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Old Kaineng. Leaving the ravenous undead within its ruins unchecked would not bode well for the adjacent city, so the Ministry of Security maintained a surveillance routine of the area. Necromancers, for many reasons, were favored in solo dispatches.
Today’s job was surveillance. MinSec couldn’t spare many for the routine this time, so policy dictated the solo circuit as the route for Old Kaineng. Suicidal on paper, but since statistics found it less so for necromancers, Han found himself standing just outside the Nahpui Lab. It was quiet, only the low hum of the plant behind.
“So they’ve got you on patrol duty today?” He turned to one of the watchmen, a fellow officer stationed at the door. She looked bored.
“Yeah. Had any trouble so far?” He already knew the answer, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Just to be sure.
“Heh, with these things?” She tapped one of the jade turrets nearby. “No. The only trouble for me is what I’m eating after I get off this shift.”
“Mm.” She had a point. The vacation package he’d be rewarded with was pretty good, too. Best not to waste time.
He gazed into the ruins. No shambling creatures in eyeshot. With a slow exhale, he reached towards his own hum of magic, and sensed the world anew. The festering magic in this area was distinct, even at the outskirts, but the present levels gave no cause for concern. This was as good a start as he’d ever get. One sharp nod to the watch—one of the few things this standard-issue hat was good for—and Han set off.
That package was as much a boon as it was a warning. A clear platform could be crawling in moments, and these undead could have more of a mind than they cared to inform the public. Nothing but two undead birds before the bridge seemed like a bad omen, and if that was true, crossing it meant gambling with more death than he cared to.
He looked around at the ruins. Some of them still sported ledges above him. A particularly thick ledge on a nearby pillar would offer a good view of the central area, while also avoiding the bridge. Unfortunately, the ledge was comfortably beyond the range of his wurm, so he’d have to climb part of the way.
The view was certainly worth the hassle. A clear bead on most of the walkable paths would make this trip much easier, and if the situation called, he had options to glide to safety. To survey more of the ruins below, Han rounded the corner onto a more narrowed ledge—to stare down an oversized pistol.
“Don’t move.”
A hulking form, large enough to block the ledge. A cat, but…larger? On two legs? Horns jutted from it’s patchwork headgear. Patchwork. The entire outfit on this thing looked like a mishmash of scavenged goods. Aetherblade. They’d been swamped with reports of their mayhem after crashing in the Province. They’d already infiltrated this far?
The pillar he’d just rounded had a protruding piece of wall he'd had to step around to get onto this ledge proper. He eyed his reflection in those massive goggles. Dodging backwards from here would just barely miss the outcrop, but that also meant easy cover to hide behind. The only problem was the gun in his face, and that order.
The pirate snorted, a grin flashing across their toothy maw. “What’s wrong? Charr shot your tongue?”
A topical joke. Charr must be what they called themselves. From the gadgets and machinery on the uniform, this one probably wasn’t very magically inclined. Good. He thought of the ruins, and of the undead within. Recent victims, black ichor trailing from their wounds. The ambient magic in this area, ever dark. Of crypts long-drowned, and the coldness of corpses. His magic fed upon it, growing into a cascade that attacked the senses and sapped heat.
With a sharp, ethereal gasp, the well spawned beneath them. Han instantly ducked, a shot firing over his head a moment later. The aetherblade snarled, moving to step back and reposition their pistol. Probably a guess for his torso, but their moves were sluggish, and would continue being so within the well. He glanced at the corner behind—just in time to see another shot ricochet off the stone behind. Better odds of neutralizing up close. He cocked his pistol, refocusing on his adversary.
Cold blasted him. Shocked, Han looked up in time to see another icy grenade fall from their paw. He’d only been prioritizing the pistol. The charr apparently had similar tricks, but it didn't matter. He was well within their arm length. A tail whipped in the corner of his eye. Still his advantage. His chilled arm fought to rise. A dart was already loaded. Just aim and fire.
The tail knocked his arm wide, sending the dart flying past her hip. Frosted arms wouldn’t allow the time to reload. Worse, they'd made contact. Touch was the sense this well attacked least. Inconsequential if they'd already been trading blows, or if they weren't on a narrow ledge leagues above the ground. Instead, it was damning proof of his location. He reached for his pouch, as the well petered out. A low uppercut swung towards his chest, fast for an arm that should still be slowed. Necrotic magic barely formed a barrier over his chest before impact.
Pain exploded outwards. Han was winded. The outcrop tumbled past. He needed to stop the momentum. His magic surged into an elixir bottle. The contents resonated, pulsing a wave that halted his roll and muted the chill. The charr chugged from a flask as he climbed to a knee, apparently recovering from his well. The other paw palmed more grenades.
“Crafty one, ain’t ya! Scrappin like a real mouse!” Raucous laughter split their maw. Han feigned a falter, loading another dart.
With how easily they handled explosives, this pirate was likely a grenadier. Range was a disadvantage. Fortunately, that strike gave enough for another trick. He tuned his hum, stoking it around the pain in his chest. When the vibrations threatened to burst from his skin, he allowed his life force to pour in.
Thick miasma erupted from his pores, with sickly green symbols circling his feet. A barrage of grenades flew to greet him.
Banding miasma to his legs, Han leapt through them, aiming to land on the aetherblade. They dodged the impact in a massive bound underneath, claws skidding towards where he’d knelt. They'd dropped mines along the way. He wouldn't take the back foot again. Pooling the miasma under his soles, he launched after the sliding grenadier, powering through the pain of each blast. His aura surged.
The mouse connected hard enough to rock her massive frame. Knocked her paws out of the stone. Apparently, trying to stay on this level made her a sitting duck against an enemy crazy enough to charge her through a small minefield. That new form was a threat. She hadn’t fully stopped herself. A creeping pain wormed its way into her mind. Whatever this cloud was, it couldn’t be avoided so close. Felt like claws tearing at her insides.
Cold magic passed through her chest. The claws increased. How near was the edge? Her toe claws were still rooted in the stone, but she wasn’t upright. The momentum had changed. She needed to move. Something shattered on her chestplate, leaving a smell so noxious her brain froze. The tearing increased. Her legs grew heavy. Her horns caught stone.
The mouse trudged into view, pistol aimed at her head. Its lips moved. That annoying pitch she’d have to strain to hear.
“You’re under arrest.”
Swallowing ire, she flicked her eyes to study them proper. Hunched stance, labored breathing. At least heavily bruised. Their shoulders suddenly caught. A wince. The arm holding the pistol faltered. In one move, she swept their feet with a paw and rolled atop to straddle them. This human was a troublemaker. She had a good way of handling those.
Han didn’t have time to curse his luck. The charr’s grin had turned manic. Grenades fell on either side of him, likely the remainder of supplies in their pouch. They chugged from another bottle, primed grenade in a slowly opening paw. The grenade falls. All his remaining magic pours into a desperate necrotic coating, the thickest he could manage.
The small blast shakes the platform, accompanied by the sounds of tumbling rock and dust.
She coughs. He's survived. Probably couldn’t move, though. Her gear’s tattered, but it was the cost of using ol’ reliable. Far be it for her to lose to some city mouse. Replacing this gear would be a task, but that was a matter for later. Savoring this victory came first.
“Nice...arrest.” She panted between breaths. Her weight easily kept him put. The surviving cloth of his uniform looked fresh. Good quality. She’d worked with worse in the mists. Without further ado, she began ripping it apart with her claws.
Han’s incredulity grew with every second he wasn’t being murdered. “What...in Dwayna's name are you—”
“Shut it.” The grenadier mumbled, lazily tapping a claw at his jugular. There was no rush. She'd won, after all. He shut his mouth, settling for a stare at her one exposed eye. Seemingly satisfied, she resumed her work.
A pungent scent hit her nose. Damn humans and their weak noses, it was half the reason she’d volunteered for lookout duty and climbed up here. The other…there’d been very little downtime since the crash. She’d have better chances of handling herself in the wilds with a scouting party than their scrap heap base across the channel. Cutting through waves of undead to find a decent spot for an outpost was taxing enough. Just her luck that a city grunt would come walking on through when she’d finally gotten away. Fight wasn't half-bad, either. For a mouse. To think they'd get up close to a charr.
Rip. In exchange for the vantage, ledges this high offered little respite from the sun. Rip. It was troublesome enough to be covered in fur and clothes. She was hot. Riiiip. Some of her gear was damaged too, unusable. Best to lose it too. To save time. Riiiiiip. It was hot. No one would see. Riiiiiip. It was hot.
Han watched the grenadier tear off a huge piece of the coat still hanging below their waist. Odd. With how the coat over her chest had been reduced to a few straps, it’d make more sense to start tearing from there. He could practically count the brown spots dotting that expanse of white fur. What was happening here? He felt the weight leave his hips, and chanced a look. Their leggings hadn’t fared much better, it seemed. The back rise hung between their legs, making the aftermath look more like a loincloth with leg sleeves than actual pants.
He was still too shell-shocked to move more than his head, but this behavior could offer a chance to escape. He trained his eyes on the charr. The opportunity would surely present itself. A sooty claw reached for the flap, nipped a small tear under the belt, and unceremoniously tore it off. His focus found an eyeful instead—a short curtain of pink, flanked by white fur on both sides. The nearest fur seemed slightly swollen. A pit opened in his gut. That was...this charr was female. Who’d just been straddling him.
He began to sweat anew. The sun's heat almost forgotten, even, in favor of trying to wrestle his mind into control. He was still helpless, skin exposed. What would a ravenous pirate do if she caught him staring? Did she expect him to see? She hadn’t gotten to his pants yet—which may have fared better than hers, based on where he felt the breeze—but truly finding out from an erection would be less than ideal. Her thighs looked powerful. He was still staring.
She’d mostly rid herself of the annoying gear. Grabbing useful strips off...the man? A light inhale through her nose. Yes. Draining strips from the male would be easier, now. Her fur was exposed to the air. Despite her aches, she'd learned to treasure moments where clothing could be more free. A light breeze blew. Free of the heat.
A new scent—deeper, fuller—hinted on the wind. Not hers. Below her—the mouse. Him. So free. She turned her head to focus on him. He was…boring holes into her. Really? Making sure to keep the rest of herself still, and staring intently at his face, she slowly widened her thighs above him and waited. She could feel his eyes there. Yes. Another hint within his scent, ever so slightly stronger. They were alone. It was hot.
He'd finally made eye contact. She’d caught him staring. Not that defiant stare of a beaten cub, but one of pure embarrassment. Too late. His face had even reddened…like meat. Her tongue lolled in a hot pant. More heat. She aimed a lecherous smile at Han. His eyes looked about ready to pop from his skull, but they followed the obvious path her paw traced. Gingerly, she placed a claw to one side of her swelling lips, stifling a shiver, rumbling aloud, and pulled herself open for his eyes.
Pink flesh. The pit in his stomach had found a bottom, and something was rushing out of it fast. He still didn’t have enough strength to get up, let alone move. His mind was fighting a rapidly losing battle against his groin, who was far too occupied with how fuckable she was to consider her species. A species that was, in FACT, NOT HU—
Her walls clenched, jetting a string of viscous fluid onto his chest. She lifted her claw, the spread lip snapping shut. A hint of pink tinged those white lips, swollen now.
Han felt himself swell, his remaining resolve broken.
The stench of his full arousal smashed into her like an artillery shell. With a tent to boot. He met her eyes again.
“Time to hunt some prey.”
The grenadier tossed the remainder of her helmet aside with a knowing squint, and a toothy grin. Her paw groped him through the clothes. Her claws snapped and held the waistband, apparently the only thing his cock had to strain against. Tugging the fabric once or twice to feel him bob, she lazily peeled away the fabric, letting the scent slowly build until her nose could freely sample him.
Han was well out of his depth, to put things lightly. Watching her hover around his shaft, feeling slight gusts of air from her sniffs and chuffs…it felt primal. He’d throb, and her snout would follow, just out of touch. Exotic. He’d never been this hard in his life. He looked into the sky, overwhelmed. She hadn’t even touched him yet. And then he felt it. Soft pawpads over the top, and…fur and bone underneath? A quick look down showed her burying her face in his crotch! One paw firmly kept his erection sliding firmly up her face, while the other wormed under his side, lifting him. Her damp nose settled on his crotch. Her gold pupils flicked to meet his gaze, holding for a moment. She inhaled.
The taboo. To accost this male, seize him like a dam would a sire. To watch him crumble to his own desires. To know that even a sworn enemy could be vulnerable to your appeal. An intoxicating flavor of control. She had to keep herself at bay. Human bodies had more than accounted for their dull noses, so she was basically smothering herself in him at this point. She sucked in another lungful, the scent burning through her nostrils. A pleasant buzz, dulling her mind, and her body. The fur around her cunt was starting to soak. Getting air would be a good idea, before she forgot he was human. Breaking this toy now would be bad. A cool line of precum trailed down her head as she slid up, resting his head at her lips. Right below her nose. Only fair to get a whiff of this, too. And a taste.
Her thumbpad lazily spread the old precum around his head while she nuzzled the underside. His face reddened with every sound he made. Sensing a new surge of pre past her thumb, she brought out her tongue, lowering to his base for a lazy lick to the top. Any that she'd missed would be caught along the way. After only just beginning to move, she heard a surprisingly clear gasp. High-pitched, from him. She blinked in realization. Humans didn’t have rough tongues? She lolled hers before his shaft, and watched. His chest froze, eyes darting from her, to her tongue. Seemed not. The smell of untasted precum filled her nostrils. He’d acclimate.
Slowly, delicately, she rested her tongue against his shaft. As the head touched, it bobbed, returning to smack against her tongue. Han felt like—knew he was being toyed with. That texture was jarring, and with every reflexive smack into her tongue, he wasn’t sure whether the sensation across most of his dick was pain or pleasure. She kept up the game, every minute his brain tying it increasingly to pleasure. When that tongue flicked his tip, his only groans of pleasure. Seemingly satisfied, she made another pass into his groin, this time adding her tongue into the mix to jostle his sagging nuts.
He couldn’t take it anymore. His head dripped more precum between her eyes. He needed more. Her breath at his base. He could only manage weak thrusts now. Mentally, Han cursed himself for doing so little, and this grenadier for trapping him so well. She continued on, as if entranced like she'd been entranced. At this point, he’d beg. He screamed at his body more. Weak thrusts began to strengthen, until he gave one hard enough to jostle her out of her daze. Her eyes refocused on him. His hips, still held aloft above her paw, and his cock, messily slathered from her perspective.
She pulled off, standing to her full height above him. Either party only stared at the other’s genitals. Below, she was—oh sweet Soo-Won—drenched, viscous strings falling to the stone even then. She walked up to his hips, then crouched. He’d die. Her lips met his head. It’d be worth it. His head just barely split her lips. A fresh line of juice crawled down his shaft. A slick furnace. She paused. He was holding his breath. Her insides flexed against his tip, and two paws pinned him to the ground. With a growl, she began an agonizingly slow descent.
The grenadier fought to contain herself again. Indulging so much in smelling him had worked her up into a frenzy, and it was taking every ounce of willpower she had not to pound her mouse into paste. His slightly cooler member crawling into her only intensified the sensations his shape within her with each cinch her body made around him. Eventually, she bottomed out, and let out a low groan that resonated in her chest. Opening an eye, she noticed his mouth open. It seemed that he’d matched her tone. She settled a bit of her weight onto his chest. Her body hadn’t quit clenching around him yet. Each time, he’d twitch, which would squirt a bit of that cooler pre into her, which made her clamp again.
clench, twitch, squirt, clench. Foggily, she wondered if it meant they could both cum without even needing to move. A problem for later.
Slowly, she raised her hips, flinching every clench until he was mostly out, then glid her hips down again. Han was stunned. How was he gliding through this tight of a vice? Her body was nothing short of pure muscle, the way her walls bullied him at every angle. Clamping and suction out. Clamping and compression in. She was modeling his dick to fit her contours. He looked up at her, burning every feature of her pleasure-daze into memory. Soon, he would be too. Her paws had shifted off him as she got more and more carried away. Now or never.
He slammed his hips to meet hers mid-downward thrust, and held. The shock of an entire cock where half was meant to be stopped her, and for the second time, her eyes refocused on him. While holding eye contact, she got into a tighter crouch. Her claws unsheathed, digging into the stone beneath. The daze devolved into a feral snarl. He’d done it now.
She began again, rising to a rapid pace that forced Han to meet her with nothing less than the full force of his hips. And worse, she added a forward grind at every clash that forced his tip around her menacing walls. At some point, he’d been gripping her leg hard enough with his other hand that the knuckles were white. He quaffed another elixir. Her thrusts were becoming more erratic, and her tongue lolled aimlessly above him, drooling. He wasn’t doing much better, barely able to process her beyond the surging sensations and sounds of their union. He was building to what could very well be the best, and final, orgasm of his life.
He’d be absolutely ruined after this. Maybe a tengu might be worth looking into. Or two.
Their hips met one last time. Her paws enveloped his sides, helping to support his airborne hips as a cinching rhythm that was absolutely final began. Han was blasting ropes from the first set, mind not even halfway to realizing she’d cum. He saw white. She wasn’t seeing.
They came to in the evening, Han finding himself laying atop the grenadier. Still inside her, too. Both were still too exhausted to move, so they continued there for a while. He planted his face into her fur, committing her mix of chemicals and powder to memory. Sometime between then and when they could move, he got another erection. Turns out they really didn't need to move to get off.
As she settled down with some tools to patchwork some new gear, and shorts for him, Han got an idea while sitting beside her. “I can’t hold MinSec off your setup here indefinitely, but if I tell them the coast is clear when I return, you won’t get any disturbances for this operation of yours.”
She raised a brow suspiciously. “And to what do I owe this sudden charity?”
Despite his pelvis, Han cracked a smile. “I’ve got a vacation coming soon. Hate to waste it.”
One massive paw dragged him into her side. Her tongue licked his neck. “Deal.”