Archive of Our Own ^beta

The inn room was modest—no gilded edges, no ornate flourishes—but it had the one thing Kremy needed most right now: privacy.

The door shut behind him with a soft click, and he stood for a beat in the stillness. The heavy weight of the day sloughed off his shoulders in layers—every second of overstimulation, every glancing touch that lingered just a little too long, every lewd comment whispered near his ear in jest or challenge. His thighs still ached from holding back. His slit twitched with every breath. And now, finally, he was alone.

The room was washed in low amber light from a single oil lantern. A pair of soft, draping curtains fluttered gently in the breeze from the cracked-open window, catching the lamplight like smoke. The bed was simple—no canopy, no polished headboard—but the mattress looked deep and forgiving, blanketed in clean linen, slightly rumpled from being freshly made that morning.

Kremy stepped inside with quiet purpose.

He had been worked up since morning. The kind of day where every brush of fabric, every glance exchanged with Gideon, every tension-filled almost made the pressure behind his ribs twist tighter. No release. No reprieve. Just the slow burn of denial crackling beneath his skin.

But now? Now the room was his. Gideon had left earlier with the others—laughing about some card game at the bar, talking big with a bottle already in hand. Kremy had waved them off, voice breezy, hiding the intention curled in every gesture.

First: the bath.

He crossed the room and leaned over the deep copper tub nestled in the corner, turning the taps until hot water gushed forth with a hollow rush. Steam curled up almost immediately, and he added a splash of rose oil from the small glass bottle tucked into his pack—a scent he’d been saving for a night just like this.

While the tub filled, he turned his attention to the bed. Every movement was deliberate now, every action part of a private, personal ritual he hadn’t been able to indulge in months.

He peeled back the covers and fluffed the pillows, rearranging them to cradle his hips just so. A towel was spread beneath the sheets; he knew himself well enough by now to plan for mess, to have it dry for when Gideon came back, so he’d be none the wiser. Then he pulled out the folded blanket he preferred most: a thick, soft, charcoal-grey knit that trapped warmth and smelled faintly of metal grease and soot.

Once satisfied, he returned to his pack. That familiar ripple of anticipation fluttered in his gut as he drew out his chosen tools for the night—placing each item in a careful line along the edge of the bedside table, glancing back to the door almost nervously.

The dildo came first: a unicorn horn-shaped toy, carved in a spiral of smooth, glistening silicone; a soft lavender hue at the tip fading through blues and greens to the iridescent pearl base. It was thick at the base, gently tapered at the tip, and beautifully curved to press right where Kremy needed it most. The smooth ridges, spiralling up, fit so perfectly in his fingers he almost wanted to stop and rush it.

But no, he was going to take his time, damn it.

Beside it, he placed the small, violet-coloured vibrator—a discreet little thing with a rounded tip and a subtle purr that could drive him to near tears when used just right. He made sure it was charged—yes, the tiny green rune flickered to life when pressed. Good. It was a secondary pleasure, just in case he needed it, but the night was young and Gideon was going to be out.

And finally, a bottle of slick oil—not just lube, but a rich blend warmed by touch, scented lightly with spice and cedar. The moment it met skin, it would turn molten. He left it open, playing with a bead of it between his fingers as he wandered to the bathroom.

Kremy looked over his arrangement and gave a pleased, wicked hum. He was nothing if not prepared.

The bath was nearly full now, steam curling up the walls and warming the air with its haze. Kremy let his shirt fall from his shoulders, letting it drift to the floor in a gentle heap. His bare feet padded softly across the worn wood as he slipped into the tub, submerging with a long, breathy sigh.

The heat enveloped him, and he leaned back, head resting on the rolled towel he’d placed behind the rim. Muscles unwound. Tension dissolved. His fingers slid lazily over his belly, trailing down between his thighs, teasing just barely at the soft, aching folds he’d been clenching all day.

But he didn’t give in—not yet.

This was only the beginning. He let the anticipation build, let it simmer low inside his abdomen while his mind wandered to what would come next—the toy, thick and filling, the vibrator humming against his slit, his hands wrapped in blankets as he ground down against the bed, panting into the linen, biting his knuckles to stay quiet.

And Gideon? He was safely downstairs at the bar, most likely getting roped into stories and rounds of drink by loud, eager travellers. He wouldn’t be back for a while.

Kremy had time.

Plenty of it.

With a shiver of excitement, he shifted in the tub, closing his eyes as his tail curled along the edge, trailing water in lazy spirals. He was already twitching again—his body aching to be touched, his mind racing with thoughts of just how thoroughly he planned to indulge.

His fingers dipped lower, just enough to ghost over the edge of his slit—no pressure, just the barest stroke. The kind that made his thighs twitch and his breath catch like a hiccup. A shiver climbed his spine, made sharper by the contrast between the steaming bath and the cool air brushing over his chest where beads of water trickled down.

Kremy chuckled low under his breath. So touch-starved he was already aching from a graze.

He circled his slit again with two fingers, featherlight, dragging the touch outward in slow, wet spirals along the softness of his inner thighs. Each motion carved a growing tension inside him, as if winding a string tighter and tighter between his ribs. No rush. Not tonight. Tonight was about denial—the sweetest kind.

The bathwater lapped against his skin as he shifted, spreading his legs a little wider beneath the water, tilting his hips just enough to let the warm current brush more directly between him. The sensation was gentle, but maddening—a constant little ripple brushing across his most sensitive skin, not quite enough to satisfy, just enough to keep him on edge.

He dipped a hand below the water and cupped himself slowly, exhaling through his nose as he applied the slightest pressure. Not even inside—just resting there, palm curved between his legs, the warm oil from earlier still slick on his skin, gliding easily in the heat.

Kremy bit his lower lip and tilted his head back farther, letting it rest against the towel while he lazily dragged a fingertip through the sensitive seam of his slit. He traced the line again and again—sometimes up, sometimes down, a maddening, inconsistent rhythm. It kept him gasping softly, thighs tensing and releasing with each slow tease.

"Baron below..." he breathed, voice husky, eyelids fluttering closed.

A moan—just a whisper of one—escaped him when he pressed just a little deeper, teasing the edge of his entrance, circling the tender rim but not pushing in. Not yet. Not even close. He wanted to savour the ache, the anticipation building like rising steam behind his belly.

Another finger joined the first, gliding in lazy, mirrored strokes, teasing around and over, up and down, just enough to feel the way his body clenched beneath his touch. Slick and aching, but not yet desperate. He let himself want—let the desire stay just on the cusp of overwhelming.

The tub's heat made everything feel heavier, more sensitive, like the water itself was pressing him open little by little. And still he waited. Still he denied himself that push forward.

Instead, he curled a finger again and dragged it up—slowly, deliberately—parting himself just enough to feel the full effect of the warm water against his most sensitive skin. That made him shudder, a low, involuntary gasp bubbling up through his throat.

He grinned, lips parting, eyes half-lidded as he whispered to himself, “You're such a tease.”

And gods, he was. He loved this part. The build-up. The control. The slow, methodical worship of his own body, inch by inch, until every part of him was begging. He trailed wet fingers up his torso next, circling his throat before giving it a firm squeeze, gasping at the sudden sharpness. A jolt shot straight between his legs.

He tightened his grip a little between his fingers, the other hand back between his thighs now, pressing just a little more firmly—but still not entering. Still not giving himself that satisfaction.

Kremy arched his back just slightly, hips lifting from the bottom of the tub, chasing his own touch. He was trembling now, soft whines slipping past his lips as he rocked forward into the cup of his palm, breath catching every time his fingers so much as hinted at pushing in.

"Just a little more," he murmured, tongue wetting his bottom lip.

His free hand slid down again, between his slick thighs, joining the first—now two fingers spreading him open just a little, just enough to feel the flutter of anticipation bloom into something raw and hungry. The inner heat of him clenched around nothing, desperate for something to fill it, but still he held back.

Kremy groaned, a long, drawn-out sound muffled by the foggy air, by the heat, by the ache he was stretching like pulled silk.

He could finish like this. Could tease and rub and bring himself over the edge without even slipping a single finger inside. But where was the fun in ending it yet?

No. Not yet. Not until the bath cooled. Not until he was soaked through with slick and water and need. Not until he was so far gone he could barely hold the toy steady in his grip. Then, then he’d move to the bed.

Soon enough, his waiting was rewarded. Not dramatically, not unpleasantly—but enough that the contrast was noticeable. A fine chill settled just at the surface of his skin, raising a light trail of cool along his arms and thighs where they sat above the water. The heat that had sunk into his muscles began to slip away, leaving behind a delicious residue of sensitivity.

Kremy stirred, eyes opening slowly, cheeks damp and eyelids heavy with steam. His scales shone with moisture and oil, flushed and soft in the low light, as he ran a hand slowly down his chest—one final lazy caress before he sat up with a cascade of water. His tail flicked water across the tile as he moved.

The sound of water lapping against the copper echoed in the room, soft and hollow. He stood carefully, letting the last rivulets stream down his thighs, back, and calves before stepping out, his feet finding the cool wooden floor with a muted thud.

He reached for the towel he’d hung nearby—coarse and thick—and began patting himself dry with deliberate slowness. No rush. The tension that had been coiled tight all day now draped from his limbs like spun silk. He rubbed gently between his legs, a slow press that made him suck in a sharp breath, but he didn’t linger. That ache would be satisfied soon enough.

Once dry, he padded to the edge of the bed where his clothes were folded, simple and ritualistic. He chose the pyjama shirt he liked most—midnight purple with a crisp mauve trim, buttons like tiny pearls running down the front. The fabric was soft and smooth, a fine weave that whispered across his skin as he slipped into it.

It hung long on him, brushing mid-thigh, loose through the shoulders. It draped over his hips just enough to make him feel covered, but not restrained. The collar sat open, revealing the delicate hollow of his throat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The fabric clung faintly to his damp skin in places—beneath his arms, across his belly—but that was part of the pleasure. The contrast of silken satin against still-warm skin. He left the lower buttons undone, just enough for his tail to move freely and his thighs to part without resistance.

Kremy looked down at himself and gave a slow, pleased hum. There was something distinctly more intimate about choosing not to be fully bare. A shirt like this framed the parts of him he wanted exposed—accented them. Drew attention, especially when he began to writhe and it clung tighter. He wondered what Gideon thought of it, too. The way his eyes always lingered on the buttons, it always seemed like he would be interested.

But this wasn’t for Gideon, no matter what hungry eyes chased down in the night.

This was for himself.

He turned back to the bed, the dim lamplight painting the covers in soft gold. The blanket he’d prepared lay pulled back just enough to expose the towel beneath. The sheets were cool now, but they’d warm with his movement soon enough.

Kremy climbed onto the bed with slow purpose, shifting to arrange the pillows just so—two under his back and one tucked beneath his hips. His tail curled off to the side, draping down the mattress edge as he lowered himself into place, arms sinking into the plush linen.

The scent of the oil he’d chosen lingered faintly and it wrapped around him like an embrace. He let his thighs part naturally, the open hem of the pyjama shirt draping loosely over one leg, revealing the soft white of his folds beneath. His whole body felt loose and relaxed, and yet he knew that it was still going to stretch, to burn with entry.

He reached up to the bedside table, retrieving the bottle of slick and the dildo first, setting them within reach. His fingers trailed over the smooth, pearlescent shaft of the unicorn horn toy, appreciating the weight of it, the cold that would soon melt from its surface once buried deep inside him.

But he wasn’t rushing.

He laid back fully now, resting against the pillows, legs bent at the knee, ass slightly lifted by the support beneath his hips. The bed cradled him perfectly, the quiet rustle of fabric beneath his body as he shifted sending a thrill up his spine.

Then, he drizzled a line of the warm oil between his thighs, watching with fascination as it caught the light, sliding slowly over the curve of his slit, down to his entrance. The touch made him tremble. The oil, activated by skin, turned warm in an instant, and when his fingers followed, they were met with a flush of readiness that made him exhale sharply into the air, other fist curling in the bedding.

His mouth parted, breath shallow, the silk of his shirt whispering across his skin with every subtle shift.

He pressed one slick finger into himself—slowly, carefully—just the tip. A low moan trembled out of him. The stretch, even slight, was sweet agony. He pulled it out again, then circled the rim before slipping back in deeper this time, his hips rocking subtly into the motion.

Kremy's breath came slower now; long, low, drawn in through parted lips as he worked two fingers into himself with careful, practiced control. The oil was slick and warm, and his body welcomed the stretch with a flutter and twitch that made his thighs clench.

He curled his fingers just slightly, pressing against that inner bundle of nerves that sent a tremor spiralling through his gut. His hips rocked back instinctively, chasing more pressure. The sensation bloomed outward—sharp, molten, electric—and he moaned low into the palm of his other hand.

He was getting there. His entrance softened around him, muscle by muscle relaxing as he widened the circle of movement, slow twists and scissoring motions that made him gasp each time he eased in deeper. The way he clenched after every withdrawal, the way he pulsed and twitched with need—it was all leading up to this.

He flipped himself over, trying to get deeper, face burying into the pillows. The light was blocked, leaving him in delicious darkness, and that only made his body quiver even more.

The ache in his belly had deepened into something heavier, something hot and full and desperate. And as he shifted his hips just right—his knees spread wide on the bed, chest low to the mattress—he felt the tight give of his slit parting further.

That’s when it slipped free.

With a soft, involuntary sound, his cock slid from its sheath—long, flushed pale with want and slick at the tip, tapering to a delicately pointed crown that glistened as it pressed against the linen. The cool air hit it with a shock, and a pulse of pleasure tore through him like lightning.

"Fuck—" Kremy whispered, back arching slightly as his shaft throbbed, already leaking from the pressure he’d built up.

It was beautiful in the lanternlight, in his opinion, glistening and rigid, pale and slightly pearled, the soft veins beneath the skin catching the shadows as it curved gently forward. His breath hitched at the sight of it, the feel of it swaying as he rocked deeper onto his fingers.

But fingers weren’t enough now.

Not for this.

He reached for the toy—the silicone shaft cool and smooth in his palm. Even now, it looked almost too big, but he knew better. He knew how right it would feel once he took it in. That slow stretch, that thick, satisfying pressure curling inside him.

Kremy rose slightly onto his knees, repositioning the pillows under his chest, adjusting the angle. He felt it all, the way his slit dripped with oil and arousal, and the way his cock swayed beneath him, pulsing softly with every heartbeat.

He poured oil onto the tip of the dildo and began to shakily massage it in.

Trying to not think about someone else’s cock in his hands, he loosened his wrist and flicked the toy through the cupped tunnel of his palm. It thrust shallowly with each sharp motion, the ridges making his fingers twitch. The silicone was hard, but it had some give as he gripped it, rubbery and now smooth. Kremy stared at it. It glistened and shone in the light, catching beams on its curve.

He braced himself with one hand, the other guiding the toy between his thighs, the tip nudging against his entrance. Knelt not in reverence or prayer, but in dirty, dirty sin. He inhaled slowly—deep and steady—and pressed forward.

The first ridge slipped in with a resistance that made his legs tremble, his body clenching around the sudden girth. A sound spilled from his throat, raw and hungry. His hand stayed steady as he pushed, easing in the spiralled toy bit by bit, each subtle curve rubbing just right as it spread him open.

“Gods—yes,” he hissed, hips grinding back toward it, chasing that sweet pressure that bloomed deeper with every inch.

His cock twitched below him, leaking freely now, a silvery string slipping down to the towel beneath. It bobbed in the air with every thrust, adding another edge to the overstimulation building beneath his skin.

He pushed the toy deeper, his breath breaking into stuttered gasps as the thickest part eased past his rim. His walls clutched and quivered around it, the fullness making his spine curve and his jaw hang wide open.

Now fully seated, the toy pressed against that perfect spot inside him—unyielding, firm, and shaped to drive him wild. He stayed still for a long moment, trembling with sensation, his cock drooling, his body fluttering around the delicious intrusion.

A slow rock of his hips. A wet squelch. A thick grind forward as the spiral ridges teased every inch of his inner walls. He moaned, letting the sound escape without restraint now, the weight of the shirt against his back grounding him just enough to keep from flying apart.

His hands gripped the bed. Kremy bit his tongue and he began to fuck himself in earnest.

Kremy rocked his hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm, letting the thick toy slide in and out of him inch by trembling inch. The ridged spiral caught on the sensitive edges of his entrance, tugging and pressing with every shift, like it had been crafted specifically to keep him at the edge of breaking.

His thighs shook as he moved, the bed creaking softly under his knees, the wooden frame letting out the occasional protest with each press of his hips. The towel beneath him was already damp with oil and his arousal, painting it in streaks of translucent sheen with every forward motion.

But he wasn’t trying to rush. No—he was drawing it out, chasing that perfect middle place where the pleasure became so constant it felt like hunger. He ground backward just enough to feel the thickest ridge stretch him wide, then pulled off again, gasping at the slow withdrawal.

"Fuck..." he murmured, voice trembling, brows drawn tight. One hand braced against the sheets, the other curled back under him to hold the base of the toy steady, rotating it ever so slightly to make those ridges twist and drag across his insides.

It was maddening. Gorgeous. Exquisite.

His cock was desperate now. It leaked steadily now, every throb of it a pulsing, aching demand for more friction. But he denied it. He focused instead on that thick toy pushing deep into his slit, keeping his attention on the wet clench of his own body and the tremble it forced up through his core.

He moaned again—long, open-throated and desperate—as he bottomed out once more, the toy seated perfectly against that swollen, oversensitive spot deep inside him. His toes curled into the bedding. He circled his hips lazily, grinding around the pressure with agonizing slowness, chasing the edge without slipping over.

“Gods, yes... just—just like that,” he breathed into the pillow, tongue slipping between his lips, shirt collar slipping further down his chest.

The spiral ridge pressed and twisted with every roll of his hips, teasing his rim with just enough friction to keep him clenching around it. His cock gave another needy pulse, twitching where it was pinned beneath him, and his thighs began to tremble harder now. He was soaked, needy, every muscle strained tight with restraint.

A deep creak echoed from the bed frame—louder this time, a long, slow groan of old wood protesting the steady rhythm of his body. The sound filled the quiet room, paired with the wet drag of the toy and the helpless, shaky gasps slipping from Kremy’s mouth.

And somewhere down the hallway…

Footsteps.

Slow, unhurried, muffled slightly by the old rug that ran through the inn’s narrow corridor. A set of boots on wood, a quiet rhythm of heels striking in lazy syncopation. Laughter in the distance—soft, fading—the tavern downstairs growing quieter by the hour.

The footsteps paused near a door—three rooms down. There was the sound of someone shifting their weight, as if debating which room was theirs. Then, a muttered curse. A chuckle. A key being fumbled into a lock.

Kremy didn’t hear it—he was too lost in the rhythm of his own pleasure. His moans, soft but unrestrained, spilled into the dim room, barely muffled by the walls. The creaking of the bed, the wet sound of slick movement, the breathy whisper of his name under his own breath—they filled the space with want.

In the hallway, the footsteps started again.

Another door passed.

A voice, low and amused: "Damn walls are thin in this place..."

The steps paused just outside Kremy’s room. There was a snort of quiet laughter, boots shifting on the wooden floor. The person leaned a shoulder against the wall for a moment, listening.

Inside, Kremy rocked harder now—eyes shut tight, tail curled to the side, mouth open as the toy ground perfectly against the spot inside him that made him see stars. His hand slipped from the bed to grasp his cock at last, wrapping his slick fingers around the base, but only giving himself a single, teasing stroke before pulling away.

He wanted to keep this going.

Wanted to be soaked, ruined, writhing until the sheets were a mess and his legs gave out.

The person outside the door waited a moment longer—tilted their head, listening to the faint creaking and the low, desperate gasps—and then, with a lazy chuckle, moved on, boots scuffing lightly as they made their way further down the hall.

Inside, Kremy didn’t even notice.

His whole world had narrowed to the hot, wet stretch of his body around that spiralled toy, and the ache in his cock growing sharper by the second.

And he still wasn’t finished. Kremy shifted again.

Now on his knees, head lifted high and legs spread wide, the towels beneath him were rumpled and soaked, the sheets clinging to his thighs and the undersides of his knees. His shirt was bunched up around his waist, a fistful of it held tightly in one hand, fabric twisted from the strain. The long sleeves slid down his arms, baring his flushed forearms, the collar hanging loose and open around his neck.

His other hand worked steadily between his legs, gripping the base of the toy and pumping it in slow, heavy thrusts—deep and deliberate. Each time it sank in, it dragged perfectly, and each time it pulled out, his body clenched, needy and slick, swallowing it right back down.

He moaned again, low and drawn out, spine curving with the effort to stay right on the edge.

“F-fuck—just like that,” he gasped, the words shaky, voice cracking into a needy whimper as he pushed the toy in again, his rim stretched around it with a slick sound that sent another rush of heat through his core. “Stretch me good, just a little more—yeah… gods, yes…”

His cock screamed in desperation, a siren's call to more pleasure, to cumming and saying damn to this infernal torture. The tip glistened in the amber light, drops trailing down the underside like candle wax. He wondered what it would be like to have someone lap all of it up, taste him and beg for more.

“Gideon…” His voice broke on the name, soft and thick with hunger. “You should see me like this… fuck, you’d ruin me if you were here…”

And behind him—quiet at first—came the sound of the door opening.

A click of metal. A slow creak.

Gideon stepped inside with a familiar hush, assuming the room was dim and quiet for a different reason. He was a little undone. His shirt was rumpled and open at the chest, hair slightly wild, cheeks flushed with drink and laughter. The tavern downstairs was still humming, but Gideon had slipped away to grab the little notebook he’d left behind.

“Just gonna sneak in, won’t even disturb him a bit,” he whispered to himself padding toward the side table.

Before he got more than a few steps in, he froze.

The air in the room hit him differently—thick, humid, and laced with scent. Rose oil. Sweat. And something else entirely. His eyes adjusted quickly in the low lantern glow.

There, knelt gloriously on the bed, was Kremy—back arched, tail twitching off to the side, shirt bunched around his waist and that beautiful, thick toy plunging in and out of his dripping slit.

Gideon’s heart slammed against his ribs. His breath caught somewhere between a grunt and a moan.

His fire ignited.

His beard flared first—soft, glowing red at the edges, then catching like dry parchment, curling upward in warm, flickering flame. His hair followed a second later, those thick, ruddy strands blazing bright gold at the tips, the heat rising off his skin in waves. His pupils tightened to pinpricks, glowing faintly like embers, his lips parting in a reverent, hungry inhale.

"Fuck me..." he breathed, so low it barely left his mouth.

The temperature in the room jumped with his rising pulse, the lanternlight dancing harder across the walls. His hands clenched his braces without realizing, knuckles white. Heat blooming from his skin, smoke curling faintly around his shoulders and collar.

Kremy didn’t notice.

He was too far gone. Eyes screwed shut, head in the clouds, he was debasing himself with every motion, teeth snapping on the air.

“Need it deeper…” he panted, hips pushing back harder onto the toy, his fingers slick and trembling as he twisted it with every thrust. “So fuckin’ deep, ngh—Gideon would love this, bet he’d make a mess of me…”

Gideon swallowed thickly, sweat prickling at the back of his neck as his cock stirred hard and fast in his pants, thick and pulsing with every word that spilled out of Kremy’s mouth. His boss was masturbating. His boss was fucking himself, and saying his name. Subtly, he shut the door and dropped the latch, muffling it with his fingertip.

He took a step forward—quiet, reverent, like approaching something holy. Still, Kremy didn’t hear.

He rocked harder, whining as the toy bottomed out again, his hole fluttering around the base, thick with slick, so fucking wet it was obscene. His voice trembled.

“Wish you’d come in and catch me, fuck—I’ve been so good all day…”

Gideon exhaled—long, slow, like bellows fuelling a fire. His hands curled into fists. His beard flared again, brighter, hotter, casting red light across the room. He wasn’t sure how long he could just watch. But gods, he wasn’t about to stop now.

The rhythm of Kremy's movements had picked up—hips rolling in steady, trembling thrusts, the soft slap of skin against oil-slick silicone filling the room between breathy, half-whimpered curses. His body glistened in the low light, shirt rumpling down his back, the open tails of his pyjama shirt clinging to his waist with every grind of his hips.

The toy moved deeper now, slick and steady, each spiral dragging a moan from him, soft and desperate. Then his voice wavered again, broken and breathless.

“Fuck—wish you were here. I’d let you watch. I’d let you—”

He opened his eyes. Kremy froze.

His whole body seized, the toy halfway inside him, fingers curled tight around the base. His chest stuttered, and his breath caught sharp and loud in the back of his throat.

Gideon stood near the door, halfway between the table and the bed.

Still.

Silent.

Lit from below by the soft amber lantern glow, and burning.

His hair flared like sunlit coals, strands licking upward with heat, shedding motes of firelight across the ceiling. His beard flickered with the same quiet power, the flames gentle but ever-moving, like heat rising from a forge.

He looked stunned—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, every line of his face caught in a kind of reverent awe. His suspender strap still hung loose in one hand, boots forgotten by his feet.

They locked eyes—Kremy trembling, slick, undone; Gideon flushed and steady, radiating warmth and something far deeper: want. Kremy blinked once. Twice. The heat on his face now wasn’t just from exertion.

“Oh—gods—Gideon,” he rasped, pulling his hand away from the toy, nearly slipping as his hips jolted. “I—I didn’t know you were—?”

His voice collapsed into nothing. The shirt he’d been holding fell loose, draping halfway back over his bare ass. He scrambled to adjust his position, but the toy was still in him, still pressed just right, and the movement made his breath hitch and his thighs tremble again. He sat, and realised it didn’t help much. He was covered, but that damn thing was now bottomed out in him.

He was suddenly very aware of the slick sounds, the scent in the air, the mess on the sheets, the precum streaked across the towel—

And Gideon, still watching. Still burning.

Kremy’s mouth opened again, but nothing came out. His face was flushed deep jade, hands twitching with embarrassment, but he didn’t move to pull out the toy. Not yet. Not with Gideon looking at him like that—like he was the center of a storm.

Then Gideon spoke, and his voice was low. His damned drawl thick, slow, and coated in heat.

“Well now,” he murmured, head tilting just slightly, gaze dragging over Kremy’s trembling form with unashamed hunger. “Looks like I picked a hell of a time to come lookin’ for my notebook.”

His lips curled into a slow, molten grin. Kremy wasn’t sure if he hated it or loved it right then.

“Boss…” he drawled, his voice dropping further, laced with warmth and reverence. “You need any help finishin’ what you started?”

His eyes, glowing faintly like embers under a banked fire, didn’t demand anything. They simply offered. Quietly. Openly. With a heat that curled up Kremy’s spine like smoke.

Something about the way Gideon looked at him—still caught between awe and hunger—made Kremy’s breath catch in his throat. There was no teasing. No smugness. Just Gideon, practically glowing with restraint, watching like he’d stumbled on something holy and didn’t want to spook it.

Kremy’s tail twitched once, hard, then stilled. He swallowed.

“You’re… interested?”

Gideon’s laugh was soft, low, reverent.

“Sir, I’m half a second from fallin’ to my knees in gratitude.” By the  gods, he meant it. He wasn’t just aroused—he was undone. Still, he waited. Burning. Willing. Letting Kremy set the tone, no matter how desperate he was to step in. He wasn't doing anything without orders, he'd been yelled at too many times for rushing in like some Burnsides.

Kremy didn’t move at first.

Still kneeling, still parted wide with the toy sunk deep inside him, his chest rose and fell with uneven, heated breaths. Every inch of his skin prickled—not from shame, but from the dizzying weight of the moment.

This is happening. Gideon. Here. Watching. Offering.

He’d imagined this before—countless nights, countless touch-starved daydreams where the door creaked open and there Gideon was, all flame and gravel and heat, offering to join.

But reality was sharper than fantasy. Realer. Riskier.

Kremy sat up a little straighter, back arching just enough to tilt his hips and make the toy shift inside him. He bit back a gasp, steeling himself, clinging to the slippery edges of control.

Gideon hadn’t moved. Still standing, still burning, arms relaxed at his sides now, like he knew not to crowd him. His eyes followed Kremy’s every breath.

Kremy licked his lips, voice still hoarse when he finally managed:

“You’re really… here.”

“Real as can be,” Gideon replied, low and warm. “Though I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t dreamin’ a little.”

Kremy exhaled hard through his nose, trying to blink away the daze threatening to swallow him whole. He glanced down at himself and a new heat rolled through him that had nothing to do with shame.

He wanted this. Gods, he’d begged for it in the dark. When he’d been curled up beside Gideon’s broad back, wet between the legs with nothing to ease himself. But if it was going to happen, it had to happen his way.

Kremy lifted his chin, even as his cheeks burned.

“If you’re coming over here,” he said, voice gaining some strength, “you do exactly what I say. No getting clever. No playing rough. Not unless I ask.”

The words surprised even himself, a little more breathless than he meant—but the command was real. Firm. There was no waver in his gaze.

Gideon’s smile turned slow and molten.

“Oh, well...” he said, stepping forward at last, boots left behind, flames still flickering through him. “Ain’t never been good at disobeyin’ someone that looks like this.”

His voice was reverent again, heavy with desire but steady. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, heat rolling off him in waves—his presence filling the space but never overwhelming it.

Kremy trembled, heart pounding, thighs still spread wide. The toy throbbed inside him with every breath. He watched as Gideon moved—waiting, pausing, checking for the smallest cue.

“Where do you want me?” Gideon asked, voice low, his eyes never leaving Kremy’s face. Kremy’s fingers curled in the sheets. His pulse roared in his ears.

“Just… stay behind me,” he said. “Keep your hands on my hips. You don't get to touch my cock. Not yet. Just—”

He swallowed hard, hips twitching.

“—just help me take it.”

Gideon’s breath caught like a match on dry kindling.

“Yes, sir,” he murmured. Gods, that did something to Kremy.

He shuddered, the thrill of power and vulnerability twisting together inside him like a knot pulled tight. Gideon settled in behind him, kneeling on the mattress, hands firm and reverent as they slid to Kremy’s hips—hot, rough palms gripping him instantly.

Kremy inhaled.

Slow, deep thrusts—working the toy in and out of himself now with Gideon’s hands anchoring him, guiding the rhythm without controlling it. Each slide was smoother, heavier. Every thrust sent sparks up his spine, and Gideon’s grip tightened just enough with every moan.

Kremy was shaking again, from pleasure, from nerves, from how unreal it all still felt. Gideon? He said nothing more. Just breathed softly behind him, hands steady, skin radiating heat where their bodies brushed. He waited to be told what to do, letting Kremy ruin himself like he wasn’t his boss, like this wasn’t going to be impossible to explain later.

Kremy felt the tense workings of his body as if he were on a tightrope – every muscle tensed, his tail thumping against Gideon’s ribcage in a way he hoped didn’t hurt, and his eyes squeezing shut again. Gideon’s thumbs rubbed little swipes over his hips, the heat working into his muscles like a salve.

He wasn’t sure if he was doing this right. He’d not had a partner in… by the Baron, over three years. Kremy panted, and tried to remember what to do. Arching his back a little more, his hands reached back to hold onto Gideon’ forearms, and he rolled his hips each time he slid down.

Gideon groaned behind him, low and throaty, and Kremy smirked to himself. He knew how to put on a show.

He kept it up for a few minutes, huffing with effort, listening for Gideon’s raw little gasps and feeling his grip flex. Kremy felt his arousal shift slightly, and squinted up at the ceiling as he wound his hips in tight little circles on the toy. Fuck. He was losing it a little now.

Nibbling his lip, Kremy wondered if he’d have to fake it. As good as the show was, it never satisfied him, only his partners. The issue was that he’d waited months for this, and working himself up with no resolution was some kind of torture, certainly.

“Kremy,” Gideon’s voice spoke up behind him, startling Kremy from his musings. Heat ghosted his nape as Gideon’s hands slunk up his waist, curling over to cover his stomach and press down lightly.

“Fuck, yeah?” Kremy managed, eyes slitted, barely twisting his head to glance at Gideon through his periphery. His face was a dark, burnished garnet shade, eyes locked on to where Kremy’s body was still caressing the dildo.

“Boss, can,” Gideon swallowed, his voice rough with need. “Can I touch myself?”

A perfect, golden opportunity hit Kremy. Gideon was clearly worked up, and the switch from toy to something tangible would hit his body like a freight train. Kremy hummed, a smile spreading over his teeth, and pulled Gideon’s hands away.

Despite the affronted noises he was getting, Kremy leaned down carefully. On his hands and knees, he presented his stuffed slit to Gideon, winding his hips in little figure eights. Gideon’s disapproving noises halted, turning to a strangled groan.

“Uh, Boss?”

“Put it in me,” Kremy whispered, and the temperature shot up as Gideon’s head was engulfed in flame. Kremy, still on his hands and knees, felt the weight of Gideon’s gaze like a physical touch.

“Fuck, Kremy,” Gideon muttered, his voice a low growl, rough with need. There was the sound of fumbling fabric, and Kremy stared at the opposite wall, praying he hadn’t sounded too desperate. Gideon made a soft little hiss as his cock finally came free, a sigh of relief as he shuffled his trousers low. “Pass me the-?”

Kremy stretched out and passed the oil to Gideon, trying to not stare at whatever was going to be put inside him. He failed to do so.

Gideon’s hands trembled slightly as he slicked himself with the oil, his calloused fingers wrapping around his cock with a deliberate slowness that betrayed his nerves. His broad chest heaved, the muscles flexing under his sweat-dampened shirt, which clung to his frame in patches. His hair was streaked with ash from his own flames, and a few strands stuck to his sweat-slicked forehead. His eyes burned, and were fixed on Kremy’s form, pupils dilated with raw want.

Gently, he pulled out the toy from Kremy's grip. Kremy lost the battle to keep quiet as it was taken, huffing sharp gasps and whining with each ripple.

Gideon shifted closer, the heat of his body radiating against Kremy’s thighs. His cock, thick and flushed a deep, ruddy red, glistened with oil, the veins prominent under the taut skin. A bead of precum gathered at the tip, catching the light as it dripped slowly onto the floor.

Gideon’s hand moved with a steady rhythm, slick sounds filling the quiet as he coated himself thoroughly. His other hand reached out, hesitating for a moment before settling on Kremy’s hip, fingers digging into the soft scales there.

“You’re… you’re sure?” Gideon sounded like he was dreaming, disbelief in his words. Kremy’s lips curled into a sly grin, his sharp teeth glinting.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Coal,” he purred, his voice low and teasing, though it trembled slightly with his own nerves. He arched his back further, pushing his hips back, the movement slow and deliberate, his slit parting slightly to reveal the slick, pale flesh within. The air hit it, sending a shiver up his spine, and a thin trickle of clear fluid dripped down his inner thigh, pooling on the floor beneath him. “C’mon, big guy. Don’t keep me waitin’.”

Gideon’s breath hitched, his flames flaring briefly, casting a warm glow across Kremy’s back. He positioned himself carefully, his knees pressing into the floorboards as he aligned himself. His cock brushed against Kremy’s slit, the contact sending a jolt through both of them.

Kremy’s tail twitched, curling slightly around Gideon’s waist, the tip grazing the sensitive skin just above his hip. Gideon groaned, his head tipping back, flames licking higher for a moment before he steadied himself. His hands gripped Kremy’s hips, thumbs pressing into the soft scales, and he pushed forward slowly, the head of his cock slipping inside with a wet, obscene sound.

Kremy gasped, his claws digging into the headboard, leaving faint scratches in the wood. The feeling was intense, a burning fullness that made his vision blur for a moment. Gideon was thick, thicker than the toy, and the heat of him felt alive, pulsing inside Kremy’s body. The stretch was tight, a burning wreck from both heat and tantalising agony.

His body clenched instinctively, slick and warm, coating Gideon’s length with a fresh rush of fluid. Kremy’s breath came in shallow bursts, his hips twitching as he adjusted to the sensation.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice tight, “that’s… yeah, that’s good.”

Gideon’s grip tightened, his fingers leaving faint indents in Kremy’s scales. He moved slowly at first, his thrusts shallow, testing Kremy’s reactions. His own breathing was ragged, punctuated by low, guttural groans that seemed to rumble from deep in his chest. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripping down to sizzle faintly against his flaming hair.

Gideon’s thrusts were measured, almost torturous, each one a deliberate drag that stretched Kremy’s slit wider, the soft, velvety scales parting to reveal the flushed pink of his inner flesh. Kremy’s tail twitched, the tip curling reflexively against Gideon’s thigh, brushing the coarse hair there. His claws dug deeper into the blanket, the knit stretching under the pressure, threads catching on the sharp edges of his scales. The air was filled with the wet, rhythmic sounds of their bodies—Gideon’s cock sliding in and out, Kremy’s shallow gasps, and the faint creak of the bed.

“Fuck, Kremy,” Gideon rasped, his voice rough, like gravel ground underfoot. His amber eyes were locked on Kremy’s slender waist, the way it curved inward, the scales catching the light with every roll of his hips. He slowed his thrusts even further, each one a shallow, teasing push that made Kremy’s breath hitch. “That old thing?” He nodded toward the blanket, his lips curling into a smirk as he punctuated the question with a sharp, light thrust. “What’s with you and my blanket, huh? You been… usin’ it before I got here? With that toy?”

Kremy stiffened, his shoulders tensing, the muscles in his back rippling under his scales. He twisted his head, glaring at Gideon over his shoulder, his slit pupils narrowing to thin, angry lines.

“Shut it, Coal,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous, but the effect was undercut by the way his body trembled, his slit stretched wide around Gideon’s cock. Gideon’s smirk widened, his flames flaring briefly, casting a warm glow across Kremy’s back.

“Oh, c’mon, Boss,” he teased, his voice dripping with mock innocence. His hands slid up Kremy’s sides, fingers tracing the smooth, cool scales before settling back on his hips. “Don’t tell me you’ve been gettin’ cozy with my stuff.”

Another sharp thrust, this one deeper, made Kremy gasp, his claws tearing a small rip in the blanket. Gideon leaned forward, his chest brushing against Kremy’s back, the heat of his flames licking at the air. His breath was hot against Kremy’s nape, smelling faintly of smoke and whiskey. “Bet it smells like me, don’t it?”

Kremy growled, low and guttural, his tail lashing against Gideon’s thigh, but he didn’t pull away. His body was betraying him, hips rocking back instinctively to meet Gideon’s slow, agonizing rhythm. The stretch was overwhelming, Gideon’s cock filling him in a way the toy never could, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through his core.

Kremy’s body was a live wire, scales glinting olive and gold as he trembled, his slender frame taut with need. His breath came in sharp, ragged pants, each one catching in his throat as Gideon’s slow, torturous pace drove him to the edge of sanity. Cocky asshole, constantly out, getting pussy and cock and who knew what else. All Kremy had been able to have were toys, and now this, this gods-forsaken teasing facsimile of a proper fuck was not fucking making up for it. 

Kremy’s patience snapped like a taut string. He twisted his head, slit pupils blazing as he glared at Gideon over his shoulder.

“Y’know, Coal,” he growled, voice low and sharp, “You're always fuckin’ around while I’m stuck waitin’.” His claws dug into the blanket, tearing another small rip, and his tail flicked hard against Gideon’s thigh, leaving a faint sting. “I ain’t had any in years ‘cause you’re always out there playin’ dog with everyone else!”

Gideon’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smirk, his flames flaring brighter for a moment, casting a brief glow across the room.

“Woof,” he said, voice a rough, teasing drawl, his eyes glinting with amusement. He rolled his hips, a single thrust that made Kremy’s breath hitch, his slit clenching tight around Gideon’s cock. “What can I say, Krem?”

Kremy scowled, and wrapped the blanket around his fists, pushing his hips back to try get anything more. Gideon was acting like a shy puppy, putting hardly any force into fucking him, and Kremy was already on edge. He knew what the genasi could do, and he was not going to fuck about.

“Fuck’s sake, Gideon,” he snapped, voice rising, “I wanna cum. Can't you just fuck me already? All those people you’ve screwed, and I’m sittin’ here wonderin’ if you’ve got anything to show for it!”

Gideon’s smirk faltered, his eyes widening slightly, a spark of arousal flashing through them at the insult.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that, Boss,” he muttered, his voice rough with need. He leaned forward, chest brushing Kremy’s back, the heat of his flames licking at Kremy’s scales. His hands tightened on Kremy’s hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave faint marks, and he picked up the pace, rolling his hips with a steady, forceful rhythm. Each thrust was deeper now, his cock sliding in fully, stretching Kremy’s slick, cool walls until they pulsed around him.

Kremy’s control shattered. He yelled out, a raw, desperate sound that echoed off the walls, his body shaking as pleasure crashed through him.

“Fuck, yes, there!” he gasped, voice loud and unhinged, his claws shredding the blanket as he gripped it harder. His cock throbbed, leaking a steady stream of precum that pooled beneath him, the towel now a sopping mess. “C’mon, Coal, don’t—fuck—don’t stop!”

Gideon groaned, low and guttural, his hips snapping forward with a newfound urgency.

“Yeah, Boss, I got you,” he panted, voice thick and dazed, as if Kremy’s words had (ironically) lit a fire under him. His flames flared higher, the heat washing over Kremy’s back, and his thrusts grew harder, each one driving deeper, hitting that spot inside Kremy that made his vision blur. His hands slid up Kremy’s sides, fingers tracing the cool scales before gripping his waist again, pulling Kremy back to meet each thrust.

Kremy’s knees buckled, unable to hold him up against the relentless pace. His claws scrabbled at the sheet, tearing small holes as he gasped, voice raw and broken.

“Fuck, Gideon,” he panted, words slurring, “been so fuckin’ long… I need this, shit, I’ve been so good, so fuckin’ good…” His head lolled, lips parted, a thin line of drool pooling on the mattress as pleasure overwhelmed him.

“Yeah, Boss, you’ve been real good,” he rasped, voice thick with need. “Fuckin’ perfect, takin’ me like this.”

His hips snapped forward, each thrust a deep, claiming drive that made the bed creak louder. He pulled out suddenly, the wet sound of his cock leaving Kremy’s slit obscene in the quiet room. Before Kremy could protest, Gideon grabbed his hips, flipping him onto his back with a rough but practiced motion.

Kremy’s back hit the mattress, his legs splaying wide, slit exposed and glistening, the soft flesh swollen and dripping. His chest heaved, scales shimmering as he panted, eyes half-lidded and glassy. Gideon didn’t hesitate, leaning over him, flames casting a warm glow across Kremy’s face. He lined himself up and pushed back in, slow at first, letting Kremy feel every inch. The stretch was too much, Kremy’s walls clenching tight, slick gushing out to coat Gideon’s cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Kremy moaned, voice loud and desperate, “just like that, you messy fuckin’ dog!”

“Call me a dog again,” he panted, leaning closer, his breath hot against Kremy’s cheek, smelling of smoke and whiskey.

“Fuckin’ dog,” Kremy muttered, voice shaking, “messy… so fuckin’ messy…” His hips bucked to meet Gideon’s thrusts, his slit clenching, slick and precum mixing in a sticky mess on the towel. Creamy white was starting to bubble out and coat Gideon's cock like a thin layer of sin.

Kremy’s hands twitched, claws flexing as he reached for Gideon, wanting to hold on, to dig in, but hesitating. His eyes flicked to Gideon’s shoulders, fear flashing through the haze of pleasure—he didn’t want to hurt him, not really. His claws made aborted gestures, hovering over Gideon’s arms, trembling with restraint.

Gideon noticed, his amber eyes catching the hesitation. He leaned down, flames flickering low to avoid singeing Kremy, his lips brushing Kremy’s ear.

“C’mon, Boss,” he murmured, voice rough and encouraging, “hold on real nice. I can take it.”

That was all Kremy needed. His claws sank into Gideon’s shoulders, sharp points piercing the skin. Blood beaded instantly, small crimson droplets welling up, trickling down Gideon’s arms in thin, warm rivulets. The pain hit Gideon like a lightning bolt, electric and sharp, and he moaned—a broken, stuttered sound that rumbled from deep in his chest.

“Fuck, Kremy,” he gasped, hips stuttering for a moment before slamming forward harder, flames flaring wild. The sensation spurred Kremy on, his grip tightening, claws digging deeper as he held on, his body shaking with each thrust.

“So good,” he slurred, voice loud and raw, “so fuckin’ good, Gideon, don’t stop…”

Gideon leaned down, his breath hot and smoky against Kremy’s shoulder, and sank his teeth into the sensitive scales there. The bite was firm, not breaking skin but pressing hard enough to send a jolt through Kremy’s body. Kremy whined, a high, desperate sound that melted into a guttural groan as Gideon’s damned sharp teeth grazed along his shoulder, leaving faint red marks on the olive scales.

Each bite was deliberate, moving up to the base of Kremy’s throat, where the scales were softer, almost silken, and exquisitely sensitive. Kremy’s slit tightened with every nip.

“Fuck, Gideon,” Kremy gasped, voice raw and trembling, “you’re… fuckin’ killin’ me…”

Kremy’s head tilted left, exposing more of his throat, and he bit back, his sharp, needle-like teeth sinking into Gideon’s shoulder, just above the claw marks. The taste of salt and smoke flooded his mouth, and Gideon roared, a deep, primal sound that shook the air.

His hands snapped to Kremy’s waist, fingers digging into the cool, pliant scales, and he fucked into him harder, using Kremy’s body with a rough, unapologetic rhythm, like he was nothing more than a cheap whore. The bed groaned louder, the frame rattling, and Kremy’s moans turned to broken shouts, his body shaking as the pleasure built to a breaking point.

Kremy’s eyes went wide, wild with desperation, as he felt the coil in his core tighten to the point of snapping.

“Gideon,” he panted, voice hoarse, “I’m… fuck, I’m gonna cum if you ain’t careful!”

Gideon’s lips curled into a wicked grin, flames flaring brighter, casting a warm glow across Kremy’s face.

“I ain’t ever been accused of that,” he growled, voice thick with arousal, his hips snapping forward with a brutal, steady pace. The words hit Kremy like a spark to kindling, pushing him right to the edge.

His hand shot down, claws trembling as he wrapped them around his own cock, stroking fast and desperate. The touch was electric, his cock pulsing under his fingers, desperate skin and tissue singing with deplorable pleasure.

Kremy bellowed, a sound like rolling thunder that echoed off the walls, as his orgasm crashed through him. His body convulsed, slit clenching so tight it nearly pushed Gideon out. His cock spurted, cum painting his stomach, the white fluid mixing with the sweat and slick in a messy, glistening pool.

He writhed, howling, trapped by Gideon’s relentless thrusts, his claws digging deeper into Gideon’s shoulders, drawing fresh beads of blood that trickled down in warm, crimson lines.

Gideon’s hips stuttered, his own control fraying. With a guttural groan, he pulled out, the wet sound of his cock leaving Kremy’s slit louche in the quiet. He stroked himself once, twice, and then came, thick ropes of cum shooting across Kremy’s taut stomach, mixing with Kremy’s own release.

His groans were low and broken, flames flaring wild for a moment before subsiding, leaving his hair smoldering. He leaned over Kremy, chest heaving, hands braced on the mattress, blood and sweat dripping onto the sheet as he caught his breath.

The room was quiet now, save for the faint crackle of Gideon’s dying flames and the soft creak of the bed settling under their weight. The sheet was a damp, crumpled mess, clinging to Kremy’s scales, while the towel beneath him was soaked through, heavy with the sticky mix of their shared orgasms, its grey fibres darkened to near black.

Kremy lay sprawled on his back, chest heaving as the aftershocks of his orgasm rippled through him. His olive-green scales shimmered faintly, slick with sweat, the gold flecks catching the lamplight like scattered coins.

His lithe frame felt boneless, every muscle loose and languid, a deep, satisfied ache settling into his bones. His slit, still flushed and sensitive, throbbed faintly, the soft jade scales around it glistening with residual slick that dripped slowly onto the towel. His cock, spent and sliding away, slipped against his stomach, smeared with his own cum and Gideon’s.

His tail twitched lazily, brushing the sheet, too exhausted to curl. Pleasure lingered, sharp and sweet, but there was a faint sting where Gideon’s bites marked his shoulder and throat, the red welts stark against his scales. Above all, he felt sated, like a craving he’d nursed for years had finally been fed.

Gideon loomed over him, his broad frame still radiating heat, though his flames had dulled to a soft glow, like embers in a dying fire. His charcoal-grey shirt was a ruin, torn at the shoulders where Kremy’s claws had dug in, blood beading in thin, crimson lines that trickled down his muscled arms, some already dried in hard streaks.

His pants and boots were kicked off now, leaving him in nothing but his sweat-slicked skin, auburn hair matted to his chest and thighs. His amber eyes, usually sharp with mischief, were soft and dopey, brimming with something warm and unguarded as they fixed on Kremy’s face. His breath was steadying, but his chest still heaved, the faint scent of sex and drink on him still.

Without a word, Gideon reached for the dry edge of the towel, his movements slow and careful. His calloused fingers brushed Kremy’s side, rubbing gentle circles against the cool scales as he began wiping away the mess on Kremy’s stomach. The towel was rough but warm from their bodies, and Gideon’s touch was surprisingly tender, cleaning the stickiness with deliberate care.

“You did so good, Boss,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, like a warm blanket draped over the moment. “Fuckin’ perfect, just like I knew you’d be.”

Kremy blinked, confusion flickering through the haze of his bliss. His slit pupils narrowed, searching Gideon’s face for some hint of a joke, but there was none—just those big, earnest eyes and a lopsided smile. Gideon kept talking, his voice a steady, soothing rumble as he worked.

“Always knew you’d be somethin’ else,” he said, tossing the soiled towel aside and tugging the crumpled sheet into some semblance of order. “Ain’t nobody like you, Kremy.”

He slid onto the bed beside Kremy, the mattress dipping under his weight, and pulled the tattered blanket over them both, its soft, pilled fabric brushing Kremy’s scales.

Kremy’s confusion deepened, a tight knot forming in his chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Gideon was supposed to leave—head back to the bar, crack a joke, and swagger off like the dog he was. They were supposed to part and pretend it didn’t happen, or pretend it didn’t mean anything.

Instead, Gideon was stripping down completely, his bare skin radiating heat as he settled in close. His arm slid around Kremy, pulling him against his chest, the rough hair there tickling Kremy’s scales. The warmth was overwhelming, not just from Gideon’s body but from the care in his touch, the way his fingers traced lazy patterns along Kremy’s side, careful to avoid the tender bite marks.

“Why’re you…” Kremy’s voice cracked, barely a whisper, as tears pricked at his eyes. He didn’t understand—couldn’t parse why Gideon was still here, why he was being so gentle. The knot in his chest unravelled, and a soft sob escaped him, his shoulders trembling as tears slipped down his scales, glinting in the lamplight. He tried to swallow it down, but another sob followed, quiet and raw, his claws twitching as if to hide his face. Gideon’s hand stilled, his thumb brushing a tear from Kremy’s cheek.

“Hey, hey, none’a that,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble, warm and steady. “You’re okay, Boss. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

He leaned closer, his forehead brushing Kremy’s, the faint scent of cigars and a metallic tang wrapping around them. His hand resumed its gentle stroking, calloused fingers gliding over Kremy’s scales. “You don’t gotta do this alone, y’know. Not with me.” 

“Y’ sure y’ain’t gonna go back to the bar?” Kremy asked, fighting to keep his voice level. Gideon hummed, tilting his head slightly.

“D’ya want me to?” He asked carefully, and Kremy shrugged weakly. The tears kept coming, a silent release of something he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The confusion remained, the sudden biting urge to cry still sat heavy and ugly in his ribs. He pressed closer, his claws resting lightly on Gideon’s chest, careful not to dig in again. The room felt smaller, softer, the flickering lamp casting their entwined forms in a gentle glow, the world outside fading to nothing but the steady rhythm of Gideon’s breathing and the warmth of his touch. “It don’t seem like you want me to.”

The room was still, the air settling like dust after a storm. The oil lamp’s flame had burned low, its faint, amber glow barely clinging to life, casting soft shadows that draped over the tangled mess of sheets and bodies. The scent of sweat, cum, and smoky embers lingered, softened now by the quiet intimacy of the moment. The bed, its frame silent at last, cradled their weight, the sagging mattress moulded to their forms.

“Yeah,” Kremy slurred, body fighting to stay awake. “Yeah, stay.”

“Whatever you want, Krem,” Gideon murmured, lips brushing Kremy’s temple. Kremy’s breathing slowed, his lithe frame sinking into the mattress, utterly spent.

The loose-limbed satisfaction he’d craved wrapped him like a warm fog, his slit pupils half-lidded, eyes glassy with bliss. The confusion and tears from moments ago had ebbed, soothed by Gideon’s tenderness, and now his body gave in, sinking into a deep, contented slumber. Gideon lay beside him, his broad frame a furnace of lingering heat, though his flames had faded to a soft, smoldering glow, like coals in a dying fire. The claw marks on his shoulders still oozed tiny beads of blood, the crimson stark against his red skin, and he traced them lightly with a calloused finger, chuckling softly under his breath.

“Well, damn,” he murmured, voice a low rumble, barely audible. “That’s gonna leave a hell of a mark.” His lips quirked into a crooked grin, pride and amusement flickering in his amber eyes as he glanced at Kremy’s sleeping form.

He shifted closer, his arm curling protectively around Kremy’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. Gideon tilted his head, resting his chin lightly on Kremy’s snout, the faint scent of scales and musk filling his senses.

“Hope we didn’t wake the whole damn inn,” he muttered, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest as he thought of potential noise complaints come morning. “Eh, fuck it. Worth it.”

Gideon’s eyes softened as he watched Kremy sleep, the dopey warmth in his gaze deepening. His hand stilled, resting possessively over Kremy’s hip, and he let out a long, sated sigh. The room felt like a cocoon, the outside world distant and irrelevant, reduced to the faint hum of crickets beyond the cracked window.

His own eyelids grew heavy, the weight of satisfaction and the warmth of Kremy’s body lulling him. With one last glance at the faint marks on his shoulder, he let sleep take him, his breathing syncing with Kremy’s in a slow, steady rhythm. The lamp flickered out a half hour later, plunging the room into darkness, the air settling into a quiet stillness, as if the world itself was holding its breath for them.