As soon as he bent over to collect the rags and keep them at a distance from his grimacing face, a familiar, slick touch graced his exposed butt cheek, sliding upward to caress the sensitive base of his tail.

Istaryl froze, the pants sliding free from his stiff fingers to pool in a heap on the drying floor. He knew what that slimy appendage was, who it belonged to, and the direction it favored. Though it wasn’t his first time experiencing this eerily intense sensation, it still petrified Istaryl, flaring his anxiety to critical levels.

He should have done something, like spinning around and deny Swiftpaw access to the core of his self-consciousness. Or, he could have slapped him across the face with his tail. Instead, Istaryl remained still, the wishes of his mind and the curiosities of his body completely desynchronized.

Not that spot, not that spot, he pleaded in his mind, even as his tail rose out of its own accord to invite Swiftpaw underneath it. Shameful as he considered that area to be, his pucker shuddered in remembrance of his earlier time with Swiftpaw, further adding to Istaryl’s spite for the weaknesses of his flesh.

Blessedly, Swiftpaw took interest in his slit, his hot breaths upon his nether lips coaxing a shudder from Istaryl. The Pinestalker didn’t contend himself with just a whiff or two; he required a taste as well, slobbering tongue assaulting the red drake’s privates with hungry slurps.

“Eh?!” Istaryl twisted his head around, eyes bulged in their sockets. Swiftpaw was downright voracious today, lapping at Istaryl’s slit with unexpected vigor. Every few tongue strokes along his crevice, Swiftpaw slithered inside Istaryl to sample the stronger musk of the red drake’s natural lubrication. Tender as his penetrations were, Istaryl’s walls still quaked and shuddered at the intrusion, the electrifying sparks of pleasure luring his member out of hiding.

Swiftpaw only managed to greet the tip of Istaryl’s cock before the red drake whirled around to kneel in front of the Pinestalker. His erection safeguarded by a thigh, Istaryl pulled Swiftpaw’s head against his chest, stroking his fluffy cheeks tenderly.

“It’s not your fault this happened, but mine. Of course you’d do anything to stave off boredom at this point, even if it lands me in a bucket of water.”

The Pinestalker rubbed the side of his face against Istaryl’s torso in agreement, a forepaw kneading at his hip comfortingly. It didn’t stay there for long, however. Striking picture of adorableness that Swiftpaw was, the creature wasn’t exactly subtle. Just because he distracted Istaryl with the softness of his cheeks and the warmth of his purr, that didn’t mean the red drake failed to notice the forepaw enclosing upon his member.

“That being said, I expect you to know better at this point,” Istaryl said as he caught the guilty paw, relocating it on the ground much to Swiftpaw’s whine of dismay. “You can’t—well, shouldn’t—wiggle your way out of trouble through the promise of sexual release. Who even taught you this? Not Elargar, to be sure.”

Swiftpaw didn’t confirm nor deny Istaryl’s suspicion. He idly licked at his chest, his half-hardened meat halfway out of his sheath. The sight of it didn’t surprise Istaryl too much. Absent physical exertion or mental stimulation, the needs of the flesh hovered at the forefront of the mind of many intelligent beings.

Besides, Istaryl had enjoyed the exotic pleasures Swiftpaw offered a great deal, and with his impending departure the following day…

Istaryl scoffed, a sly grin forming across his muzzle. “You’re a crude, bold creature, Swiftpaw, two traits that my mate shares as well. Quite the fortunate coincidence, eh?”

Without thinking too much on it, Istaryl pushed himself up, relying solely on his instinct to guide him in tending to Swiftpaw’s pressing need. Normally, he preferred to take things slower, but since Swiftpaw started off with a bold move, the red drake decided to respond with an equally decisive gesture