Monthly story - male minotaur x curvy female reader (nsfw) *Starfall Springs* (Patreon)

I had this one planned out and begun before I put that poll up, but your answers have been noted, and I'm so grateful to you for taking the time to help me build a nicely diverse base of monster friends :). 

This story's love interest is Will, who you may remember from this post. He's got a nose ring in that drawing, but he doesn't have one (yet) in this story. The reason why is covered briefly... :)

Anyway, without further ado, here is your August exclusive: 7046 words of mino boy in Starfall Springs. Hope you enjoy it!! 

---

“They’re sending you where?”

“Starfall Springs,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “It’s this quaint little town, as old as the hills, on the coast about a two hour drive from here.”

“But why?” Liz asked, slurping up the dregs of her margarita. “I thought you were the arts correspondent... you know: theatre; cinema; art galleries...”

You shrugged. “And?”

From her seat beside you at the square table in the corner of the bar, the werewolf snorted, “Well, what are you gonna report on from there? The gossip from the local knitting club?”

“Who’d you piss off?” Mal from the other side of the table with a chortle. “But maybe they thought you deserved a break,” the big minotaur added more kindly, leaning over and peering at you with his mismatching blue and brown eyes. “You know… they’re gonna charge you excess baggage next time you fly for the ones under your eyes...”

“I hate you all so much,” you said with no venom. “Actually they’re sending me there to report on traditional craft skills and how important it is, culturally, that we preserve them. There’s a potter there who makes ceramics in the same way as her ancestors, and a furniture maker and carpenter who makes most things without power tools etc. It’ll be really interesting.” You shot Mal a look and added, “And I could use a holiday from you lot anyway...”

“Be sure to bring us back a handmade teapot then,” Liz grinned.

“You’ll be lucky if I save you a fucking teabag,” you growled. “And with that, I think I’m gonna head home. I still have to pack and I’m hoping to miss the traffic and get an early start tomorrow...”

“Think you’ll get phone reception out there?” Mal asked.

“It’s an old town, not a time warp...” you laughed. “I’m sure. I’ll post loads of photos of how peaceful and beautiful it is, and make you all jealous, toiling away here in the city.”

The drive out to Starfall Springs itself was gorgeous enough; rolling countryside was interspersed with thick, deciduous woodland before the road took you down the coast for nearly thirty miles.

As you pulled up to the B&B you’d booked, on the outskirts of town to the north between Silvervein Mine and the town, you looked up at the old sandstone building with its cheery window boxes groaning with flowers and its modern, steel number on the wall that spoke of a well-kept, renovated building. The cobalt blue front door swung open and a large, spindly, tree-like figure stepped out to greet you. 

That was a bit of a surprise, but you quickly regained your composure. They were a volodni, of that you were 99% certain, with lanky limbs and spiky, needle-like foliage, adorned here and there with little cones.

“I’m Larch,” came a rumbling, creaking voice like bark cracking in high wind. “You just be the reporter from the city?”

“What gave it away?” you grinned, extending your hand to shake the massive yet twiggy, proffered hand of your host. “Is it the over-sized suitcase I brought, or the fact that I’m standing here gaping around me, open-mouthed like a mer out of water...?”

You were met with a rough, amused laugh. “Come on, come in. Here, let me take that for you.”

“Forgive the blunt question,” you said as you followed the volodni inside. “But if I may ask, what pronouns do you go by? I’ve not met any of your kind before.”

“Well, thanks for asking,” came the warm, creaky response. “For me it often changes with the season. For now, I use female or neutral. In winter, I often go by male.”

“Thanks. And this is a beautiful place you have here!” you added as you followed her into the hallway and closed the front door behind you.

“It was the old messenger post,” she explained. “They used to stable horses and centaurs alike here for the messenger guild, but that was long before technology - and even the postal service - made all that obsolete. I moved here from the forest about ten years ago. Fancied a change. I love it. Now, I’ll show you your room.”

Settled in and unpacked in your rustic but elegant room, you decided to take up Larch’s advice and explore the town before your appointment that afternoon with the traditional carpenter. 

All you knew about him was that he was called Will Roanhorn and that he had his workshops not far from the river. 

Eventually as you meandered along, the slow, drawing rasp of a plane reached your ears as you headed up the slight slope of the cobbled street towards the top end of town. Rounding a gentle bend in the road, you saw an open garage door and a workshop inside. A blue-roan minotaur was bent over his worktable, planing a piece of bare wood flat. He didn’t look up as you approached, and you took a moment to take in his figure. 

He looked tall, perhaps six and a half or seven feet, not counting his beautiful, upward-curving horns. They were a dark grey-blue at the root which faded and sputtered out into a pale cream towards the tip. Will’s muscled arms worked in a steady rhythm back and forth, back and forth, his eyes following the line of the tool as though hypnotised by it. He was bare chested too, which was a pleasant surprise. His blueish, slate grey coat was damp with sweat, and as he leaned over you could see a soft belly above the simple, loose brown trousers he wore, with a little hole cut out for his swinging tail. 

As he paused in his work, you cleared your throat, and he jumped softly and then turned to see who was watching him. “Hi,” he said gruffly. And then his bovine ears flicked and he gasped, “Hi! I completely forgot! You’re the journalist, right?” 

You smiled and introduced yourself, holding out a hand. He wiped his own on the thigh of his trousers first and then shook yours with a firm grip. His palms were rough, warm, and smooth, and you immediately began to wonder what they’d feel like elsewhere. They were that kind of hand: tactile, clever, and dexterous. With a sigh, you smiled up at him through your lashes and caught his throat working as he swallowed, ears flicking back again briefly.

“So, uh… what did you want to talk about?” he asked, his deep voice resonating in the small space of his cluttered workshop as you stepped inside. His tail swished from side to side and he scratched his neck. “Like I said on the phone, I was kind of surprised that a big shot from the city wanted to do an article about me…”

“Well, as I explained, I’m doing a piece on how traditional skills are fading out more and more now, and how it’s important to keep these heritage trades alive. I’d be interested in hearing your point of view, and maybe if you like, I could take some photos of you at work and you can talk me through a couple of processes. Just… you know… chat a bit about how you got started and what value you think there is in what you do…”

His ears waggled once again and then he gave a hoarse laugh. “Gee, that’s quite a lot, but ok. I guess we can start somewhere in all that. You want a cup of tea or something?”

“I’d love a coffee if you have one…” By this point in your career, caffeine rarely had any effect on you regardless of the time of day.

He nodded and led you through a door in the side wall of his workshop and into a beautiful, homely kitchen with a flagstone floor, creamy cupboards and cheerful curtains at the windows which looked out onto the narrow, winding street outside. There was a bunch of fresh wild flowers rather artlessly stuffed into a vase on the scrubbed kitchen table, and you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched slightly at the sight of it. 

“So,” you asked as he began to fiddle with the kettle and bag of ground coffee. “Do you live here alone?”

“Yup,” he said. “Just me. I’ve thought about getting a dog though. Always wanted one and I love to go walking in the mornings so it’d be kind of perfect.”

“How come you haven’t got one then?” 

He shrugged. “Never got round to it, you know? I’m… I’m kind of a bit of a procrastinator. I just put stuff off forever…”

“I feel that,” you said emphatically, and then asked, “When did you start doing carpentry and woodwork? Is it something you’ve always done?” 

The kettle boiled softly and he let the water cool long enough not to scald the coffee grounds in the cafetiere before replying. “My Grandpapa was a carpenter,” he said, still with his back to you. “I remember going to his shop when I was still a really calf. The whole place smelled of fresh wood shavings and tannins, and a little of solvents, but mostly just of the rich smell of bare timbers.” 

“Sounds a lot like yours,” you smiled and he shot you a broad grin over his blue-roan shoulder. 

“That’s because it was his,” he said. “He passed when I was still really young and my parents weren’t handy at all, so they rented the place out as a holiday cottage for some extra income. We lived in the outskirts of Old Trollbridge. Mama was a university lecturer - theoretical physics - and Pa was an architect.”

“Wow,” you murmured. “High powered family…”

“Tell me about it…” he rumbled, filling the cafetiere with hot water and stirring it with what had to be a handmade wooden spoon before letting it brew on the side. Will turned back to look at you and said, “They were killed in a car accident when I was eighteen.” 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. 

Will swallowed and shrugged. “It was tougher on my brother and sister I think. I never got on as well with my parents as they did.”

“Yeah, but…”

He smiled knowingly and nodded. “My little brother’s in the army now, currently away on active duty. And Sara is a personal trainer. She’s my twin. They’re both enjoying what they do.”

“And you aren’t?” you asked delicately, but he laughed, big and deep and booming in the sunny kitchen. 

“Gods,” he exclaimed. “No, I love what I do. After my apprenticeship, I knew this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. But I think there’s a lot of stigma around doing ‘old crafts’ like this, you know? We’re seen as oddballs… or hobbyists. Factories make furniture by the thousands, and you can buy it in huge warehouses, so why would you want something that’s maybe three times the price and made by one bloke in his garage, you know?”

A scowl crossed your face, scrunching your brows up, and you ran your fingertips along the beautiful bare wood of his kitchen table. “Did you make this?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled, watching your fingers on the surface. 

“I know which one I’d rather have…” you said with a grin. “I know price is an issue though, but you’ve got to be paid fairly for your time and your training…”

Will blew out a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You mind if I jot down that bit about ‘stigma surrounding old crafts’?”

He shook his head, looking a little surprised, and then slowly pressed the plunger down on the cafetiere. 

“Been a while since I’ve had proper coffee,” you ventured, and he cocked his head playfully at you. 

“Oh? I thought all you city folks ran on this stuff…”

The rest of your afternoon passed much like that, with more focused discussion of traditional crafts and skills, interspersed with light banter and easy jokes. Will wasn’t shy, but you got the impression that he was naturally quiet; a bull of few words. 

In his economically eloquent way, he told you how he’d worked in three different furniture workshops before striking out on his own, mentioning this master craftsman or that along the way while you dutifully noted things down. “We did repair work as well as reproduction ‘antique’ furniture.” He scratched his ear and added, “After working in that larger setup - almost like a factory - one of the girls there split and headed off on her own, and I worked for her for a while. I’d been working for myself in the evenings and weekends, building furniture for friends and family and the like… so I decided that there was enough demand for me to do it full time.”

When you’d asked him all of the questions you’d come up with on the journey down to Starfall Springs, you were surprised when he smiled and said, “You want to try your hand at an ‘endangered traditional craft’ then?” 

“You’re serious?”  you asked and he chuckled again in that low, whickering way he had, like a happy horse at pasture. “I mean…”

Will grinned, his blunt teeth showing white in the warm light of his kitchen. “Sure. C’mon. Let’s go through to the workshop and we can find you something to have a go at.”

“I don’t want to ruin anything…”

“You won’t.”

“But -”

“I won’t let you. C’mon. Stop fussing.”

He rose with a soft grunt from his own chair which was as equally well and lovingly crafted as the table where your coffee mug now sat empty and cold. Once he’d led you through into the workshop again, and you’d stood there, somewhat nervous, breathing in the heady tannins and sharp smell of the woodwork, he patted his workbench. 

“Here’s the heart of the place,” he said quietly. “Built it out of salvaged timbers from an old warehouse,” he went on, rapping the six inch thick surface with his knuckles. “The leg vice is also at the wrong end for most woodworkers - I’m left-handed though,” he smiled, tail swishing as he patted the right hand end of the bench. 

He still wasn’t wearing a shirt, and as he moved about and showed you this and that, you found it hard to look at the workshop and the details he was pointing out. Instead you found your eye going to his hugely strong arms and neck, and, by contrast, the softness of his belly that hung a couple of inches over the waistband of his trousers. 

You refocused while he was still pointing out his array of chisels and gouges, and explaining the setup of various other tools. A moment later, he moved on to add that he had a number of power tools as well because while he finished most of his furniture by hand, he roughed out a lot of the stock with power tools because it was simply a matter of economy. 

“I can do in an hour what would have taken my Grandpa a whole day.”

He took you over to a project that looked very much like a nearly-finished chair leg that was on the bench, and he jutted his blunt, broad chin at it. “You can sand this a bit for me. Nice and easy. Go with the grain,” he said, rasping a rough block over it with a practised confidence that made you instantly aware of how little DIY stuff you’d ever done, let alone truly skilled work like this. 

Will handed you the sanding block and grinned again. Taking a deep breath, you skated it along the line, following where he’d gone, but he laughed and said, “Don’t just tickle it, come on.”

“I don’t want to mess -”

“-You won’t,” he said again. 

In the end, it was actually pretty easy once you got over your fear of spoiling it, and he even let you have a go at doing some chiselling on a piece of scrap from the wood bin. That was less successful, but not completely embarrassing.

“Give it a few years,” he said, “And we could make an apprentice out of you, if life in the city gets too hectic…”

You handed him back the tools and dusted off your palms. “Will, thank you. I’ve had a wonderful time with you today. I can’t believe it’s already half six - I’ve thought up a million more questions for you since we came out here to the workshop, but there you go. I’ll have to make do with the notes I’ve got, and I should let you get back to your evening before it’s all gone.”

His dark eyes went wide and he looked at the little clock on the wall and gasped. “No way!” Tugging on one ear before letting it spring back up again, he said, “You, uh… wanna go, uh… grab some dinner or something? We could keep talking if you like?”

The gruff forwardness of his question made you tilt your head slightly and his ears swivelled back flat against his head, tail swishing nervously. He was obviously appealing to your natural journalist’s curiosity, but part of you hoped he had other motives too for wanting to spend time with you. 

“I mean,” he blustered. “Don’t feel like… Ah, shit. I… You probably have better things to do than hang out with a country carpenter like me…”

“Hey,” you countered. “That’s absolutely not true. I’d love to have dinner with you. I’m not really dressed for it, but…”

Those expressive ears swung round again, completely horizontal but pricked forward as far as they could go. They had a dark line around the very edges, like kohl around the line of someone’s eyelashes, before fading into that gorgeous, deep, slate blue-roan of his coat. 

“Oh, you won’t need to be dressed fancy for where I’ve got in mind,” he said. “Best place you’ll have ever eaten, though. I guarantee.”

“Guarantee, eh? I like your confidence, Will.”

He backed off a bit at that, perhaps bashful, and the two of you shut up the shop together before exiting through his house so that he could find a shirt and then out into Starfall Springs. 

The sun was down but the sky was sill a very pale blue, all lavender silvers and watercolour clouds. Swifts and house martins wheeled and chirruped above the terracotta rooftops and as you and Will made your way towards the river, you drew in a deep inhale and sighed. “The air is so clear here,” you murmured. “And it’s so quiet. There’s no traffic at night…”

“Very little,” he agreed. “It’s a peaceful place, for sure. Even at the weekends, when it’s busier, it’s still… quaint, you know?”

“It’s like a fairytale here,” you added. “I’d love to live somewhere like this.”

“It’s not without its downsides,” he said. “There’s no theatre or big museums and art galleries. No big cultural collections…”

“You like art too then,” you said. It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t take it as such. 

“Yeah. I go up to the city by train every now and again just to visit the National Museum. They’ve got a great furniture collection too, but I don’t just go for that.”

“Cultured and talented,” you smiled up at him. He was easily two heads taller than you and you almost gave yourself a crick in the neck looking up at him. “Is there a downside to you at all, Will Roanhorn?”

He tripped on a cobblestone but steadied himself immediately, his tail swishing back and forth like a little whip, his ears pulled back. “Oh I’m sure there’s plenty about me that’s odd,” he said softly. 

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve always been a bit awkward… I was the quiet one at school, always on my own.” He shot you a sidelong look and added, “I bet you were one of the popular girls, right? With lots of friends? Bet you’ve still got a big group…”

You smiled. “No, I was a huge nerd in high school. Didn’t play sports; didn’t do particularly well academically… I did photography club and became a photojournalist. I only started writing pieces to go with them relatively recently. It’s why I took so many photos today. I feel like they tell a story so well when they’re matched with writing for a piece like this.” With a wry smile you added, “I still need to try and get one of you though… So far you’ve dodged all my attempts. Maybe I’ll sneak back tomorrow and surprise you while you’re working…”

If minotaurs could have blushed, Will would definitely have been red up to the tips of his ears at that. As it was, he just looked down at his hooves while he walked. 

Dinner was a quiet affair, though you did share conversation while the most delicious and unusual food was brought out to you. “It’s best just to let them bring it to you,” he explained when no menu appeared. “You don’t really order as such here…” he went on. “It’s all vegetarian though, so there’s nothing too bizarre…”

He insisted on paying, and suggested a stroll through Starfall Springs afterwards, taking the long way along the riverbank and back up towards your B&B. 

At the old stone retainer wall which protected the houses and shops on the high riverbank from the danger of flash flooding or unusually high waters, you stopped and leaned your forearms against the cool masonry. Your eyes followed the clear waters of the river which flowed from a lake in the hills above the town, where the eponymous springs were to be found if your research had been correct. 

Without a word, Will paused beside you and looked out over the view towards the temple and what you remembered had been marked on the map as the kelpie pond. Here, it was probably highly likely that an actual kelpie lived there. 

He pointed up at the ridge line, just visible as a darker silhouette against the night sky, and said softly in his deep, hoarse voice, “You see those lights up there between the trees?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, nodding. Full and just nicely buzzed from the food and alcohol, you tore your eyes from his expressive hand and looked where he pointed. 

“That’s Silkfoot Manor. They’re the oldest family in Starfall Springs. I went to school with their eldest two children.”

“Silkfoots? As in… the driders with the banking and finance empire that stretches across the globe?”

“Yup.”

“Wow. They live here?”

“Yup. They support a number of local charities, one of which is a summer camp which encourages kids to get involved in traditional arts and crafts. Thought that might be a nice addition to your article. Ziva, their daughter, runs a lace-making course on it.”

“And you help out too I’m guessing?” 

He nodded silently. 

A heartbeat later, his dark gaze slid from the horizon down to you and you felt something in the air between you, like a little, undeniable, unmistakable spark. He turned slightly and leaned down a little, as though the thought of kissing you was at the forefront of his mind. Your fingers twitched, about to find their way to his soft, blue-roan cheek. You swallowed nervously, excited, heart thudding. 

In that moment of silence as he towered over you, you heard a tiny, fragile little yelping coming from somewhere nearby. You went still. His ears pricked up and he hissed, “You hear that?” 

The moment which had held that impending kiss was shattered and it evaporated, perhaps forever. 

“Yeah. Where’s it coming from?” you croaked, blinking and looking around. 

You both searched everywhere for the source of the distressed whimpering, but to no avail. Suddenly, thinking to look over the wall, you saw in the light of one of the street lamps, a tiny animal tangled in a raft of debris that had washed down the river and got stuck against the side of the stone bank. 

“Will! Down there!” you yelled and he charged back over from the side alley he’d been investigating. 

“What is it? It’s not a rat is it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. It doesn’t sound like one. Can… Can we get to it somehow?”

He stood still, clearly thinking things through, his nostrils flared as he panted and blew softly. “Wait here. I’ve got some rope in my workshop. I’ll tie it to that tree,” he said, pointing at a huge old oak tree that leaned over the river at almost the very point that the creature was trapped. In fact, the tiny little thing might even have become tangled in the tree’s roots which had forced their way through the masonry of the retaining wall in a couple of places. 

Will charged off at a surprising pace, leaving you standing beside the river, peering at it. Despite your worry for the little creature, you couldn’t help but replay that moment as he’d leaned over you. Deciding to focus on the animal instead of what might have been, you stared down at it and talked softly to it, hoping to reassure it in some small way. 

By the time Will reappeared, sweaty and out of breath, carrying a torch and a line of rope and with a utility knife buckled to his belt, you had worked out what the animal in the water was. “Will, it’s a puppy…” you breathed. 

“I’ll get it, don’t worry,” he said, efficiently tying a knot in the rope which he’d already girdled around the bole of the tree. The other end he tied around his waist. Somehow, without any fancy climbing gear, he played out the rope and abseiled down towards the stranded, exhausted, shivering puppy while you held the torch steady like a spotlight from a rescue helicopter. 

Eventually, after a lot of untangling and cutting of rope and other debris with his knife, Will hauled himself back up, with the puppy tucked into the front of his shirt. 

“Can you take it,” he grunted as he neared the top of the wall. “I don’t want to crush it…”

Without a second thought, you reached into his shirt and pulled out the weak puppy. Other than being soggy and frightened, however, it didn’t appear to have any injuries. A second later, Will heaved himself over the top of the wall and staggered down onto the flagstones of the pavement. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, still cradling the puppy. It mewled gratefully and nosed at the crook of your elbow. It’s black fur was soaking wet, and it smelled vile. You saw that it had two little tan marks, almost like thumb prints above its amber-brown eyes.

 “Looks like a Rottie,” Will said by way of acknowledging your question. “We should take her to the vet’s.”

“At this hour?” 

“They’re always open for emergencies. This way.”

He took the dripping dog off you and held her in the palm of one hand. Immediately, she curled up and either fell asleep from sheer exhaustion or decided that the best thing to do was lie still and close her eyes. By the time you were at the door of the vet’s practice, waiting for them to answer the 24hr emergency bell, she had almost dried out in the warm summer evening and the heat from his hand which he’d kept cradled against his chest. 

The vet who looked her over was seemed human, but there was a reflective light in her eyes that made you wonder if she were entirely human. There was a quickness to her movements and a certain manner in which she behaved around the dog that spoke of some canid, perhaps a kitsune or werewolf. She examined the puppy, confirmed that she was indeed a Rottweiler, at just under eight weeks old by the look of her, though she was malnourished and dehydrated. “She’s not been micro chipped,” she confirmed after checking her over for one. “If you want her, I’d say she’s yours. I’d like to keep her in overnight just to make sure she’s alright after her ordeal. We’ll give her her shots as well.”

You looked up at Will whose eyes had gone very glassy. He was still staring at the tiny puppy who was now fast asleep on the examination table with her head in the vet’s gloved hand. You whispered, “You said you wanted a dog…?”

“I did,” he breathed. “I… I didn’t expect to find one the same day though…”

“Maybe it’s meant to be,” you smiled. 

He finally looked to you and said, “Yeah. Yeah, maybe it is.” 

Will ended up taking the dog, but the two of didn’t keep in touch after you had to return to the city a few days later. You interviewed the potter, but didn’t have the same rapport, and decided to do most of the article about Will anyway. 

He didn’t have a mobile phone, so you couldn’t text him and ask how the puppy was getting along, and phoning seemed… intrusive, pushy even. At least that’s what you told yourself when he didn’t call you either. For that reason, it was six months before the two of you spoke again. You’d sent him a copy of the article in the post, as promised, and you’d included a personal card which said that if ever he found himself in the city and in need of a friend to visit museums with, you were more than happy to step in.

Sitting at your desk one afternoon in late February, gazing haplessly out of the window when you should have been finishing off your latest article, your phone rang, making you jump. “Yeah?”

“Hi, so there’s a guy here at the front desk who says you wrote an article on him and he’d like to talk to you.”

“Uh… is he angry?”

“No, but he’s got a dog with him. I can’t let him into the building. Can you come down?”

Your heart leapt. “Oh my god,” you gasped. “Is he a minotaur? Is the dog a Rottweiler?”

“Yes,” came the definitive answer from security. 

“I’ll be right down!” you yipped, even as you slammed the phone back down and scrabbled to grab your coat and bag. “I’m going for lunch early,” you announced to no one in particular and then tore out of the office towards the lifts. 

Sure enough, standing awkwardly in the foyer with the now-not-so-little Rottie in a harness and looking around her with infinite curiosity in her bright eyes, was Will. Grinning, you walked over and as you approached, his ears flapped briefly and the dog glanced up at him, as if sensing his mood changing. He looked nervous. He was also pretty well dressed, wearing a neat, blue plaid shirt and loose, comfortable looking dark trousers that were cuffed at the hock to reveal his hooves. 

“Hi,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me calling on you at work…”

“Of course not!” you grinned. “And look at you, little lady,” you added as you stooped to greet the dog. “She’s gorgeous! What did you name her?”

“River,” he said. “It seemed appropriate, plus that’s the name of one of my favourite movie characters ever, so…”

You giggled and fussed River’s ears as she panted and snuffled curiously at you. Deciding you should probably stand up and greet her owner properly, you opened your arms and gave him a brief hug. His touch didn't linger, but you got the sense that he was glad for the contact all the same. 

“What brings you to town?”

He shrugged. “I had to deliver a big antique replica dining table to a fancy penthouse… Thought I’d bring River along to get her used to traffic and people, and I thought I’d call on you too.”

“You want to grab some lunch somewhere and catch up?”

He nodded. 

“How long are you here for?”

“Heading back tonight,” he said. “River isn’t exactly a handbag dog… Most places won’t let me stay here with one.”

“You could stay with me,” you blurted as you headed through the glass doors of the main building and out onto the street. “I mean… if you like…”

“You got somewhere I can park my big van?” he asked wryly. 

It was disappointment that made your shoulders drop. “No,” you said glumly.

“It’s ok. But you can always come back with us if you need a break,” he said. 

“Follow up piece?” you asked, raising your eyebrows.

“You don’t have to write an article on me to come and see me, you know?” he chuckled. “I liked our little adventure together. It’d be nice to keep in touch.”

“Then why didn’t you?” you asked rather curtly, setting a marching pace down the street. It was cold, so you didn’t mind and he didn’t have the least bit of trouble keeping up. “You could have phoned…”

He looked down at River, walking between you, and sighed. “I’m… I’m not so good on the phone. I know it’s an excuse. I’m sorry. Truth is, I like you. A lot. I didn’t want to bother you though.”

You stopped suddenly and put a hand on his solid chest, halting him too and looking up into his face. “You wouldn’t be bothering me, Will. I missed you. I thought about you a lot.”

“I… I thought about you too,” he said. His ears drew back a little as he said in a quieter voice, “I thought about… uh… that moment right before we found River. Tell me… Tell me - and if the answer is no then I won’t try again or even show up anymore but… - would you have kissed me back then? Is that where that was going?”

Faintly, you nodded, staring at his broad nose. You brought your fingertips up and laid them very gently against it and his eyes fluttered closed, long lashes resting on his cheeks. “A lot of minotaurs have rings in their noses,” you murmured. “Never thought of having one yourself?” You secretly thought it’d suit him very nicely. 

To your surprise, he laughed loudly and opened his eyes. 

The way he looked at you made you flush with embarrassment. “What’s funny about that?”

“We went from the idea of a kiss to getting my nose pierced,” he said. “That’s a funny leap if you’re a minotaur.”

“Oh?” you asked, wishing you’d never opened your mouth. 

“Yeah. Come on, let’s find some lunch.”

“You gonna tell me why it’s so funny?”

“When a mino gets their nose pierced, it’s like wearing a wedding ring,” he said and your stomach dropped with horror. “It means we’re ‘owned’ by someone, in a more romantic sense than it used to be. Stems from the days when we were often kept as beasts of burden, apparently, generations and generations ago. Now we claimed it back and it means a lot if you make that gesture for someone.”

“Holy fuck, Will, I’m sorry,” you said, every cell in your body cringing. “I really didn’t mean it like that. I… I had no idea.”

“It’s ok. Maybe I will get it done one day. For now, let’s start with lunch, shall we?”

Cheeks still aflame, you found a nearby restaurant with a little courtyard garden out the back that accepted dogs, and the three of you ate together beside one of the infra-red heaters that looked like it belonged in a naga’s apartment. You were still grateful for the warmth all the same, and as you neared the end of the meal, you leaned back in your chair and River padded over to you. You idly fondled her soft, almost perfectly triangular ears, and looked over at Will. 

He was watching you. 

“So I have some holiday time that needs using up,” you said. “I guess I could book it off and come and see you and River?” 

“You would?” he asked. 

With a smile, you already knew you definitely would. 

A month later, you were back in Starfall. Nothing had changed, except that River was even bigger. She was the perfect dog for Will, and lay quietly in a corner of the workshop while he was focused on his jobs, and at lunchtime and at the end of the day, he would walk her up to the pine forest that encircled the enchanter’s tower and abutted the cliffs like a green sea nudging tight against a harbour wall. 

Returning with him after River’s evening stroll, your breath caught slightly as he slid his hand around yours and drew your hand up to kiss your knuckles. His lips weren’t all that mobile, but it just made the gesture all the more delicate and sweet. Over the past two days since your arrival, the two of you had been dancing around each other, gradually getting closer, exchanging touches and glances, but still never sharing that kiss. 

Something about the way he looked at you and kissed you fanned the kindling heat inside you into a roaring fire. “Will,” you whispered, standing on the front doorstep of his house. 

“Mmm?”

“I want you. No more shy looks and casual touching… I want you.”

His throat worked as he swallowed thickly, fingers fumbling slightly as he unlocked his front door and got River out of her harness. When he was done, he straightened and took you by the hand, leading you upstairs. 

Will was as gentle and methodical in undressing you as he was with the most delicate of his work in the shop below. He gazed lovingly, glassy-eyed and slightly slack-jawed as he bared your skin and ran his thumbs over the curve of your belly and your thighs. You’d always been relatively big, but it hadn’t been a major self-esteem issue for you the way it is for so many. You were as you were. And he seemed to adore you for it. 

He took his time and enjoyed uncovering you, unwrapping you like a present that was uniquely his. When you were completely naked, lying on his bed, you gestured to his own clothes, and he obediently undressed as well. You sat up and ran your hands over the thick pelt that covered his chest and paunch, scraping your nails over the curve of his stomach and making his breath hitch. His growing erection twitched between his legs. 

You stood and pushed him down onto his back on the bed where he stared up at you. His thighs were thick and muscular, covered in coarser, darker blue-roan hair than the rest of him, and his sturdy hocks dangled off the end of the bed. His cock was more than half hard already and weeping onto his dark hair, twitching occasionally. He was also bigger than anyone you’d ever been with. 

“Too much?” he asked, without a trace of bravado or swagger. He was worried, not boastful. 

You shook your head and took his cock in both hands. 

The sound that escaped him was a soft, bovine low of delight. His head tipped back, raising his blunt muzzle to the ceiling, and he gave another rumbling moan as you stroked his length, feeling him growing harder and harder the more you worked him. Pre-come beaded at the slit and then rolled down his shaft and over your tightly encircled fingers. He watched you ostentatiously licking yourself clean and gave another, louder groan. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Please… let me…”

In answer, you straddled him and guided the head of his cock towards your entrance. As his thick girth pushed inside you, he rasped a shaky exhale and grunted deeply, eyes screwed shut. 

“You’re so tight… Gods above, you’re so tight,” he moaned. His hands fluttered up unsteadily and he grasped your arms and then slid down appreciatively to adore your thighs as you straddled him. He caressed your hips and curves, sending prickling shivers fanning out over your skin. 

You sank lower and took as much of him as you could, letting yourself get used to it, and then you began to move. With each roll of your hips, he gave a deliciously deep low. In a few minutes, he began to pant, jaw slack, and a tiny line of drool slid down his cheek as he half sat up towards you. 

“Hold on,” he said, and you leaned forwards, looping your arms around the bulk of his neck and interlocking your fingers, still with him seated deep inside you. Will then manoeuvred himself into a sitting position against the headboard and settled you into his lap. “Is that alright?” he asked. 

You’d cried out at the adjustment, since it set him even deeper inside you, filling you completely. Wordlessly, you nodded, breathless, still gripping his shoulders.

Will thrust upwards into you, slowly at first, then growing in tempo until you thought you might pass out from the pleasure of it. One of his hands slid down and he thumbed circles around your clit as best he could while he rutted into you. His head bowed and he grunted, “I’m close…”

Grabbing his horns, you lowered your own head as the white heat inside you crescendoed, and a few seconds later you screamed your pleasure as waves of white heat swept through you. With the tight, rhythmic clenching of your heat around him, Will tipped over the edge and came hard. His release filled you and then began to slide down your thighs, even as he still came. His nose was buried at the crook of your neck. 

As your own orgasm began to fade, his too relented, and he slumped back against the headboard, spent and exhausted. His eyes were softly closed and his ears drooped slightly. Messy as you both were, you lay against his heaving chest, his soft belly against yours, and you traced circles in his pelt with your fingertips, listening to his racing heart. 

It was a long time before either of you felt inclined to move. 

---

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