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Oman laughed, happily -- one could say childishly -- and got to work wiping the slime of Zeboul's throat from himself. The serpent-monster, for his part, rested his head in his hands and watched the monk bathe from the side of the pond.

"Something funny?"

"This is just so stupid," Oman said. "I let myself get eaten by a brainwashing dragon and now we're friends."

"You didn't 'let yourself' get eaten. You literally shoved your entire body down my throat. Remember?"

"Oh, just let me... let me..." Oman waved a dismissive hand in the air, and submerged his face to wipe at his hair.

"I guess I have to," Zeboul replied. He let a frog hop onto the back of his hand, and observed it - and its emotion - as he spoke. "Do you like being out here, Oman? The whole... nature thing. Is it peaceful for you?"

"It's not bad," Oman said, which meant 'yes'. "Could do with better air. I wish I didn't live in Garland anymore."

There was a logic to it - he'd never had resources, so he'd never been able to move. However, that didn't really work. There were more capitals than capital, and a boy as resourceful as Oman could stow away somewhere... wait.

"Are you from Garland originally?"

"Fuck knows. Got a train here when I was ten." The monk twisted his fingers either way in his ears. "Is it all off me?"

"It's all off you."

"I... guess this is goodbye?"

Zeboul smiled.

"Do you have somewhere to be, jackal?"

"Well... well. No. But."

The python's tail curled around his wrist, and tugged him forward. After a few tugs, he walked towards his new friend.

"Then you're not going anywhere, are you, Oman?"

Oman's mouth set... then he sighed.

"Nowhere at all."

"Damn right. Your pants are on the tree over there."

"Don't want them yet. Sit back?"

Zeboul did so, and the brown, hairy man straddled him just where the torso became a tail, casual as anything.

"You're sure you want me to stay?"

"Of course." Thick, scaly fingers stroked Oman's cheeks on either side. "There's more I want to do to you tonight, too."

"Tonight?"

"Well, it's eight."

"Eight?! I ..." Oman rubbed the back of his neck. He really didn't have anywhere to go. He really didn't have to sound off anywhere. "Never mind. That's okay. So-sorry."

Zeboul's fingers moved into his hair, movements growing rough, and the jackal-monk moaned and relaxed.

"Already forgotten. I said I wasn't going to brainwash you, but I am gonna put a spell on you. I hope that's okay." His voice lowered. "Will be okay with you once I'm done, but I'd love if you were willing..."

He was kidding, but Oman's cock swiftly fattened on hearing it, anyway.

"God, you're weird," he said. Zeboul gripped and rubbed his thighs.

"You're one to talk. You okay with it, then?"

Oman smiled, drunkenly, and nodded.