Male drider (Sarrigan) x reader (nsfw) - *Starfall Springs* (Patreon)

We met Sarrigan briefly in our female orc x male reader story from Exomas and those on the Elves tier and above had a sneak preview of this last night, but here it is in full on early release before it hits Tumblr sometime next week. 

When I started writing this, a drider was the second choice in the poll for what to write next, but it was then overtaken by a dragon and a naga, but since it was so popular, I hope you don't mind that this is what's up next. Following Sarrigan's story, there'll be a female naga pirate x reader which I'm having a blast with at the moment (forgive the slight pun), and then a dragon x warrior, genders as yet undetermined. Hope you're keen! 

Stay tuned for the Trope Tuesdays poll which will go up tomorrow in preparation for Tuesday 4th February, and get thinking about your favourite tropes in case I've missed any!

Finally, it turns out that male tarantulas (on which Sarrigan's figure is roughly based) are kind of submissive to the females when it comes to bedroom activities, usually because they’re fearing for their lives (Sarrigan's not afraid of being eaten here though).  Tarantula bois are also kind of tender and very touchy too (yes, I did research and no, I will never be the same afterwards. The things I do for my readers, eh?) which is nice. 

Enjoy! Dont' forget to let me know if you like it by clicking the heart at the end or leaving me a comment! 

The parties of the rich and famous weren’t exactly somewhere you’d seen yourself when asked back in High School where you thought you’d be in the future, and yet, there you were. Serving drinks, of course, rather than actually drinking them with the rest of the fancy folks there. 

A drunk tiefling swayed past you with his hands all over some other guy’s backside and you tried not to think about what they’d be up to in the next three minutes’ time, and headed back down to the lawn of the Silkfoot family’s mansion, The Grange. On your way through the house from the catering vans at the back, you’d spotted a portrait of the head of the family, Horatio Silkfoot. A tall, thin, and imposing drider, he had long, dark grey, spindly limbs like curved javelins, hard red eyes, deadly looking mandibles, and deep black hair swept back off his severe face, with a streak of silver at each temple. The matriarch of the family was his exact physical opposite, with a large, pillowy, soft body and thick legs like a tarantula, and soft, black and orange hair that fell in gentle waves around her face. 

You knew very little of the three children they’d had together, but the other staff had mentioned how ethereally handsome the eldest, Rafael, was, and what a hard-ass businesswoman the daughter, Rahanna, was, but there wasn’t all that much information on the youngest, Sarrigan. 

Out on the cool lawns at the rear of the house, someone jostled against your back and you turned to see a six foot tall orc in a tux, and you nearly blushed yourself out of existence. She was gorgeous, but instead of embarrassing yourself further, you offered the freshly restocked tray of drinks to her and watched her take two, one for herself and one for the beautiful human in a dress standing beside her. They even nuzzled noses before sipping in unison. 

You rolled your eyes, unable to feel the slight rise of bile in your throat. Of course, you were happy for them, but honestly, did they have to be so… 

“Ugh, seriously?” a voice slurred off to your right and you turned slightly and caught sight of someone nearby whom you’d completely missed as you’d passed; they blended almost perfectly into the shadows of a tunnel clipped out of a looming laurel hedge abutting a bed of flowers. 

The stocky drider was standing more than a bit wonkily in the shadows of the hedge, an empty champagne flute dangling perilously from limp, uncaring fingers, his long, straight, jet-black hair tied back off his startlingly handsome face. To say that he was ‘standing’ there - however wonkily - was a bit of an overstatement as he listed precariously to one side like a floundering ship, the dense foliage of the laurel hedge on his right seemingly the only thing keeping him from sliding sideways to the ground. The four blood red eyes on each side of his face were blinking slightly out of sync, which led a certain softness to the otherwise harsh features and severe plains, not to mention the mandibles which hinged from the corners of his mouth. He did wear a shirt, tie, and jacket very nicely, you mused even as you stared openly at him. There was no mistaking whose son this was, despite the physique which more closely resembled his mother’s tarantula body. Where her markings were orange and black, however, his were a silvery grey and black, making the fur of his large body look like moonlight on dew-damp grass. 

“You’re a Silkfoot?”

“Is it that obvious? You going to offer me one of those or not?” he added, swaying to the left this time and sending out an uncoordinated yet muscular leg to stop himself face-planting into the nearest bed of fragrant lavender. 

“You don’t think you’ve had enough?” you muttered but still held out the tray. 

“For one of these things? Never,” he hissed, swiping one and downing it in one. 

You didn’t hear the whisper-soft footfalls behind you, but when the drider looked up, vague gaze sailing over the top of your head, and groaned, his body sagging further towards the grass beneath him, your back stiffened automatically. Turning around, you discovered a formidable looking drider, spindly and deadly as her father, but her attention wasn’t really on you. She dismissed you with a flick of a tiny, dark-grey wrist, and turned to her brother. 

“Sarrigan,” she sighed, disgusted. “Gods, you’re a disgrace. You don’t come to any family functions for three years and when you do deign to show up, you get pissed as a fucking satyr. Get back up to the house before you embarrass the family name any further.”

Sarrigan, to your surprise, looked a little tearful at her words, but instead of arguing or making a scene, he turned away without a word, broad shoulders set in a dejected droop, and retreated out of sight through the tunnel in the laurel hedge behind him. Before he vanished completely into the shadows, his fingers slackened and he dropped the empty glass into the soft, damp grass beneath his silent feet. The deep shadows consumed his dark body, but as he shifted in the near blackness, you saw that his coat had a shivering, silvery, mother-of-pearl quality to it. You’d never seen a creature so beautiful, but the look on his face as he’d left had made something in your chest crack under the witnessed weight of those unvoiced emotions. 

With a heavy sigh, his sister interrupted your musing by stooping to pick up the glass and delicately placing it back on your tray. “I would appreciate it if you kept my brother’s behaviour to yourself,” she said, blinking her ruby red eyes in perfect synchrony. 

“Of course,” you murmured automatically before returning to the party and trying to forget the encounter. 

Something in the way Sarrigan’s eyelids had fluttered painfully - clearly staving off tears at his sister’s words - stuck with you though. As dawn eventually ticked around and the last guests staggered into taxis or back into the mansion itself, you yawned, eyes prickling and watering. Rounding up the last of the glasses and stowing them in the caterer’s van along with the crates of plates and platters and leftovers, you knuckled the small of your back and groaned. 

A slap on your shoulder made you jump and you turned to find Merritt, a dark, fuzzy mothman, grinning at you. Well, he offered you a moth’s equivalent, anyway. “Whuuuff!” he exclaimed, buzzing his sable wings slightly. “That was a long night.”

“I thought you liked working nights,” you offered, shunting a case into the back and slamming the van door shut. 

“I do!” he chirped with earnest enthusiasm. “Weren’t the lights pretty?”

You fixed him with a flat look and he laughed. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a huge cliché, what are you gonna do about it? You look exhausted though.”

“Because I am, genius,” you grumbled good-naturedly. 

“You wanna go grab breakfast at Damien’s?” he asked as you headed round to the driver’s side and he scrambled into the passenger seat, careful of his wings. 

Breakfast at Damien’s had become a bit of a ritual for the pair of you whenever the catering company had you pull an all-nighter, but honestly all you wanted this time was a shower and about ten hours of sleep if you could get it. 

When you said as much, Merritt nodded. “Let’s drop this off and then I’ll walk you home from there.”

“Thanks,” you smiled and he just buzzed his wings again.

The walk from the company’s small warehouse back to your place took you along the river that cut its lazy course through Starfall Springs. As the two of you made your way along the deserted street that bordered the river, Merritt turned to you and asked, “You alright? You seem kind of… un-shiny tonight - this morning - whatever… you know what I mean…” and he waved his dark, fuzzy, paw-like hands inarticulately and you grunted. 

“It’s just… I always hate doing events like that,” you groused. 

“Why? I love them! Getting to see how the other half lives and all that… Not that the Silkfoot family is exactly all that popular here, but… well… Why don’t you like it?”

With a sigh, you slouched on up the dark street, passing empty alleyways between the warm, sandstone buildings, the occasional light turning on inside as the occupants began to wake and get ready for the day. “Rich kids playing at being generous with their ‘fund-raisers’, spending thousands on catering and ceremony when they could just give that to the charities to begin with… All to make themselves feel better about having so much when other people don’t…”

Merritt’s antennae waggled and he took half a step back on his dainty little feet at the unexpected fervour in your voice. 

You sighed, trying to let old grievances go. “I just hate the way these people act - to each other as much as everyone else. It’s just…” you shuddered, “…fake.”

Up ahead, what you’d taken for a pile of black rubbish bags slung up against the retaining wall of the river suddenly moved and groaned and the two of you screeched in surprise. A long, thick limb moved, followed by several others, and you realised that the creature was a drider. 

“Oh come on,” you groaned, recognising the particular, pearlescent shimmer on black fur.

“Who is it?” Merritt whispered in your ear from where he’d darted behind you, hands gripping your shoulders. 

Snorting, you patted his knuckles and said, “It’s Sarrigan Silkfoot… I think…” And with that, you stepped close and poked the nearest limb gingerly with your toe. It retreated a little way and then his human torso lifted off the ground at the other end of his body and Sarrigan blinked at you. His jacket was open and his white shirt was scuffed and dirty, but somehow he still looked gorgeous. Dishevelled and drunk, but gorgeous. It wasn’t fair. 

“What do you want?” he moaned.

No matter your feelings on the local aristocracy, you weren’t about to leave him there if he was hurt. “Are you alight?”

“’M fine,” he mumbled. 

“You… You don’t look it… You look like you got so drunk you passed out in an alley…”

“Observant, aren’t you?” he sneered, but if there was meant to be any venom in his tone, it was watered down beyond detection. 

You rolled your eyes. “Look, buddy, if you can get yourself up onto all those freaky feet of yours, my apartment is just there,” you said, pointing to the old barn-like extension of a house at the end of the street. 

The double doors reminded you of a boathouse, and it backed onto a rocky promontory over the river at the top of town. The person who had lived there before you had been a sculptor, and the large downstairs space had been her workshop, but you’d transformed it into an open plan living room and kitchen, and after putting some proper insulation in and restoring the place, it was somewhere you were pretty proud of now. The double doors would also be large enough to let his wide body through, and he could crash on the sofa cushions to sleep off the hangover from hell he was probably just beginning to experience. 

“What?” he asked, obviously not quite following. 

Merritt was still lurking in anxious silence behind you, wings tucked and twitching. Driders and mothfolk didn't exactly have a history of the closest friendship after all. 

Sighing again, you said, “You shouldn’t stay out here on the cold stone pavement. You can come back with me to my place just over there and sleep it off, alright?”

“Oh. Ok,” he smiled, mandibles chittering slightly. 

Behind you, Merritt shuddered. “You… uh… gonna be alright?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, and you nodded. 

“I dealt with a number of sad but good natured drunks back in my halls at Uni. He’s harmless; I’ll be fine. Thanks though.”

With a final pat on your shoulder, Merritt took off awkwardly on the spot and wheeled away over the terracotta rooftops, leaving you alone with the very drunken youngest son of the local lord. 

Wrangling all eight limbs and a pendulous spider’s body into the wide entrance of your apartment was only a little more difficult than you’d imagined, but most of that was because he paused on the threshold and stared around, dumbstruck, like a country pilgrim at a colossal city temple. 

“What?” you barked, resisting the urge to shove him gently inside. “Come on, shift it. I want to close the doors and I can’t with your big butt in the way.”

He stepped inside, apparently a little steadier on his eight feet after the short walk up the hill to your house. “It’s lovely,” he breathed. “Your home is lovely.” 

“Yeah, well, try not to puke on anything, ok?” you said with a softer tone to your voice than you’d intended. 

“I’m not going to,” he reassured you. “And… I’m sorry.”

“You want some water?” you asked as you closed the doors behind him and stepped around his legs which were braced like thick guy-lines to hold him up. 

He nodded carefully and looked at the large expanse of concrete floor that made up the majority of this part of the room. One day you hoped to have a fresh layer poured on it and get it polished up, but for now the old worktop had just been sealed to stop you getting silicosis from any concrete dust, and dotted here and there were ragged old rugs that you’d bought at various car boot and junk sales around the area. It was a bit eclectic; Bohemian meets industrial, but you loved it. 

“I feel terrible,” he groaned, easing his body down onto a soft rug and laying his human torso along the squashy sofa. “Is this alright?”

“Here,” you said with a smile, setting a huge glass of water down on the recycled pallet coffee table. “I’m going to shower and then hit the hay, but feel free to make yourself at home.”

Sarrigan offered you a faint smile in return and dragged a small cushion closer and laid his head on it. In seconds, he was asleep. 

You didn’t linger, but you did take a quick moment to look at the way his face seemed younger now, the tension in his dark brows unknotted, his mandibles no longer clenched tightly, protectively, to his face, and his long black hair spilled out like a river across the cushion beneath his folded arms. He looked like a pupil who’d fallen asleep at their desk, and the image made you smile before you turned away and headed upstairs. 

While the hot water washed over you a few minutes later, you thoughts remained on the drider lying downstairs, recovering. His sister’s words echoed through your memory as you scrubbed the suds through your hair and you scowled. 

‘Gods, you’re a disgrace.’ 

Her voice had been harsh and laced with disgust at the sight of a brother whom she’d apparently not seen at a family event for three years. 

‘…and when you do deign to show up, you get pissed as a fucking satyr…’

You turned the temperature dial up and leaned into the water. 

‘Get back up to the house before you embarrass the family name any further.’ 

You weren’t hard up any more, but you’d not lived the kind of life that they did, for sure. What gave her the right to speak to her brother that way? Had he just cracked under the pressure of being a perfect Silkfoot? 

Too tired to think any more, you crashed into bed and fell almost instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep.

You woke to the smell of cooking food and frowned. It took you a groggy moment to realise that it was late afternoon, and that you were not alone in your house. One end of the former warehouse/workshop had been converted into living accommodation by the sculptor, but it only occupied a third of the rectangular building’s length. You trotted down the metal staircase into the lower half of the open-plan ground floor to find Sarrigan standing at the stove, cooking eggs. Eggs for two. 

“Hi,” he said, turning in the most coordinated way you’d yet witnessed, given his condition last night. He was wearing the dirty white shirt he’d had on the previous night, but there was no sign of the tie or jacket. They, you saw when you squinted along the living room, were folded neatly by the big doors at the other end of the building, like rubbish waiting to be taken out. All his eyes blinked together now too, you noted as he smiled bashfully at your approach. “I hope you don’t mind that I raided your fridge but you said I could make myself at home… Is it still brunch if it’s lunch-breakfast instead of breakfast-lunch?”

You grinned but shrugged inarticulately and headed for the kettle to make some coffee. “Feeling better I take it?” you asked. 

“Much,” he said. “I’m so sorry about my behaviour… I’m… I don’t normally get that drunk. I…”

You snorted and said, “I get it. If I had a family who treated me like that, I think I might get royally pissed too.”

He tilted his head slightly with a wry kind of smile on his strange mouth, and said quietly, “They’re not usually so bad. Things have been a bit… up and down lately.”

“Oh?”

“My brother… he’s just announced his engagement, but… my parents are… uh…” he turned back to the eggs and interrupted himself by asking, “How do you like yours?”

“What? Oh, however,” you said vaguely. 

“I like to turn mine over,” he said, almost bashfully. It was odd, but you let it slide. 

You flopped down onto the sofa nearby while your coffee brewed and looked over at him. “What’s wrong with your brother’s partner?”

“Too few legs…” he grinned dangerously, revealing two large fangs amid his mouthful of white teeth. 

“He’s not marrying another drider then, and they don’t like that?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he mumbled. “But yeah, that’s the gist of it. They’re drafting all kinds of pre-nup arrangements. Raf threw a real hussy fit when mum and dad told him he had to break it off.” Sarrigan turned off the gas and let the eggs sit while he buttered some toast and added, “He said it was either both of them or neither. He’s got too much support in the city and controls too much of the Silkfoot ‘empire’ for exiling himself not to be an issue, so they relented. I’m sorry - this must be so boring for you.” He flushed, his dark grey skin deepening over his cheeks as he brought the plates over. “You want me to pour your coffee yet?”

You shook your head. “No, let it brew a bit longer, thanks. And I don’t mind you talking about it,” you smiled. He seemed so lonely, and so grateful as you accepted the breakfast he’d prepared for you, that it would have felt nothing short of rude not to let him talk. “What do you do then? Your sister said you’d not been around much…”

He smiled. “I… I run a Fine Art and antiques auction house in Old Trollbridge,” he said, again almost bashfully. “Normally they just leave me be to get on with it. Rahanna deals with the Silkfoot company’s investments and stuff, and Raf handles all the top clients etc. There’s not really a place for me.”

“I’m sure they could find you something if you wanted it…” you said around a mouthful of breakfast. “This is amazing by the way, thank you.”

Sarrigan smiled. “Thanks.” With a sigh, he added, “Yeah, I’m sure they could, but I’d always be the ‘other Silkfoot’; the ‘spare’, you know? Anyway, I love the auction house. It’s my whole life and the team there is like family.”

“That’s good,” you said. 

“What about you?” he asked. “What do you do?”

“Right now I’m sort of between jobs. I worked for an accountancy firm in the city but it was so boring. I took the job with the catering company as an in-between kind of thing.”

Sarrigan perked up a bit at that. “Accountancy… Was the work boring or the situation?”

“Situation, why?”

He blushed again and focused on eating for a moment before casting you another blood-red glance, eight eyes blinking rapidly for a moment and reminding you of the way his long lashes had fluttered at the party. Something in your stomach swooped unexpectedly and you smiled, trying to encourage him. It seemed to work because he said, “I’ve been looking to find a replacement for the accountant who handles the books at my company…” 

“Are you offering me a job?” you blurted, astonished. “You don’t even know if I’m any good.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder and one of his forelegs lifted slightly off the ground too. “If you’re no good, I can always fire you,” he grinned. “But you’re kind. You let me into your home despite your thoughts on my family -”

“-you heard that, huh?” you interrupted, thinking back to your rant to Merritt about ‘rich people’. That reminded you to check your phone, and sure enough, Merritt had sent you a number of messages asking if you were ok. The last ones read:

‘HAS THAT SPIDER EATEN YOU?’

‘OMG PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE OK????’

‘That’s it. If you don’t reply to this I’m coming over and I’m bringing Damien with me so that the spider doesn’t eat me too.’

You couldn’t stifle the giggle that burst out of you at your friend’s messages, and you quickly assured him that all was fine. ‘You can call off the cavalry, M, I’m good. Sarrigan turns out to be a good cook - who knew? - and he’s offered me a job…’

‘OH MY GOD YOU’RE ALIVE’ came Merritt’s immediate response. ‘Thank the stars in the sky, because Damien isn’t responding and I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to come and break down your door without a big orc for protection.’

‘You’re adorable,’ you texted, smiling. 

‘WAIT. HE OFFERED YOU A JOB???’

You glanced up to find Sarrigan watching you, his expression carefully schooled but the set of his brows heralded the return of some of that tension from the previous night.

“Your concerned boyfriend from last night?” he asked cautiously, gaze on the phone in your hand. 

“Merritt? No,” you said and watched as his shoulders sagged minutely. “No, he’s just a friend from work. He was worried you’d eaten me.”

“A common misconception,” Sarrigan said, pointedly clicking his mandibles. “These don’t help much with that.”

“I like the hardware,” you blurted awkwardly before you could stop yourself. You rolled your eyes at your own idiocy and returned your attention to your phone, praying you wouldn’t promptly combust into a pile of flaming ashes and shame. 

Sarrigan politely cleared the plates, feet moving completely silently on the hard concrete floor, and began to wash up while you finished messaging Merritt, but when you heard the water running, you called out, “You can leave those, don’t worry. I’ll do them later.”

“I don’t mind,” he said quickly.

“Here the one who cooks doesn’t do the washing up. House rules,” you grinned and he found himself smiling back at you. 

Bowing slightly, his long ponytail slinging forward over his shoulder, he said, “Alright. Look, I’ll get out of your way, but let me give you my number. I’m serious about hiring you if you’re interested.”

“I can’t move to Trollbridge from here,” you said, looking around at the house. “And it’s too far to be a feasible commute every day.” Old Trollbridge was only an hour and a half’s drive from Starfall Springs, but doing that every day when you had hoped for something more local didn’t seem quite so appealing. 

“If you’ve got internet, you could work from home,” he said. “And if you needed to travel in for meetings or whatever, I can send someone to pick you up… I don’t mean to be pushy, so… think about it.”

You nodded. “Ok, I will…”

He wrote his number and email down on the back of an old envelope for you in beautiful cursive script, and then headed towards the doors. “Thank you again,” he said. 

“Are you going back to Old Trollbridge then?” you asked and he nodded. 

“Yeah. I’m going to stop by the Grange first though… see my sis…”

It was endearing that he wanted to smooth things over with her, and you watched him go from the doorway. He paused at the end of the street and looked back over his shoulder. When he saw that you were still standing there, he smiled and you waved at him. He returned the gesture and disappeared round the corner. 

Two weeks later, you sent him an email with your résumé attached. His assistant had clearly been told about you because he replied to say that he was delighted that you’d decided to accept his boss’ offer and would like to ask you to visit before you accepted the job. 

Working for Sarrigan was much easier and infinitely more pleasant than for your previous employer, and the increase in salary allowed you to finish doing up the former sculptor’s studio into the house you’d always dreamed. You and Sarrigan spoke often, mostly via video call and mostly about work, but one lunchtime he messaged you to ask if you wanted to meet up for dinner in Starfall Springs that same evening. 

‘You’re in town?’ you messaged back. 

‘Yeah. Talking through the final arrangements for Raf’s wedding.’

‘Oh shoot, I forgot about that! When is it?’

‘Next month.’

‘You don’t sound… enthusiastic yet…’

‘I might be if I wasn’t going alone…’

You paused at that. Was he fishing to ask you? Before you could volunteer yourself, he sent another message. 

‘I’ll see you at the Inglenook at 7?

‘Perfect.’

It’d been a while since you’d been on a date, but you weren’t even sure that was what this was. Was it even ethical for him to date an employee? You’d have been lying if you’d said you hadn’t thought about him whenever you touched yourself; about how his body would feel against yours; whether he’d be a rough or a gentle lover; whether what you’d heard about driders being extremely sensitive was true, and if so, how long you could make him writhe and moan before he came… 

Sarrigan was already there when you got to the cosy Inglenook Inn, seated at a table in a quieter corner of the restaurant area, a glass of wine in one hand and his phone in his other. As you joined him and he looked up, his phone slipped from his fingers and clattered with a racket onto the table. “Wow,” he blurted when he saw you. “You look… amazing…”

You smiled, emboldened by his reaction, and nodded at him. “You too, handsome.” You eyed the glass of wine and said, “You started without me?”

“I’ve been here a while,” he confessed. “I… I didn’t want to stay up at the house, so…”

“You could have messaged me,” you said as you took your seat. “I would have come along sooner.”

“It’s alright,” he reassured you. “I had some last bits of work I wanted to clear up anyway.”

Settled, you looked up at him. “It’s nice to see you face to face.”

“You too,” he said with a blush, tucking his hair behind his ear which, you noticed not for the first time, was unbelievably delicate and tapered to an elegant point like an elf’s or a tiefling’s. 

His hair was loose that evening, falling all the way to the small of his back where his humanoid torso met his spider’s body, and he was wearing a simple, dark green, round-neck jumper. He looked remarkably relaxed, given how uptight and tense he had seemed during your video calls of late. 

Thinking of that made you ask, “Did you get that mess with the owner of that oil painting sorted out?”

Sarrigan hummed softly and something in your body thrummed unexpectedly at the sound of it. “Yes,” he said, blinking slowly as he looked openly at you. “Do you want something to drink?”

You nodded and swallowed thickly, still thinking about the timbre of his voice, and his eyes tracked the movement of your throat before he turned away and politely hailed a waiter. She took your order and once she’d left, Sarrigan turned back to find you still looking at him. 

“Is it odd to say I’ve missed you?” he asked quietly. “I know we’ve spoken a lot, but… it’s been weeks since you last came to the auction house.”

“It’s not odd,” you said, running your fingertips over the grain in the wooden table. “I’ve missed you too. I’m glad you messaged me today. Listen, before I forget… if you wanted someone to go to the wedding with you, I’d… I’d be up for that. As friends or… you know…”

The drider’s body went completely still and for a horrible moment you thought you’d overstepped, but then he beamed you the biggest smile and practically passed out at the table with relief. “I didn’t want to ask you,” he said in a rush. 

“Why not?” and then it hit you that his brother was marrying a human and that his family was anything but ok with it. “You mean that you didn’t want to show up with a human on your arm? Given your parents’ reaction…”

He blinked. “What? Oh! No, no,” he said, gesturing with his expressive hands. Catching sight of them made you wonder what they’d be like on your skin, but you forced yourself not to get too distracted. “No, that’s not it at all,” he laughed. “Fuck them and their stupid opinions. No, I didn't want you to feel like you had no choice… given that, uh, technically you work for me. I didn’t want it to be weird. Besides, I didn't know if you even liked driders that way. Most people find us creepy. Or think we’re going to eat them…” he added. 

The two of you were both clearly thinking of Merritt’s reaction, and you shared a smile. The waiter returned with your drink, and as you took a sip, you said quietly, “I can think of another use for that mouth of yours anyway,” and watched as Sarrigan almost had a heart attack there at the table. 

He licked his lips, mandibles working, and his eyes seemed to glow in the soft candlelight. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you said. “I’ve thought you were attractive right from the start.”

“Oh my gods,” he sighed in amused surprise. “Even though I was three sheets to the wind?”

“Four, if that’s possible, but yes, even then. I liked that you cooked me breakfast for lunch afterwards though. That was nice. You didn’t just sneak out.”

“I thought about it,” he said, still blushing a beautiful dark grey. “I was so embarrassed, but I thought it was the least I could do to say thank you for putting up with me and helping me out.”

Gods, but his shoulders looked good in that soft pullover. You tried not to stare at him, but it was difficult, and as the two of you chatted over your meal, something between you seemed to tighten and thrum quietly in the background until you found yourself shifting slightly in your seat. You hadn’t noticed yourself getting particularly worked up, but now that you’d realised it, it was all you could think about. Every movement of his was enticing and alluring: the way he tipped his head back slightly when he really laughed; the way his eight red eyes squinted when he tried to read the menu - apparently he was long-sighted which was incredibly rare for driders, who are usually short-sighted - and the way his legs would occasionally lift and resettle themselves as he sat there opposite you, body resting on a large, soft cushion, legs neatly stowed out of most people’s way. 

After you’d finished dessert, he got the bill and refused to let you go halves, and then said, “You ready?” 

You nodded. “Don’t suppose you fancy a little walk to shake all that amazing food down?” you asked, hoping to prolong the evening. 

Beaming another genuine and delighted smile at you, he nodded. “Love to.”

The way he carefully wove his way between the tables was also beautiful, keeping his thick legs tucked in close until he stepped onto the street outside and stretched out a little more. He caught you staring and tipped his head inquisitively to one side. “What?”

“You’re so… the way you move… it’s so delicate…”

He flushed deeply at that and looked away. 

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I just don’t get that very often.”

“Why not?” you asked, staring at his fuzzy feet which apparently ended in a single talon, though it was well disguised by the soft fur. 

He quirked an eyebrow skyward and folded his muscular arms. “Have you seen my siblings?”

“I’ve met Rahanna,” you hedged. “Why?”

“Tall, skinny, elegant… then there’s squat little me… Odd one out…”

You grinned and boldly placed your hand on his body at the ‘hip’ where his spider’s ‘withers’ joined his humanoid torso and he jumped and let out the most obscene groan you’d ever heard. He clapped a hand almost comically over his mouth but it was too late. 

Feeling bolder yet, you splayed your fingers slowly through the thick, unbelievably soft, smoky grey fur and his whole body shuddered, his knees buckling slightly as he gasped again and staggered. “Oh fuck,” he hissed. “Stop, or… we’ll be arrested for public indecency or something…”

“You going to make a scene if I keep doing that then?”

He whimpered and nodded, so you stopped, however reluctantly. “You want to come back to my place then?”

Sarrigan nodded again. 

You barely made it back without touching him again, but when you’d closed the doors behind you, you turned and found him staring at you, his mandibles softly open in a kind of slack-jawed, wonder-struck expression, his hands hanging limply by his sides, legs braced wide. 

“Is it wrong that I want you this much?” he hissed. 

You shook your head. “I want you too, Sarrigan.”

That seemed to be permission and encouragement enough for him because he advanced slowly, giving you every opportunity to change your mind, and when he drew level with you, he leaned down and took your face in his hands, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs before drawing closer to you. His long hair framed his dark face, red eyes glinting like rubies in the shadows it cast, and you watched, hypnotised, as his mandibles opened. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered. 

Nodding, you saw the thin, surprisingly pale lips that lay behind them part and he began to kiss you so gently that you forgot to breathe. The way he cupped your face so reverently, and the emotion behind the gesture, struck you deeply and you barely had the presence of mind to respond. 

Drawing back again, he blinked softly and smiled. “Tell me this is alright…” he asked again. 

In answer, you reached up before he rose up too far beyond your grasp and grabbed a fistful of his hair in each hand. You tugged him down again, aching to grind your hips against his body but unable to do it because of the way his body hung suspended between the wide stance of his legs. His legs staggered slightly and he lowered his hands to your waist and gripped you tightly, still kissing you. 

Sarrigan carried you across the room and dropped you none too gently onto the couch, and from your new angle you could see along the length of his spider’s belly where, slick and glistening with arousal, you glimpsed a slit in his lower body. One of his forelegs rose and gently nudged against the outside of your leg and he murmured, more to himself than to you, “So beautiful…” 

Remembering how sensitive he’d been earlier, you brought your fingertips to the upper section of the nearest leg and ran your fingers through the silky, silvery fur. His body shivered, and he cried out with wordless pleasure and began to tremble violently all over as you ran your hand the wrong way up through his fur. 

“Oh gods, oh gods,” he chanted, letting his head fall back so that the tips of his black hair brushed his lower back. His mouth fell open, mandibles wide and both forelegs left the floor as he rocked his entire body back, bringing his abdomen lower. “Oh gods,” he yelped again, brokenly this time, as you brought your other hand up to tease the softest part of his body between his legs. “I can’t… I’m… stop… you’ll make me… fuck…”

“I’ll make you fuck?” you giggled and he hissed at you. 

“I want…” he rasped. 

“What do you want, Sarrigan?” 

“You,” he said, as unsteady on his feet as he had been the first time you’d met him, only now there was something else causing the haze in his mind. “I want you…”

You undressed slowly and he watched every movement in complete stillness, like a predator waiting to strike. Once you were standing naked in front of him, he whimpered and reached a shaking hand out to touch your waist and hips first, before sliding his palms all over you. 

“You’re stunning,” he whispered, pressing you back into the sofa behind you, kissing you again and again until your hips rocked up and you begged him to make you come. “Can I put my mouth on you?” he asked hesitantly. 

“Gods yes,” you gasped, and hardly more than a second later, he closed the heat of his mouth over you. 

The intensity of it, the intimacy, the delicate way he touched you all the while working you with his mouth and tongue, drew you closer and closer until your body was rocking up into his mouth in rhythmic waves, your orgasm building and building until that white heat felt almost too much. Tears filled your eyes as he took you towards release with relentless fervour. Hands balled into fists beside you, your body almost convulsing, you cried out just before you shattered against the wet heat of his mouth. He held you with strong, steadying hands while you came like a landslide, spine arched, pleasure coursing through you in wild, ecstatic waves. 

Behind the rushing, ringing of blood in your ears you heard a gasp and felt the slight prick of his canines against your skin before he pulled back, crying out and twitching. For a moment you thought something was wrong, blinking through the daze of your release, until you saw that he was coming untouched, just from making you orgasm. His body hunched in on itself, web drooling from the gland at the back of his abdomen as the slit in his lower, spider’s body pulsed and released all over the concrete floor beneath him. His human spine curved over, bringing him down to hunch almost painfully as his body convulsed, and his long black hair fell across your thigh as he bowed before you. 

Reaching a shaking hand to his head and stroking him gently, you eased him through his intense release until he staggered slightly and then sank down to the ground and rested his human torso on the sofa, head on your thigh. “I’m sorry,” he hissed, breathing hard. Sweat glistened down his spine and his chest heaved. 

“Shh,” you smiled. “Shh, easy. That was intense…”

“Mmm,” he grunted, trying to get up. 

“No, stay,” you reassured him. “If you’re comfortable, stay…”

“I…” He took a deep breath and swallowed whatever it was he’d been about to say. Nuzzling his cheek against your thigh, he reached blindly up for you and hugged your hips without opening his eight red eyes. “Thank you,” he sighed. 

You stayed there a while, stroking his beautiful, silk-soft hair, until he eased himself up and looked you cautiously in the eye. “You alright?” you asked and he smiled. 

“Yeah. That was… It’s… uh… been a while…”

“Me too,” you grinned. “You want to stay over?”

Sarrigan’s smile was gentle and slightly disbelieving. “Yes,” he whispered. “Very much.”

___

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