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“What’s got your tail in a twist?”

Drogoz grunted, sitting on a tree trunk with the felled tree’s gnarled roots grasping at the air like wizened fingers, the wyrin thumbing his jaw. His human protégé, the man with dark hair and his skin a little more tanned from all their work outdoors, sat beside him, chewing at a scrap of old bread. There was better food in their packs, but Kyrrai didn’t seem interested in that, which was unlike him. His skin would soon revert to the pale shade under his clothes, however, being that the winter months were upon them, as apt as Kyrrai was to hold onto the warmth of summer.

“Nothing.”

Kyrrai couldn’t look him in the eye, chewing stubbornly, looking away. The chill of the air, some stubborn autumn leaves still clinging to the trees, clawed at him and he huddled deeper into his clothes, the thick leather that covered him as an outer layer. It lay around him as a sort of cape-like poncho, weighty enough to remind him that it was there, though Kyrrai disliked how it weighed him down. That was a shame, though it could be easily flung aside when mobility was required too.

However, there was only too much treasure hunting that could be taken on by them before rest was required too, their tent set up and sleeping sacks, though in the colder times Drogoz more often than not bundled him into his own. Using the human’s arse as a hole to fuck every night, taking his prize and his treasure, was merely one thing that made their relationship, in some way, beneficial.

The tall, blocky wyrin, however, was not to be dissuaded.

“Tell me, Kyrrai.”

The man stiffened. He didn’t often use his name, which meant he was serious, though there was hardly anything “wrong”, not really, not per se.

He sighed, running his fingers back through his hair. It would be trimmed next time they went into town, getting more ragged and out of control.

“It’s just the time of year,” he said, waving his hand to dismiss the gravity of the idea. “Coming to the winter holidays… It makes me think of other things. But I’d rather be out here working than thinking about it.”

Drogoz rumbled a growl, rubbing his jaw more thoughtfully than was usual for the wyrin, spreading his booted feet apart for a touch of stability.

“Not everyone celebrates the winter season,” he said slowly. “If you are trying to avoid it and we’re out here, is that a problem?”

He hadn’t fallen in love with the man, not by any means, but there was some kind of bond between them. It had grown, their closeness, whatever the nature of their relationship was. Whatever it was, it worked for them. Drogoz wasn’t much in the business of questioning things, as long as it suited him.

“Yeah, that’s true… But, you know, I don’t really have any family. Everyone else got to go with their families for winter, to take the season slowly. And where was I? Always working, always trying to make ends meet, even as a kid. They made us work hard, even back then.”

Drogoz could have said something. But it made sense, even to him, the confusing clash of emotions, things coming together in a frustrating smash of feeling. Things didn’t always seem clear and that was okay, though Drogoz was more in the business of tackling such things with brute force rather than light words and delicacy.

That was his prerogative. But there were still things that he could help his human protégé with.

“You have a kind of family here,” he rumbled, standing, towering over the man who was suddenly distracted from all that his mind had been ruminating on, shivering back into place. “Not like that, what you lost. But we can go forward into…new families.”

For he knew more than Kyrrai and that was all well and good, for it was up to the wyrin to pass on that very knowledge to his protégé. He was not there only for fighting as he took the lead and took charge, all as boldly as ever, for it was his natural place and way of being. One article of clothing, despite the bite in the air, hit the chilled ground after the other, Drogoz stripping Kyrrai while the man quivered in place.

It was a position of vulnerability that he had been placed in, though it was fine, all well within the terms of their agreement, where Kyrrai would serve him in every way, while undergoing training. All Kyrrai had thought that he’d wanted was to be a paladin, so well-known that there would be no one in all the land who didn’t know his name. It seemed, however, that he wanted more than that, even as Drogoz stood over him, his bare shaft rising.

And maybe Drogoz was right too as he bent Kyrrai back over the tree trunk, which was large and round enough to support him without losing space for his back to rest upon. He gasped, the wyrin’s cock pressing to his anal ring, though he tried to relax, the first flakes of snow threatening above, the clouds dark and stormy. If it was to snow, however, he trusted that they would find shelter, groaning softly, shifting his hips back and forth as if there was nothing else for him other than Drogoz.

The wyrin… He thought dimly as Drogoz bent his legs back, forcing them there with a rugged croon and rumble of his throat. He… Family…

_ _

There were more words than that there, but he couldn’t pull them through his mind as the wyrin towered over him, so thick and blocky with muscle, cut and defined in a way that Kyrrai longed to be. He tried to focus on the wyrin’s physical attributes, though it was hard not to let his mind wander to all that Drogoz had done for him too, the home that perhaps Drogoz didn’t even know that he’d given him, everything they had been through together.

The thrusts came long and slow, claiming him deeply, reminding Kyrrai of every time that Drogoz had fucked him before, driving deep, not leaving a spare sliver of the man’s anal passage free. He claimed him completely and utterly, though there was no roughness, not truly. Kyrrai knew how to open himself around the wyrin and pushed back against him, losing his sorrows, letting them dissipate where he no longer needed to hold them as close as he had.

Some things lingered…but he didn’t need to hang onto things forever. He could grind up against Drogoz with a raw, throaty cry of passion, even though the wyrin was not so much fucking him that time but…passionately mating with him. The position, as deep as it allowed Drogoz to go, was not a far cry from missionary, even though Kyrrai’s legs bent back, a light smattering of sunshine marking his skin. Despite everything that had come to pass, he wondered at the fact that everything had come through in his life as it had, sometimes with Kyrrai being a passive player.

Not everything had to be active. Most often with Drogoz mating with him, taking him, pushing in deep as the forest rang with birdsong around them. He could be taken and be shown the way as the wyrin leaned over him, an unreadable expression crossing his muzzle. Oh, he was a wyrin of few words, more growls and snarls, but Kyrrai was a man who most likely knew him better than anyone else that had come through Drogoz’ life so far.

The wyrin didn’t know what to think about that, not even as the tight grasp of the man’s passage clenched around him, acting like Kyrrai wanted to milk him, teasing him. He wanted it, craved it, yet it was the bond between them that Drogoz wanted even more, letting the force of it ring through in every powerful thrust, long mating strokes slipping deeply into Kyrrai. The man whimpered what Drogoz thought was his name, yet the power of his thrusts softened even that from the air.

It was a lighter moment than anything that Drogoz could ever have imagined between them, though he merely let the moment be, locking his gaze with Kyrrai’s. Never had he wanted to be with someone like he did Kyrrai, the bond between them stronger than ever, tying them in a way that no other relationship, most certainly not a romantic one, ever could.

Maybe things would change. But not right then. Not at that time.

“You may not have a family…” Drogoz growled, the scales on his muzzle wrinkling as he powered deep, Kyrrai hissing passionately through his teeth. “But you have a master now. Master Drogoz. Remember that.”

It was all he could offer Kyrrai, thrusting deep, straining him open, the man clinging to him, holding onto him, his bare cock throbbing while it bobbed on his stomach. As much as Kyrrai would have wanted to jack off, there was something greater there that stopped him from moving his hands, his body shifting against the weight of his master, the only master that he could ever have imagined being with. He didn’t want to ever be with anyone besides Drogoz in that way, forever and always, even if that was hardly something that he would ever have considered a possibility on first seeking out the wyrin’s services in training him.

He’d thought that he was only a part of the wyrin’s hoard, no more than that…but he wasn’t. He knew that as Drogoz ground increasingly deeply into him, using every inch of his cock to please both, for once angling for the delirious delight of mutual pleasure. There was such passion there that it could not be set aside and it had to be acknowledged as Drogoz forgot himself entirely, growling and rumbling, close to the edge.

Kyrrai moaned, clinging to the wyrin for dear life, heart lifting, lips perking in a smile that he never thought he’d feel again, not ever again, on his lips. He took it all like a professional, but Drogoz bellowing out his delight, not able to hold it back even in a moment like that, had him rolling his hips up into each one of the wyrin’s thrusts, clinging to him for any support he could. He didn’t know how he was able to rock his hips for his master, with his legs in such a position, but maybe all that training had paid off in more ways than one.

The thick length shoved into him throbbed, sending thick spurts deeply up into him, slickening down the length of his cock, oozing out of his strained ring. Kyrrai moaned as his head fell back, but that could not call halt to the throbbing ache of his own cock, how it bobbed over his lower abdomen, need coursing through him with every heartbeat. Yet his orgasm was nothing in comparison to the wyrin’s, even if it left him panting and gasping, clawing at Drogoz with a moan that seemed to rise from the very core of his being.

Cum trickled over his lower stomach as the wyrin stopped him from slipping off the tree trunk, holding him there with his own sense of care even then. He may not have loved him, not in that way, but the relationship was there, the bond there, master and servant, despite Kyrrai doing far, far more for Drogoz than any other servant typically would have done.

It was there that they rested, hungering for something more and yet content to rest, together, sated at least for the time being. There was no reason for them to push on, groaning, moaning softly, chests rising and falling in the aftermath of lust.

Out in the open, fresh air around them… There was no better place for them to be, the chill chased from their bones as a flake of snow landed on Drogoz’ muzzle.

Kyrrai chuckled weakly, lying back, the thickness shoved into him holding him firmly, keeping him there.

Even if his past had made him who he was, it would not define the relationships and bonds he built going forward.

Not for him.

Not with Drogoz.

He was more than that.