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His body was perfect.

He had worked hard to make it that way. Compared to the feeble flesh of other sentient species, it was true that he had come from good stock. Not simply raw strength, but the ability, the potential, to hone it further. He had done so. He had travelled, and trained, and fought, and killed, until he was capable of fighting on par with Kryptonians and Viltrumites.

He had never expected a Thanagarian to give him so much trouble.

Compared to other aliens, their physical endurance was only middling. Their wings were an obvious advantage, but - to a savvy, ruthless opponent, to someone like him - an equally obvious weakness. Big, soft things attached flimsily to their backs, begging to be torn off. The psychological damage alone would end the fight instantly...

Assuming you could sink your claw into them long enough to keep them still. Assuming they didn't use their speed advantage to constantly outmaneouvre you, sneaking in deceptively powerful strikes to keep you off balance. Hence the trouble.

Whoever this redheaded woman was, she was an exemplary warrior.

A loud one, too. She loosed a battle cry almost every time she swung that mace of hers, an impressive specimen outfitted with some kind of electric charge. That much he didn't respect. His own mace was a simple thing of curved metal, a mere extension of his reach that he could easily go without if he so chose. It was certainly enough to parry hers, as long as he aligned it in time.

When he didn't, it tickled. A bit.

It would take her days to wear him down. But - as his claws swept for her, again, and missed, again - the reverse was also quite possibly true.

"You have good stamina," he growled, "for a spindly little bird."

These types often loved the sound of their own voices. Anything he said would be met with an avalanche of what the punier races called "banter".

The Thangarian merely roared another powerful cry, and his estimation of her rose again.

She swung several times for his head, missing each strike but forcing him backward. He feinted with his own mace and then his free hand flashed out, closing around her weapon. He tried to wrench it out of her hand, but despite her much thinner limbs, her grip was an equal to his and she didn't yield.

Instead, she took advantage of their proximity to headbutt him right in the nose.

A rare spike of genuine pain shot directly to his brain. Sensitive nerves. Short distance. He snarled and threw his entire body forward, and though she did her best to slip away this time he was too fast.

They both hit the ground together.

If they had been fighting in a city, or a barren plain, then the hard impact of metal or rock might have stunned her. Instead, he had the misfortune of meeting her in this forest - alive with distracting scents and sounds - and the blow was cushioned by grass and moss. She wasn't stunned. She wasn't even winded.

She squirmed under him, twisting and turning and fighting to get free. Their bodies entangled, ever closer.

He had the advantage, in size, strength and positioning. His body was larger, too large for her to dislodge without leverage, and he could easily keep her pinned to the soft forest floor. But if he tried to strike her, to finish the fight, she had just enough room to stave him off. He needed both arms to keep her where she was, and the moment he tried to claw at her, or even try shifting his legs, she was ready and able to threaten his grip.

It felt almost a waste to kill an opponent like this with his teeth, but she left him little choice.

With all the brutal speed gifted to him by nature, he shot down and tried to sink his fangs into her throat. But she was still faster than him.

Her skull was surprisingly thick, too.

Maybe it wasn't all that surprising, considering how stubborn she had proven so far, but it still came as a short, sharp shock. She headbutted him right in the mouth, and while he briefly felt the skin of her forehead as one of his fangs nicked her, that was his only prize. His momentum was ruined. She was safe for another few vital seconds.

She seized on his disorientation - a momentary distraction, a modicum of effort put into resetting the position of his jaw instead of holding her down. With another roar, she twisted her entire body at once and, just barely, managed to dislodge him.

If she had been clever, or cowardly, she would have slipped from his grasp, taken wing, and disappeared. But it seemed she was just as hungry for battle as he was, damn the consequences. Instead of fleeing, she landed a few quick (though easily ignored) strikes as she shifted their shared weight, and ended up mirroring his manoeuvre. Now he was the one pressed into the moss as she tried to keep him pinned.

It would be far easier for him to break out, of course. Strong as she was, there was no way she could maintain this position. One strike in the right place would break her concentration, and from there he could end this fight in an instant.

But as she pinned him, so pointlessly, she happened on an effective distraction tactic quite by accident. One that was frankly an embarrassment to both of them.

Her stupid, warm hips were right on top of him. And he was in heat.

As a warrior, as someone who knew exactly what he wanted from his existence, he had always found his other 'needs' - food, sleep, the usual childish whining - to be a useless burden. And nothing was worse than the sex drive that nature had saddled him with. Violence was his true passion. Combat was his calling.

And yet, when his hormones surged every year, following the natural rhythms of a planet he had not set foot on for decades, he was forced to contend with a traitorous, internal distraction. One that he had by now mastered, except for when athletic yet curvy alien females rubbed their hips against his most sensitive spots after already getting his blood pumping.

He was not prone to embarrassment. But he still would have very much preferred her not to notice. She, inevitably, did.

It would have been impossible to miss, their bodies so tightly interwoven, when his manhood stirred to life beneath her. Her eyes widened in surprise, and he could have used that moment of distraction to reclaim the advantage, easily breaking her hold with a well-placed strike.

Unfortunately, he didn't particularly want to push her away.

When he didn't seize the initiative, and she failed to do anything either - just sitting there, on top of him, her body heat mingling with his - the battle trundled to an awkward stop. The forest was silent except for their breathing. Two tired warriors, neither quite able to overpower the other.

Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was on the small of her back.

She could have easily swatted him away, or broken loose of their strange entanglement. A single beat of her wings and she would be airborne, out of his reach. She did nothing. Nothing except - so subtly he only noticed because all of her senses were trained so intently on her - shiver at the touch.

His motions were slow. Experimental. He pressed her closer, seeking more heat, more friction. More of her. Her legs were so soft, despite the muscle beneath. They seemed to contour against him perfectly.

Every moment of contact made his cock grow harder, tighter against the constraints of his clothing. He had never needed armour, so a jumpsuit had been as practical a choice as any, but now it felt foolish. He wanted it off.

He wanted her.

Before he could pull her closer, she surprised him yet again. From the moment she had realized his weakness, her face had been confused, yet guarded. Now she was giving in to her own weakness. Abruptly, as though she knew better and was liable to stop herself at any moment, she lunged down and met him in an unsteady kiss.

Her lips were warm. He growled against them.

His body was moving by itself, now. Both of his hands were on her, holding her tightly, as though she hadn't already made it clear she was going nowhere. He started to tear off her clothing, and she made a noise of protest at his rough treatment, but didn't object enough to actually try to stop him.

She had a nice, full pair of tits for a bird.

He closed a paw around one and that made her break the kiss, arching her back with a shudder and a quiet moan. Her nipple perked instantly against his palm, and when she met his gaze, lust was clearly winning out over her other feelings.

With a grunt, she pulled off what remained of her top, exposing herself from the waist up entirely. She reached for her tights but he was faster, moving with impatience. Before she could get them loose, he forced a thick hand past her waistband and went directly for the warmth between her legs.

Warm, and wet. She was already aching for him, and the half-growl, half-moan she let out when he touched her made that impossible to miss.

While he reveled in the feeling of her most intimate spots against his questing fingertips, she launched her counterattack, pulling at his jumpsuit with all the delicate forethought he had shown her colorful garb. He made no attempt to stop her. He had no attachment to it, and right now, it was far too tight.

She seemed impressed by his chest, judging from the way she paused once she had exposed the fur and muscle there. He took the chance to wrap his free arm around her waist and pull her into another kiss. This time she matched him immediately, rubbing herself against his crotch for good measure.

Both of them shed the last of their outfits as quickly as possible. The warm moss was soft enough beneath his bare fur not to distract him. Once he had a halfway comfortable position, she practically threw herself onto him, pinning him to the ground in an entirely different way.

He took her by the hips and dragged her into position, and she let herself be dragged, allowed him to demonstrate his strength. Her warm folds rested against his tip, just for a moment, and the look she gave him showed no trace of hostility.

Then he pulled her hips down while pressing his own to meet her, and the forest came alive with two noises of release.

There was no preamble. No reason to waste time. Still gripping her by the waist, he thrusted a few times to explore, to experiment, and the moment he had something that worked, he stuck with it.

She groaned, grinding herself against him. Her walls fluttered around his length, eager to take everything he had. Almost violently, she threw herself down, fingers tangling in his mane, lips crashing into his. He tolerated this show of weakness, parting his mouth to let her tongue explore him. He had no moral high ground, after all, and the sensation... wasn't unpleasant.

Kissing was nothing compared to the sheer relief of mating. Even with an unfamiliar alien. In fact, the exoticism seemed to enhance the pleasure. Unlike the rough, curt encounters he had with others of his own species, both partners eager to get the embarrassment over with, this woman seemed to be greatly enjoying the act.

Her enthusiasm was infectious. Instead of pumping her as hard and fast as possible, racing to his climax (and with it, the awkward questions of what would follow), he slowed. He gripped her waist tightly, letting her feel his power with every stroke.

"Haagh... fuck... th-that's it..."

The first coherent words she had spoken since the fight had started. Her voice was pleasant, doubly so when every word was laced with raw need.

Still, he didn't reply. He had no interest in learning her name, and suspected she felt the same way about him. They were unlikely allies searching for the best possible pleasure. Beyond that goal, communication was worthless.

... Although it was pretty satisfying when, as he grabbed her wrists and pulled her down hard on his cock, she cried out even louder.

Soon he was grunting and growling to match, letting his frustrations boil over to sheer, primal release. One by one, his concerns left his mind, until all that was left was the base satisfaction of mating. This Thangarian, with her soft curves and delicious muscle...

Her body was perfect.

He needed more of her. His hands repositioned, pulling her down against him, and she let him use her. Her low moan was muffled as she met him in another kiss, rubbing herself against him. Two strong hands took uneven fistfuls of his mane, keeping him in place.

A reminder that she was almost his equal in raw power. It would have been... interesting to let her set the pace instead. Even as he kept fucking her, kept chasing release for the foolish mating urges that had led him here, his cock twitched at the idea.

As he reached down to caress her rear, he allowed himself to daydream about what that would look like. Ever-efficient, he was essentially fucking her twice at once. He rutted against her, hearing every pant and groan and mumble of assent she made against his lips, and all the while imagined what it would feel like to have her riding him instead. She didn't match his strength. But she came close. And he could...

He could have pretended to let her take control. He could have laid back, huffing and growling in mock protest, as she used every inch of his sculpted body for her own pleasure.

Losing a fight, any fight, was unthinkable. But under those circumstances, he wouldn't have minded.

Not today. Today, his strength had brought him victory, and a prize truly worth savoring. She gazed down at him, her red hair messy, her supple lips hanging open in lust, and he knew that (for now at least) she belonged to him.

He thrusted deep inside her again, just to watch her shiver.

The time for games was past, though. He could hardly pretend he wasn't just as horny as she was. Gathering her in his arms - claws out, just to ensure she stayed in place - he started getting serious.

When he began pumping her faster, she squirmed in his grip, her crotch twisting against his in just the right way. Whatever change in position she needed, she quickly found. Then, instead of awkward motions, she began to roll her glorious hips, grinding against him with everything she still had.

It was a better use of her strength. His as well. He wanted to waste every ounce of power in his body until there was nothing left for either of them to draw on.

She clearly agreed. She had buried her face in the fur of his chest, panting and moaning with every motion. Her body craved his. Every thrust earned another desperate flutter from her inner walls, begging him to finish inside her, to claim her as a breeding mate. His instincts were screaming for the exact same thing. It was long past due he gave in and took what both of them needed.

Claws out, pulling her close, he clamped his jaws around her shoulder to keep her in place. The hawk woman let out a loud cry, but whether it was of pain, protest, or sheer lust was impossible to tell, and completely irrelevant to what he did next. Everything was inexorably in motion, and nothing could stop or slow the outcome now.

With a final few thrusts, he hit his peak. His balls emptied into the female alien, but the overwhelming relief he felt was no excuse to stop. He kept pumping her warm body, even as he came inside her.

With a soft, almost melodic moan, she followed suit. Feeling his warm cum was clearly all she needed, and more. She leaned her head on his shoulder, making no further complaint about the fangs in her shoulder, and didn't stop panting and sighing until he was fully spent.

At last, with the female seeded - at least as far as his instincts were aware, blissfully unaware of the chemical barriers between species - he could relax. He huffed out through his nose, letting the satisfaction wash through his body. He felt spent, in a way that few fights had ever achieved. Let alone...

Let alone allowing his foolish desires to distract him from battle, like some pathetic lower life-form.

The thought crept along his spine like a trickle of cold water, bringing him back to reality. To what mattered. Battle.

It must have occurred to her too. She still laying against him, panting for breath, making her ample bust heave in some very distracting ways. But a certain tension returned to her body. Under her soft skin, those Thangarian muscles were, reluctantly, starting to tighten again.

In moments, the fight would resume. The wise, if not altogether honorable, move was to strike without warning. Allowing this ceasefire to roll onwards only gave his opponent the chance to break it first.

That was what he tried to tell himself, at least. It was an appraisal borne of tactical analysis. His body, perfectly honed as it was, had no interest in such things. It had scorned the battle in favour of the primal desire to mate. Now, hormones released, it sought the equally primal desire to curl up and rest.

A foolish notion. This had already been enough of an embarrassment, one that a warrior of his caliber should never have indulged in the first place.

Confusingly, the hawk woman didn't seem to feel the same way.

She was, by all means, wary of his next move. She had reacted with great speed before, and was prepared for anything he might try. But then, why wasn't she attacking first? Or even pulling away? She was still pressed right up against his chest. Hell, he was still inside her.

When she shifted her hips, it became very clear to him why.

Yes, he had given into temptation. He had used an interesting opponent as a mere breeding partner. But really... it was all one mistake, surely?

It didn't matter if it took a few minutes, or all night. So it may as well last all night.

She met his gaze with a certain glint in her eyes. Not the fire she had shown during the battle, but something almost equally intense.

"Do you remember what we were even fighting about?"

He growled under his breath. Then he shook his head.

"Right answer," she purred, and kissed him again.

Their bodies were perfect. There were ways other than combat to prove that.