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Who: Soren and Eren. Seren. a serenade.
When: See date listed on threads.
Where: Training grounds; various.
What: A semi-permanent log for breath training and other interactions between these two.
Warnings: This log is on fire. (literally, since dragons. will update warnings as they arise. some nsfw?! oops!)

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[ as it turns out, there are no gonads to grab, nowhere outside of the smaller reptile's body, at any rate. what he may discover instead upon a downstroke is the very base of soren's glistening rose-red cock is a slim opening that could give way if pushed, slick like the dick that emerged from there is. he's very much not human here anymore, his nether regions more of a cloacal configuration.

but the dragon falls in love with the rhythm of his hand even when it's too much and the intimate tactile reminder of eren's well-sculpted physique against him there, something he'd never known how much he could be attracted to before these moments. it flushes the air from his lungs, makes his flexible cock pulse and squirm elatedly in his grip, sends his arms over his waist to scale in desperate grabby hooks up his back like he might fall off the ride if he can't hold on. his tail wrestles his down indignantly, squeezes the length he has seized and applies yet more pressure to the sweet spot of eren's he's unaware he has claimed. what he is aware of is how the panting breaths hot on his ear hitch, of the resounding whispers that assure him his desperation for soren is climbing just as much as his for eren. pressure builds. all he wants to do is burst, be released from this. a guttural, squeaky half-human moan leaves his throat as his partner pierces his soft pointed ear with his teeth, sharp pain whetting the unforgivable pleasure to an incredible dimension. ]

Ah, [ he sucks in a gasp, ] c-curse you, you...!

[ he can barely think like this. and for once? it's wonderful. ]

Doesn’t— [ ah— ah, fuck, ] look like it, [ eren might as well be the devil. had it been the changes of the moon or had soren always been this way—? questions that would arise if time felt plentiful are crammed out of the way; what he was doing, or what he continued to do has soren in a recognizable quiver, one that eren chooses to look upon, eye contact to eye contact (intimate, that was, but eren hardly averted his gaze when his focus was prominent). as the first wave subsided into an anticipating seethe (it would come again, he knew it would come again when he angles his tail in a prepared slant against a twist to grind them perhaps more than just his dribbling cock). ] What’s— [ a breath. he’s losing it. ] What’s better?

[ what feels better, he means, having a dominant hand in the situation but not so completely selfish in having the pleasure exclusively to himself. all partners, when it came to eren, had to have one thing in common— and that was mutual enjoyment. they can have it their way, too, and tentatively, nose close to nose to have a better glimpse at the way his expression contorts, eren takes the shaft in his hand from its base, adding a bend to his wrist when stroking upwards to cause a slim twisting effect as fingers swiftly pressed together once he reached what he’d consider the head.

there’s that, and there’s the other way— one that required eren to angle his arousal to soren’s enough for a close proximity of length to length— and soothe them both at once. either way it went was another choke and heavy dip into rapture. no other thoughts disturbed him but this, the pressure in his groin, his tail, and the bountiful swelter he shared with one more dragon. ]

[ green eyes plunging into red shine a spotlight on the humanity consumed by his eclipse into monsterhood, his full-mind surrender to a full-body liberation. eren's voice, or rather the words that are carried on it, draw him a little closer to the surface where a sliver of surprise can dawn on him, clarified out of the confusion that first struck: what's better? better than what? why ask, why look at him with their noses nestled like this as he does so? like they're two people making love and not a pair of reptiles struggling in the ashen dirt and smoldering wilde to mate? this abrupt tilt of reality twists him up inside and he wants to withdraw any trace of his personhood, draw the gates over this psychological intrusion and retreat, though he doesn't know where he'd go.

he feels his vulnerability then, a hot chill razing his spine. at a loss when his unexpected first partner indicates that he's interested in reaching his pleasure, too, when all along he thought he'd been ravishing him to his own ends. he'd been fine with that; he had been getting something out of what eren got from him, good at understanding the simple scale of give and take. soren's heart rebels within his ribcage, his tail laced with the other dragon's squeezing enthusiastically, greedy for the reminder that they're just animals right now and ohh, he feels good right there, right there, right there! ]

There—! [ it comes out like a hiccup, and he doesn't know exactly where when he blurts there but every stroke of them sends him higher, higher until he's afraid he might never come down and he throws his arms around his neck, digs and presses his eyes shut and his forehead to eren's, angles his hips like a beggar lifts his hands for his needs. it's hypnotic, nerve-searing... he growls. ] Mm, there, there... I don't, can't think, what's better than this... just keep doing it.

[ he nips his ear to drive his insistence... and as payback. ]

[ he knows what to do, then. it had been a question doubled in answer when hip meets hand and eren’s shoulders hoist the weight ringing across the basis of his neck. all broad and cleanly carven as the rest of him. his dorsal spines erect and flatten with each pulse, the scales plating finely pointed ears shine bright red and flick flick flick at the lobe being pulled and bitten. a sharp growl to continue becomes an open-jawed purr, extended and drumming as his tongue dances over the contour soren’s jaw makes up to the edge of his own earlobe, wet and marked, to the round of his chin and how exposed his neck was, his belly . . . ]

Alright, [ he’d want to leave the signs that he was there and explored everything first. as soren scented of deprived reptile, as much as he— it tasted fresh. it tasted new and awoken. eren’s free hand presses down against the other’s pectoral and allows his thumb and talon to dig at the small cleave the middle of his chest would make, down to his abdomen. his head begins to dip, raising his horns, but descending his forked tongue— deliberately slow to catch the glance up. eren hadn’t been still; he was heaving, the muscle lining his ribs explanded and contracted as if in flight, and his eyes, while an emerald flame, was misty and crass. he didn’t care what was exposed of himself, here: it’s alright, for soren to see. there wasn’t much beyond a turbulent mess that had more worries to hang over. ] don’t hold back.

[ another smaller surge from his tail traps eren into third flight of ascending steps, inciting the methodical strokes to the other dragon’s sex to escalate, climbing in speed as the older dragon’s thighs contract, and roll, with all the soaked friction he could receive out of frotting onto the cock he pleasures. ]

[ ragged moans swell in eren's ear through bared teeth and breathlessness before he leaves for lower territory, a throaty reverberation laced with his otherwise smooth voice and rocked by exhilaration. he watches him descend down the subtle contours of his hard chest, a chest which has expanded with lunar force, covered by sandy scales that give him an almost out-of-body experience to behold as this unfolds, like his partner is pleasuring someone else and he's trapped inside of a misshapen travesty of dragon tribe royalty. it's good that the shock of blue, the sensation of creeping tongue and the intrigue of its shape different from his distracts him; he squirms as it embarks upon softer, human flesh at the abdomen. his muscles tighten in response, breaths flutter as he tries to keep what laughter leaks through moans at bay. ]

Ah, ahahah, ah...

[ he doesn't have it in him to be too embarrassed, and by the end of it that stint of self-restraint vanished like smoke, especially when eren escalates the motions that press his hardness to his and wrap them in a friction that pitches his moans to a more frantic and exultant octave. his body doesn't know how to handle itself against another's touch like this, a work of tension and spasms as a wrist flings to his mouth, crimson fin blocking the way he cranes his head back like a draping sleeve, and the other hand seizes eren's horn for want of something to hold onto. he spreads his legs and cants his hips forth and the flexible swell of his monstrous cock reveals its love of eren's by curling its spade-shaped head loosely around his like it has a life of its own, tightly and helplessly rutting against his hard length and the generous hand, a weaker, a much less vigorous imitation of how their tails squeeze and knot.

he's positive he's never known anything like this, never entered a state of such ruinous rapture before. from this height, how could he want to fall back down to the cold and dismal march of his life here? his vision keeps flashing and colliding with stars. he can tell he's not long for the end.

he finds himself increasingly at odds: he wants to end this as much as he never wants this to end. and in his confusion, in his desperation, as though in godless worship he reinforces his grip around that curved icy gem of a horn and snarls the name of the devil undoing him for lack of any other thought. ]

E-Eren!

[ between that threshold of wanting to finish and wanting to continue would have to be a constant, even cruel cycle amidst two flaring ruts— eren has begun to slip into a point of desperation to reach his highest point, a climb that had exposed to him the wonderful peak in sights and within reach but simply not enough for the attrition he loaded.

then something slicks a hug around his cock’s head, just above the first bumpy ridge down his length and seizes eren’s frame into a surprised arch, a barked gasp and a thickening snarl that tapers into a draconic shrill. the strokes he gives in turn are vigorous, a twin action to the fleeting cry of his name: don’t stop was every and all indication, encouragement that evaporated off sweet precum and desirous pheromone. eren’s hips rock into the tender hold he gains just as his hand does to keep a now frantic rhythm around such an exotic arousal.

he’s so close that he goes blind with heat spell, smell, taste and revelry for sex. now that he’s found a spot for both of them, the untamed, barbaric race for ecstasy sleets their mating ground with one end. he’s so close that the hotness, the pressure, it’s all begging to burst. ]

Go on—

[ soren's frantic. he needs more, whatever this 'more' is and his body registers it as more fuel to feed the epicenter of where the pleasure between them contracts and spreads. that grip on eren's horn tightens furiously, his other hand making a greedy, thoughtless grab for his haunch, appealingly firm and flexing as it crashes into him over and over again, and pushes their hips closer together, for their carnal chemistry cannot be stoked enough.

his body feels like a hot and electric prison that squeezes his spirit, presses it into a claustrophobic corner against someone else where he has no choice but to succumb to the white flames of mutual passion. whether it's a form of suffering or a form of bliss is a blurred issue. he never wanted to be touched, but oh, how he needs it now, the only way to reclaim the personal distance he has always sought with strangers to bring him in close. in the end, it doesn't matter: his spirit makes a break to slip right through and escape the multitude of sensations that beset him. the air itself resonates with the unearthly cry he unleashes as he rides his climax.

if he had any whites left in his eyes, they would be rolling. he throws his head and stakes the mussed dirt with his horns. his muscles contract: tail; abdomen; thighs; cock: which creams all over eren's and, with the pump and slide of his hand and their sexes, coats their joining in his messy release, but not without splattering torsos and shredded clothes. for now, he knows no shame. he continues to warble his raspy chorus of ecstasy as the peals of orgasm ripple through him. and very soon after he spends this, he will fall limp and dazed as the fever comes down and what happened all sets in. ]

[ it all did happen and the aftermath doesn’t stray from what eren is used to feeling. a year’s worth of living with a rise in his libido and acceptance of pairing to gratify it leaves him rising to his knees with essential, appeased vitality. his head hangs low from the slipping grasp falling from his horns to shaken, uplifted earth that started out as a battlefield. legs, ass, balls and pelvis, they all contract their last once the lesser trembles replace the larger ones already a thing of their burning memories.

it feels like it takes forever to get there, and then it’s just gone too fast. eren need not to heave, but his nostrils do flair to keep the pacing of his breathing in proper speed with his heart. the cheek of his thigh burns from the grasp that had wanted everything from him, a pleasant and sweet sort of strike the dragon finds himself enjoying when his gaze casts sideways to see it. the clothes that were left, the grass and soot, it all blended with the distinct scent of cum and essence of recent sex.

finally, eren shuffles his hands away to squeeze what was left of him, in a shiver and final dribble between his fingers to finish the stroke curving up (and now beginning to soften). gaze, eventually, reaches soren in the undeniable chaos he’s left him in. was he dazed, in shock? did he give himself enough to process it all and was he well? the other dragon receives a bump from the wyvern’s talons, the curving harmless part bumping the flesh of his arm as if to cautiously check on him, and. . . ]

. . . Let’s clean you up.

[ soft, still deep, naturally gruff but aware and considerate. ]

Edited 2020-06-20 18:20 (UTC)

[ clarity filters back into the turbidity of what his mind had been these messy minutes. that really happened, hadn't it? escalated from the moment eren shot his legs into pumping only to come back down in the aftermath of bestial coupling... or what could be dismissed as just that if it didn't leave him with complications across his heart for the way eren regards him now with a tenderness that wasn't there before.

it's embarrassing to be seen in such vulnerable disarray after an unexpected bout of intimacy, a battle of dominance he'd lost control of, his muscles trembling, shredded clothes pooled around him, evidence of their smelly release streaked across his soiled and sooty body. his tangled bangs curtain his face as he hangs his head, unable to find words for this.

he doesn't have to. easier than that is to agree that he'd like to wash himself of this. he bobs his head like a boat rocked by a wave and shakily starts lifting himself from his elbows.]

...We... got sidetracked. [ ah, his clothes... they're not worth salvaging. he pinches a scrap between his nails and flicks it away, then starts peeling away what's left clinging to him. ] But I can't really say I didn't get practice in, either. Um...

[ thank you? sorry? he's not good at this... he's not even sure what in the world he's feeling right now. ]

[ with hands back to himself, the expression on eren’s face when he sits back onto his flank and positions his tail away to allow his arm wings to steadily prop him up into observation is clear: ❓

not about getting distracted, or the practice— eren’s chest still rises and falls with a blueberry sheen across glistening sweat and scales. a slither of his tongue pushes through the space between his teeth, and he asks, directly: ]

There’s a river nearby.

[ that’s what he’s trying to say, right? ]

[ well... whatever else he'd tried to say is gone and lost, and not really important besides. eren doesn't need to understand anything about the pulse of his emotions. verbally, anyway — he betrays his uncertainty to him via at least three other senses. the smaller dragon rises with a stumble to his protesting legs, which feel like hardened jelly. ]

...I know.

[ it's not in a snappy way that he says that, just the way anyone would point out a true statement. he keeps his bare scaled arms crossed and eyes to the ground, wings shelled to his body, and lets eren lead the way even though he doesn't need a guide. his thoughts linger on the chaos of the minutes before as they make their way across the crisp and smoking wilde. a renewed curiosity takes the helm, much easier to focus on than the disbelief of having succumbed to such a powerful urge. ]

What was that equipment you had on earlier? The tight armor; the grappling hooks and the cables; the projectile weapon...

[ there's a change in air that eren can perceive beyond whatever topic he's missed, but perhaps not the entire depth of it. stupid, he wasn't, he senses the dip and has an idea of what it was about, but too much involvement was well beyond his emotional capacity and this dance— it lasts for as long as it lasts, partners come and go. he tries, at least, to treat them all more than just a simple distraction, as they all should be (their own person), but. his way, and it may not come off like that to most.

eren had an abnormal way of thinking anyway, and while he'd probably bring it back up himself— it feels as casual as always. there was no rush to talk about it. ]

Gear from home, [ now compact into the amulet-like object he'd carried earlier on him. ] I had it modified into armor, here. There's a charm against the Cwyld in its metal.

[ in only a handful more of steps they should be near the bay's edge. there, eren kneels to cup his hands in for a simple amount, enough that the tattoos spiraling up his arm wings react with burning orange light to wherever seems best to preen himself. wetness protection. ]

Expensive, but something you can think about. [ he taps at his own scales. ] Especially if you're not above selling any scales that fall off.

[ even as the water hikes further up soren's body with each step, he keeps his attention pinned on the process by which the fire dragon makes a magical compromise between getting wet and getting clean. blazing orange scrawls up his arms. every challenge in his life, every shortcoming he circumvents around, he always seems to meet in the same way. ]

I see... You really are as adaptable as you say.

[ said like a simple remark, a reference to their first conversation about arms and wings, now applied further to encompass enchantments, armor, and gear. it's one of the best qualities anyone can have if they want to keep living. his gaze drifts away along the rippling surface, down to his own form.

he's always been adaptable himself, to adjust plans according to the ever-changing conditions of a battle, of a war, even. then there was the frequent instability of a life as a sellsword, and before then an orphaned child vying first to live, then to seek his reason to. but there's something about eren's capacity that he's sure he's been lacking. just looking at his own moon-warped body disgusts him, for example, in ways that probably never bothered eren all that much. the swollen contours of his finned arms, laced with orange markings of his own; stony plating; the extra layer of muscle supporting his ribcage; scales of three different solid hues... he runs a nail over a patchy still-healing part where water meets flesh, washing eren's dried blood into the stream along with other traces of his proximity. the idea that someone could be using these body parts he could barely accept on himself as fuel and currency, in much the same fashion as the rathmores had harvested scales and teeth and spines and blood and...

soren's focus goes glassy as he corks his thoughts right there. give them space and they'll consume.

eren has it right. reservations like that shouldn't stop him. if he really is a dragon these days, embracing his changes would serve him far better than falling back into the same patterns of scorning and resisting them. and should anyone use his scales for nefarious purposes, chances are it won't have anything to do with him, even if he can think of some spells that would.

he is in this world, and right now, nothing can change that. ten moons and no reprieve. all he has to do is survive and prepare, and having even more spending power almost always helps — as does finding more ways to defend against the agent that unmade geardagas's dragonkind.

he crouches further into the water, lets it envelop him up to his shoulders. he sounds thoughtful, if not a little more distant. ]

For Dragons like us, it's more than worth the investment.

[ sometimes eren envies those that could immerse themselves in water, and sometimes he felt the back of his mind lifting a lip in revulsion. human and dragon would always be at odds, and he’d always find the point of balance for just a while before one overcompensated for the other. ice blue eyes linger on a body that disappears beneath a surface of coolness, leaving eren to divert to what still needed quick cleansing. the folding pinna of his arms and his groin are all washed, the residue sticking to his belly and the rest of him— just a quick veer before he shakes, sprawls and rubs side-first into grass and dirt.

it’d dry himself faster, even if it could somehow defeat the purpose of being “clean” by the older human standards. eren hadn’t said a word, after that, implying agreement with a nod and grunt that could’ve all easily be missed. this is said now, laid back but abrupt: ]

You were upset about something.

[ perhaps that’s not the right word, but it’s easier to be this direct than try and search for the perfect descriptor. ]

[ soren winces with a mild flush of irritation as some minuscule droplets of the shaken water pelt him. he'd have half a mind to retort that he wasn't upset but he is now, but whatever offense crossed his features smooths over to show that the statement took him a little bit off-guard as he looks back at eren.

well, he had been, hadn't he? but why bring it up at all? he casts his head back down, flips his long hair over his shoulder and fiddles with the cord tying it back to free it using his nail. his hair has gotten so disheveled and riddled with dirt and detritus that he will need to redo it anyway, or just leave it down until the full moons pass and he returns to "normal", whatever that is these days. he huffs softly. ]

...I'm upset about a number of things. But it doesn't matter. And it has little to do with you.

[ only eren’s eyes move from where he lays, considering leaving it at that if it really was nothing to worry about. it hadn’t been his tongue that flicks to tell him, but perhaps an overwhelming sense that it was a lie to some degree. maybe it really did have little to do with him at all, but. maybe it did matter. at least it mattered to eren at the time when he had little reason to concern himself to begin with. so he lifts himself from the comfort of soil. for now, his palms finish the job, gliding off his arms stroke after stroke in what could only be described as— preening his scales. ]

You’ve never slept with anyone.

[ he doesn’t mean to sound or even be severe or, even critical. it is the thing he’s deducing is where this remotely comes from, and if it was, it did have something to do with him. in a way. he didn’t care much of what was thought of him and more what soren felt, even if it was by far difficult to fully express that like an open book. ]

[ he'd been trying to shut him out and retreat within — it doesn't matter, doesn't concern you — but eren's blunt remark cuts into him sharp, direct, and true. not at the pulse of what the matter was, the source of his frustrations and his melancholy... but it surprises him to hear him say. he lifts a part of himself back open to address it. his hands still in his hair. ]

You... could tell?

[ but then he feels silly for blurting that. such a thing was probably obvious in ways he lacked the experience to decipher. he lowers his eyes again in a demure fashion that clashes with his monstrous appearance. ]

... No, I haven't. But... that is hardly cause for the upset you have detected. That's much bigger than this. [ he shakes his head and releases his sheaf of hair, which spreads in a curtain for his face. ] The worst of it is my own embarrassment. It's nothing to concern yourself with. I'm not blaming you for my abrupt flare of... of sexual need. You satisfied it.

[ talking about it is more embarrassing than anything else. his face feels hot. ]

More than satisfied it. Are you satisfied with that response?

[ eren rolls his shoulder at the first question. honestly, if it makes soren feel any better, it was nothing of visible notice that he’d seen with his eyes or noticed in act itself. no, he was still . . . dense and inattentive in that regard. it was chemical, but even then he wouldn’t know how to explain it beyond using the worst descriptor ever: “you smelled like it”.

but maybe that’d just make things worse. ]

Why embarrassed?

[ he avoids giving the answer asked of him, already an answer itself, perhaps. or maybe he already had earlier, with the dip of his head forward as he strained his hair into a bun. eren’s expression is rather difficult to read, pulling up a knee to his chest while his other leg fell with so little humiliation involved. ]

[ soren tilts his head to soak his dark mane in water, not even once drawing his eyes up at the other dragon. if he did, his casual shift in position might only serve to inflame his flustered state further than being asked why he's embarrassed, like he's supposed to know how to explain such a personal, unspoken "fact" that unbridled and unexpected sex with someone he barely knows is innately embarrassing. he cards his fingers through his locks to untangle the twigs and the leaves from the shiny black mass and huffs. ]

... Do I really need to spell it out for you? It's only natural to be embarrassed by my first time! I've never... I lost control, and... [ he squeezes. ] I don't think I would have ever succumbed to such ravenous lust out of nowhere if it weren't for the moons, for my beastly... My being a monster. I couldn't resist your scent; I came down from the heights of our, well... erm... N-No one has ever touched me like...

[ eren knows how he touched him. what was he trying to say again? soren releases his hair and lets his arms splash the water in mild exasperation as they fall into its cool embrace. he's perched over there watching him bathe and fumble with his words and make a fool of himself. he's the loser who got dominated and pushed into the earth and can't even control his breath yet, though they've been here the same number of days. why did he go out of his way to explain any further than the first two statements? why is he letting the weight of the unmentioned greater things crush him at such an inappropriate time?

he's so... vulnerable. all at once, no armor all chinks. not even his cold demeanor can protect the softness he guards inside him, for it has cracked and melted away for a tight lip and misty eyes. by the goddess, he's spiraling down into the vaster reaches of his despair from a place barely related, all the emotions he always corks threatening to just... spill...

a droplet pats the surface of the water. it's not raining. it's not runoff from his hair, either. he feels his smallness acutely, his powerlessness to reclaim for himself the life that was stolen from him and the profound loneliness that permeates his new existence. his shoulders shrink, a clawed hand resting on top of it. he decides now might be a good time to submerge his whole head before he loses control of yet another aspect of himself, gives eren any reason to doubt that he was, in fact, telling the truth. eren did nothing to hurt him in any meaningful way. ]

[ his eyes' membrane slide, slide, and slide again in a growing blink that pieces words into something he could understand. the wyvern could pick up more in the shake of emotion in the other dragon's voice and rolling words that what they meant— eren's ear reacts to it like the sound of a pin dropping in silence. it's hard to tell, he was wet, a lot of him was— but before he could fixate his gaze harder on eyes pressing shut, soren disappears beneath a surface that harbors a sort of echoing stillness that eren could only distantly imagine.

his lips part, but he swallows a possibility of speaking in return. he hadn't hurt him directly but . . . eren still felt a tiny, growing pit in his stomach he didn't quite know how to handle; like holding a small, defenseless newborn when all you knew was blood, death, and causing it.

eren too, oddly, felt something he didn't like, just as much as he detested water and what had hardly reared its head into sex: loneliness, and it had perhaps, been that, that he's realized he's given to soren, all without quite meaning to. it's become so routine and an even successful outlet, that, emotion was virtually detached, only hanging by a single, solitary thread that could hardly do a thing on its own.

it hadn't been because it never happened to him after all. eren had always refused to look at it in such a light, is what happens, and now when he decides to turn his gaze and catch it at the corner of his eye . . . it's there. and he knows he'll never have something more than that.

the price of freedom, and all. he's still sitting where he is, regardless, and waits under the moonlit night and chirping wilde crickets to fill his head with a song less bitter. ]

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soren's a hot mess. oops. sorry, eren...

i'm so sad now