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The cabin air was thick, heavy with the scent of musk and sweet, cloying need. Dusekkar writhed on the narrow cot, his shaggy hair plastered to his damp forehead, his antlers scraping against the rough-hewn wall. The blue pumpkin helm lay discarded on the floor, a forgotten artifact of a more composed self. A low, keening whine caught in his throat, every nerve ending in his body screaming for a touch he couldn’t articulate. His robes were bunched around his waist, his slender body trembling with the intensity of his hundred-year heat. Empty, a hollow ache that demanded to be filled, to be claimed, to be bred— his mind, usually so sharp and poetic, was a fog of pure, animal instinct.
Taph stood by the door, their own breathing ragged. Their wings were fluffed and twitching, a clear sign of a rut spiraling out of control. They watched Dusekkar’s desperate movements, the way his small deer tail flicked restlessly against the thin mattress. Their anxiety, a constant companion, had been burned away by a hotter, more primal fire. The sight of Dusekkar, so utterly lost to his cycle, short-circuited every rational thought. A soft, guttural sound, the only noise they could make, rumbled in their chest as they approached the cot. Their hands, usually so careful and precise, shook as they reached out.
One cloaked hand settled on Dusekkar’s hip, the touch electric. Dusekkar arched into it with a broken cry, a fractured rhyme dying on his lips. “Please… the ache, the need… help…” he begged, his words slurred and desperate.
Taph needed no more invitation. They fumbled with their own clothing, their movements frantic. The need to mount, to press close, to take, was an overwhelming imperative. She covered Dusekkar’s body with her own, the rough fabric of her cloak a stark contrast to Dusekkar’s feverish skin. Their wings enveloped them both, creating a dark, private world saturated with their combined scent.
Taph’s cock, hard and eager, slid through the wetness already soaking Dusekkar’s folds, and a shared, shuddering gasp echoed between them. Dusekkar’s head fell back, a string of incoherent pleas and half-rhymes tumbling from his mouth as Taph notched themselves at his entrance. With one powerful, instinct-driven thrust, they sheathed themselves completely.
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“—just ain’t himself, Shed. Mumbling. Could barely walk to his cabin.” Builderman’s southern drawl was laced with concern as he poked at the low fire in the main cabin’s hearth.
Shedletsky stretched his brown wings, the feathers rustling softly. “And ya said he blamed his cycle? That’s… rare for him? Don’t think he’s mentioned that before.” He frowned, his brow furrowing as a thought began to take shape, something uneasy stirring in the back of his mind. “You know, I saw Taph earlier. Looked… twitchy. Kept gathering up linens. Looked like she was trying to build a fort out of bedsheets by the woodshed.”
His voice trailed off, and suddenly, he went very still. The feathers along his wings stiffened, and his breath caught sharply in his throat. His amber eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place with an almost audible snap. Nesting. Taph wasn’t just restless—she was nesting.
Builderman paused, the iron poker hovering over a flame. His eyes met Shedletsky’s. The same horrifying, ludicrous realization dawned on both their faces at the exact same instant.
“Oh, hell no,” Builderman breathed. “The cabin. Now,”
They moved as one, bursting out of the main cabin and into the cool evening air, their boots pounding a frantic rhythm on the hard-packed earth path that led to the smaller dwellings.
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Dusekkar’s world bloomed. The hollow ache was instantly, perfectly filled. A sharp cry was torn from him, his body clamping down around the sudden, breathtaking intrusion. Full, so full, a stretching, burning satisfaction that shot through his core and melted his bones. His hands scrambled against Taph’s back, clutching at the cloak, feeling the powerful muscles beneath strain with the effort of holding still.
Taph’s hips stuttered, a low, continuous groan vibrating through her chest where it was pressed against Dusekkar’s back. The tight, wet heat surrounding them was bliss, a frenzy of sensation that threatened to end everything before it had truly begun. She buried her face in the nape of Dusekkar’s neck, breathing in his scent, her own body trembling with the effort of control. They began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that quickly grew more frantic, more demanding.
Thrust. Dusekkar moaned, his own hips pushing back to meet each movement, each drive sending jolts of pure, undiluted pleasure up his spine. Yes, yes, more, deeper— his thoughts were reduced to a single, percussive mantra matching the slap of skin on skin.
Thrust. Taph’s hands gripped his hips tighter, their fingers pressing into the soft flesh, sure to leave bruises. Their wings shook with the force of their movements, a flurry of brown feathers.
Thrust. The cot groaned in protest, its legs scraping against the wooden floor, the sound a crude metronome to their coupling. The air was filled with the sounds of their ragged breathing, Dusekkar’s high, desperate whimpers, and the wet, slick sounds of their joining. Taph’s pace became punishing, a relentless pursuit of a peak that was rushing toward them both. The breeding focus was all-consuming, a biological imperative that narrowed the universe to this single point of connection, this primal act of filling and being filled.
It was this cacophony that heralded the interruption.
The cabin door burst open with a splintering crack. Builderman stood there, his strong face a mask of alarm, with Shedletsky right behind him.
“I told you I heard— oh, for cryin’ out loud!” Builderman barked, his southern accent sharp with panic.
The sudden flood of light and sound was a bucket of ice water. Taph froze instantly, their body going rigid mid-thrust, a shocked, silent gasp catching in their throat. Their head snapped toward the door, eyes wide with a dazed mixture of shock and residual lust.
Dusekkar mewled in protest at the sudden lack of movement, the loss of friction, the unbearable emptiness that began to creep back in. He tried to push back against Taph’s still form, but his limbs were weak, his mind still clouded. “Don’t stop, need the… the…”
Builderman’s gaze swept over the scene, his eyes lingering on the clear evidence of what was about to happen. His concern instantly overrode his embarrassment. “Taph, get off of him! Now! Do you have any idea what y’all are about to do? Dusekkar, are you okay?”
He took a step further into the room, his focus entirely on the dazed man on the cot, his instincts in full force. This was exactly what he’d feared. Kids. In this hellscape? It was unthinkable.
But Shedletsky didn’t move. He stood rooted in the doorway, his own eyes locked not on the interrupted couple, but on Taph. The potent, musky scent of avian rut—Taph’s rut—hit his senses like a physical blow. His pupils dilated slightly. His own dormant cycle, which he’d been so carefully managing, ignited.
A low, predatory growl rumbled in Shedletsky’s chest, a sound utterly unlike his usual jokester tone. His brown wings, usually held neatly folded, began to flare out, puffing up in a display of dominant aggression. The swordfighting champion’s gaze turned dark, intense, and hungry. The protective care he held for his friends was suddenly filtered through a raw, primal lens of competition and desire.
Builderman glanced back, his exasperation turning to pure dismay as he saw the transformation come over Shedletsky. “Aw, hell. Shedletsky? Don’t you dare. Don’t you even think about it.”
Shedletsky’s eyes, glazed with a rising rut of his own, flicked from Taph to Builderman. A wicked, dangerous smile spread across his face. “Well, Builds,” he purred, his predatory gaze locked on Taph, “someone has to take control of this situation.”
“The hell they do!” Builderman snapped, his southern drawl sharp with frustration. He took a protective step toward Dusekkar’s shuddering form on the cot, but his attention was divided, watching the two avians posture. “Shedletsky, you get a damn grip. This ain’t the time for your… your conquest nonsense.” He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Look at the both of you. Puffin’ up like a couple of show birds. It’s pathetic.”
His words were a challenge Shedletsky was all too eager to meet. Shedletsky didn’t even look at Builderman. His entire world had narrowed to the cloaked figure of Taph, who was still frozen, half-pulled from Dusekkar, their own wings twitching with a nervous energy that was rapidly being consumed by a defensive rut-fueled haze. Taph’s hands signed a frantic, shaky question, but Shedletsky wasn’t listening to words, spoken or signed.
He saw only a rival. A challenge. A prize.
With a speed that belied his size, Shedletsky closed the distance. He didn’t throw a punch; he moved through Taph’s space, his body a battering ram of intent. One hand shot out, not to strike, but to grasp the back of Taph’s neck. The other clamped onto a tense wing muscle at the shoulder.
Taph jerked, a silent gasp of surprise and pain echoing in the small room. They struggled for a moment, their own instincts screaming to fight back, to defend their claimed mate. But Shedletsky was stronger, a seasoned fighter whose rut manifested not as frantic anxiety, but as focused, undeniable dominance. He used his weight, his leverage, forcing Taph to stumble sideways, away from the cot, away from Dusekkar.
Their wings tangled, a flurry of brown and darker brown feathers. A sharp elbow connected with Shedletsky’s ribs, earning a grunt, but it only made his grip tighten. He slammed Taph back against the nearest cabin wall, the impact jarring a soundless puff of air from Taph’s lungs. They were chest to chest, breathing each other’s heated, musky air, a silent battle of wills.
And then, the shift.
Shedletsky’s head dipped. His mouth found Taph’s not in a battle, but in a claim. It was a harsh, desperate kiss, all teeth and possessiveness. For a heartbeat, Taph resisted, their body rigid. Then, with a shudder that seemed to travel through their entire frame, they yielded. Their mouth opened under Shedletsky’s, their own hunger rising to meet the challenge. The fight bled out of them, replaced by a different, more urgent kind of struggle.
Builderman watched, his initial anger morphing into a stunned, weary disbelief. “Unbelievable,” he muttered to the room, shaking his head. But his concern was already pivoting, pulled by the desperate, keening sounds coming from the cot.
Dusekkar was alone, trembling, a weeping mess of unmet need. He writhed, his fingers clawing at the rough blanket beneath him, his antlers thumping dully against the wall. Tears traced clean paths through the sweat on his cheeks. The sudden abandonment, the brutal cessation of friction and fullness, had left him stranded on an agonizing peak, his heat a wildfire with nothing to consume. Empty, empty, so empty-
“Hush now, son. I got you,” Builderman’s voice was a low, soothing rumble as he knelt beside the cot. He ignored the heated scuffle happening a few feet away, his world narrowing to the suffering man in front of him. His large, calloused hands, usually for building and leading, now hovered over Dusekkar’s trembling form, unsure where to land. “Just tryin’ to help. Gotta get you cooled down.”
Dusekkar’s eyes were unfocused, glassy with primal distress. He whimpered, a high, broken sound, and bucked his hips pathetically against the empty air. The slick evidence of his desperate arousal gleamed on his inner thighs. The scent of him—sweet, fertile, and utterly intoxicating—hit Builderman, but he shoved the instinctive reaction down, layering duty over desire.
“Sshhh, I know, I know it hurts,” Builderman murmured, his voice a gentle anchor in Dusekkar’s storm. He finally settled one steadying hand on Dusekkar’s jutting hip bone, the touch firm and grounding. With the other, he carefully, so carefully, pushed the bunched-up robes further up Dusekkar’s waist.
The sight that greeted him would have stolen the breath from a lesser man. Dusekkar was laid utterly bare, glistening and flushed, his body begging for completion. Builderman didn’t hesitate. His protective instincts forged a path forward. He had to take the edge off, had to quell this fire, and he was the only one here with a clear head to do it.
He lowered his head.
The first flat stroke of his tongue, from perineum to clit, was a revelation.
Dusekkar cried out, a sharp, shattered sound that was equal parts shock and overwhelming relief. His whole body arched off the cot, his back forming a tense bow. Cool, wet, pressure, yes—
Builderman groaned against him, the taste exploding on his tongue—musky, sweet, and uniquely Dusekkar. It fueled his determination. He settled in, his southern charm replaced by a single-minded focus. He licked into him with broad, steady strokes, savoring the flavor, learning the geography of his need. He swirled his tongue around the throbbing bundle of nerves, and Dusekkar’s legs jerked, his feet scrambling for purchase on the rough wool blanket.
“More… please, more, fill me…” Dusekkar begged, his words a slurred, rhythmic plea, his hands finding Builderman’s short-cropped hair, not to guide, but to cling, to hold him in place.
Builderman obliged. As his mouth worked its magic on Dusekkar’s clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over it with rapid precision, his hand came up. Two fingers, thick and rough from a lifetime of work, slid through the slickness, gathering it before pressing slowly, inexorably, inside.
Dusekkar sobbed. The stretch was exquisite, a pale but welcome imitation of what he truly craved. It was something. It was filling. Builderman’s fingers curled, pressing deep, searching. When they brushed against a particular spot inside him, Dusekkar screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound of pure pleasure. His hips canted off the bed, meeting the thrust of Builderman’s fingers, riding them desperately.
Builderman kept his rhythm, his fingers pumping in a steady, deep cadence while his mouth worshiped Dusekkar’s clit. The wet, filthy sounds of his ministrations filled the cabin, harmonizing with Dusekkar’s broken cries and the ragged, muffled grunts from the two avians against the wall. He could feel Dusekkar’s inner muscles fluttering around his fingers, tightening, seeking that final, perfect friction. He was pulling the tension out of him, siphon by siphon, replacing the frantic, breeding-mad desperation with something slower, deeper, more controlled.
“That’s it, just let go,” Builderman murmured against his slick skin, his voice a husky promise. “I’ve got you. Just let it happen.”
The predatory kiss against the wall was a battle Shedletsky was winning. His tongue conquered Taph’s mouth, a harsh, demanding invasion that brooked no resistance. Taph’s initial rigid shock melted under the onslaught, their body yielding with a shuddering gasp. Their hands, which had been raised to push him away, now clutched at his shoulders, claws digging into the fabric of his shirt. A low, guttural sound, the only voice they had, vibrated against Shedletsky’s lips—a sound of surrender and burgeoning, frantic need.
Shedletsky broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged pulls. His eyes, dark with rut-fueled possession, scanned Taph’s face. “You think you can just take what you want?” he growled, his voice a rough caress. He shifted his hips, grinding his own hard length against Taph’s through their clothes. The friction drew a silent, open-mouthed coo from Taph.
His hands moved from pinning Taph’s wrists to fumbling with her tunic, his movements rough and impatient. He didn’t bother with gentle undressing; he yanked and pulled until Taph’s cock sprang free, hard and dripping. Taph’s head thumped back against the wall, her wings fluttering helplessly.
Shedletsky didn’t give her a moment to adjust. He spat into his own palm, slicking himself with a crude, efficient motion before aligning their bodies. He drove into Taph in one brutal, unforgiving thrust.
Taph’s body seized, a silent, seismic cry shaking their frame. Their eyes screwed shut, their fingers scrabbling against the rough wood of the wall as Shedletsky buried himself to the hilt. The stretch was immense, blinding, a perfect, painful fullness that their mind craved.
Shedletsky didn’t pause. He set a punishing, relentless pace from the start, each slam of his hips hammering Taph against the cabin wall. The structure groaned in protest, a steady percussion to the wet, slapping sounds of their union. He leaned in, his mouth against Taph’s feathered ear. “This is what you wanted,” he rasped, his voice thick with exertion and lust. “Not that gentle nonsense. You wanted to be taken. Put in your place.”
Each word was punctuated by a sharp, deep thrust that stole the air from Taph’s lungs. Her own hips began to move, meeting Shedletsky’s aggressive drives with a desperate hunger of her own. Their rivalry was forgotten, burned away in the pure, primal furnace. Their world narrowed to the sensation of being filled, used, and dominated. It was a brutal, breathtaking absolution.
Across the room, Dusekkar was falling apart under Builderman’s ministrations. The clever work of his mouth and fingers had brought him to a fever pitch, his body coiled tight as a spring. “Please, Builderman… more than… fingers… need…” he begged, his rhyming plea a broken stream of desperation. “Need more…”
Builderman lifted his head, his lips glistening. He looked down at Dusekkar, at the absolute, wrecked need written on his face. He saw the trust there, mixed with the animalistic drive. His protective heart warred with the reality of the situation. He could give relief, but he would not— could not—risk the consequence.
“I know, Dusekkar. I know what you need,” Builderman said, his voice husky with his own repressed desire. He rose up on his knees, his own arousal a formidable presence. His hands went to his belt, fumbling with the buckle. “I’ll give it to you. I’ll fill that ache. But we gotta be smart about this.”
Dusekkar whined, a high, distressed sound, when he saw Builderman produce a small, square packet from his pocket. His heat-addled brain recognized it as an obstacle, a denial of the deep, breeding imperative that consumed him. “No… no shield… need it… true…” he pleaded, trying to push Builderman’s hands away, but his movements were weak, uncoordinated.
“Hush now,” Builderman soothed, his tone leaving no room for argument even as his hands trembled. He sheathed himself with the condom, the act feeling clinical and wrong amidst the cabin’s primal chaos. “I ain’t gonna risk you. Not like this. Not in this damned place.” He positioned himself, the blunt head of his cock pressing against Dusekkar’s soaked, desperate entrance. “This’ll be enough. You’ll see.”
He pushed forward.
Dusekkar cried out as Builderman entered him. It was a different fullness than Taph’s—thicker, perhaps, but dulled. The thin barrier was a blasphemy against his heat, a constant, teasing reminder of the ultimate release being withheld. Yet, the stretch was immense, the penetration deep. His body, starved for connection, clung to Builderman desperately, accepting the substitute with a sobbing gratitude.
“Oh… oh, yes… move…” Dusekkar muttered.
Builderman began to move, setting a steady, deep rhythm that was the polar opposite of Shedletsky’s frenzied pounding. Each thrust was measured, intentional, designed to drag out the pleasure, to soothe the fire rather than exacerbate it. He braced one hand beside Dusekkar’s head, the other gripping his hip, holding him firm. He watched the play of agony and ecstasy on Dusekkar’s face, his own pleasure building in a slow, coiling wave.
The cabin was a symphony of sex. The savage rhythm of Shedletsky taking Taph against the wall. The wet, slick sounds of Builderman’s diligent, careful thrusts. The ragged gasps and broken pleas. The musk of four bodies, one in heat, two in rut, was overpowering, a fog of pure Need.
Builderman felt Dusekkar’s inner muscles begin to flutter and tighten around him, the first tremors of an approaching climax. He drove into him harder, losing a bit of his control, his own breath catching. “That’s it… let go for me…”
A particularly loud crash came from the other side of the room as Shedletsky drove into Taph with enough force to make the whole wall shudder. The sound seemed to push Dusekkar over the edge. His back arched impossibly, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as his orgasm ripped through him, his body convulsing around Builderman’s cock.
The intense, rhythmic clenching was Builderman’s undoing. With a guttural groan, he followed him over, his own release crashing through him, his thrusts becoming short, jerky pulses as he spilled into the condom, a hollow, contained satisfaction.
Panting, he slumped over Dusekkar, who lay boneless and shuddering beneath him. Across the room, Shedletsky’s motions reached a frantic, brutal peak before he stilled, his own rough cry echoing in the small space, his body pressed flush against Taph’s.
For a moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing.
Builderman pushed himself up, looking down at Dusekkar’s peacefully dazed expression. A wave of relief washed over him. Crisis averted. He’d done it. He’d—
His eyes flicked to Shedletsky, who was still pinning Taph to the wall, both of them breathing heavily. Shedletsky met his gaze. A slow, wicked, post-coital smile spread across Shedletsky’s face, his eyes still blazing with rut-fueled intensity.
“See?” Shedletsky purred, his voice dangerously smooth. “Everyone’s all taken care of.” His gaze then drifted down to Builderman’s waist, to the used condom. His smile turned into a sharp, mocking grin. “Well. Almost everyone. Playing it safe?”
He wandered over, feathers puffed up with an unwavering intensity. The avian's dilated eyes looked over the shuddering mage below, and within a moment his lips were clashing with the other.
Shedletsky’s kiss was a brand, a searing claim that short-circuited the last of Dusekkar’s fragile coherence. The avian’s muscular body pressed him down into the cot, a welcome, familiar weight that his heat-addled soul recognized as right. Dusekkar’s hands came up, not to push away, but to clutch at Shedletsky’s shoulders, his blunt nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he kissed back with a desperate, keening hunger. A low growl of satisfaction vibrated from Shedletsky’s chest into his own.
With a powerful, dismissive shove, Shedletsky pushed Builderman back, breaking his connection to the scene without even looking at him. His focus was entirely on the pliant, needy creature beneath him. He ground his hips down, the hard ridge of his cock, still slick from his encounter with Taph, pressing insistently against Dusekkar’s soaked core.
“Mine, now,” Shedletsky growled against his mouth, the words less a statement and more a primal truth his rut was screaming.
Dusekkar could only whimper in response, his body arching up, seeking the pressure, his world dissolving into a haze of scent and sensation. Alpha. Rut. Claim. Shedletsky’s hands were everywhere, yanking at his own clothes, then at the remnants of Dusekkar’s robes. There was no finesse, only a brutal, efficient need for skin. And then, with one powerful, unhesitating thrust, he was inside.
Dusekkar’s cry was a shattered, wordless thing of pure, unadulterated relief. Shedletsky filled him in a way that was entirely different from Taph or even Builderman—deeper, more claiming, a perfect, stretching fullness that finally, finally, touched the agonizing emptiness his heat had carved inside him. His head fell back, his antlers scraping the wall as his eyes rolled back in his head.
Shedletsky didn’t give him a moment to adjust. He set a ruthless, driving pace from the first second, each snap of his hips slamming Dusekkar into the cot with a force that promised bruises. His wings flared, enveloping them in a canopy of dark feathers and musk.
From his place on the floor, pushed aside and forgotten, Builderman could only stare. His protective instincts screamed, a shrill alarm in his mind. No condom. No control. No thought for the consequences. He looked from the frantic, rhythmic motion of Shedletsky claiming Dusekkar to Taph, who stood frozen by the wall.
Taph’s expression was a raw wound of betrayal and a jealousy so potent it was a physical presence in the room. Her hands, usually so expressive, hung limp at her sides before curling into tight, frustrated fists. They watched Shedletsky move over Dusekkar, their own neglected arousal a painful, throbbing ache. Their rut, still in full swing, had no outlet, no focus, and it was turning inward into a bitter, silent fury.
Builderman’s initial flare of disappointment—at Shedletsky’s recklessness, at Dusekkar’s lost coherence, at the entire impossible situation—melted away, replaced by a weary thought. It’s the cycles. A cruel, damnable twist of fate. They weren't thinking. They were feeling. His job wasn’t to command or try to control this. That was impossible. All he could do was soothe and care.
His eyes settled on Taph. Their distress was a palpable thing. Without another thought, Builderman moved. He crawled the short distance to where Taph stood rooted, a statue of longing and hurt. He looked up at them, his strong face softened with a compassion that ran deeper than frustration.
“Hey now,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “Ain’t no cause for that look.” He reached out, his calloused hand gentle as it encircled Taph’s wrist. He slowly guided their clenched fist down, his touch firm but kind. “C’mere. Let me help.”
Taph resisted for a fraction of a second, their gaze still locked on the cot, before allowing themselves to be pulled down to their knees. Her breathing was ragged, her wings twitching with anxious, pent-up energy. Builderman positioned himself in front of them, his back to the passionate scene on the cot, deliberately blocking Taph’s view.
“Don’t you worry about them,” he said softly, his fingers moving to push aside Taph's robes once again. “They’re lost to it. But you… you’re still here with me.” He freed Taph’s cock, hard and weeping with neglect. A sympathetic throb went through Builderman at the sight. “So eager, ain’t you?”
He spat into his palm, the act crude but necessary, and wrapped his work-roughened fingers around Taph’s length. Taph jolted at the contact, a silent, sharp gasp parting their lips. Her hips gave an involuntary thrust into the tight, warm friction.
“That’s it,” Builderman coaxed, beginning a slow, steady stroke. He used his whole hand, his grip firm and confident, a master craftsman attending to a precious task. “Just focus on this. Right here.” He swiped his thumb over the slick head, smearing pre-cum in smooth circles that made Taph’s thighs tremble.
Taph’s eyes, wide and desperate, finally flicked down to watch his hand work. Their own hands came up, signing a shaky, incomplete question.
Builderman caught the motion and smiled, a warm, genuine thing. “Shhh, I know. It’s a lot. But you’re doin’ so good. So good.” He adjusted his rhythm, twisting his wrist on the upstroke in a way that made Taph’s breath hitch. “You’re such a good girl, takin’ this so well. So patient.”
The praise seemed to fracture something in Taph. A full-body shudder wracked their frame. Their head dropped forward, their forehead coming to rest against Builderman’s broad shoulder. A broken, soundless sob shook her, but her hips never stopped their desperate, chasing rhythm into his fist.
Builderman held them, his free arm wrapping around their trembling form, pulling them close. He nuzzled against the feathered side of their head, his voice a continuous, husky whisper against their skin. “That’s my good girl. Just let it go. Let me take care of you. You deserve this. You deserve to feel good.”
He could feel the tension coiling in Taph’s abdomen, the telltale tightening that signaled their approaching peak. He sped up his hand, his strokes becoming faster, tighter, perfectly relentless.
Behind him, the sounds of Shedletsky and Dusekkar reached a fever pitch. The wet slap of skin, Shedletsky’s guttural grunts, Dusekkar’s high, rhythmic cries of “Deeper! Breed me! Yes!” It was a symphony of abandon.
Despite this Taph was entirely focused on the firm presence of Builderman, her head swirling with want.. With a violent, silent shudder, they came apart against him. Their release painted hot stripes across his hand and their own stomach, their body seizing as waves of intense pleasure finally, mercifully, washed through them. Builderman held her through it, murmuring soft praises, working her through every last pulse until she went boneless against him, her breathing evening out into exhausted, deep pulls.
He held Taph for a moment longer, providing a steady anchor in the storm of the cabin. Then, slowly, he turned his head to look over his shoulder at the cot. Shedletsky’s pace had become frantic, animalistic. Dusekkar was sobbing openly, chanting a stream of broken rhymes about knots and filling and claiming. Builderman’s protective instinct flared again, but it was muted now, resigned.
The scent of Shedletsky’s release was a heady, primal perfume in the air, mingling with the sweet, cloying aroma of Dusekkar’s heat. Shedletsky remained buried deep inside him, his body a heavy, possessive weight, his breathing a ragged drumbeat against Dusekkar’s back. The immediate, all-consuming fire in Dusekkar’s blood had been banked, but it was far from extinguished. The warmth spreading inside him was a temporary salve, not a cure. His mind, still swimming in a sea of instinct, recognized the absence of one vital thing.
His head lolled to the side, his glazed eyes finding Taph, who was being held so tenderly by Builderman. A fresh, desperate need clawed its way up his throat.
“Taph…” The name was a cracked, breathy sigh. Then, with more force, a broken, rhyming plea tumbled out. “The one is good, the one is deep… but the ache does not sleep… I need the other, need the pair… to truly fill this hollow there…”
His hand, trembling, lifted from the sweat-slicked cot, fingers stretching towards the avian across the room. “Please… both… I need you both inside… make the hollowness subside…”
Shedletsky, still riding the potent high of his own orgasm, lifted his head. A dark, intrigued chuckle vibrated through his chest and into Dusekkar’s body. His eyes, still blazing with rut-fueled intensity, locked onto Taph. The raw, begging need from the man beneath him was a potent aphrodisiac, and the sight of his rival—softened, spent, and being comforted by Builderman—ignited a fresh, competitive spark.
“You hear that, little bird?” Shedletsky’s voice was a rough, possessive purr. “The feast isn’t over. He wants us both. Thinks he can take us both.” He punctuated his words with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, making Dusekkar gasp and push back weakly. “You think you have anything left to give him? Or did Builds there wear you out with his gentle hands?”
The challenge was clear. It cut through Taph’s post-orgasmic haze like a knife. Her eyes, which had been closed in exhausted relief, snapped open. The jealousy from moments before had been soothed by Builderman’s touch, but now it was morphing into something else—a sharp, competitive need to answer Shedletsky’s taunt. To prove themselves. To reclaim their place beside Dusekkar.
They shrugged off Builderman’s comforting arm with a gentle but firm movement, their gaze fixed on Shedletsky, a new fire in their eyes. Their hands signed a quick, sharp series of motions. I can give him what he needs. More than you.
Shedletsky’s grin was feral. “Prove it.”
With a strength that seemed to return in a rush, Taph rose to their feet. She gave Builderman a quiet kiss on the cheek as their foreheads nuzzled together, separating away from him. They approached the cot, their movements no longer anxious or hesitant, but purposeful, driven by a resurrected rut and a fierce desire to compete.
Builderman watched them go, his hand still slick from Taph’s release, a complex knot of emotions tightening in his chest. His protective instinct screamed at him to stop this, to somehow manage this uncontrollable situation. But the sight… gods, the sight. Taph, proud and determined, climbing onto the cot beside Dusekkar’s trembling form. Shedletsky, watching with predatory approval, finally pulling out of Dusekkar with a soft, wet sound that made Builderman’s mouth go dry.
Dusekkar whined at the loss, but it was quickly stifled as Taph’s hands were on him, turning him gently onto his side to face Shedletsky. Taph spooned up behind him, her body curving around his. Her wings enveloped them both, a darker contrast to Shedletsky’s.
“That’s it,” Shedletsky murmured, his voice dripping with dark encouragement as he guided Dusekkar’s leg over his hip. “Make room for us.”
Builderman could only watch, frozen, his own neglected arousal now a throbbing, insistent pressure against his stomach. His mind raced with the implications. But the primal part of him, the part he kept locked down under layers of duty, was utterly captivated.
Taph’s hand slid down Dusekkar’s flank, their touch surprisingly sure. They were slicking themselves with the spend that already coated Dusekkar’s thighs and Shedletsky’s own release that was leaking from him. Shedletsky, meanwhile, was already repositioning, his cock hard again with a rut’s relentless drive, pressing against Dusekkar’s front.
They moved in a terrifying, perfect unison, a shared understanding passing between the two rivals in that moment. Shedletsky pushed forward, sinking back into the wet, welcoming heat he’d just left. Dusekkar cried out, his back arching—and in the same second, Taph pressed her own length against his rear entrance.
Dusekkar’s eyes flew wide, a sharp, startled gasp catching in his throat. This was new. This was more. Taph was gentle but insistent, using the slickness to press against the tight ring of muscle. A low, soothing sound rumbled in their chest, a wordless promise against Dusekkar’s sensitive ear as they pushed, slowly, inexorably, inside.
A broken, guttural scream was torn from Dusekkar. The double penetration was overwhelming, an all-encompassing fullness that stole the air from his lungs and any semblance of thought from his mind. He was filled, stuffed, stretched to his absolute limit between them. Shedletsky in his cunt, Taph in his ass—a complete and utter claiming.
“Yes! Oh, by the gods, YES!” he screamed, his voice cracking on the words as his tail flicked frantically.
They began to move. Not in competition now, but in a devastating, coordinated rhythm. Shedletsky would thrust forward, pushing Dusekkar back onto Taph, who would meet the movement with a deep push of their own. It was a relentless, rolling wave of sensation, each thrust from one amplifying the pleasure from the other. Dusekkar was just a vessel for their shared possession, his body a conduit of pure, screaming pleasure. His world dissolved into the feeling of being taken, owned, and utterly filled from both sides.
Builderman’s breath hitched. His hand, seemingly of its own accord, went down in search of his length. His fingers fumbled, clumsy, as he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the trio. The lewd, wet sounds of their joining, the sight of Dusekkar being so completely taken, the raw, animalistic grit on Shedletsky’s face, the focused intensity on Taph’s—it was the most erotic, most terrifying thing he had ever witnessed.
He finally found his own aching cock, wrapping his fist around it with a relieved groan. His strokes were rough, hurried, matching the frantic pace set on the cot. He was no longer the leader, the protector. He was just a man, driven to the edge by a spectacle of pure, unadulterated need. He watched Shedletsky’s hand grip Dusekkar’s hip, his wings shaking with the force of his thrusts. He watched Taph’s face, pressed against Dusekkar’s back, her eyes squeezed shut in concentration and pleasure.
He was so focused on them, he almost missed the change. Dusekkar’s cries, which had been constant, began to shift in pitch, becoming higher, more desperate. His body started to clamp down, a series of violent, rhythmic tremors seizing him. Shedletsky’s thrusts became erratic, then stopped altogether as he buried himself as deep as he could go with a guttural roar, his own release triggered by Dusekkar’s contracting heat. The feeling of Shedletsky pulsing inside him was the final trigger for Taph, who followed suit with a silent, shuddering climax, their body pressing flush against Dusekkar’s as they filled him from behind.
The combined sensation of being filled, overflowing, from both sides finally shattered Dusekkar completely. His third orgasm of the night ripped through him with the force of a tidal wave, his scream a raw, wordless sound of absolute, mind-breaking completion. His body went rigid, then utterly limp, held up only by the two men still locked inside him.
Builderman’s own climax was beginning to build, his hips occasionally giving a stutter of pure bliss. He bit his lower lip as he watched the aftermath, his heart hammering against his ribs. He slumped back against the wall.
Silence descended, broken only by the ragged, panting breaths of four beings. Shedletsky was the first to move, a low, satiated laugh rumbling in his chest as he looked over Dusekkar’s shoulder at Taph.
“Well,” he panted, a smirk in his voice.
The silence was thick, heavy with the scent of sex and sweat and primal satisfaction. Dusekkar lay between them, utterly spent, his body a limp, beautiful ruin. But the fire in Shedletsky’s veins was a stubborn beast, slow to be sated. His rut, though momentarily placated, still simmered, demanding more.
His dark eyes, gleaming with a predatory light, met Taph’s over Dusekkar’s slack shoulder. A silent, challenging communication passed between them, a language of raised eyebrows and slight tilts of the head that spoke of a shared, unfulfilled hunger. The competitive tension from before had melted into something else—a collaborative, dark curiosity.
Shedletsky slowly, carefully, pulled himself free from Dusekkar’s heat. The soft, wet sound was obscenely loud in the quiet cabin. Dusekkar whimpered softly at the loss, a faint protest from the depths of his exhaustion.
With a gesture so fluid it seemed rehearsed, Shedletsky tapped Taph’s hip, then pointed to the space he’d just vacated. His meaning was clear. Switch.
Understanding dawned on Taph’s face, followed by a flare of intense, eager arousal. They moved with a new confidence, extracting themself from Dusekkar’s rear with equal care. For a moment, Dusekkar lay empty, panting softly, his body twitching with oversensitivity. Then Taph was shifting him, turning him gently onto his back, positioning herself between his trembling thighs.
Shedletsky moved behind Taph, his hands gripping their hips. He looked over Taph’s shoulder, watching as Taph guided themself into Dusekkar’s well-used, dripping cunt. Dusekkar’s back arched off the cot with a gasped cry as Taph sheathed themself inside him in one smooth, deep stroke. The sensation was different, a familiar fullness from a different angle, and his oversensitive nerves screamed in a confusing mix of protest and bliss.
Before he could even process it, Shedletsky was there. He spat into his palm, slicking himself, and pressed the blunt head of his cock against Dusekkar’s other entrance, still stretched and loose from Taph’s previous possession. He didn’t hesitate. He pushed forward, burying himself in the tight, clenching heat of Dusekkar’s ass in one relentless thrust.
Dusekkar’s scream was choked, shattered. His eyes flew open, wide and unseeing. The double penetration was back, but inverted, and the sensation was completely, world-alteringly different. Taph was in his cunt, a firm, thick presence that stroked the heart of his heat. Shedletsky was in his ass, deeper, harder, a ruthless invasion that pressed against his very core. They weren't just filling him; they were rearranging him from the inside out.
Oh, gods… it’s… it’s everywhere… I can feel… everything… His thoughts were fragmented, sensory overload short-circuiting his mind. He could feel the individual pulses of Taph’s cock inside his cunt. He could feel the rough texture of Shedletsky’s thrusts in his ass. They moved, and the opposing pressures created a friction that burned through him, a pleasure so acute it bordered on pain.
They found a new rhythm, a devastating counterpoint. Taph thrust in, and Shedletsky pulled back. Shedletsky drove forward, and Taph retreated. Dusekkar was the nexus, the point where all their energy collided and erupted. He was so full, so stretched, he could barely breathe. Each gasp was a ragged plea. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the rough blankets, his antlers knocking against the wall behind him with every jarring impact.
Builderman watched from his corner, his own arousal roaring with a vengeance. The sight was beyond anything he could have conceived. The raw, animalistic union of the three of them, a tangle of limbs and wings and desperate, driving need. He saw the absolute, mindless ecstasy on Dusekkar’s face, the fierce concentration on Taph’s, the predatory triumph on Shedletsky’s. His protective instincts were drowned out by a wave of pure, unadulterated want. The careful leader, the responsible one, shattered.
With a groan of surrender, Builderman rose on unsteady legs. He wasn’t thinking of consequences, of risks, of managing the situation. He was only thinking of joining. He moved behind Taph, his hands finding their waist. Taph, lost in their own rhythm, flinched for a fraction of a second before realizing who it was. They glanced back, their eyes dark with a question.
“Shhh,” Builderman murmured, his voice thick with a desire he’d long suppressed. “Just… make room for me, darlin’.”
He pressed himself against Taph’s back, the heat of their body searing through his clothes. His hands slid around their hips, his fingers finding where their body joined with Dusekkar’s, feeling the wet, slick evidence of their joining. He guided himself, his cock hard and aching, to Taph’s rear entrance. He pushed, his muscles straining, and with a low, guttural moan from them both, he was inside.
The chain was complete. Builderman thrust into Taph, who thrust into Dusekkar, who was being filled by Shedletsky. The cabin was filled with the symphony of their connection—the wet slap of skin, the ragged gasps, the groan of the cot under the weight of four bodies. It was a primal, raw circuit of pleasure, each movement amplified and transferred through the chain of their connected bodies.
Dusekkar was sobbing openly, tears of overstimulation and absolute ecstasy streaming down his temples. He was the center of the universe, the focus of every thrust, every groan, every ounce of desperate need in the room. The feeling of being the crucial, overwhelmed link in this carnal chain shattered the last of his sanity. His climax began to build again, a terrifying, inevitable tsunami of sensation with no single point of origin, but emanating from the entirety of his utterly claimed body.
He came with a silent, breathless scream, his body seizing so violently it forced cries from both Taph and Shedletsky. The intense, rhythmic clenching of his cunt around Taph was the final trigger. Taph’s head fell back against Builderman’s shoulder as they found their own release, a silent, shuddering eruption inside Dusekkar that seemed to go on forever.
Shedletsky roared, his own climax tearing through him, his thrusts becoming wild, erratic jerks as he filled Dusekkar for the second time.
The violent convulsions moving through the bodies connected to him tipped Builderman over his own edge. With a choked cry, he buried himself as deep as he could in Taph and came.
The chain reaction of orgasms left them all as one heaving, trembling entity. Slowly, one by one, they collapsed. Shedletsky slid out first, slumping onto the cot beside Dusekkar. Taph followed, pulling free from both Builderman and Dusekkar to crumple onto the floor. Dusekkar simply lay there, eyes closed, breathing in shallow, shocked gasps, utterly insensate. The world went black, and he knew no more.
Builderman, panting and dazed, was the last one standing. He looked at the wreckage of the cabin and the three unconscious forms. His own body screamed for sleep, but the deep-seated need to care, to fix, to protect, reasserted itself through the fog of exhaustion and spent lust.
With a weary sigh, he found a rag and a basin of water. He moved through the cabin. First, he gently cleaned Dusekkar, wiping the sweat and spend from his thighs and stomach, his touch tender. He managed to lift the tall, broad man—no easy feat—and maneuvered him into one of the other cots, tucking a thin blanket around him. Next was Taph. He turned them over, cleaning them with the same methodical care before scooping them up and placing them in a second cot. Lastly, he half-dragged, half-carried the dead weight of Shedletsky to the third cot, the avian muttering incoherently but not waking.
He stood in the center of the room, the only conscious being amidst the evidence of their primal abandon. The air was still thick with the musk of sex and the quiet, even breathing of deep sleep. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind awhirl with the sheer audacity of what they’d done, the risks they’d taken.
Builderman stood in the dimly lit cabin, his gaze lingering on each of them in turn. Dusekkar’s face, usually so sharp and composed in its poise, was now softened in sleep, his antlers resting gently against the pillow. Taph lay curled on their side, their wings folded awkwardly but peacefully, their breathing even. Shedletsky sprawled across his cot, one arm hanging off the edge, a faint smirk still playing on his lips even in unconsciousness.
A slow, incredulous chuckle escaped Builderman’s lips as the sheer absurdity of the night hit him. What the hell just happened? It had started as a desperate attempt to intervene, to keep things from escalating. And yet, somehow, he’d ended up… well, neck-deep in the chaos. A foursome. Of course it had been. They’d been circling each other for centuries, their relationship a tangled web of affection and desire, but they’d never crossed this line before. Not like this. Not with their instincts screaming louder than reason.
And yet… despite the madness, despite the raw, unbridled lust that had driven them all, it hadn’t felt wrong. It had felt inevitable. Like they’d finally found a way to connect on a level deeper than words or gestures could ever reach. He cared for them—deeply, fiercely. They were his partners, his family, his everything. And tonight, they’d been… united. In every sense of the word.
He stepped closer to Dusekkar first, brushing a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmured softly. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to Dusekkar’s temple, his lips lingering for a moment. “I love you.”
Next, he crouched beside Taph’s cot, adjusting their wing so it lay more comfortably. “You did good tonight,” he whispered, though he knew she couldn’t hear him. His hand rested on her shoulder for a brief moment before he kissed the crown of her head. “I love you.”
Finally, he approached Shedletsky, who was snoring softly. Builderman shook his head with a wry grin. “You’re a damn handful,” he muttered under his breath, but there was no real bite to it. He leaned down, brushing his lips against Shedletsky’s hairline. “And I love you.”
As he straightened and moved to his own cot, exhaustion hit him like a freight train. His body ached in ways he hadn’t felt in centuries, and his mind was still reeling from the intensity of it all. But beneath the fatigue was a warmth, a quiet contentment. Maybe… maybe they could do this again someday. Not when their instincts were running wild, but when they were all clear-headed and present. When they could savor it, explore it, feel it together.
With a heavy sigh, Builderman collapsed onto his cot, pulling the blanket over himself. The cabin was silent now, save for the soft breathing of his partners. He closed his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. Despite everything, he wouldn’t trade this—trade them—for anything in the world.
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Builderman lay on his back, staring at the darkened ceiling beams, the faint, musky scent of their shared passion still clinging to the air. His body ached with a pleasant, deep-seated exhaustion, but the need for air, for a moment of quiet, became overwhelming. He carefully, slowly, extricated himself from his cot, wincing as the floorboards groaned under his weight.
The main cabin’s door clicked shut behind him, and the cool night air of Forsaken hit his face like a blessing. He fished a slightly crumpled cigarette from his pocket, a precious relic from a world long gone, and lit it with a strike of a match. The first drag was heaven, the burn in his lungs a familiar, grounding pain. He leaned against the rough-hewn wall of the cabin, closing his eyes. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until a voice, laced with sarcastic glee, cut through the silence.
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged out. Or should I say, look who finally dragged himself out.”
Builderman’s eyes snapped open. Leaning against a tree opposite him were three figures materializing from the shadows between cabins. Chance, with a wolfish grin that was all teeth. Guest 1337, their usual placid expression touched with a hint of morbid curiosity, but mostly exhaustion. And Elliot, who looked as if he’d seen a ghost—a very loud, very amorous ghost.
Chance let out a low, mocking whistle. “Sounds like someone was havin’ a real party in there, Davey boy. We were thinkin’ about callin’ the fire department. Sounded like the whole damn cabin was about to go up in flames.” He fanned his face dramatically. “Phew. Hot in there, huh?”
Builderman felt the blood drain from his face, then rush back in a scalding wave of pure, unadulterated horror. His cigarette hung forgotten between his fingers. They heard. Of course they heard.
Elliot stared at Builderman, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something akin to betrayal. His voice was a thin, reedy whisper. “Was that… you?” The question was pure, undiluted mortification.
Builderman’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His southern charm, his leader’s composure, it all evaporated under the heat of his complete and utter embarrassment. He could feel the tips of his ears burning. He tried to form a sentence, an excuse, a lie—We were just moving furniture! A very vigorous game of cards!—but his brain had short-circuited.
Chance laughed, a loud, barking sound that seemed to startle the nocturnal creatures in the woods. “You? Hell, Elliot, it was a damn orchestra and your uncle was playin’ first chair! Sounded like a whole production! We got solos, we got duets, we got a grand finale with the whole damn symphony!” He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “It was beautiful, really. Poetic.”
“Chance, for fuck’s sake, shut up,” Builderman finally managed to croak, his voice rough. The command had no force behind it, only a desperate, pleading edge.
But Chance was on a roll, emboldened by Builderman’s clear distress. “Buildin’ more than just games, huh, Dave? Buildin’ a genuine reputation.” He pushed off the tree and took a step closer, his grin widening. “So, give us the deets. Who was the lucky winner in there? Or… winners? Sounded like a real team effort.”.
Builderman instinctively pulled his sleeves up, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“Chance. Shut up or I'm beating yer ass.”