Monthly story - male living armour x female reader (nsfw) (Patreon)

February is here already! I've been out of the country, so things have been a bit quieter on here for you at the start of the month, but I'm back, and this time it's not a Fae Realm post! Isn't that a relief! Haha. Here's a living armour boy, with a sort of fairy tale feel to the tone of this one. Anyway, he was fun to write, and I really hope you enjoy his story!

“Stories have been told about that castle for centuries, girl,” the tinker said as you huddled up by his fire beneath the cloak he had just offered you. Your own lay in tatters half a mile back in the trees, snagged in the unrelenting grasp of a thicket of brambles.

“Do you know one?” you asked, blinking up at the old man. “Would you tell me one? Would you ask a price for that since you didn’t ask for anything in return for the cloak…?”

With a twinkle in his bright blue eyes, he grinned a gap-toothed smile at you and said, “The price for the story is paid in the listening, girl. It’s been quite some time since anyone’s stopped to listen to an old soul’s tales, let me tell you.”

You snorted, and he frowned quizzically, huge, fluffy brows rising comically. “Well, no one’s called me ‘girl’ in a while…” you explained.

“Ah, well, you’re younger than me by a very long way, young lady,” he chuckled. “You don’t mind, do you?” When you shook your head, he sniffed, took a swig of whatever unfathomably strong liquor was in his cup, and cleared his throat. “Now then, the castle. It is said that the very first stones were laid by the giants before they moved on to the frozen north. They quarried that stone from the blue mountains, and brought it here on huge sleds pulled by their great, tame mammoths. They dragged it down the valley to the promontory where the castle still stands, overlooking the barren plains.”

“But the castle’s too small for giants to live in,” you protested, eyeing the great, black edifice that sat, silent and still as a mausoleum on the windy hilltop. The trees around you whispered and hissed, the gusting winds making the flames of your modest, shared campfire gutter ominously.

The tinker laughed, a rattling wheeze of a laugh like a crumpling paper bag, and took another sip of his drink. “Indeed, lass. I see that not much gets past you, does it…?” he added with a slight sarcasm that made your eyes roll. “No. It’s said that they built it at the request of a powerful wizard. He formed a pact with them: if they built him his castle out of a rock so hard that no man nor beast could even put a dent in it, he would give them crops that would grow in snow and ice as they made their way north towards their calling. He gave them the seeds he promised, and they gave him the keys to the castle. So the wizard lived there alone once the giants moved on.”

You raised your mug to your lips and drew deeply on the rich, warm cider the tinker had given you, before setting it down and picking up the bowl of pork stew he’d been heating in a pan over the fire. It was so delicious that you almost stopped listening to his unusual tale while you ate. Your stomach growled, and you nearly choked between spoonfuls in your eagerness to fill your empty belly. Where he’d managed to rustle up the ingredients from all the way out here, you didn’t care; it was mouthwateringly good.

“The wizard found that, while no enemy of his could breech the castle walls, no friend came to visit in his long lifetime either. For whatever reason, the rock itself seemed to keep everyone out, whether he desired it or not. In time, he grew lonely, and, being a wizard, he searched his libraries for a summoning spell so ancient it existed in only the oldest of his spell books.”

A chill rolled down your spine like an errant raindrop, and you shuddered.

“So, the wizard summoned himself a spirit from the world beyond to keep him company. He bound it here with a spell so powerful that it is said that this spirit still roams the castle, though the wizard is now long dead. That’s why no one will go anywhere near it.”

“How lonely,” you breathed, turning your gaze back to the castle, silhouetted against the twilight sky.

The tinker didn’t speak for a long while, so long, in fact, that you shifted your gaze to him, only to find him staring at you with a most peculiar expression on his wizened old face.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Of all the folks I’ve told that tale to, you’re the only one who’s ever said anything like that.”

“What, that the spirit must be lonely?”

The tinker nodded. “I’ve had hunters ask me how to kill it, and what price such a contract might fetch; I’ve had mages ask me what it is and whether it can be mastered; I’ve had superstitious country folk ask me for talismans against it, but not one person has said what you did.”

You shrugged, and returned your attention to your food. The two of you talked little after that, and it wasn’t long before the hot food began to make your thoughts vague and your eyelids heavy. Before too long, you bid the tinker a goodnight, curling up in the lea of the trees and letting the exhaustion of weeks of travel on foot wash over you and carry you down into sleep.

When you woke in the morning, you cracked your eyes open, expecting to see the old man asleep amongst his packs, and his gentle donkey dozing nearby, grateful to have been relieved of the weight of all the tinker’s packs. Instead, you awoke alone.

There was no trace of the tinker.

No donkey, no bulging packs, not even a footprint in the grass. There were only the cooling embers in the fire pit beside you.

With a jolt, you sat upright, staring wildly around. Had he been merely a vision? You’d heard tales of strange goings on in these parts, but surely you couldn’t have imagined all that about the castle and the giants, the wizard, and the lonely spirit, could you?

Deciding to stand and stretch the stiffness out of your muscles, you pushed back the dew-dampened blanket and shook it out. The little droplets sparkled like diamonds in the morning light, and you sighed, inhaling the fresh, wet scents of the dawning day. The woods were quiet behind you, with only the occasional chirrup of a bird or chittering squirrel to break the silence that stretched out towards the castle and around the lands for miles.

Despite the man’s disappearance, the tinker’s story remained in your mind as you dug out some dry biscuits for the road, and crunched them, staring at the colossal, black edifice. Towers and turrets rose like city chimneys above the sheer curtain wall, and a lone barbican guarded the entrance. No lights winked in the growing light, no shapes passed behind windows, and no smoke rose from any of the roofs. And yet, your curiosity was kindling into something fierce that could not be ignored.

So it was that you found yourself pushing through the grass and weeds of the meadow, your boots darkening with dew, and approaching the empty gates.

They loomed over you like the giants who had apparently built it all, but the portcullis was raised, and the entrance was clear. No guards stopped you as you entered the silent courtyard.

No horses stamped in the stables, no maids scuttled about with armloads of laundry, no stable lads jostled and played in the mud.

Still you pushed on, heading for the main doors, the wood still as perfect and whole as the day they had been made by a master carpenter. Huge iron strap hinges curled across the wooden planks, their sinuous forms coiling like bindweed to hold the doors in place. They should have been so heavy that they would require a carthorse to pull open, and yet they swung inwards on silent hinges at the lightest of touches.

Inside the gaping entrance hall no lights glimmered, but in the shaft of daylight that flooded in from behind you, you glimpsed a perfectly clean, chequerboard floor, and cluster columns that leapt higher than the tallest trees towards a vaulted ceiling that was obscured in shadow.

Onwards you moved through the silent hallways and corridors, drawn as if by some siren’s song, until you came to a chamber that was lit by flickering firelight. Swallowing your fear, you opened the door and stepped inside.

A figure stood beside a fireplace so large that you could have parked a carriage in there quite comfortably, with room to spare on either side. Logs crackled and split in the heat of the flames, but your attention was wholly on the shape beside it.

Black as midnight, clad from head to foot in what appeared to be armour made of jet or some other black, polished stone, the figure turned slowly to face you.

“A visitor?” a harsh, deep voice asked. The sound of it was like iron on granite, and yet somehow you were not afraid.

“You’re the spirit, aren't you?” you asked meekly, knowing already that it was true.

The figure inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. “I am.” He raised his arms slightly, as if to sketch a bow, but something about your expression must have stopped him. “You are not afraid.” It was not a question, and you shook your head.

“Should I be afraid?”

In the blink of an eye, the figure shifted. One moment he was standing bathed in the red light of the fire, and the next he was in front of you, towering over you, and he had taken your face in his gauntleted hand. He tilted your chin up, as if to get a better look at you, though you could see very little of him.

His face was covered by a helm that reminded you a little of an insect’s head. The cheekpieces formed sharp, angular planes and extended right the way down to the chin, while the slits for the eyes were little more than diagonal slashes in the metal, revealing nothing at all about the spirit’s eyes behind. The rest of the armour was similar in style: black, with v-shaped, articulated plates down the chest, and spiked pauldrons, vambraces, and gorgeously articulated gauntlets which ended in curved, talon-like spikes. The tips of these spikes grazed along your jaw with the delicacy of a butterfly’s tongue, and you shivered.

“Should I be afraid?” you repeated.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, meeting question with question. His voice was not muffled or distorted by the helmet, but rather it seemed to come from everywhere around him as well.

You shrugged slightly, careful not to move too much in case those talons pricked your skin. “I was curious.”

A gentle, rumbling laugh rolled out of him and he released you, stepping back. “You speak the truth, human,” he said, turning away. His waist was slim, and every inch of him was concealed from sight by that unearthly armour.

“What are you?” you asked. “You’re not what I was expecting.”

He turned and cocked his head to one side like an inquisitive dog. “You know what I am,” he said. “You guessed correctly already.”

“A spirit?” you said, taking a step closer to him. “But, I thought you’d be…”

“Spectral?” he chuckled, leaning casually against the stone of the fireplace one more, as if drawn back to the heat. Gone was all ominous sense of threat, to be replaced by an almost jovial playfulness. “Ghostly? You thought I’d be some wailing maiden bedecked in rattling chains, wandering the halls and moaning?”

It was your turn to laugh. “Maybe? I wasn’t expecting someone in full armour, the likes of which I’ve never seen before, and I used to work in a royal palace, so I’ve seen my fair share of suits of armour.”

“Tell me about yourself,” he said, ushering you towards a chair that faced the fire. “Please, it has been centuries since I’ve had anyone at all visit me.”

“The tinker I met last night said that the castle keeps everyone away…” you ventured as you moved towards the squashy armchair. “Is that true?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately, this place carries a reputation, and my former master had such dour taste in building materials that it looks so horrendous that no one in their right mind would want to stay here.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” he said. “Well… uh…”

Your laugh filled the room above the crackle of the fire, and he shook his head. You answered his seemingly endless barrage of questions, speaking until you were hoarse and gasping for a drink.

When you coughed mid-way through a story about the current politics - as you understood them, at any rate - between this kingdom and its neighbour, he held up a hand and pushed himself off the wall where he’d been leaning, nearly motionless, for what felt like hours. There were no windows in this room, and it was impossible to tell the passage of time.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I… I am so thoughtless. You have been speaking for so long, and I have been greedily drinking in your words while offering you nothing at all.”

He vanished in a coiling wisp of black smoke that left you startled, and a moment later, he reappeared in almost the same spot, carrying a pitcher of water in one gauntleted hand, and a dusty bottle of wine and two glasses in the other. He filled your wineglass with water first, and you drained it eagerly, and only when you’d drunk two more did he fill it with wine. The heady fragrance of the liquid filled your senses for a moment, and his too it seemed. As he poured it, he moaned softly, and then laughed. “No visitors has meant no entertainment, and no wine.”

You frowned. “Couldn’t you just… you know… help yourself?”

“Oh, I could,” he said offhandedly. “But where’s the fun in that?” He chinked his glass against yours and you sipped it, savouring the taste of what had to be very good wine.

“Do you have a name?” you asked, looking at him over the rim of your glass.

He froze with his glass halfway to his helmeted head. Either your question had offended him, or he had just realised that he couldn’t drink from the glass with his helmet on, but whatever it was, he didn’t move for a long few seconds. When you gave him an expectant look and raised your eyebrows, he coughed and then laughed. “You know, it’s been so long, I really had to think then.”

“You forgot your own name?” you asked, appalled.

“I did,” he said simply. “I also forgot that in order to drink this, I will probably frighten the sanity from you.”

“What?”

“I will have to… adjust my helmet, and what lies beneath is a sight no mortal should have to withstand. My former master was so repulsed by what he saw when he summoned me that he bound me to this enchanted armour a week later.”

You looked away, and the weight of sadness settling in your chest was the same as you’d experienced the night before when the tinker had told you of this spirit in the first place. The same words found their way to your lips, and you murmured, “How lonely.”

An audible jolt ran through the spirit then, his armour clanking briefly, the plates scraping softly against one another. “Who are you?” he asked.

“No one,” you said. “Just a maid who wanted more from her life than scrubbing the floors of kings…”

“You have the heart of a queen,” he rumbled softly. “I knew that before you even heard my tale.”

“I don’t understand…”

He chuckled softly. “I was old before my master summoned and bound me. I had been floating in the endless existence of another plane when he captured me and tied my essence here. I could not have entered so fully into your world had I too not been curious, and so it was that he was able to catch me. He commanded me to teach him everything I knew, which would have taken more lifetimes than he had available to him, but I tried. When he died, I tried to leave, but he had bound me so completely to this world that this castle had become my anchor. I can cast my influence a short way outside it, but I cannot leave it.”

The kernel of an idea formed in your mind, and you nurtured it quietly as the flames crackled. “The tinker wasn’t real after all?” you finally asked.

He had no expression, but you felt the smile dawn in him before he nodded. “I conjured him when I saw you stumble out of the forest, cold and hungry. I could not come to you, but I could summon food and warmth and comfort for a short while. When you uttered those words… I think you kindled something in me again. I didn’t expect you to come here though.”

“Well, now that I am here…” you asked. “Am I free to leave when I wish?”

“I could keep you here, you know?” he said, and for the first time you felt a flicker of fear. “But I won’t. You are no bird to be kept caged here against your will. You may roost here, and rest, but you may fly on whenever you choose, human.”

“What is your name?” you asked again.

He laughed, a gentle, rumbling sound like distant thunder. “Berion. My name is Berion. At least, that is what my master called me. There are not enough syllables to express my true name here, and it’s probably best if you don’t try.”

“Alright,” you said, stifling a yawn. “Berion.”

“You are tired,” he said. “I have kept you in here all day, when you need to rest. Please, let me take you to a bedroom where you can sleep. Are you hungry? Do you want supper before you go to bed?”

“I would like something,” you admitted. “The tinker’s stew, and my meagre breakfast, were a long time ago…”

Curiosity burned in you to know what lay behind that armour, but you managed to refrain from asking as he vanished a second time and reappeared with a plate groaning with hot meat and roast vegetables.

“Here,” he said gently, setting it down at a table on the other side of the room.

When you had eaten your fill, he crossed to you and offered his hand to you to help you stand. The strange material of his gauntlet was warm, and as you stared at it a moment or two before sliding your fingers into his grip, he shifted nervously. His legs were slim, his waist narrow, as though the creature beneath did not need much room inside. He did not have the physique of an orcish warrior, or even a human fighter.

“You are curious, aren’t you?” he chuckled.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I don’t mean to be rude… I… I just think your armour is very beautiful, that’s all.” Up close, you could see that it had tiny curling lines, like vines, along the edge of each onyx plate, and his gauntlets were more like gloves of hard, black lace. You brushed your thumb over the filigree tracery and he shivered noticeably. “Can you feel that?” you asked, eyes wide.

He nodded. “Yes,” he rasped. “And it has been a long time since anyone touched me, and even longer since I experienced a touch like that.”

You smiled, and let him lead you from the room, his elbow extended towards you as though you were some courtly lady and not a rough-handed, red-knuckled maid with callused palms and fingers, and dirty, ragged clothing.

Through the castle he led you, up wide, sweeping staircases and along endless corridors, all of the same polished black stone, until he paused in a more elegantly decorated wing and opened a silent door for you. “Here,” he said.

To your surprise, the room was not black. The walls were plastered and papered a forget-me-not blue, and a huge fourposter bed stood at one side of the room, with a silk cover like sea foam. A fire sprang to life in the grate opposite, and from another doorway you caught the scent of jasmine.

“A bath is waiting in there,” he said, nodding towards it.

“Thank you,” you smiled, tears rimming your eyes.

“My pleasure,” he said, inclining his head. “I will leave you to relax.”

“Wait,” you called as he turned to go. “Wait, you… you don’t have to leave…”

He froze. “I think… I think I should go,” he said, his voice suddenly empty of all emotion. “You should rest. I will knock on your door tomorrow morning to wake you.”

And without another word, he turned left, the door swinging shut of its own accord in his wake.

That night you slept without dreams, and woke to the dawn poking its curious fingers in around the cracks in the curtains. A nightgown had been laid out on the bed when you’d emerged from the steam of the bathroom, and as you rose the next morning, it hung around your body like it had been made for you. Perhaps it had.

You crossed to the windows and lifted back the heavy drapery, finding the sun’s first rays gilding the black ramparts of the castle with a fierce, coppery glow. A knock at the door startled you a moment later, but you called, “Come in.”

The spirit in armour entered, but ground to a halt at the sight of you, bathed in morning sunlight and standing beside the window.

“Berion?” you almost giggled.

“Forgive me,” he hissed. “I… I thought…” After a deep breath, he turned away and laid a visibly trembling hand on the door. “I… came to… to bring you some breakfast.”

“Berion, you don’t have to look away.”

Without turning to look, he waved a hand at the small table near your window, and a magnificent spread of food appeared there, finer than almost anything you’d ever laid eyes on, even back at the royal palace. When you turned to thank him, he had vanished.

You explored the castle alone that day, and eventually found him late that afternoon standing in the small garden, staring up at a gnarled and twisted apple tree. It stood like a bent-backed old woman beside a fountain, bathing her sore feet in the pool at its base. He had his back to you as you approached, but turned to face you when you laid a hand on his warm arm. It was impossible to tell if the armour had been warmed by the sun or by his own magic, but you didn’t let go of him. “Berion,” you murmured. “This place is so sad…”

He turned and gazed down at you, no lights glimmering in the depths of the slits in his helmet. You raised your palm and pressed it gently against the harsh plane of his cheekpiece, and he shuddered, a breath rasping from him.

“Thank you for taking care of me. I looked for you today.”

He twitched softly, as though he wanted to hold you but didn’t dare.

So you stepped closer and looped your hands around his waist, pressing your body closer to his. Another shivering breath escaped him and he tentatively let his arms encircle your shoulders. He lowered his head and nuzzled softly against your hair. “What witchcraft have you brought here, human?” he whispered. “What have you awoken in me?”

“I could ask the same of you,” you smiled. “I was happily seeking my way in the world when you lured me here with a tinker’s false tale…”

“Nothing I told you was untrue,” he said. “I only used the face of a harmless old man.”

“I would rather see your face,” you said.

At that, he jerked back out of your grasp and vanished completely in a swirl of dark smoke, like ink in a glass of water.

“Berion?” you called, but no answer came. You ground your teeth in frustration. “Stop doing that!” you snarled at the empty courtyard, but all the answer you received was the gentle splashing of the fountain behind you and the whisper of the wind in the apple tree.

That night you ate alone in the parlour where you had first met him, but when you reached your bedroom, you found that the fire had been lit and the curtains had been drawn for you. With a sigh, you climbed into bed and lay staring up at the ceiling.

“Berion,” you murmured, recalling the touch of his strange, warm armour against your skin.

You were so lost in your thoughts of the swirling tracery on his armour and the soft grinding of his ethereal voice that you almost missed the quiet knock at the door.

“Berion?”

“You called for me,” he said from the other side of the door. “Are you alright?”

“I called for you earlier, but you ignored me then,” you snapped. “Why now?”

Silence answered you.

“Please,” you whispered to the room, the firelight casting erratic shadows up the walls. “Please, don’t leave me alone in here.”

In the darkest shadows of the room, a shape stirred, and Berion’s figure emerged, silhouetted against the firelight behind him. “What would you ask of me?” he said in a grating, harsh voice.

You sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around your hips, and you got the impression that he was staring hard at your body. You smiled, feeling a heat kindling between your legs at the thought. “Will you stay?” you asked.

“Why?”

You laughed and shuffled over. “Come here.”

He obeyed, striding over and coming to an awkward halt beside your bed. “What would you ask of me?” he repeated.

“Are you unable to act of your own will?” you asked playfully. “I am not your master…”

“No,” he growled. “You are not.”

“Then, what would you like to do?”

A snarl ripped from him, and you gasped as the helmet itself parted, revealing a wide maw full of sharp, white teeth. “Do you still want me to act as I wish now?” he growled. Black ichor hung between his teeth and dripped from a long tongue that suddenly slid out and tasted the air between you. The heat between your legs doubled and you bit your lip.

Berion froze.

“Yes,” you gasped.

He didn’t wait this time. He knelt on the bed beside you and ripped the sheets down off your body, growling and snarling quietly to himself. The plates of his armour shifted as his body became more elongated, his limbs lengthening, his spine arching, until he was something almost entirely animalistic. Gone was the impression of a human in unusual armour. Between the remaining plates, a dark, solid, glistening body moved, lithe and slender as a snake, with long, digitigrade hind legs and a lashing tail that swung freely behind like a cat’s. His body was hairless, the spikes on the gauntlets becoming genuine talons, and he used them to raise the hem of your nightdress with reverent tenderness.

His palms were leathery as he trailed them up your thighs, parting them softly. His helm split open once more, and his wide mouth full of teeth was suddenly at your sex. He let that long tongue lave over you just once in a long, teasing, tentative stripe, and you gasped and moaned. He snarled and tugged you so that you lay flat on the bed once more, and he drew your knees up to rest them beneath his arms as he devoured you.

At first he only stroked your folds and your clit with the length and then with the tip of his tongue, but as you began to respond with louder groans and mewling cries, he shifted and looked up at you. He had no visible eyes, but you could feel the force of his gaze on you.

“Please,” you panted. “Please… more… I want…”

Berion let his long tongue snake inside you, his sharp teeth scraping against you as he explored you with his mouth wide open. His body shook and trembled almost as much as yours as he savoured you and pleasured you. His breath fanned hot across your sensitive clit and your back arched so dramatically that he was forced to hold you down. He growled and the vibrations travelled right through you, sending shooting pleasure up your spine and drawing more whimpering cries from you.

“I want you,” he snarled, drawing back for a moment.

“Please,” you nodded.

And suddenly he was looming over you, cradling your head in his eerie, taloned hand. You felt something slid against your thigh, slick and hot, and you gasped, lifting your hips, opening yourself to him. His cock sought the heat of you, and as he lined himself up, he asked you one last time, “Tell me you want this.” His voice was harsh and gritty, his row of long fangs seeming to make human speech hard, but you felt like you had never wanted anything more in your whole life as you nodded and parted your legs a little more for him.

As his thick, long cock began to ease inside you, he bowed his head and latched his maw onto the junction of your neck and shoulder, clamping himself in place without breaking the skin. A deep, rumbling growl resounded inside him as he sank into you, and as you reached your hands around his strange, slender waist and pulled him deeper, he let loose a vicious snarl of pleasure and seated himself to the hilt inside you with one roll of his hips.

He lost himself to the rhythm of your bodies, driving himself into you, filling you utterly, his tail wrapping itself almost painfully tight around your leg as an anchor while his tongue left hot lines of black ichor across your torso, teeth scraping, nipping, but never drawing blood. He nudged you closer and closer to the edge with each rapid, desperate thrust of his hips, and as he began to speak some ancient, unknown language, the words buzzing in your ears, he gasped suddenly and went rigid. Heat flooded you as he spilled inside you, and the sensation of it tipped you into the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced.

The waves of pleasure that crashed through you drew out his own peak until he began to quiver and shake, finally slumping down across your torso, his maw open wide, his tongue lying dormant across your collarbones. His chest rose and fell so rapidly you thought he might pass out any moment, and his body twitched so violently in the aftershocks of his pleasure that he slithered out of you, a rush of his release pouring down your inner thighs.

You glanced down and saw that his cock was as pitch black as the rest of him, pointed and ridged, and it writhed gently like a tentacle of darkness, glistening softly in the firelight. His legs were lean and almost spindly, and they lay like a hound’s at rest across yours, tangled slightly in the sheets at the ankles, though you could still see the talons.

“Berion?” you murmured, reaching your fingers for his face and stroking the cheekpiece. Carefully, you traced your thumb along the gap between the plate of armour and the strange body beneath, and you smiled in wonder as you felt his skin. It was hard like leather, but soft shadows curled around it like candle smoke.

He closed his mouth slowly, dazedly, tongue retracting behind that wall of formidable teeth, and he swallowed. “Did I hurt you?” he croaked.

“No,” you murmured.

“I’m… I’m sorry you had to see that…” he said, trying to push himself upright. His arms shook and he collapsed back onto you, utterly drained.

“Shh,” you said. “I told you I wanted you,” you said, still stroking that strange head, enjoying the feel of him. “I still do,” you whispered.

“I… I couldn’t… couldn’t stop myself…” he said. “After you told me I could… I… I lost control…”

“It was perfect,” you grinned. “Though I will need to clean up soon.”

“When I recover my strength,” he said, “I will clean you.”

It took him a while, but eventually he was able to push himself upright. The plates of his armour began to shift once he was kneeling, and you realised he was returning to the form you had first seen him take.

“No, don’t,” you said, reaching for him. “Unless you need to… I prefer you like this. I like to see you…”

He cocked his head, but after a few steadying breaths, he allowed his form to change. His helm shifted slightly once more, elongating and revealing his maw that stretched wide, from one side of his skull to the other.

“There you are,” you smiled, and he shook his head gently, a wheezing laugh escaping him.

He lowered his head and took your thighs in his slender, clawed hands, and began to lick you clean. He paid such careful attention to you that you were soon moaning and bucking against him, and when he drew another shuddering orgasm from you, he pressed his tongue against your clit as you rode through it, only pulling back once you had slumped back into the pillows again, limp and breathing hard.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured as he sat up, licking you just once more before coming to lie down beside you. He pulled the sheets over you and curled up beside you, letting you roll onto your side and press your back against his warm, hard chest. He tucked you close and left his arm hanging across your waist as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Can I stay?” you asked, tiredness sweeping through you and slurring your words. “This is the first place I’ve ever been that feels like home. Can I stay?”

He remained quiet for a few heartbeats before sighing. “My home is yours, for as long as you like.”

With a smile, you slid into a sleep that, this time, was full of dreams of teeth and tongues and tingling pleasure. When you woke in the morning and discovered that he was still curled up beside you, you decided to bring some of those dreams to reality with a few teasing touches of your own.

Berion did not remain asleep for long.

I really hope you enjoyed this one! Don't forget to check out the Patreon Masterlist, in case you missed anything from before.