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It had taken some convincing on her part, for him to agree to attempt it. She had heard of it through paltry gossip, after all; he had no idea what the credibility of such an act was, and had flinched when she spoke to him about it, her eagerness offset by his caution as she cuddled him close and told him, in the tone of one awed by the ingenuity of mortals, all about the tactics of oral sex.
Initial shock, for him, was a difficult thing to overcome. Wyrms, after all, were violent creatures, their ring of lancelike mandibles formidable even to cuddles in mate-bonded pairs. No wyrm, to his knowledge, would ever allow another to come close to their slits, unless that purpose was for mating; there was far too much risk of accidentally shearing things off, or piercing with a fang rather than their long, prehensile tongue, and all matters of things that he had told her about. The only thing that should be going into a wyrm’s slit was another wyrm’s ovipositor, or members, or whatever-have-you; it was for the safety of them both, he assured her, and not due to a lack of interest, though he was loathe to admit the coil of intrigue that it churned in him.
But she had insisted, curiosity plaguing her, as well as that carnal drive that powered her, as a goddess of life and propagation. Though he had no desire of receiving it from her, those instincts within too difficult to overcome, he found himself musing upon it more often than not- especially in the nights where her need for him grew more compelling than the call of his duties, and he was free to lay beside her and watch his release trickle slowly from her slit, or feel hers oozing forth from his. He was a cleanly sort by nature, never fond of the stickiness that followed such affairs- but he was also a young wyrm in his prime, bonded to a mate who never tired of him, no matter what new things they tried, and so he was bound to start thinking about things like this, sooner rather than later.
Even then, he was not sure why he accepted. Perhaps it was because her scent had shifted, to that fertile-sweet tint that he had grown so weak to; perhaps it was because she held his heart in the palm of her hands, and he had no choice but to bend to her whims eventually, for he was hers, before anything else, and he could not deny her any pleasures that weren’t too dangerous to offer, no matter how big or how small.
(The only thing he denied her were children, for he knew the power that they held, and even though she understood, had agreed, that denial plagued him. It was wrong, perhaps, to feel guilty of the one thing that he could not agree to, especially when she had accepted his fears and his warnings- but he had prophesied a curse in his progeny, and though he knew not of what curse would be laid upon them, the possibilities were too great to ever allow.)
He was the Pale Wyrm, the God-King of the Eternal Kingdom, beacon of Hallownest.
But if he was weak for anyone in this world, it was her.
“You cannot hurt me,” she had said with a smile, tilting his head up to look at her; one of her trailing vines brushed under his jaw, to feel his vulnerable pulse, and he had shivered under her touch. “I have tough bark, love, and an abundance of Soul- but I know I would not need it, for I trust you dearest, fangs and all. You could never hurt me.”
You do not know, he had wanted to say then. You do not know how many different ways I can harm you, all the different ways I shall harm you, all those branching pathways, more numerous than your boughs. I am destruction, my love, you have bound your heart to a worldender - but she had kissed him sweetly then, and he had been gentle with her, as gentle as a bug with mandibles as sharp as nails could be, and she had laughed and traced the edge of one of the sharp points with another trailing vine, and that had been the end of matters.
Now, knelt before her, pressing kisses against her hip, he could understand the appeal of this means of intercourse, though he had balked from it the first he heard of it. Now, with her leaning comfortably against the headrest of their bed, her hands stroking gently along one of his horns, he could see why some might willingly dare the threat of fangs for such a position; she filled every aspect of his sight, limbs trapping him in, and he found that he wished to be nowhere else in the world, his place set before her .
“Everything okay?” She asked, her voice soft; he nodded his head, comfortable in the knowledge that she would allow him an exit, and she smiled, shifting her stance so that she was bared to him better. In this body, she had chosen to shape herself after the form of mortal bugs- but the truth of her existence still lingered , and her genitalia (so difficult to find references on, in the minds of mortals, for their thoughts shifted and jumped with their desire) had taken on a distinctly floral appearance. Now, with her arousal awakening, the tight bud of her slit had begun to unfold, and the sweet, intoxicating scent in the air sharpened. “Good. Proceed as you wish, my dear, we are in no hurry tonight.”
She spoke to him as casually as if she were asking him for the time, as if he could not see how flushed she was under the pale glow of her bark, as if he could not see how wet she was, moisture glinting along the slowly-uncurling filaments. As if he could not feel the edge of her arousal buzzing just under his own, elevating his desire with her own. His heart throbbed for her, for the knowledge that she trusted him enough to do this, and his slit pulsed in kind, the desire to unsheathe pressing urgently against the forefront of his mind.
“How-” words failed him for a moment, the submissive mating-rumble of his kind mangling them. He drew in a hard breath, exhaled it, and let himself lean against her right leg, focusing on the texture of her bark under his fingertips; she would understand, she did understand, and she knew to wait for him, to watch calmly for the cues that came through when the words did not. “How do you wish me to start?”
His heart pounded- with nerves or anticipation, he did not know- but the tightening grip on his horn grounded him. Another one of her vines, small and delicate, slipped under one of his mandibles, coaxing his mouth open; he let his jaw go lax, paying no mind to the saliva threading over his fangs, and let her press lightly against his tongue, her sweet, spicy scent filling his senses.
“With this, I think,” she said; her voice hummed a bit, with a gentle mix of amusement and desire, but she remained slow and patient as she stroked lightly along his tongue, feeling the slick surface. Instinct moved him before he could suppress it, coaxing him to curl around her vine and draw her deeper into his mouth, but the barbs of his teeth along each fanged mandible did not catch her, and she let out a pleased sigh at the sensation. “Yes, like this, very good. I think you already know how to start.”
Her praise rang through his head, deafening him to the clamour of his anxiety; he felt his sheath throb again, aching with pressure, wet with his slick, and this time, he allowed himself to relax, to let his members slide forth and his slit to fall open. The relief was immediate, the cool touch of the air on his open flesh sending a shiver through his wings, and this, too, earned him a pleased hum, as the vine in his mouth slipped free to trace around his sheath.
A strangled noise escaped him, before he pressed the point of his mask back against her; the pleasure was too much, right now, and sent his head spinning, though his hips twitched at her touch, involuntarily inviting her forward. She knew him well, however, and retreated, to lightly trail her tendril against the soft flesh of his opening. This, too, filled his stomach with pulsing need, an empty ache that pressed him forward- but this was easier to ignore, better to savor, and did not distract him from what he wished to do.
He took another deep breath in, and bent to his task.
Her bark was an expanse that he never grew tired of kissing, his mandibles perfectly suited for tracing the subtle whorls in her skin. He knew where to kiss her to make her giggle, a soft, chiming sound like bells, and he knew how to stroke down her legs to get her to sigh, to open up wider for him. As her slick filaments unfurled, their brushlike tendrils beaded with moisture, he nuzzled slowly against her thigh, head swimming with her scent and with the knowledge that she trusted him enough to allow him this. That she trusted him enough to let him to do this, knowing very well how his mandibles were made to carve through rock and flesh, and yet she would allow him to nuzzle between her thighs and slowly, reverently, lap at her slit.
She was as sweet as she smelled, and slightly sticky; this he knew, that she harbored something closer to nectar than slick, but he had not done anything more than smell it yet, and quickly found that he grew dizzy on the taste. He, primal burrowing creature, had always relied more on scent than any other part of his senses, and now he was awash in hers, her desire and affection a physical thing that called to all the wild instincts clawing within him.
The mating-rumble was not something that he could control, now- speech eluded him, as he slowly stroked his tongue along the petals of her opening, feeling the velvety flesh shiver at his touch. His mandibles stretched wide, curled inwards so that their points could not catch her, and found a new use, for gently holding her open- she let out a soft, shaking breath at that, her limbs shivering, and he steadied her with a gentle stroke as he pressed himself closer, letting his reverence and desire dictate his actions.
And was it not reverence, this helpless feeling within him? This awe, this love, warming him from his horns to the tip of his tail? How his jaws ached, stretched carefully away from her seeking roots, but the ache felt good, challenging, fulfilling in ways he could not fully describe. And if this was reverence, the awe of knowing how deeply she trusted him, loved him, then lowering himself down to pleasure her as best he could was worship, dizzying, gratifying, beyond measure.
He nudged against the quivering roots near her filaments, letting his tongue flick teasingly over their spread. They tried to grasp for him, to grip him and guide him within, but he evaded their grasp, and traced teasingly around the base of her filaments instead, feeling her muscles clench under his touch. Quiet moans echoed from above him, followed by softly-voiced petnames; lover, dearheart , a thousand different words in the tongue of gods and all rooted beings, all cascading through his head, praising his submission, his devotion.
Stars above. He could not think of anything but her.
He, god of the world and the patron of mind, could not help but submit to the beauty of the White Lady. He could not think of his own desires, the heat pulsing through his body, the aching pressure by his hips. It meant nothing when he could feel every shiver of desire that wracked her as he swept his claws down her sides, as gentle as he could manage with barely-blunted talons; it meant nothing when he could feel the way that her hands brushed over his horns, just hard enough that he knew she wished to grab hold, her heart beating alongside his. Her love, echoing through him, was nearly too much, and his heart was a chalice that overflowed all too easily.
Caught with a sudden spark of inspiration, he abandoned his slow, teasing circles to lower himself down to her opening, away from the seeking grip of her filaments. They tried to grip his mask, one of his eyes closing to avoid their touch, but that did not matter to him in the slightest, his thoughts too fuzzy to care about the sweet moisture smeared on his face. It did not deter him, as he drew up his hand with blunted claws, and pressed open her folds to bare her better to him, away from the roots threatening to close against his tongue, trying futilely to pull him deeper. Her scent was even stronger here, overwhelmingly sweet and earthy; it made his head swim, his thoughts melting away to leave behind only the ironclad core of his desire, and he let the tip of his tongue delve within, slick dripping from his chin without heed.
(Now, her endearments turned to quiet curses, as he let his tongue flicker just far enough in to tease her, rejoicing at the way she clenched around him, and the warmth of his amusement echoed through their bond until he could feel her smiling, too.)
What a glory she was. How lucky was he to be bonded with her in heart and mind. She was sweet, and tasted sweeter; even after all these years of kissing her, of drawing deep breaths to scent her presence, he could never have enough of her. Never, never, and he felt his throat buzz with a soft whimper as he pressed the flat edge of his upper mandibles against her soft sex, feeling her wavering roots brush against his face, beaded with tiny dewdrops of intoxicating nectar. He teased them slowly, slipping his tongue deeper inside of her- and oh, how soft she was, how wonderfully that always surprised him- so that he could brush against the two trembling tendrils within, the ones that he knew were particularly sensitive to touch, coaxing them out into the light with soft touches and strokes.
"Very good, love. Very gentle." She was pleased; he could tell by how breathless she was, the sweeping waves of pleasure that crashed over him as he gently pressed them against her walls, tongue tingling with the effort to stretch deep, so he could stroke them. Her legs trembled under his touch, drawing up and around him until he was secure, and oh, how safe he felt, trapped in her embrace, the heady scent of her desire hanging heavy in the air around him. She was his world and everything beautiful within it, and he shifted his bottom right jaw and fingers to hold her open better, groaning quietly as her filaments found his mouth and unfolded within, shy nectar-wet tendrils slipping between his fangs. The two vines within her were abandoned in favor of curling his tongue around them, in chasing the sharp sparks of pleasure he caught flickering through their bond, and, in retaliation, she reached down with a thicker root to rub teasing circles over his slit, avoiding his two pricks, chasing the little jolts of pleasure arcing up his back that were not quite enough .
He wanted her inside. He wanted her deep within him, to feel the ache of her holding him open, just on the edge of too much, for her to press in until he was full of her. He was so empty, his walls swollen up with his desire, the pressure of his two erect members teasing him rather than offering any release, and as that thicker vine rubbed gently against the ridges of his lower prick, he stretched his legs as far open as he could get them, caring little for the soft whimpers escaping him, his soul reaching for the comfort of hers, for her embrace in the spiritual as well as the physical.
Please, please, please, there-
"So good, my love, so good. You’re so wet for me, too- yes, keep moving your tongue like that, just like that." She crooned to him, soft and sweet and shaky with pleasure, and began to slowly push the tip of her slick tendril within him, edging against his instinctive clench. He arched up with a muffled moan, trying to force himself to relax; she was thick, using his subservience to the best of her advantage, to satiate the empty, yawning need mixing between the two of them. Slowly, slowly she pushed in, making sure to press against his sweet spot until his entire body pulsed with pleasure; he blinked at the sweet ache of her stretching him, breath coming in quiet, whimpering gasps around the filaments in his mouth, and let her hand reach down to cradle him close, pressing him against her leg. His masktip nudged against the soft folds of her sex, slicking him with even more of her nectar, but he didn’t care; there was a twofold echo of pleasure pinging through him, different but sweet, and as she came to a slow stop, he reached down with one of his free arms, to feel see if he could the bulge of his tendril within him.
He could. He was thin for a wyrm, he knew- there was no breeding-adult’s layer of fat under his scales, burned away by the hours he spent on work- but he found that he cared less about that and more about the fact that he could feel the hard bump of her under his plates, where before there would be nothing more than soft empty space and coiling muscle.
So deep, so good, so good for me-
She writhed slowly, constrained in his tight channel, and he felt himself throb around her, dizzy with the stretch of her within him. With a soft groan, he forced himself to unclench, to give her a particularly rough lick, and was rewarded with a soft, shaky sigh, before she slowly, slowly started to fuck him proper.
Stars and shattered plains beyond, yes-
Were it not for the sweet nectar filling his mouth, he would have moaned aloud, unashamed of his voice and the way it broke into needy rumbles; as it was, he could only stifle a whimper, and hold himself still for her to use as she wished, the only parts of him allowed to move being his flicking tongue and the quivering of his wings. With shaking claws, he pressed two of his fingers deep within her; she was tight, the soft vines and petals within closing around him, but she was slick enough for him to add another, fighting against the grip of her roots as he sought out the familiar rough texture of her sweet spot.
For this, too, she rewarded him, as she curled forward against his walls and tightened her grip on him, holding him steady as she picked up the pace. Pleasure burst forth at the motion, heat sweeping through his body; he gasped, pulling away from her to breathe, and then cried out again as she slowed again, squirming futilely in her grasp.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” she said calmly- and oh, how jealous he was of her ability to continue to speak, even if he knew that she, too, was affected by this. He coiled his mind tighter around hers, trying to impress his useless words into her thoughts; she accepted them, with another spark of amusement, but there was a lazy sort of desperation present in her voice as she reached down with her free hand, and guided his mouth to her filaments. “I know you can do better. Come on, love, show me.”
So she asked, and so he must follow; mindlessly, he set himself back to the task, letting his low purrs trill louder as he slid his tongue over the trembling filaments, chasing her pleasure for her, chasing it with the same needy desperation that swirled in her soul. Her breath left her, in one great sharp gasp, but he didn’t slow his pace, ignoring the ache in his jaws, the wetness trailing down his throat, as he felt the tendrils within her coil tight around his fingers, drawing him deeper as he fucked and licked her.
With, perhaps, a little less restraint than before, she resumed thrusting, though her pace was slow, as slow as the curl of his fingers within her. He shuddered, the fire of his arousal spiking higher, and curled his tail around whatever part of her he could reach, focusing very hard on keeping a good tempo. Though the grip of her vines was tight, and the shifting of her filaments against his tongue was rather distracting, she was quite slick from a mixture of her lust and his saliva, so it was not too difficult to push past them to press roughly against where the two longest vines terminated.
A jolt of pure pleasure sang through him, a ghostly echo of her own pleasure tingling within him; he heard her moan quietly, voice trembling, and, feverishly, he sought to repeat the motion, closing his eyes as the pressure mounted higher. That slow, sweet drag within him was intoxicating, mind-numbing, but every thrust of his fingers and stroke of his tongue echoed through him as a phantom sensation, and he knew that the ache of her fucking him was echoing through her as well, for how tightly she closed around him, for how her breath hitched quietly and her fingers pet him gently, terms of endearment no longer whispered, but offered wordlessly through their bond, until he felt as if every part of him was warmed by her love.
And he, in return, offered his love back; all the soft, aching parts of him that he hid away, for to reveal them to anyone else would be to bare his throat on a silver platter, a death wish made all too easy to fulfill. All his desire for her, the way his heart fluttered when he looked at her, the endless need to be closer, for her to touch him and kiss him and dwell in the palace that he made for her, to be content and happy and safe, until he felt nearly as overwhelmed by the weight of his own emotions as he was with the slow, steady push-pull of her within him.
Love you. To the end of the world and back, I will always love you.
And she cradled him close, as she always had, drawing his soul and mind to hers until they were entwined as one being, their pleasure and their love mingling into one pulsing, aching warmth; he did not know how long he sat there, feeling the tension build, listening to her gasping breaths under the thrum of his contented purr, until suddenly with a great snap, the tension released, and she came under the ministrations of both his tongue and his fingers, a flood of sweet nectar releasing into his mouth with every trembling pulse of her body.
It was overwhelming, in the best of ways; her relief echoed through him, the tingling throb of her release affecting him as well, and it was not long before he came as well, tightening around her tendril as he spent onto the sheets, uncaring of the mess. Waves of aftershocks overcame him (whether hers or his, he did not know), and he had just enough mind left to pull himself away from her twitching filaments, crying out as she pinched the nape of his neck in the rough approximation of a mating-bite, holding him still as he rode out the extent of his orgasm.
Coming down was an ordeal in and of itself, albeit one that was quite pleasant. A fog settled over his thoughts, disrupted only by the slow slide of her pulling out of him; he winced, curling his legs in at the empty sensation she left behind, before shivering at the cold stickiness clinging to his scales, a quavering complaint simmering through his throat before he quelled it, too tired and content to pay it the attention that it demanded.
A shiver through their bond, and she moved away, leaving him in the cool divot of the bed. He flinched at the absence of her, clinging tighter to the threads connecting them, before a cool cloth pressed to his hot slit, wiping him clean; dimly, he became aware of her speaking to him, whispering softly as she worked, and he struggled to rise up out of his fog as she worked, to help tend to her as she cared for him.
“Look at what a mess I made of you,” she said, the first thing that he heard clearly through the haze- she clicked her tongue, folding the cloth over to a clean side, and pulled him close. He blinked up at her, carapace tingling pleasantly at her touch, and then closed his eyes as she cleaned his face, wiping away the sticky remnants of her slick. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”
Was he okay? He sought for an answer through the numbness, and the somewhat-familiar feeling of his anxiety returning, that backwash of terror associated with him being so vulnerable. That was normal, yes, but she knew that well; there was a reason why she was holding him so close, why she was kissing him gently as she cleaned him. She knew how to hold him together, in the moments where he was too shaken to keep himself from falling apart. Familiar, too, was the empty, satiated ache under his sheath, and the faint, pulsing heartbeat through his retracted pricks- his whole body was thrumming with the aftermath of their orgasm, he couldn’t-
Ah. Trying to speak revealed an ache in his mandibles from him holding them open, almost worse than the days he had spent chewing through rock. He winced, flexing his mouthparts, and lightly touched his hand to hers when she reached up to press at the soft spot under his jaw, a faint flare of concern flickering from her side of the bond to his. “Ouch.”
“Hmm, yes, I was worried about that. You were being so careful with your teeth.” Stickiness dealt with, she switched her focus to massaging the sore joints under his mask, loosening the ache settling into his jaws. “Which I appreciate deeply, dearheart, but you needn’t worry so much about me, really, especially if it leaves you in a state like this.”
It was quite nice of her to worry, but that was the last thing he was concerned about right now. Carefully, he circled two of his free hands around her wrists, drawing her away from his mouth; with his other hand, he reached for the wet cloth, folding it over to a clean side as he nestled closer to her, seeking her faint warmth. She, unlike him, did not mind the stickiness present after sex- grooming her could wait, at least for a little bit.
“Was it good?” He rasped, voice hoarse from his rumbling; that familiar, creeping sense of unease was crawling up his back, making him feel vulnerable again. He hated its return, hated how it always made its way back to him after moments like this, but the hatred barely lingered, as he focused on the gentle rise and fall of her chest. It was hard to think about how unsteady he felt, when she was pressing him so close; it was hard to worry about how well he performed, when it had been her orgasm that tripped him over the edge. “I mean. Was it as enjoyable as you wished?”
“All of that and more, though after the state it’s left you in, I think we can hold off on repeat occurrences for now.” She tilted his head up to press an affectionate kiss upon his brow; he closed his eyes, nuzzling her back, before reaching down to press the cloth against her moist folds. He felt one of her vines press briefly against the cloth, seeking more contact before retreating, but this, he had learned to anticipate; his lady was insatiable, especially when her scent grew so sweet like this. It would not be long before she tumbled him again, most likely, and his heart fluttered at the thought of it. “But yes, I enjoyed it quite a bit. You are as wonderful as ever, my Wyrm- thank you for indulging me in this, despite your misgivings.”
“Your pleasure is mine,” he whispered, and pressed his cheek against her with a soft purr of satisfaction; one of her fingers stroked gently under his jaw again, under the vulnerable expanse of his throat, and he closed his eyes again, content to be held by her, and content in the knowledge that she had been satisfied.
Or, at least, until he tried to coil closer, and pressed one of his legs into his own release. The noise of disgust he made in response was not entirely dignified, and sent her into a fit of stifled giggles, as he drew back one eyelid to stare down at it in dismay. “...Eurgh. Perhaps we should strip the bed.”
But the White Lady only laughed, and hoisted him up further to kiss him; helpless in her arms, he had no choice but to return it, forgetting for a moment that her taste still lingered on his tongue, though she did not balk away from it in the slightest. “Oh, my dear, not yet! That was only just the beginning- I’m not done with you yet.”
Relief swept over him in a great wave- despite his exhaustion, and the ache still lingering in his jaws, he could not deny the pure beauty of her joy, or his love for her, and so he pulled her close and kissed her again, and again, until her breaths ghosted heavy over the hollow of his throat, and he was rocking gently against the hand she pressed to his hip, quietly seeking the friction he required so he may pleasure her further.
(The damp spot on the bed remained an irritant, however. But he would not let himself linger on that.)
(Not when he had far more important things at hand.)