Split (1)

train · 180k rows

text stringlengths 0 41.4k
He heard the quiet waters of a gentle creek.
"I’ve embarrassed you enough asking about your hooves the other night. I assume you’d prefer it be a private affair," Zevlor said, kneeling in front of Yuta.
The cleric noticed Zevlor had put on a tool belt of sorts with various cutters and graters.
"Oh! You don’t have to do that."
"I don’t mind. Besides, it looks like you need it. I’d hate for you injure yourself more than you already have."
The cleric did trip, after all, from his uneven hooves. He sat on a mossy stone, but Zevlor touched his arm.
"I apologize, I know how to do it at a certain angle. I hope it won’t be, er... Degrading to you."
Yuta cocked his head.
"Kneel here," Zevlor guided, gesturing to the blankets and pillow he set down.
Yuta knelt, feeling Zevlor take his leg from behind. Yuta bent forward on his hands to steady himself.
"Is this alright? I can try another way if it’s uncomfortable."
"Its fine!" He squeaked, thanking the gods he was facing away from Zevlor as his cheeks heated.
"Put your other knee on the pillow. It won’t hurt so much, I don’t think."
Zevlor was careful to hold his ankle just right, cutting the excess growth first with a pair of steel nippers.
"Oh. You have shoes. Well, Dammon can make you a new pair tomorrow."
He used a small hammer to bend the nails straight, pulling them out to loosen the hoofshoes, prying them after loosing them from Yuta’s overgrown, cracked keratin.
Hoof knife next, to loosen the dirt, define where to cut, measuring the frog of Yuta’s hoof before cutting away, switching between different knives when needed.
The vibration in his leg was almost relaxing, like a massage, as Zevlor filed and grated the bottom of his hoof to smoothness against his armored thigh, including where he saw cracks on the outside.
"There..." Zevlor felt the hoof over with his hand, to make sure it was even. He hesitated before caressing Yuta’s ankle, hand dipped under his vestments to stroke his tendon before pulling away.
Yuta was still ever grateful he was turned away from Zevlor to hide the flush of his face, his tail coiled with tourniquet-grip around his own waist.
The other hoof was next; nipped, cleaned, carved, grated.
Zevlor turned to wash his hands of dirt in the creek, brushing off hoof-nail from his lap.
He then stood, helping Yuta up.
Instant relief.
He visibly relaxed. He could feel tension in his spine, hips – shoulders even – drop. Yuta rubbed his neck with a quiet moan.
"Gods below, Zevlor. Thank you. I didn’t know how much I needed that."
"Uneven hooves can damage your bones, sore your muscles. You should feel even better the next few days." He sheathed his tools into his belt.
With uncharacteristic shyness, he took up Yuta’s hand. He looked down at it, his own were calloused from battle and war, yet Yuta’s were still soft, only a couple healing blisters from their recent encounters.
Their fingers laced.
Again, Zevlor’s heart beat in his chest, quietly worrying. And worries, again, evaporated as Yuta’s plush lips pressed against his.
They parted as brief as it was, Zevlor admiring Yuta’s face as it filled with pinkish hue. His hand cupped a warm cheek, thumb stroking just under a frosty eye. Another kiss, chaste. Then another. And another, deeper. Yuta’s hands rose to Zevlor’s shoulders. His teeth nipped Zevlor’s lip. The paladin’s tongue hollowed his mouth, drawing a low keening from the cleric’s throat.
Zevlor pried himself away from the honey of his tongue.
Yuta’s teeth grazed against his chin as he practically hung from Zevlor’s neck.
"You don’t have to—"
"I want to." Yuta nuzzled against his jaw. "I’ve wanted to."
But he pulled away, suddenly leaving Zevlor with naught but cold air.
The Hellrider reproached his fawnling with a gentle countenance.
"And yet something bothers you. You can tell me. I won’t ever judge you."
Yuta stared up to him through thick, crow-winged lashes.
No wounds, no scars, no magics, no curses, nothing could deter him from Yuta’s mild temperament and pleasant graces save for Yuta’s sole denial of him. Then it dawned on him. All alone in the tower...
"Have you ever...?"
Yuta shook his head. "No, I.. I haven’t. Not... with anyone."
"You don’t have to... With me."
"I want to!" Yuta insisted.
Zevlor laughed, hiding it into Yuta’s shoulder. The cleric felt his breath tickle against his skin, his cheek, then his ear.
"Such an eager fawn."
Yuta shuddered. He could melt into his hellfire arms, drink his smooth voice.
The older goat drew the straps of his own belt, Yuta releasing him to watch as the toolbelt fell. He unbuckled his pauldrons, tassets, sword-belt, piecing off his armor.
He sighed when he finally reached his gambeson, stretching his neck, shaking off the weight of armor.
Yuta looked down at himself, undoing his armored vestments. Pauldrons, mace-belt, cuirass, hauberk, heraldic skirted jerkin, tassets, gauntlets. Piece by piece until he was in nothing but a loose shift.
Each of them with a pile of armor off to the side.
Zevlor unbuttoned his gambeson, shedding it, now down to nothing but his undershirt and linen trousers.
He pulled Yuta closer, brushing hair behind his pointed ear, stroking his cheek as quiet reassurance. Then kissed as light as air. The cleric tried to follow his lips for more as he drew back.
"You can leave any time, you know," he said, stroking Yuta’s chin.
"I... I want to be with you. While we still have time."
The words made Zevlor’s heart ache. There was no guarantee of either of their survival, though he did have hope. They had each been putting off their inevitable departure for too long. Another kiss.
Yuta’s hands came to Zevolr’s shirt, helping him pull it from his head and horns.
Zevlor exposed himself first, dropping his trousers and underclothes, kicking them aside. His tail swung to and fro nervously. Excitedly.
Yuta glanced over his body, then away, then back, not sure if he could stare or not. He settled on staring. Absorbing. Zevlor’s body was a deep crimson, well-muscled, but not overly defined. Spines trailed down the center of his chest, down his sides, his hips, his... Yuta flushed.
Zevlor smiled, letting Yuta survey his body, get used to the vulnerability. He stepped forward with a slow, deliberate caution as though he may scare off a real fawn. His hand drew up to Yuta’s shoulder, watching his every expression. Yuta tilted his head to the opposite side, giving him silent permission, even as his eyes flickered nervously.
Zevlor slid the shift over Yuta’s shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.
All that as left were a simple set of underclothes, made to tie around his tail. Zevlor pulled the tie free, watching Yuta’s flush face, his lashes bat.
Yuta adjusted himself, his body now on display.
Zevlor drew a finger lightly over his bare, serrated shoulder.
He was worryingly thin, as Zevlor suspected, but had a shallow paunch of belly from the fuller meals he had been having lately. Zevlor made no comment, however, only quietly enjoyed the way his hair had taken shine, his horns stopped flaking, the way his gait was balanced now that his hooves were properly cut and smoothed. He smiled, a hand trailing to Yuta’s collarbone, down the center of his chest, then over his pointed breast. Yuta sucked in a breath as Zevlor’s thumb swiped over his grape-dark nipple.
"Utterly divine," Zevlor said smiling as he drank the image of Yuta’s nude frame, every ridge and detail, the dark patch of hair trailing down his stomach, the black of his hooves, the serrations on his joints, the delicate protrusion of his flowerbud clit peeking from his nuptial garden. Yuta sank shyly at the compliment. Zevlor’s crimson hand cupped his cheek, planting another kiss against the corner of his mouth.
Yuta reached out with slow caution, as though too sudden movement would ruin the moment. His hand curled behind Zevlor’s ear, fingers threaded into his hair, pulling loose his half-tail from its ribbon, letting his brown hair fall free just above his shoulders.
Zevlor stole his wrist, then pressed warm kisses to his veins, his palm, his fingertips, his knuckles.
Yuta wasn’t innocently prudish – in the few ounces of true privacy he could find, a wandering hand felt himself below, around, touching and delving and diving, exploring ways that made him forget, even briefly, the walls which he was confined.
There were no walls here.
Zevlor took Yuta’s hands, guiding them to his hips, letting them splay over his contrasting red skin, sliding them up his body, over the architecture of infernal blood under his pectorals before letting go, allowing Yuta to decide where they wandered next.
Glaucous hands explored the oathbreaker’s shoulders, smoothing over strong biceps, triceps, and against his back. He pulled Zevlor closer, nose brushed against the nape of his neck. He smelled mildly of pepper, camphor, and leather. Fingers followed the ridges over Zevlor’s back, drawing the outlines, and curiously came to a pair of small spikes sticking out from his shoulder blades.
Yuta tried to peak over Zevlor’s shoulder as the elder man chuckled.
"The thumb-stubs of would-be wings," he explained, lips against Yuta’s collarbone. "Interesting to touch, no doubt. But hardly as exciting as... other places."
Yuta tweaked the little spines with playful curiosity more than sensual foreplay. He never had the chance of being with one of his own kind, before. Entirely ignorant of other tiefling bodies. Zevlor’s hands followed up his blue protruding spine, splayed fingers over the outlines of his small, infernal winglets, ghosting teeth against a magenta-tipped ear.
Zevlor pulled back, taking Yuta by the hand to lead him to the blankets, sitting back against his palms and arching his back to allow his playmate the full extent of touch, sighing quietly as he enjoyed their skin-to-skin. Hands returning to his front, over his muscled chest, under his arms, then following the dull spines that lined his serrati.
Yuta had them, too, though not in the same pattern. The lines of his infernal heritage rounded just under his breasts before drawing down his body, leading into the dips of his hips. A few scale-like protrusions on his thighs, knees, elbows. His were more pointed than Zevlor’s markings. Was it chance genetics, or design of their bloodline progenitors? He found himself fascinated by their bodies, their differences, similarities. He never had the chance to explore in such detail, not even with himself.
"What... are they for?" Yuta asked, icy eyes flickering to Zevlor’s fiery ones.
"If I wager a guess, I’d say... aerodynamacy if we were full-blooded devils. But I’m no inferno-biologist."
Yuta leaned down, watching him as his lips fell to the center of his chest, feeling it vibrate against his lips as Zevlor spoke.
He trailed kisses up Zevlor’s chest, against his neck, his jaw. The Paladin tilted back his head, crooning pleasantly, a hand feeling over the curvature of Yuta’s spine, over the round of his rump, up the underbase of his tail. Yuta shuddered.
Zevlor pulled him flush against his body, laying both their bodies side by side, legs entangled as he felt over Yuta’s frame, kissing his neck, collar, tongue landing at his breast and swirled over his pert nipple.
Black claws tangled in his light brown hair, encouraging with blissful breath. His mouth encased Yuta’s dark bud, suckling as he teased the other between his thumb and finger. Yuta’s own hands wandered Zevolr’s chest, shyly mirroring the way his pinched and tweaked. Yuta’s thumbs rubbed into his dark red circles, drawing Zevlor’s moans against his blue skin, teeth nipping Yuta, in turn receiving a quiet ah!
Zevlor gingerly pushed him to his back, claiming his mouth hungrily. Yuta’s arms wrapped around his neck, feeling heat between his loins, meeting his hips against the other, both lewdly moaning into the other’s mouth. Yuta gyrated his hips against Zevlor, hooves digging the blankets into the grass, wanton, tongue against tongue.
Zevlor’s cock quickly filled with want at Yuta’s over-eagerness, parting the younger’s legs as he moved to sit between them.
Yuta sighed, blinking hazily and coyly at Zevlor, a sheepish, nervous smile blossoming over his face as he sunk into his own shoulders.
Zevlor cupped his cheek, stroking with his thumb. "Take your time," he reassured.
Yuta drew up his hand and splayed his fingers over Zevlor’s chest.
The simple word made Zevlor’s spine spark, tail spasm, Gods above, he prayed, seeing Yuta’s lascivious parted lips and hooded gaze. He kissed Yuta’s chest, ghosting over his breasts and skirted his tongue, visiting his other nipple. His hand slid down Yuta’s blue, ridged skin and figure, over his slender hip and thigh. Then paused, just above those delicate, delicious dark folds. The red tiefling looked up, waiting quietly for an answer.
The young tiefling nodded at him shyly.
He was slow, careful, a pair of fingers slipping between Yuta’s folds, feeling how wet he had become in such short time, utterly drenched with desire.
Yuta began to rock shallowly back and forth, mewling with want and need.
"Please," he repeated, longer, whinier. He didn’t know what he was asking, not exactly. Please touch me, please fuck me, please suck me, please anything. He didn’t know what he wanted, yet. He had never felt the touch of another, only what he could do to himself.
Zevlor wanted to tease. Show his eromenos patience.
But by gods did he want him, too.
His fingers pressed through. Yuta’s back bowed, finally breached, his tail twitched and jerked about, batting against the blankets and grass.
Zevlor thrust his fingers, in and out, turning his wrist slightly, drinking every dulcet moan of his eager, younger lover. The paladin tried to will his breaths evenly, finding it more difficult as Yuta’s delectable body contorted with impatience, increasingly losing his own demeanor at the sight of his fawn’s first coupling. His red cock swelled to fullness.
He removed his fingers, hand wet with juices. He stroked slick over himself, feeling the heat of his cock as it pulsed, aching to be used. Red-currant cock in hand, he rubbed it against Yuta’s slit, pressed the head against his hole, watching as the debauched cleric’s knees trembled, claws digging into Zevlor’s thighs.
The elder tiefling gasped, feeling wet warmth engulf his cock, just the tip, slowly, so slowly, pressing through. Another inch, and another, until he was partway cradled by Yuta’s body.
Yuta bit his lip, claws grabbing the blankets as he stilled himself, his body, trying to will himself open for Zevlor to take him.

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