WARNING: this story contains consensual-but-rougher banging than the usual stuff you see from me,
Also, if you’re unfamiliar with the source material, it’s about shapeshifting dragon people, so if dragon-like traits (claws, tails, horns) on human bodies squicks you out, abandon ship!! 😮
As always, reading/commenting on this story over at Archive of Our Own is a great way of showing support!! \o/
The moon glowered from behind a lattice of late-winter storm clouds. The glades around the castle were still, though in the not-so-far distance, across the lake, enough candles were lit in enough windows of enough houses that Corrin could see all the little embers of all the little people she’d sworn to protect. It was a peaceable feeling, of a kind.
A soft wind sifted through her hair. Corrin leaned against the hollowed core of an ancient tree for its scant shelter. She looked skyward, where the clouds blustered like slow drapery, masking the paltry light of distance stars. She caught a rustle, a beat of wings against air, for a moment she hoped, even though she knew it…
It was only an owl.
She brought her legs to her chest, resting her cheek atop her knee and gazing out across the water of the lake. Her ears attuned, in the silence, to the chirrup of crickets and the scuttle of small animals through the grass, hiding, perhaps, from the selfsame owl’s nightly hunt.
Her legs ached with the acid of stillness. Her molars ground against one another. A chill was in the air, but she could bear it; the waiting troubled her more.
Then, all at once, it happened. A keening cry split the sky. A shadow cast over her. A sudden and great celestial body, large enough to eclipse the moon itself. But this shadow was much closer, close enough that its massive wings tousled her hair with cold wind. She convinced herself she could hear the scrape of its claws, the slaver of its breath.
She hoped she could, anyway.
A sonic crack of air. Heavy impact upon the earth. Whirlwind of dirt, obscuring a tremendous shape. Some reflex compelled Corrin to guard her eyes, much to her chagrin. She wanted to behold it, the full majesty of what spread its wings before her, bellowing to the heavens above and grinding claws through winter-hard earth easy as a child’s sandbox. It was grace and power. It was muscle and scale, heat and chill. It was an ice dragon, scales of sea-green rippling like clear mountain water in the suddenly clear light of the moon, as if the beat of its wings had scared the clouds away.
The dragon swept its head back and forth on its long neck. Its eyes were gleaming with vim. A burst of heat swept over the hollow where Corrin sat. As if sensing by reflection of its breath, the beast drew a bead on Corrin. It stamped a forelimb into the dirt before it, scarcely ten paces away.
Eyes like coals, burning their threats into the peaceful night. Scaled nostrils at end of a tapered maw spread with inquisitive pulls. Its head swayed on trunk-thick neck; snakelike, it moved. It took a step forward, then another, the movement of her limbs something like a sashay, pleasant and graceful, despite her size. Its jaws trembled, showing an impossibly fanged maw, slick and wet.
Undaunted, Corrin lifted a hand. She beckoned to Ninian, her bondmate.
Frilled tail spiked the air, a warning to Corrin’s encroachment, then, after a pause, relented. Slowly, she accepted the offer of Corrin’s hand. She nuzzled her cheek inward, barbed corners of her jaw wandering in sharp strokes along Corrin’s skin, but never threatening, never hurting. Instead, she seemed to whimper. It was hunger. It was need. It was want.
It was heat.
Corrin had been bonded to Ninian for long enough to know those mannerisms as if they were her own, to see the affection behind the fire in those draconic eyes. Fingertips traced along the impenetrable scales of Ninian’s face—smooth, like sea-washed glass. They reflected even the wan light. They were so different, despite being so similar. Ninian was powerful and bestial. Large and commanding despite being so unassuming and sweet as a human. And Corrin herself was so small—hardly much larger as a dragon than as a human! Ninian dwarfed her in size, in strength, in ferocity.
Corrin preferred it that way.
She placed her hands upon Ninian’s cheeks and touched her forehead against the ice dragon’s proud crest. An offering of peace, of sweetness, precious to them both after all they’d been through. At the thought, a bolt of shame struck Corrin’s heart, knowing how selfish it was to sneak away for these moments. But this was her time, and her love, and Ninian washed her self-consciousness away with her breath. The princess belonged to her people, yes—but also to Ninian.
Wasn’t that why she was here?
Indeed, one might’ve called Ninian self-conscious, how timidly she approached Corrin in the days before her heat, summoning the courage to make her request. To meet her, in places like this, after she’d blistered the heavens with her ice and beat her wings to the point of collapse. She rippled with energy beneath Corrin’s touch. Her tail swayed behind her, hypnotized and hypnotic both, with the gentle guidance of her lover’s hands.
Selfish? Perhaps. But to Ninian, there could be no greater kindness…
Seeing the flicker of calm run through the beast’s body, Corrin guided Ninian’s face to her, offering the perfume of winter berries and rose hips daubed upon her neck and breasts, the scent of which would usher in the next stage of their ritual.
A rumble spread through Ninian’s chest, caught between a growl and a groan. The shudder of shoulders spread into a violent quake. She could hold it no longer, her dragon shape. Her body compacted itself, and scales retreated all along her form. Her back bare but for the glittering line down her spine. Her large breasts surrendering to gravity. Her cock swaying against Corrin’s leg. As the traces of her holy lineage receded, her body shrank. Ninian tore at the dirt with feeble human toes. Again, she released a bellow, but sounded foolish, from raspy human throat and raw, insufficient human lungs.
She shook. The pain and effort of the change back to human form bristled her body with sweat. A line of drool ran down the inside of Corrin’s palm, Ninian’s tongue extended, scribbling mindlessly over flesh. Her wings twitched and shivered behind her, shrinking to proportion, but not gone, her tail thwacked in ponderous strikes against the dirt. Her heat trapped her in this hybrid form. It would not dissipate until…
Until she did what she begged of Corrin…
It was her curse, the curse of a half-dragon.
Sometimes, Corrin thought of it as her blessing.
The remaining scales of Ninian’s face drew patterns down her cheeks. Where her tears would run, glittered in the moonlight, a sapphire-inlaid path framing her ruby eyes. Staring up at Corrin with eyes unblinking, fiery portals to her flickering soul, she coughed, raising dirt stained hands to her neck as if she were choking. Human in body, but not yet in speech. A flare of her nostrils, feeble this time. Insufficient human lungs, for the fire bellowing inside her soul. Clawed hands groped at Corrin’s clothing, shredding the sleeves of her nightdress mindlessly, but leaving her skin untouched.
She was not a monster.
Corrin knew well the feeling. It was terrible, that sensation of being trapped between forms, of having such tremendous power but lacking the frame, the breath, the will to give that power life. The need to spend herself, in love or in hate, until her horns receded and her claws shrank once more and her eyes lost their vicious glow.
No matter what any might say, Ninian was not a monster. She was Corrin’s love, and the heat of that love is all she felt as claws rent her nightdress, as Ninian called out her desire and pain to the night sky.
She was there, pressing her forehead to Ninian’s once more—Ninian was not yet fit for words, but that was Corrin’s purpose, was it not?
To soothe her lover and mate, to take her body to her own and make Ninian hers once more.
Their lips met. Ninian kissed with whimpering hunger. The sloppy thrust of frantic tongue, the pinch of fangs, as if to devour her, pull her into her, one and all.
She was so hungry. She was starving, for her.
Corrin’s eyes shone with sympathetic tears—those fangs could tear her, but they would not. Ninian was tremendously warm, as though her draconic core exuded its heat through her skin, her breath steaming in the night air rather than icy. Corrin’s feet were bare, like her lover’s, but pristine—somehow, always so—against the cold, damp earth. She shrugged away her tattered gown. It fell like gossamer to the earth and left her shimmering, beautiful for her love. Her arms embraced her dragon—one hand wandered down, to stroke at the source of her pain, reassure her that she was there to soothe it and that she was Ninian’s, to use as she desired.
Ninian surged to life in Corrin’s hand, to a size frankly massive. Even with the ritual preparation in Corrin’s chambers before, it scared her, sending a ripple through her nethers and a sympathetic tingle through the head of her much smaller cock. Did it even deserve the term? When placed frankly against Ninian’s splendor?
With whispered balms and soft touch, Corrin coaxed Ninian to her purpose. It was not unlike a gentle dance, a rare time where Corrin led and Ninian followed—preparing, reassuring; piercing with soulful eyes the haze of Ninian’s confusion. Permitting her. Guiding her.
The scramble of claws against Corrin’s bare back, as Ninian overstepped Corrin’s subtle offer, reining her into a possessive embrace. Her skin pulsed. Its softness beaded with sweat, as if they stood in the heat of a summer’s day, and not a cool glade on the tail end of winter. Her cock sandwiched between their bodies. She thrusted into that small pocket of space between their stomachs, smearing their stomachs with sticky fluid, even up to the undersides of Corrin’s small, sensitive breasts.
Corrin’s fingers echoed the scrabble of Ninian’s claws, and pulled her close with warm sureness. Ninian was so full of panic, her heartbeat like a drum against Corrin’s chest; so full of desire, the beast barely contained. She knew it so well—and her role was to be sure, to rinse her lover of doubt and despair. To sate this desire, and all others.
She loved Ninian. She would not have it any other way.
Scaled hands reached, claws drawing down Corrin’s cheeks. Likewise, Corrin’s hands caressed Ninian’s back, her neck, providing comfort, promising safety. Swiftly reaching down, Ninian’s hands begged for Corrin’s, and drew them upwards. Corrin’s fingers slipped between Ninian’s lips—this too, was ritual. She would give herself over, place herself within Ninian’s trust and between her fangs. Ninian nibbling, nursing with sharp fangs, eager, trembling, for her touch, her body, her love of her.
Meeting Ninian’s ravenous gaze with her own, concentrated, yet no less ardent for it, Corrin explored the contours of Ninian’s fangs with her fingertips. It was reassuring, grounding, this dance along Ninian’s sharpness. Ninian nibbled gently, harmlessly. Yet Corrin knew all her preparation would be next-to-nothing, when Ninian became ready to take that which she desired. Yet, Corrin was prepared for love’s bliss as much as love’s pain. She was yet herself, and she trusted Ninian with her blood and life and body.
It was a way of saying: I am ready.
Ninian pushed an eternal moan through lips unable to speak.
Her tail snaked around Corrin’s leg, an embrace and a shackle both. Corrin’s cock found its place between Ninian’s soft thighs. She kissed silent her lover’s moan, meeting her as an equal. She pressed to her, Ninian’s cock cradled to her stomach, and she twitched against Ninian’s semi-scaled thigh, hard and urgent, leaving a glistening smear. A moment’s contemplation… the desire to let Ninian fuck her small, sweet breasts, cover her face with her cum—but that was not the way Ninian’s appetite ran, that night. Plenty of time for that later.
That night, Ninian was holy. She was precious.
She was a dragon. She was her dragon.
With a gentle shake of her leg, Corrin dissuaded the clutch of Ninian’s tail. Obediently, Ninian released her. Ducking her head, she watched with glassy eyes and full-lipped pant as Corrin stepped away, turned to show off the curve of her rear, the line of her slender back, the strength in her thighs. She glistened with lubricant, the oil her maids methodically caressed into her skin, along her cleft, pressed inside her with nimble fingers after cleaning her. Her skin was a bright pink—a blush of passion and exposure and desire.
She turned her head to meet Ninian’s sparking eyes, and smiled, and nodded, leaning forward ever so slightly in invitation.
For so long, she had waited for this.
Whatever restraint Ninian had left, this offer was too much for her.
She was a blur of motion, when the beast took hold. The impact—the contrast of Ninian’s soft breasts, and the hard muscles of her abdomen—lurched Corrin forward half a step. Though Corrin possessed her own reservoirs of inner strength, it was nothing compared to a half-dragon in her phase. Her legs shivered, and quickly, Ninian’s weight brought her to ground.
Corrin collapsed to the soft grass with Ninian atop her, rutting wildly against her buttocks, her thighs, her legs, anything that would give even the slightest hint of traction. Corrin felt the sharp scrabble of claws over her shoulder blades as Ninian attempted, and failed, to mount her. Though Corrin had been borne to the ground, there was no pain, no bruising, Ninian’s claws around her and upon her to soften the blow. There was such careful delicacy in Ninian’s motion—an outsider might see only a beast in heat, attempting to subdue its prey and slake its terrible lusts. But Corrin had felt the urges—she knew how much restraint Ninian employed, knew how she held back her true strength.
It was all a dance, and in this realm there was no greater dancer than Ninian.
Indeed, what bothered her was the wincing, insignificant pain of futile stabs—near, but not in. Corrin’s cock ached with it, those moments of furtive promise without release. Ninian grew ever more frantic with each failure, tail cleaving the air in sonic slaps behind her. It was powerful, corded muscle from root to tip, stirring up a tempest for her to beat her wings against, a small gale at the center of which they clung together, as if to ward off other predators.
Such base creatures deserve not the prey of a god.
The claws along Corrin’s shoulders and back excited her, kept her sensate. With effort, she pulled her arms up beneath her, lifted her back and her rear, her cock hanging petite and stiff between her thighs, the correct and fitting posture for the consort of a goddess. Each thrust rocked her, shook her foundations, dug her deep. Her muscles tensed, pulled, responded. Dragon for dragon. Few mortal humans could endure such an onslaught.
Corrin gritted her teeth as she adjusted, letting Ninian thrust in place, moving her hips ever so slightly. Scarcely weeks ago it was she pressing Ninian to the ground, Ninian’s long, soft hair tickling at her breasts as she…
Ninian struck home, swift and sure, plunging deep within Corrin’s well-lubed core. Corrin cried out as Ninian remade her within. A bellow broke the sky above her, and with fury is unhindered by feeble human lungs, it buried Corrin’s cry of pain and joy. She was within her, attacking Corrin’s heat even as she was trapped by it.
As the echo of Ninian’s roar faded away, the air was still, and so were they. A pause. The scent of Corrin’s sweat and her musk clouded the air around Ninian before she forced the odor away for a few seconds with heavy wingbeats. A dragon’s nose is sensitive, and even in that state, Corrin knew Ninian could scent her relief, her pain, her love, that Ninian could taste on her tongue all of Corrin’s instincts and reactions and fears. Corrin’s back was slick with sweat against her love’s heat, her entrance stretched wide and red around its rim as Ninian claimed her mate.
Corrin could feel nothing but hot breath against her ear and the fullness of Ninian hilted within her. A small gift of restraint and delicate love.
Then the feast began.
There was no gradual guidance. No slow acclimation. Ninian took Corrin’s offering to her glory. Every thrust drove Corrin’s face harder into the grass, the smell of nature priming itself to bloom filled her nose. It was dizzying, this burgeoning spring. Nearly as dizzying as—
Ninian’s claws scrawled a tapestry of red along Corrin’s vulnerable skin, slipping, seeking handholds, and finding her willing, wanton hips. Gripping tight, yanking Corrin to meet her, Ninian created her own counter thrusts. Slavering above Corrin, drool glistened off of fangs, pattered against her curving back. Her long tail resummoned its tempest, flattened the grass in lewd slaps with every strike of her hips, with every drive of her cock into Corrin’s depths, stoking the winds around them on instinct, guarding her lover from prying eyes or deceitful words. There were no words there; there was no need for them. There was Ninian’s need, for her lover. There was Corrin’s need, for her.
Corrin accepted Ninian’s glory, though each smack of scaled flesh on flesh drove tears from her eyes. She desired it, caught up in Ninian’s pheromones, chemicals that blessedly eased her pain, heightened her desire, pulled her into Ninian’s orbit.
She trembled as though Ninian might break her. She would not have accepted such strain, such flagrance, from any other. But Ninian was different. This was her love, for Ninian. She had said as much, during gentle moments where she covered her with kisses, when her fingers explored the lithe, strong muscles of her dancer’s body.
That same body, larger, more powerful, plunged, tested her promise…
And found it true.
Corrin felt the splitting growth of her own horns as they pressed outwards from her head. Her claws lengthened, and she dug into the ground, guaranteeing Ninian the firmness of her purchase. She panted with lust and need, her cock twitching between her legs with each thrust, with a desire nearly approaching Ninian’s own.
Dragon for dragon.
Ninian bored into Corrin with thrusts divine. Her hands grappled with her lover’s horns, reining her, as she was meant to be reined.
Corrin whined out. Her head spun; she was so full of Ninian, so completed by her, intoxicated by her. At this, she grew full of strange power—she was the one who could contain Ninian, who could withstand her, who could love and soothe her. Just as she protected and loved her people, she would protect and love Ninian. Corrin felt a strange chill as Ninian grasped her horns—nerves ran through them, dense and deep, and there was a tremendous comfort within, a sense of security, as she felt Ninian’s skin and scales against their surface. It steadied her, reminded her of her own strength, of the power that flowed in her own blood, of the obligation and love that she bore to Ninian and Ninian to her.
The wordless flex of Ninian’s throat grew to a singing howl that stripped bark from the nearby trees. Far away though it may be, surely half the town was awake. But they knew better than to approach.
Her massive cock spearheaded into Corrin’s body.
The tempest intensified. Corrin was the world to her, as her wings stirred the storm to a fever pitch around them, and her tail inadvertently struck the backs of Corrin’s thighs. Their passions engorged, the air chilled. Pinpricks of snow tickled down and touched on Corrin’s skin, melting and sublimating back to vapor immediately at the embrace of her heat. What snow could cool a dragon’s furnace?
Ninian fell forward atop her mate, as if in warding, protecting her from all forces but Ninian herself. And yet, how feeble she was, hugging on to Corrin for dear life, as if she were unaware the storm was of her own making. As if she were afraid it might spirit Corrin away from her. Her long, aqua hair tickled over the scrapes and bruises of Corrin’s back. Corrin’s body was a map of her passion. She carved her groove inwards, as she has on so many nights, for so many months, since Corrin found her, since Corrin saved her from her lonely fate.
She felt as if a beast; and like a beast, she ruts. How it shamed her, sometimes. How she begged Corrin to hold her, in the nights that follow ones like these. But she could not stop. Some forces are too powerful, even for dragons. Corrin was all there was. What a world, Corrin has made for her. She drank it in, that world, these needs, because they were contained in every ripple of her lover’s body against hers.
Corrin accepted Ninian as she speared, clenched and rippled around each impact, and begged for Ninian’s pleasure, begged to be the one to deliver to her such passion, begged her to be one with her as only dragons can, knowing he would hold Ninian, she would love her and stroke her hair as her senses returned to her. She would cradle her and treasure her, when it was over. She cooed softly as Ninian pressed forward upon her, protective, gentle, sensible and yet driven by her passionate throes, by the heat that possessed creatures such as they.
It was to them a reminder of their power, of the bonds they must make to survive it and to employ it.
Ninian bucked and furrowed, slammed into her, a woman possessed. In Corrin’s eyes, her ice dragon was proud. She was no beast, she was beautiful. And as she cried her joy, her love for Ninian out to the world, and she felt the tickle of her long hair against her sides, felt the welts she raised along her back and the way Ninian’s breasts weighed upon her, she rejoiced. She was so perfect for her love, there in miniature, with her glowing eyes and branching horns.
Another soft cry—and Ninian was not so far gone that she could not recognize it for what it was. A small, slow prayer to her, and to her love, a plea for her pleasure.
What are gods, if not to be worshipped?
Ninian’s tail lashed mindlessly at ground and body, hers and her love’s. With tight grasp on Corrin’s horns, she wrenched her upwards, drawing her vertical as climax loomed. Corrin called out—not from pain, or from the concentrated, pure-fire sensation of the ice dragon gripping her horns, but from the anticipation—this, she knew from nights before, was how her love released. The rasp of breath in Corrin’s ear, the scramble of fangs around her earlobe. Ninian began to speak, though her pellucid mumbles hardly justified the term. It might’ve been some timeless language, some ancestral tongue lost to both of them except in moments such as these, or just as easily the mindless mutterings of a woman driven mad by power and lust. It was ritual. Corrin was her mate. Corrin was her body as much as Ninian’s body was Corrin’s. She had to devour her. Plunge into her. Open her for sacrament. Corrin’s sharp horns dug lines into Ninian’s palms, unscaled, unprotected. She did not care. The ritual was reciprocal. It was meant to be this way.
To Be This Way….
A roar, as the will broke inside Ninian. A shockwave that screamed through Corrin’s ears, shook her brain, aligned her flesh. Perhaps this was prophylactic; it numbed her from the explosive sensation of Ninian’s copious release. She filled Corrin with her potency, seeded her soil for the promise of spring. Ninian made Corrin home to her strength, her pride, and her beauty, as her seed filled her, as her raging draconic passion spilled out, leaving Corrin dizzy and Ninian groaning. The sensation was brilliant, though foggy around the edges—Corrin wanted to feel all of it, to comprehend with steely permanence her mate’s pleasure in her body.
And then, Ninian collapsed. Her weight atop Corrin brought them both to ground, and all breath was ejected simultaneously from twin pairs of lungs.
Immediately, Ninian’s aspect softened, and she pulled Corrin to her in the soft grass, claiming her body with submissive mewls, spooning Corrin into her, clutching at her breasts in her desire to hug her close, peppering her long neck with bursts of sanguine kisses. Her tail hugged around Corrin’s knee, wrenching her legs and applying a blissful, inadvertent, and final lunge into Corrin’s depths as Ninian reoriented her, spearing her fully upon the still steel-like core of her cock, pulsing down from orgasm and spilling its overabundant seed out of her overfilled, tortured hole, and down her shaking legs.
The shock was like a slap to Corrin’s face. Abruptly, she started to breathe again—she didn’t realize she’d had it held—and her vision swam. She could feel Ninian’s heat dripping sticky down her legs—something of a waste, she thought to herself. One hand fell across Ninian’s under her breasts in a gentle clasp, the other went to her stomach—the deep, instinctual pull and purpose of the ritual fresh in her mind.
“Mmmmmmm.” She groaned in relief and satisfaction, the first truly human sound to echo in the glade since the icy dragon landed.
Ninian echoed Corrin’s groan of pleasure. Her movements slowed. Her wings folded behind her. The tempest no longer squalled. The air was still. Corrin emitted a gentle gasp at the slick slackening of Ninian inside her, retreating reluctantly from that sweet furnace. The princess felt the gentle wash of something cold on her skin, as Ninian kissed tenderly over her shoulder. Ninian touched at Corrin’s stomach and hips affectionately, safely, and gracefully, despite her claws. Her tears. Ninian snuffled thickly through her nose, as her lips touched all over bare skin.
Corrin knew her. Often, it felt like she had always known her. It was not apology. It was not sadness. It was not grief. Nothing drove her tears but, simply…
With a slick tug, her cock shrank free of Corrin’s claim around it.
Corrin clenched instinctively as Ninian pulled away, a full-body motion, her dragon-instincts compelling her to protect Ninian’s precious gift inside her.
A grit of teeth; she regained her focus.
With shaking hand, she reached behind her, touching down at the small of Ninian’s back, and urging her shivering body close. Corrin remained there for a moment until her beloved’s tears slowed, letting her recover from her exhausting fervor. Time enough for words soon. But in that moment, she let Ninian’s emotions flow free through her, her own catharsis, both physical and emotional. When her shoulder dried, she turned—albeit gingerly, her body thoroughly spent, and slipped her arms around Ninian, to draw her close.
She accepted her, accepted her wild love, thanked her for this joy.
All her life, Ninian had been so strong; here, with Corrin, she could be safe.
Safety was such a small thing. Precious, beautiful and as a snowflake, and just as easily gone.
Ninian laid Corrin gently back into the grass. She was astride Corrin for a moment, and Corrin thought she meant to mate with her again—the hungers of gods were capricious, after all.
But her red eyes softened. Her pupils dilated and changed. She looked down at Corrin unblinking, as tears streamed down the fragmented road of scales that ran along her cheeks. Soft palms framed her face. Red lips quavered, slick with drool, from a mouth unsuited for the fangs it held. Her soft, drooling cock was massive even flaccid, sitting atop her lover’s hardness.
She touched down Corrin’s body. Love with fingertips. Applied to…
Hollow of Neck
Shallow of Breasts.
Pulsing of Abdomen
Curves of Fleshy Hips
Tuft of Sweet Hair
Tensing of Corded Thighs.
Her eyes were lustrous with tears. She was sniffling. Her throat bobbed. She seemed to want to sob, but animals could not. What came out of Ninian was a small, wounded keen, at the sight of her love’s indomitable strength. From her core, Ninian shook, and her tail instinctively lashed out, finding only Corrin’s left foot behind her to stabilize herself. Not very graceful, for a dancer. Her lower lip quivered as she brought her body into order. Her tears fell. She favored Corrin with a smile whose effort was matched only by its wonder. And tears pattered atop the curves of her breasts.
Corrin reached up for her with shaking hand. She trembled, touching at Ninian’s cheek.
Enough of Ninian’s mind had returned for her to blush. With a bashful lunge, she looked away. An intake of air, sharp and with purpose. She took Corrin’s hand in hers. Claws scraped along delicate knuckles. She squeezed, then descended.
A beautiful rush of air ran over Corrin’s petite cock. Then the soft touch of hands. Tendril tickle of long fine hair over her thighs. Inhalation of cold air, as Ninian took in her smell. Her eyes framing the small rise of Corrin’s cock between them. The tip of her nose touched her hardness.
Corrin’s breasts shivered with abrupt inhalation—it never failed to shock her, the gentleness of Ninian’s tongue and the sweetness in her eyes after these rushes of claiming passion. Her hands wandered to Ninian’s hair and caressed her gently, as though to steal away her remaining blush. They slid down to her face, gathered the tears from her cheeks with a feather-light touch. She would not be denied—though her cock perked against the tip of Ninian’s nose as she descended, she nevertheless desired her beloved’s comfort.
When Ninian’s tongue made contact with her delicate, reddened bud, Corrin stuttered with uncertain breath. Ninian’s tongue stroking softly over what seeped from her. Corrin’s flavor. The musk of oils. Her beautiful scent. She was so tender, as she cleaned her love, dipping her tongue into that abused hole, spreading it softly with kisses of adoration.
Corrin’s duty was finished, hers began.
Ninian was not the only dragon with needs, after all.
What a silly position, Ninian’s nose crammed against that small sack, inhaling Corrin’s scent, trapped in it, as she drank from her lover’s font. But any other position would deny her the opportunity to soak herself in Corrin’s gaze, to feel the ripples of it over her. It made her shiver and her toes curl. How soothing she was, lost in the memory of Corrin’s gentle touch against her heated cheeks.
Corrin’s cheeks grew crimson with the swift rush of blood from her heart—though caught up in her own passion, she could not stop the jolt of emotions. She was odd; both ravenous and shy. Her desire ran so very hot, for as small a dragon as she was, and her tastes knew few bounds. Yet, as Ninian so well knew, being subjected to the things she most desired made her blush, make her cheeks and shoulders redden in embarrassment even as her body yielded to her desire.
But it felt so good, the soothe of that gentle tongue against her well-used hole, the gentle cleansing of Ninian’s own seed. Her head spun, wheeled through desire and shame and joy and complete submission to such generosity. Her legs tensed, her back arched.
In moments of weakness, Ninian had expressed fear of seeming monstrous, halfway between dragon and woman, but Corrin could see no monster beneath her—she knew her beloved, and saw her beauty, even as she gazed down into her eyes.
Corrin watched Ninian for as long as she was able. As long as she possibly could, before the gentle strokes of Ninian’s tongue brought a clench to her jaw, and a throb to her sweet cock. She gasped out, looking up at the sky, skin burning, head dizzy, enjoying this tender cleansing, for however long it might last.
Wings enfolded Corrin’s legs. She was clean, now. Ninian lifted her head, parted her lips, and took Corrin’s cock into her mouth. Her hair spread like a veil over Corrin’s stomach. Corrin whimpered. The sweeping warmth of Ninian’s mouth over her cock was a blessing in the cool night air, that tongue caressing her length, those wings ensconcing her.
Ninian did not move. Her hands simply gripped Corrin’s thighs. She did not fuck her with her mouth, she suckled tenderly, encouraging Corrin towards release at the speed that felt right. Though her tail and wings were slow, gripped around Corrin, and the tempest did not return, Corrin felt a chill first over her face, as a kinder, gentle snow whispered to the ground in the small radius around them.
The snow melted along Corrin’s cheeks, as if responding to her blush. Shyly, Ninian coddled her, squeezing her thighs, roving her hips, and gently slip under her buttocks, the slight pressure of fingertips intruding through the rush of grass beneath. Her tail strayed along Corrin’s skin, stroking her. She caged her in her protection.
The trace of sharp claws over hips and thighs, the play of her tail along calf and ankle and foot all woke Corrin’s skin, made her flare with sensitivity. The soft night breeze graced over her cheeks, the grass cushioned her, the damp loam and the aftermath of her beloved’s passion wrought the smell of command into the air. Corrin writhed with pending energy, her own claws tangled in long hair like an anchor, a lifeline in an ocean.
Ninian was ice, Corrin was water, and Corrin hardened with her touch. She trusted her beloved implicitly. The gentleness of her mouth and tongue, her deftness in sucking at that small, proud length. The danger excited her, too—but she was confident of her safety. Ninian enclosed her and protected her, and she embraced Ninian in their shared draconic heritage.
Holding her along her tongue, Ninian let Corrin feel the pulse and squeeze of her cheeks. Corrin was carefully kept between her fangs, just the slightest promise of them along her throbbing length—a threat to the world that both of them shared, and thus both intimately understood their import.
With that touch, Corrin’s eyes flared, and her diaphragm pulled. Her roar was more like a pathetic squeal, so very human in its scope—but such was the ebb and flow of being such as she. Corrin yielded to the pleasure, let the ecstasy tide across her, sweeping away her doubts, and gave her body over once more. Unceremonious, she spent herself in pleasure across her love’s tongue.
Ninian accepted Corrin into her—though not without effort or surprise. It was strange, how quickly tides change, or even freeze and thaw, with the proper application. She held Corrin close with tail and wing, grateful for the disguise of her hair from loving eyes as even that small, precious, feminine load caused her to cough and softly gag. Trembling, she tried to swallow, and her wings flared. It spilled past her lips in small beads, and she thrusted downward along her love’s spasming cock to collect them.
She would not fail her.
She would never.
The stroke of her wings lifted air currents passed along Corrin’s face. Ninian held her in her mouth, very still, for as long as she could, until Corrin softened and escaped Ninian’s quivering lips.
Corrin heard the weak, muffled sniffle of her nose, as love for her overflowed and spilled past so many barriers erected.
She was shaking, as she scaled Corrin’s body like a summit. Claws became fingers, thankfully, as they pressed with all her weight into Corrin’s stomach. Her wings were smaller, more’s the pity, for the job they had to do.
Small, mayhap, but still quite sufficient, when she turned Corrin onto her side, pulled her into the hollow of that tree, and spooned her against her breasts once more. They pillowed her raw back, her aching muscles. Corrin’s warmth met Ninian’s cheek. And even Ninian’s softened cock slips again between Corrin’s buttocks.
The place where it belonged, after all.
Her wings folded around them, shielding them from the snowfall. She couldn’t unsummon it, not in such a state.
Sometimes, it felt like it took all her will just to stay alive.
Thus, she must use it carefully.
Ninian rendered her human aspect into sharp relief—one part of it, anyway. The most necessary, in that moment. Her stomach shuddered with the concentrated effort of each breath. Her lips met her love’s ear. The princess felt the wet tears roll off Ninian’s nose and down her nape. Summoning a will to end all will, to boldly face even Lady Naga herself, Ninian opened her lips and…
Whew!! That was a long one! ^^; And we hope within everyone’s parameters. Thanks Serami so much for another commission, and thank YOU so much for reading to it all the way to the end even though it was like almost 7000 words, jeez! @.@;;;
As always, we appreciate comments more than DAMN WHY I AM SO INTO GIRLS WITH TAILS DID I GROW UP TO BE A FURRY WITHOUT REALIZING it, I am available for commissions currently via my Patreon, and you can find us on twitter (zoh), (rose), tumblr (zoh), (rose), curious cat (just zoh, for now!). All sorts of places! ❤