bare a wide smirk at the suddenly rotund moogle. "That should keep you out of trouble for a little while, at least."

As the dragon reached out with his mind to magically draw the table and his vials back into their usual spots, he watched Mog try to rise from his slumped position. With the awkwardness of his voluminously filled body however, the effort did little more than almost tip him over onto his side. "I... hey! Hey, Fae! I can't move! I'm... I'm too big!"

The dragon's smile grew as he settled himself back into his chair and closed his eyes. "And perhaps there you will stay, silent if you have any decency whatsoever, until I complete this otherwise simple task and file it with the masters," he replied, as the contents of the vials began to float up and into the air again. "Consider it a penance the likes of which I have been saddled with thanks to your efforts, and don't try to tell me you did not enjoy it."

Some part of his mind not focused on his work noted the way that the moogle had begun to protest, as the dragon knew that he inevitably would. That, however, was alright. A complaining moogle could be tuned out. One insistently blowing him, or indeed blowing _up_half the dorm with his own efforts, could not.

Mixed with the satisfaction that suffused his post-coital haze, the mage resumed his work. The smile on his face refused to flag for a moment.

The blending of alchemagical ingredients into a viable potion was no small task, but it was much easier with a first petulant and then sulking moogle offering him no true resistance. In the relative peace that he'd secured, Faora was able to take the better part of two hours to completely integrate the potion's components into a cohesive whole.

The small, slender bottle that contained the last of the potion was stopped up with cork before Faora set it down on the table with a smile beside the six identical bottles. He looked at his arrayed work and nodded once in satisfaction. "Seven units of rather well-blended levitation potion. Excellent. Master Erishni should be quite impressed."

"Hooray." The dull groan from the corner of the room lifted both of the dragon's eyeridges as he peered over. There was Mog, slumped down on his back after one particularly unsuccessful attempt to move. He waved a single paw up at the dragon before it flopped back across his chest. "Bravo. Good work, Fae Fae. Now can you undo this?"

There was a slight cock to the dragon's head as he stood from the table and rounded it in a couple of quick steps. A moment's concentration and an errant flick of the wrist wreathed the bottles in a surge of blue flame, and when it sputtered out they were gone. With the potions safely secured in a portion of the ethereal void as he looked down at Mog with a little frown. "Undo what, moogle?"

"This, dragon," the moogle indignantly replied as he tapped at his still-swollen belly. "I've got stuff to do, too!"

"You told me you'd completed your tasks already," Faora pointed out with a smirk as the moogle began to struggle upward again.

He slumped down in defeat once more and gave a considerably less-cute little growl. "I lied," he muttered under his breath. "I just really wanted you to fuck me again."

Faora rolled his eyes and rubbed over his face with one hand. Perhaps the effect of their magical binding wouldn't have been so severe if the moogle hadn't harbored such strong feelings for him before the spell had been cast. "Well, that would be your own fault, wouldn't it?" he replied from behind folded arms. "We must work before we can play."

"You think taking you isn't hard work too?" countered the moogle with a momentary giggle. The smile on his face faded as he struggled to move again. "But it's easier than moving right now. I need to get back to work! It's important!"

"Yes, because all your little pistols and rifles and whatnot need to take the place of experienced mages in all matters of war," grumbled the dragon as he headed back over to his bed. He hesitated a moment before he reached out with a hand toward the grounded moogle.

That moogle began to lift from the ground under the dragon's magic and float over toward his own bed. "But we can," Mog insisted as he was laid down, though he continued to squirm himself upright with no success. "No more hurling fireballs and lightning bolts when we can-"

"What about scouting?" Faora interrupted as he sprawled out on his back and rolled his head to bring Mog back into view. "Can you extend your eyes across the miles to find your enemy? Or healing? Can your guns fire shot that cures the wounded and knits flesh closed? Or can they only offer a means to more efficiently kill a person before you?"

The moogle looked lost for words for only a moment before he began to glare back at the dragon again. "Firearms are my field of study," he answered, his voice more serious than Faora had ever heard it. "I chose it. I enjoy it. I follow it because I like the work, and yes, I do do it for the betterment of our people."

"Yes, but-" Faora began.

But Mog kept going with a sharply raised paw. "But nothing! I'm not the only student of machinery or industry here, Journeyman Meridian. This is what I want to study, just like magic is what you want to study. Some work to improve agriculture. Some work for transportation. The empire's knowledge of metallurgy has improved twofold since its study was brought here!"

The dragon's eyes narrowed with annoyance. "And not a single one of those things matters one whit when magic can be brought to bear on the problem," he countered. "Agriculture? We can bend the weather. Transportation? Continents crossed in a single step. Metallurgy? I can rend steel with my thoughts."

The force of the moogle's glare was such that it almost physically knocked Faora off his bed. "I see. Good thing everyone's got magic, huh? Nice to know everyone can bend the weather the way you can, right?"

He snorted once as Faora remained silent. "You mages. You think I'm arrogant? I'm one of the normal little people trying to do the things that you can do in my own way, and you're talking down on us - on me! - like we shouldn't even try. Like we should just let you_do everything for us! Is that what you want? All the little people without any magic staring up so thankfully to you for saving us? Or do you want us to toss aside the gods and worship _you, too?"

The dragon's frown was softer, but his wings rippled under his robe. "You know that I did not mean it like that."

"Then what did you mean?" Mog asked, still incensed as he patted his swollen belly. "You did this to me because you wanted some quiet." He spread his legs, revealing his seed-slicked slit. "You did this to me with a spell that was too advanced for you, trying to make me do whatever you want! You got the right to do that, just 'cause you got magic? Is that it?"

"You underestimate how annoying you can be," Faora muttered to himself. Even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow. The moogle had a point.

The words didn't help his attitude, either. "So that makes it all okay? 'Oh, the little moogle's annoying. Better enslave his mind with magic and steal his cock so he learns a lesson!'" He snorted again as he shook his head and stared up at the ceiling. "Wonder what's worse. Being an annoying little moogle or an arrogant mage who just wants to fix all his problems with magic."

His head rolled back for a moment as he stared over at his roommate. "Stick you in an anti-magic field. What good are you? Can you fight? Could you defend yourself?" His eyes narrowed as the dragon glanced away. "Take away all the mages in the land... as if there's that many to start with. What about the crops? The people who need to move from place to place? How do they cope when the magic to help them isn't around anymore?"

Again, Faora had no reply. The moogle just sighed and shook his head as he stared up at the ceiling again. "That's why the Archwizard lets normal people in. You and your magic does pretty awesome things, but what are we meant to do when you're not around? We gotta learn to do it ourselves, and not rely on you being kind to us." He shook his head again. "You never liked me before the spell, but at least I respected you."

A minor spark of defiance entered the dragon for a moment, but he forced it down again. Mog was upset. This wasn't the time to be self-defensive. "I liked you fine," he mumbled quietly.

"Huh?" muttered the moogle. He didn't even look over.

"I said I liked you fine," Faora repeated, a little louder. "I said you were annoying and I stand by that. You drive me half-mad with your work here and your... your incessant nattering in my ear. And yes, now, with how you seem to insist on behaving like a female in heat all day, every day, while I try..." He let himself trail off as he mentally kicked himself. He could see the anger creeping back into the moogle's face. Not self-defensive. He had to be nice.

The dragon took a breath before Mog could say anything. "None of that means that I did not like you. You're affable enough. Intelligent, yes; you understand the intricacies of your work in a way I like to think I understand the intricacies of mine. Misbegotten ideals of what you wish to accomplish with your work and a frankly disturbing amount of appreciation for your study of firearms aside... I consider you highly indeed. If," he added as he tried a little smile, "absolutely and completely annoying the majority of the time."

"That almost sounded like a compliment." Mog still refused to meet his gaze, but his facial features did seem to soften a little.

"Because it was. You may take it, of course, or leave it." He perked one eyeridge as he lifted his head slightly. "And you do seem ever so fond of taking it, as it were."

Mog even began to smile at that for a moment, before he forced his face to seriousness again. "Yeah, well buttering me up with compliments doesn't make you less of an arrogant prick," he snapped back, though he recoiled from his own words as if they'd been too forceful for even him. "You still did this to me while I've got work to do, and just because I wanted to fuck instead of work doesn't mean I deserve... this." He gestured at his belly again.

With a sigh, the dragon nodded. "You are right, of course. I apologize, Mog. I had good reason to wish some peace while I worked, but I did not have sufficient reason nor the right to incapacitate you in such a manner. It was wrong, and arrogant of me, and I am sorry."

For a second, it seemed as though even that was not sufficient for the moogle to look at him again. He held his stare at the ceiling even as Faora held his breath, and it was only released when Mog rolled his head back over and nodded once. "It's okay," he replied at last, and reached out an arm toward the dragon. "Honestly, it was... I really liked you doing it, except for why you did it."

The dragon felt his cheeks warm, but he still smiled as he accepted the offered paw in his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I cannot undo what's been done so easily; you will simply have to wait for the, uh... fluids, I suppose, to pass. Is there something I can do to make it up to you?"

Mog seemed to consider the offer for a few moments before he nodded and looked up at Faora again. "Do you have any more work you need to do today?" he asked.

"I have to at least begin to prepare to re-scribe my scroll for Master Leagus," he admitted. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I can't finish my work until this wears off," Mog replied, poking once more at his swollen middle. "Fair's fair. You stay with me here until I can move again."

The dragon opened his muzzle to balk at the suggestion, but thought better of it. He had offered, of course, and it was entirely possible that the moogle's work was also time-sensitive. He could have cost him significant advancement in his own studies, all for the completion of one of his own. His selfishness required some form of penance, and the masters would insist on their own form if they knew. Doing this for Mog would probably be gentler.

With a sigh, the dragon stretched out his mind and took a hold of his bed. It skidded across the short gap between it and Mog's bed before they clacked together, and he nodded once. "I suppose I owe you that," he admitted as he gave the moogle's paw a little squeeze.

"Good," Mog replied as he leaned slightly away from the dragon and let go of Faora's hand. "Could you roll me over a little and pull me closer, please? I can't get comfy like this."

The little smile at the edge of the moogle's muzzle couldn't be missed, and Faora rolled his eyes even as he complied. He shuffled forward between their beds as he eased Mog onto his side and then tugged him gently back. The moogle's naked back came to rest against the dragon's robed front, and he sighed quietly as Faora's arm draped gently across the top of his belly. "Much better. Thanks, Fae Fae."

"You should stop calling me that, you know," the dragon mumbled to himself as he rested his head up just above the moogle's. "Since news of your condition has spread, they have started to speak of us in particularly different ways."

"Since when do you care?" Mog countered as he squirmed back against the dragon's body. "It's not like they don't all know what we're doing, or why we're doing it."

That squirming pressed in against the dragon's crotch, and he rolled his eyes again at the pointedness of the moogle's motions. "What we have done," he pointed out. "Finished now. Look at you! You could barely take another drop even if you wanted it."

Mog shrugged as he pressed back again. "I bet I could," he said, and the smile could be heard in his voice.

Another deep sigh rolled out of Faora's muzzle as he closed his eyes. An echo of the moogle's returning arousal was already tingling up through his shaft. Curse that spell; he should never have allowed himself to take that damnable scroll! "Could you perhaps simply lay there for a little while and not think of coupling?" he suggested as he tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere.

"I didn't say what I'd think about," Mog replied as he wriggled again, this time with the focus on his hips and rump rather than his whole body. He bore himself back firmly into the dragon's crotch with as much subtlety as one of his experimental firearms. "And you admitted this was your fault and promised to make it up to me. Right?"

"Right." Faora clenched his teeth to fight off his sigh as he tilted his head down to press against the moogle's.

"And you said you'd do whatever you could to make it up to me?" Another wriggle. This time, bare rump came into contact with the poking tip of Faora's dragonhood.

The dragon clenched his jaw tighter. "Actually, I just asked what I could do, and you answered," he said. "_This_was never stipulated." It didn't matter much; if he kept squirming about so, it was going to happen whether the dragon truly wanted it or not.

There was a soft giggle in front of him from the moogle as he continued to wriggle back against him. "Well, you did agree to stay here with me. You're not going anywhere, so..." The moogle shivered as the dragon's tip managed to hit home, sliding up into his folds again as his wriggling found its mark. "Let's see if I can't take another drop."

The groan that slipped out of Faora's muzzle wasn't so much long-suffering as suffused with rejuvenated desire, courtesy of the binding spell. He could feel the moogle's wanting as surely as he could feel the heat of Mog's loins wrapping around his tip. There was no sense in fighting it.

Instead, he gripped the little moogle a little tighter and bore his hips up once more. He sank back into that snug, smaller form once again and spread it out around his malehood as Mog moaned in tandem with him.

Maybe this penance wouldn't be so bad after all.

Want more? Mog couldn't help himself. Click here for Part Three!