The hunter raised a hand to shield his eyes against the sun where it hung low at the horizon like a half-formed mountain, gradually rising. Already the opposite side of the sky had begun to pitch away from smooth, cool violet darkness into a warming blue, the countless stars beginning to fade overhead; from here the haze of heat constantly blanketing the desert continued to muddle his sense of pace and distance.

What use is a map, he thought for what felt like the twentieth time in the past however long it had been, if there’s no landmarks by which to navigate? And when those that do crop up just whisk away and move after a day’s worth of wind?

Two days lost out here so far, unsure if he had been traveling straight across or somehow circling around himself, the fox had taken to following the tenets that every adventurer and hunter knew: when in the desert, sleep during the day and travel at night; know your limits, and respect and revere them as you would any other beast; and take nothing for granted. As such, up until this past day – or night, rather – he had ridden his Seikret as any other hunter might, but now opted to dismount and now led the beast by his reins to help conserve the mount’s strength alongside his own.

And yet every time Jason tapped the canteen hanging by his belt, for some reason it just remained as empty as it had been when he had last checked half an hour ago. Or maybe that had been a full hour, or two hours, or barely ten minutes; the sluggish weight of exhaustion had begun to settle in already, and the fox had to put deliberate effort into lifting his footpaws far enough so that he did not drag within the sand, still simmering with enough of the previous day’s heat to be felt searing through his boots.

Once again he lifted a paw up to the distance before him, lowest finger level with what he thought to be the line of the horizon itself between the shimmering heat haze, and curled his fingers in until the crown of the sun peeked just barely above his lowest knuckle. Maybe forty-five minutes to full sunrise, he thought, then swallowed through a dry throat. I’ll have to find something before then. Worse comes to worst, I’ll have to dig a hole and cover us with the sand...

As he dropped that paw, letting his arm go limp and swing at his side for the weakening muscles, the hunter’s gaze washed across the vast emptiness of the desert, then swung back around towards a low shadow that that paw had previously obscured. Still walking, legs pumping by their own accord with no input of his own, a purely reflexive, mechanical movement, he squinted, frowned, tilted his muzzle up and away to try to make out the shape through his peripheral – and then immediately attempted to stifle the extra kick to his heart, the burst of adrenaline and excitement, the burgeoning relief.

Take nothing for granted. Don’t get your hopes up.

But still he increased his pace, giving another little tug to Beakret’s reins. The bird-beast chirped in response, lowered his head, and followed, already picking up on the change in his hunter’s disposition; this seemed like no phantom of the desert, no trick played by the wavering air and his own failing senses, but finally something solid, something reachable, achievable. That was either a listing sandstone pillar like he had seen so many times before, or… the tilted trunk of a tree, squat and twisted, maximizing volume, minimizing surface area. The closer he came, the more he could make out the distinct brushy shapes of short, dry grass bushing up around the base of the tree, and ringing what looked to him like a shallow decline in the desert, where sand would turn to stone hopefully fissured with moisture bubbling up from below.

Jason could feel it on the air now, the thin humidity hovering around the oasis, likely anchored in place by the nearby stand of rock that looked as though it curled down into a shallow cavern. Where there was stone, there was shade; where there was shade, there was shelter, and by now he had to actively squint against the rising sun, the violet sky turning blue now making its way into pink and orange. As he approached the bowl in the earth he picked out the glitter and sparkle of sediment crusted along the edges, then the spiderwebbing cracks in dry mud…

...and dry mud… and dry mud, and more dry mud. Beakret’s reins fell from his other paw as he stepped down into the dry lake – more like a pond at best, hardly more than a puddle even were the seasons to shift and the skies open up – with plates of that mud crackling, then disintegrating beneath his step. Dry for now, and dry for a while; his gathered hope and excitement welled out of him and down into the empty earth, leaving him even more exhausted than he had been before.

Ears drooping, the fox looked over to the cave, heaved a sigh – that was also a bad decision, he chided himself; every breath carries vital moisture – and struggled to make his way back out of the shallow dip. He didn’t need to look to know that his Seikret would follow: he had spent more than enough time alongside the bird to recognize his intelligence, his cleverness, his adaptability. As soon as the welcoming blanket of shade dropped across both of them, cloaking his fur like a physical weight, the beast moved to obscure the mouth of the cave with most of his body and settled in for the day well out of the reach of sunlight: other denizens of the desert would immediately hone in on a hunter in their territory as strange and unusual, perhaps easy prey, but a lone Seikret?

Respect, revere, and more importantly, never underestimate. Dejected, Jason knelt down in the dust of the cavern, began the process of stripping down his equipment, shook his canteen out over his mouth once more for good measure, then struggled to swallow again and wrapped his arms around himself. A quick glance across his gear, Hope Sword with its matching shield resting within arm’s reach, reinvigorated some of that powerful, familiar drive within him that kept him going, yet even that, too, had started to wane. Already the morning’s heat had begun to pierce through the half-blocked cavern mouth, trickling in like the water likely did for the oasis; not only was it difficult to breathe through his nose, but it hurt as well for the lack of moisture gradually making its way through his body, though the hunter knew that opening his mouth instead would just leave him worse off.

But – as he settled in, he peeked up over his reclining Seikret’s side one more time at the shallow bowl in the earth – this oasis had long since run dry, and nothing would be coming for him. So he tried his best to ignore the rising messages from his body, the warning signals and the encroaching signs, and sighed out once more to sleep.

And it was slow going, and never once did Jason feel like he had dropped off to a satisfying sleep, but sure enough the shaft of sunlight searing into the cave gradually angled across the ceiling towards the back wall, then disappeared entirely behind Beakret’s body. And then it was sunset again, and the exhausted fox pulled himself upright, hobbled over to the edge of the oasis, and put one sensitive ear to the ground… and heard nothing. Not the skitter of nocturnal creatures coming out for the safety of the darkness, not the distant rumble of a subterranean aquifer; just the distant howl of the wind, and the faint scratching of dust-fine glitters of sand swirling around. After a time Beakret stepped up and looked down at him from over the rim of where the water once flowed; Jason returned the glance, sighed again, and struggled to pull himself up.

“This might be it, Beaky,” he murmured, then falling to the ground to lean back against the beast’s body. The bird-wyvern chirruped again, shifted his posture, and then settled down to provide a comfortable spot for his hunter. Jason wet his lips, with what little he was capable of doing so, and then swallowed again. No point saving his residual moisture now. “Never thought it might be the desert of all places to do it, but… here we are. Maybe I should go get my weapons, and… jam them into the earth, like a little… memorial...”

Beakret leaned down to nudge his broad head across the fox’s shoulder. Jason chuckled softly, the sound a little painful through his nose and throat.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I know, I could… just…”

But then he trailed off as he looked down the beast’s body. The sleek neck, the broad shoulders, the wide, barreled body, the powerful legs… the smooth, rolling shapes along his underbelly of his deeper anatomy, velvet-leather skin still sleek and glossy, feathers glimmering despite the coating of dust from their days spent out here. Mouth still open, Jason scooted to the side a bit, nudged Beakret over onto his back, pushed a little bit further, then came in closer. A small noise of curiosity from the beast alongside him; Jason reached forward, brushed his paw across Beakret’s underbelly towards where his strong legs met his lower body, then slid his fingers across the snug, narrow genital slit there, just barely a mark interrupting the pattern of his leathery scales.

His fingerpads caught along the rim, gently tugged, pulled that slit just slightly open – and sleek, glistening wet meat glimmered from inside, thick strands of bodily moisture pulling across from the walls of flesh before then smacking shut again. Jason swallowed again, ears perked, tail flicking, mouth struggling to water. He looked up Beakret’s body again, where the Seikret now appraised him with confusion mixed with bemusement, and perhaps a slight shade of embarrassment as well.

“Beak.” Jason winced as he tried to swallow again. “You’ve got… couldn’t you – give me a drink?”

The bird-wyvern tilted his head one way and then the other, though the hunter knew that he understood. Even more so when he reached down again, pushed his paw across the beast’s slit, and spread it open between his fingers, the wet smack succulent enough that both of his ears flicked down to angle towards it.

“You know I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t an emergency. But you also know as well as I do that it is an important survival tactic. We’re all taught it before we become hunters.” Bit by bit the fox scooted down to angle himself properly, having caught little flashes and peaks of his mount’s undercarriage through the years and knowing – roughly – its size, its shape, its angle.

Slowly, somewhat begrudgingly, the Seikret then shifted to roll more fully over onto his back, his forewings drawing in across his chest. Still he craned his thick neck to watch his hunter approach, clearly wondering how he would go about doing this: Jason crept across the sand and then lowered himself partially back into the depression of the dried oasis, finding that this would put his head right about level with his target while still providing a stable support against which he could lean. Then from there he came forward a little further, pressed the supple skin surrounding the bird’s slit back further, rubbed gently to reveal the luscious pink tip nestled inside, avoided taking a breath – he wasn’t interested in Beakret in that way – and then parted his jaws.

“I’m… ready when you are…”

Then the thoughts, the hesitation, began to creep in: Is this premature? Maybe this oasis is dry because there’s another further out at a slightly lower altitude. Didn’t I have my last drink just yesterday? So I should still have at least all of one more day to go… and, I mean, there’s my own as well, though that’s been coming less often since we came out here, and… should I close my mouth around it? Or will that give the wrong signal? Actually, am I delirious for even wondering about this in a literal life or death situation, or should I-

Another little bark-chirp from Beakret in front of him, and Jason turned his head to look at the beast – and then jumped with the sudden spray of wet heat against his unexpecting cheek. He jumped, blinked, turned back to the source, appraised it for a moment – so much for not smelling it – and after that last crumbling bit of indecision, dove in and went for it. The fox opened his mouth, wrenched his eyes shut, steeled himself… and sealed his lips in right up against the outer rim of the Seikret’s slit.

Naturally the hunter did not let his mount’s mark fill his mouth. As soon as he could he swallowed, and then did so again, and again, and again, pushing through the unsurprisingly sharp spice, the foul bitter roundness of the flavor, the overwhelming salt as Beakret, too, had started to approach his limit. But, fluid was fluid, and Jason could feel his body welcoming the moisture as it poured down his throat and filled his belly, the warmth starting to sear out from deep within, each swallow becoming easier and easier than the one before even as the bird-wyvern’s shaft gradually slid out from the meat nestled around it, weighing down the hunter’s tongue, adding another thicker, slimier slickness to the interior of his no longer parched maw. Very quickly Jason went from forcing himself, to smoothly swallowing, and then to eager drinking: his breath puffed out through flared nostrils in between each gulp, lungs swelling with the bird-wyvern’s scent.

Why did I… try to avoid this? He thought, now settling in against the wall of the ditch as he continued to drink, pushing past the gradually growing sensation of overfilling himself. This is… not so bad… after all…

Gradually the fox let his eyes drift open again where he looked out across Beakret’s leathery underbelly, still feeling the ongoing rush of the beast’s piss as it streamed through his length, from here able to see its progress stirring underneath the skin at the base of his genital slit. He felt as though he should be able to see the steam curling out from his nostrils as well, as each breath stolen in between gulps sizzled with the heat of the bird-wyvern’s mark. Rejuvenation flooded his system just as that piss sloshed within his belly, sending tingling trickles of heat and energy out through his exhausted limbs and foggy muscles; once again he closed his eyes and pushed even further down, this time until his nose nudged in at the slick base of the Seikret’s slit, tongue lifting up against the bird’s tapered shaft where it twitched within his muzzle, trying to coax out every last drop. There among the deeper folds of piss- and musk-wet meat, he felt what he had seen a few times before: the telltale bulge of the firm wad of Beakret’s knot, just barely starting to take shape.

So wrapped up was Jason in his focus that he somehow failed to notice, then, that Beakret had finished unloading his bladder, and that the hunter now carried all of that volume within himself. He swallowed again, mouth slick and sleek and finally, deliciously wet, and drew slightly back across the bird’s shaft in trying to adjust where he lay against the sandy wall. All he could taste, all he could smell, was Beakret – and as he focused further in on these impressions Jason realized that this scent was already well familiar to him from his years spent alongside the beast, and that not only did it fill him with vital hydration and energy, but it provided a lovely, familiar comfort as well.

I can keep going, he realized, eyes coming open again. Once more Jason drew back along Beakret’s length towards his tip; once more he felt the twitch, the throb against his tongue; once more he slid down again, reaching out to grasp at a dusty root protruding from cracked earth. The Seikret rumbled out, a small noise of sensation and attention, and one of those powerful hindlegs twitched – so that Beakret could thrust gently forward into his hunter’s maw. Through the desert. We can keep on going, we can make it out of here, I can… I can keep going, I…

I can… probably… get a little more hydration out of him…

To Jason’s heat- and dehydration-addled mind this just seemed to be the natural, reasonable course of action; he felt somewhat as though he were watching himself from a distance making this decision, paws coming up to tease the Seikret’s slit, fingers sliding gently in to spread the folds of supple, succulent skin and flesh further. Feeling his hunter’s intent, Beakret rumbled again, scooted closer to the edge, and let his hindlegs splay out even further. One of those legs even pressed in alongside Jason’s chest, then hooked around his shoulder-

-and yanked him down further, nose nestling into those same folds of wet flesh, smearing the bird’s musk across his leathery skin. The hunter shivered, moaned, and swallowed again, already able to feel Beakret’s cock sliding further out along his tongue towards the back of his throat; the Seikret kept him sealed in place there, hips gently thrusting, sand shuffling underneath where he lay as he worked himself into a steady rhythm. Thick, slick globs of natural moisture, liquid musk, frothed from in between those folds; eyes half-lidded, Jason rocked his head in rhythm with the beast’s movements, welcoming that extra pressure filling his mouth, pushing into the back of his throat, making him squirm and twitch and gag just a little bit with the bulge of the bird’s knot lifting out his lips, until that leg finally loosened again.

Relieved, the fox pulled back along the beast’s cock, lips tight and tongue cupped, and swallowed yet again – then let a little belch richly tasting of Beakret’s piss waft out through his nose. At once he felt lost yet at the same time exactly where he should be, kneeling in this pit in a dry oasis in the middle of the desert, bobbing his head back and forth along the now full arousal of his companion mount and wondering, distantly, why the thought had never before occurred to him.

He shifted down along the sandy slope a little bit to find a more comfortable position, one paw coming in towards the base of the bird’s shaft. Beakret chirruped softly, clearly enjoying the attention, the process; Jason knew that the beast would have put together exactly the same conclusion that his hunter already had, and that was why he bucked his hips forward, and craned his head back, and leaned into enjoying the process. It’s for survival, after all, Jason thought distantly, as he cupped his lips around the bird’s shaft again. Might as well enjoy it while we can…

Still this was something that he had never expected to do. Beakret tasted somewhat similar to what he had expected – as the vague thought had indeed struck him a few times before, on those long journeys in between settlements and on extended, remote hunts – but still far different, and every time his mind coalesced enough for him to realize that this was what he was actually doing, the realization hit him with something close to a physical shock.

Perhaps that was still the delirium of dehydration, perhaps it was desperation bordering on insanity, but Jason enjoyed it at least as much as Beakret did. The fox ran his other paw down his body, still naked from when he had disrobed for the night: he felt the fullness of his belly, fresh Seikret mark sloshing around inside of him, delicious valuable hydration slowly working its way through his system, with its innate warmth still sizzling out from inside; then down further to where his own arousal stirred, dripping a little bit more slick, vital wetness from his tapered tip.

From there he fervently set himself to work, head bobbing, one paw squeezing, other stroking back and forth along himself. Each breath still tasted heavily of the beast’s piss, though now the headier, heavier aroma of his musk had started to win out; it coated Jason’s mouth and throat in a thick layer, overpowering his own dripping drool, filling the majority of each swallow. The shape of the Seikret’s shaft widened his jaw the deeper he went down on him, throat straining, eyes wrenching shut – until once again his nose pressed right down into the slick, succulent folds of his genital slit, deeper wrinkles of hot wet meat welling up and out to meet him, and to cover his nostrils in more of that clinging moisture. Bit by bit Beakret’s knot continued to pulse against his lips, Jason pushing far enough even to bring that bulge into his maw as well, and suckle at the dense, dank grease around the root.

All of this wonderful, delicious wetness, he thought, right here between his hindlegs… for some reason the realization sent another sweet shiver of pleasure through his body, and Jason pushed his paw down to the base of his own length, squeezed at the root of his sheath, shivered – and felt a quick squirt of pre jet out across his bellyfur. For a moment that shocked him out of his delirium: what a waste, he chided himself; that could have gone to much better use in my own mouth – but then Beakret gave another chirp and thrust, and squished his slit-folds in around his hunter’s nose again, and shoved his half-knot into his maw, and Jason lost himself once more.

For a while the gradual deepening chill of night could not make itself known to him. He vibrated with the latent heat of the Seikret’s bladderful still inside of him, rolling and sloshing and frothing with each movement, occasionally interrupting his progress with another quick little bubble of that musky fizz; he turned his head so he could rub one paw across its volume while continuing to stroke himself, focusing at the tip of the bird’s shaft, eagerly drinking down the repeated squirts of ropy, sticky pre that said to him he was getting close; and then once he got there…

Jason felt it as surely as Beakret did, both through the bird’s length as well as the rest of his body as well. The fox once again shifted his position, now turning around to brace himself over the edge of the decline on all fours: he grasped Beakret’s haunches and yanked himself down, tongue and jaw working, throat pulsing as he squeezed, and swallowed, and struggled to breathe, full knot swelling between his lips and behind his teeth, sealing the bird in place – and just a few more thrusts from the beast sent him over. At first there was nothing, but then a fierce, powerful throb, and another – and Jason bucked with the sudden pressure of the thick load slapping against the back of his throat, squirting quickly and with enough force that he almost could not drink it down fast enough. In between each swallow he let out another hungry, panting moan through his nostrils, breath already puffing out into clouds of humid steam in the deepening chill of night.

He had drunk so much that he felt like he might burst, each thick, dense rope of Seikret seed splattering against the back of his throat, working through his muscles, plopping into the bellyful of piss inside of him, but still he kept on swallowing until Beakret had no more to give him – and then still continued even so, jaw aching from the rhythmic pulse of that knot sealed tight. Just feeling the beast’s cock on his tongue, slowly tugging back as it tried to retreat back into his slit, dribbling out more of that thick, slightly salty warmth as he went, knowing that he had filled himself to brimming with the beast’s product – all it took was a few more strokes for Jason to hit his own peak, and in a scramble he tried to pull back, finally popped free, rolled over, and hooked his legs over his head so as to not waste another drop-

-which resulted in him spurting out across his muzzle and neck, unable to fold into the right angle what with his filled, swollen belly. Each spurt sent a wave of pleasured exhaustion through him, and his scent could do nothing to overwhelm the much stronger aroma of Seikret soaked into his fur and coating his mouth and nose. For a while he remained like that, panting, straining against the sensation of fullness and satisfaction, then finally uncurled – and on wobbly legs hoisted himself back up.

A new, fresh energy poured through him, the hunter completely reinvigorated if a little exhausted. He smiled down at Beakret, still sprawled out with his cock retreating into his slit; Jason let his gaze linger there a moment longer, then motioned back towards the cave so that he could retrieve his equipment. Some of the buckles on his clothing he had to loosen to fit around his filled belly, but still the sword and shield felt like an old friend.

And on the pair continued again, Jason once more climbing up onto Beakret’s back, feeling just a bit more in tune with the bird’s movements and thoughts. As they traveled occasionally his mind wandered, and he found himself thinking about the way the beast’s hindlegs pumped, muscles tensing and tugging, feathers and smooth scaly hide stretching, where it would reach down underneath towards that sleek, supple slit…

Throughout the course of the night he had to stop and step off to the side to take care of his own business, each time reminding him fully of what he had done there in the oasis and working him up all over again. The disbelief poured through him at every remembrance of it, but even now that the delirium of dehydration had passed, he knew he had done the right thing – and also knew that it was Beakret’s mark that poured through him, as he nudged his pants down and sheath back to angle his tip down into the mouth of his canteen. A quick sniff, a quicker taste, verified this, and he had trouble fitting himself back into his pants to continue.

Luckily by the end of the night the two came across another shelter, this one a wind-torn cave in the side of a much higher, wider stony plateau. Jason stepped in and made a quick survey, sword and shield drawn, and then judged it fair for their habitation for the time being; he waved Beakret in, gave the dutiful bird the usual thanks and encouragement for staying alongside him, and then once more stripped down for the night.

The day passed easily, and then halfway through the next night the pair stumbled across a stroke of good luck. Even despite his newfound appreciation Jason could only handle one reprocessing of the water shared between hunter and beast, but there in the distance, shrouded by night, he laid eyes on another oasis – this one with the promise of sparkling water and full, lush fruit. Beakret’s pace picked up, and within minutes the two had settled in for a needed snack, a good wash, and all their bellies – and bladders – could handle of fresh, cool, sweet water.

Judging that they had earned it, then, Jason led them to settle in early for the night, and to get some extra sleep throughout the next day. It seemed that Beakret had a similar idea, too, as the freshly satisfied, reinvigorated beast settled right in up alongside his hunter, chirping and rumbling softly with satisfaction…

...so much so that the next morning it was not the impending chill of night or the howl of wind through the dunes that awoke him, but rather a firm, now familiar warmth nudging up against him. Past the insistent twitching it was the scent that caught his attention, and when Jason rolled over to face the bird it was the slick, slightly sticky wetness smearing across his muzzle that woke him the rest of the way up. Still hazy from sleep, still full and happy with the previous night’s bounty, it felt only natural for him to return the interest, running his nose up along Beakret’s morning arousal, nosing and nuzzling and sniffing, then licking, kissing, suckling.

Again he bobbed his head back and forth, this angle allowing him to take the beast into the back of his throat much more easily. Now that he had done it once before, this second time came more comfortably as well; instead of stroking the base of the bird’s length, this time he dug his fingers around within the deeper folds of his slit, squishing out ever more of the sticky, frothy slime that coated his mouth and throat, and stained his fur with the beast’s scent, swell of the knot growing. And it seemed to him that Beakret’s load this time tasted fresher than at that other oasis: fuller and sweeter, yet still sharper, muskier.

Jason remained down on him even afterwards, enjoying the residual throbs and twitches, tenderly lapping off the last few spurts – which then, naturally, turned into a quick, short spray, then a slow trickle that grew into a full, steady stream. The same heady, sharp saltiness of the beast’s piss remained, though now it was heavily muted by the weight of the water he had taken in, and Jason settled in for what was sure to be a long, fulfilling drink, essentially forced to remain in place with the tie. By this point his own arousal had grown to the point of discomfort, so while keeping Beakret’s shaft cupped within his tongue, funneling the bird’s mark straight into his throat so all he needed to do was swallow, swallow, and breathe, Jason reached down to rub himself through the process, already fully hard, already dribbling again, already so, so close… and with the nearness of the oasis and the sheer volume that he now knew the bird carried within his bladder, the hunter had no qualms about emptying his own load out across the dusty stone beneath them.

Afterwards he relaxed against his mount for a while longer, letting the bubbling, searing warmth settle within him, allowing the heady fog of arousal and scent dissipate somewhat until the tie loosened and he was freed, jaw aching pleasantly from the stretch. Then he moved to get up, murmuring those same words of encouragement to the bird – but this time Beakret had a completely different idea: upon feeling his hunter stir and start to move the beast chirped, squawked with what had to be annoyance, then lifted up and out of the way, but instead of stepping aside he simply stepped over Jason’s still reclining body, looked down at him, and then lowered himself right back down, head to tail… nose to tailhole.

At first he squirmed beneath the bird’s awkward weight, trying to move, trying to find the space to get a lungful of clear air, but Beakret just continued shifting to keep himself in place, nesting atop his hunter’s muzzle as though it were a seat designed specifically for him. The more Jason wriggled, the more the beast’s scent washed in across him, thick and heavy and greasy: there was all of the familiar spice that he picked up on Beakret through all of their other time together, but down here sharpened, muddled, twisted a little bit. Puckered wrinkles of slick, slightly sticky skin pressed against his cheek, his nose, his lips; he felt each and every one of the bird’s twitches, the little clenches, the slight pushes in response to his touches, and then of course the beat of his pulse rippling through his flesh.

“Beaky-” Jason gasped, still trying to pull himself free. “Would – you-”

But then the bird took the opportunity of the hunter’s open mouth, adjusted again, and settled fully back, tailhole briefly puckering out with another slight push, squeezing in to meet him in a kiss. Jason’s lips slid down around the slightly protruding rim, turning that scent into taste that sizzled across all of the others still muddled within his maw: Beakret’s musk, the sticky warmth of his arousal, the salty spice of his piss, the heavier mustiness of his load… the rich, bittersweet sourness of his tailhole, flexing and clenching rhythmically, pushing against his lips until-

-until his resistances simmered away into acceptance, and his nose tingled with the welcoming scent, and he took a deeper, fuller, deliberate breath of the scales and feathers here along his mount’s backside. That aroma crystallized into more of the taste searing out within his mouth, and then Jason pushed his lips more fully around Beakret’s flexing tailhole and sucked it in further, tongue dancing, swirling around the puckered rim; he swallowed once, then did so again as the coating of musky grease began to work free, then once more so that he could completely coat his mouth with it.

And then he gladly resumed his work as though he had never stopped, just now a little bit further down rather than at the bird’s shaft and slit. He followed each one of those wrinkles with his tongue, in towards the center and then out once more. Beakret settled more comfortably into place just as the fox settled into his work, hindlegs splaying around his head, hefty body resting along his chest; the hunter slid his paws underneath to lift him up just far enough so he could continue to breath, taking deep, heavy breaths from beneath his tailfeathers as he sucked, and slurped, and swallowed, and teased his tongue in between the clenching ring of muscle.

Back and forth that tailhole worked, now squeezing back in towards the bird’s body as he clenched, providing a flat coil of wrinkles for him to drag his tongue across, now pushing out again, puckering from inside so that he could instead swirl around the protruding rim, and poke at the center, and suckle along its small length to continue to fill his maw with its taste and scent. The further he went, the more he became aware of Beakret’s arousal once again twitching across his chest, the thick, hefty shaft pulsing across him and soaking his fur through with the little squirts of pre. Further and further, tongue loosening the muscle until he could plunge it deep down within plush, malleable walls of meat, still suckling as he went.

Before long – or perhaps it was after a while; Jason had lost track of time, and no longer cared about its passage anyhow – he felt Beakret once more shift atop him, the Seikret riding forward, holding there, then pushing back again, each time a little quicker, a little firmer, a little more urgently. So the hunter adjusted his paws accordingly, reaching back to spread the beast’s rim against his lips and tongue, sucking even as he licked and slurped – and within a few more minutes the bird tossed his head back, chirped and chirruped again, then clamped tightly down around the vulpine tongue buried inside of his bowels… and jerked a few more times in rhythm just as he had earlier in the night, another batch of his thick load arcing out across the rest of Jason’s reclining body. It smacked against his fur and spread out in a thick, sticky mess, coating his chest, his belly, his own twitching hard cock, and then continued across the stone underneath him as well, each rope lifting out and then settling down alongside his clenching until, once again, he had no more to give.

Panting with relief and satisfaction, Jason relaxed in his work but still kept his lips around his mount’s trembling, loosened rim, but made no attempt to move out from underneath. Neither did Beakret seem at all interested in moving, either: instead the Seikret just shifted again, clacked his beak in satisfaction, and settled in, all the tension going out of him so that his tongue-slackened tailhole relaxed against Jason’s lips, thoroughly sealing him in place beneath his tailfeathers.

And there he remained, content, happy, relaxed. No longer did he have to worry about hydration what with his belly still sloshing with each and every movement, and now a further sticky wetness had started to soak into and mat his fur… and, really, he thought to himself, senses shrouded within Seikret musk, I suppose I could bear to take a day off from my hunting…

~ ~ ~

Jason raised a paw to shield his eyes against the sun setting far off in the horizon, watching the way the glowing ball settled down into the sky of widespread red, orange, violet, lavender. Over the past week or so he had felt himself becoming more accustomed to the climate of the desert, particularly in this hazy period between evening and night – but the fox knew that part of it must have been how he no longer swathed himself within the constraints of his armor, oiled leather that held the warmth of his body and dripped sweat, hammered metal plates that seemed to draw in any latent heat from the air around him.

A soft breeze blew, tickling through all of the fur of his body bared from head to toe; he lifted his head, tilted it one way and then the other, sighed softly, and fluffed his tail out. Then he raised his arms and spread them out, letting the wind catch them: it felt like so many small fingers running across his body, caressing his neck, his shoulders, his smooth, flat chest, his admittedly slightly swollen belly, then down across his naked legs, in between his thighs…

...and on that breeze he caught what was by now a familiar, intoxicating scent. The fox’s ears perked; he twitched his nose, tilted his head again, then could not help but lick his lips, already salivating at the prospect. Jason took one step forward followed by another, bare footpaws sliding smoothly through the soft sand; he sniffed at the air as he went, following the trail of aroma, letting every muscle in his body attune to it just as he had every morning and every evening since first stumbling upon that oasis… and sure enough, with one paw brushing against the smooth sandstone surface of the exterior side of the cavern, he turned the corner and saw waiting for him exactly what he had expected.

Beakret chirped soft, the massive, muscular bird standing with one leg lifted, his lower body angled slightly. Underneath him, jammed slightly into the sand for support, was the shield that Jason had not donned in days; even from here around the corner the fox’s nose perked and drew him forward, for Beakret had already been preparing himself, and now that the hunter was here the beast gave a little downward thrust, shifted back, thrust again… and the tapered tip of his smooth, sleek shaft slid free from his genital slit.

The scent carried on the wind strengthened, heady, delicious, wonderful. The bird chirped, lifted his head, nudged a talon along the side of the shield, then paused again – and in another moment squatted down further, tailhole pulsing out and then clenching in, as he began to relieve himself directly into the bowl formed by the concave face of the shield. The hot stream pinged against the inward side of the metal, briefly splashing back up before pooling there in the middle; even with the residual heat of the day dying around them, still Jason could see the Seikret’s mark steaming in the evening air, the pale coils twisting upwards-

-and then he was on his paws and knees crawling forwards toward it, pushing himself underneath the beast’s body, lifting his muzzle up into the stream as it poured down, so that it splashed across his face and soaked into his fur. Beakret purred softly, now lowering that lifted hindleg so that his talons settled across the back of Jason’s head, and pushed the hunter deeper into the makeshift bowl: the fox spluttered, huffed out so that the rich yellow liquid bubbled, then worked at lapping and sucking it down, the musky saltiness flooding across his tongue, searing his throat, pouring into his already-full belly.

As he went on he steadily gyrated his hips, just the scent and taste more than enough to work him up. By now his mount kept him thoroughly hydrated enough that he no longer lamented the loss of water to his spurts and sprays of pre down across the sand, one paw reaching down to rub at his length, push his sheath back further, squeeze and stroke as he drank; he tried his best to keep the bowl emptied, but the further he went, the harder Beakret pushed to keep pace with him. Gradually he became aware of the Seikret lowering his body down as well to effectively pin his head down against the ground, the slick, sticky slime of his genital slit dripping down his cheek as the beast’s arousal also grew, and as his stream started to dwindle.

Panting with the effort of breaths in between each thirsty gulp, Jason turned his head to follow the residual trickle, rolling partially onto his side so he could directly catch the Seikret’s relief in his maw, across his waiting tongue. He loved the thick, humid heat of it wafting up, and swallowed open-mouthed; a little bit further and his lips brushed across the sleek, slick surface of Beakret’s twitching shaft, piss turning to little globs of gooey pre, richer, saltier, a little bit harder to swallow, but no less invigorating.

Jason turned further and kept himself propped up on his elbows, now lifting his head up to bob along the beast’s cock. Beakret spread his legs and thrust downward, grinding forward in rhythm; he chirped and purred with sweet pleasure, tailfeathers flicking, tailhole winking with each throb. Jason closed his eyes, slid one paw down to resume stroking at himself – but then felt the bird suddenly lift up and pull back, popping free from his maw.

The fox opened his eyes, blinked, and watched the Seikret as he stepped away. Beakret looked after him, stepped away a short distance, then padded around towards a small rock jutting out of the sand. Fully hard shaft hanging down underneath him, twitching with the beat of his heart and flinging little strings of pre out across the sand, he hoisted a hindleg up, braced that foot against the rock, turned his body, and gave a thrust forward and down, then waited.

And Jason understood. The fox’s ears perked, his tail lashed, his heart skipped a beat; he stood up, lapped some of the remnant piss and pre from his fingers, then stepped forward to approach his mount. Beakret lowered his head into the hunter’s quick touch, then moved around to nudge Jason downwards. The fox dropped to his knees, swallowed, then turned around and once again lowered his upper body down to the ground, this time with his hind end facing the beast now above him. He looked back over his shoulder, bit his lip, wiggled back a little bit further… took in a sweet breath of anticipation when he felt the glimmering, wet heat of the Seikret’s arousal twitching near the base of his tail.

It had been so long since he had done this, so long since he had even thought about it, and yet now that it was right at the edge of happening, Jason found that there was nothing else he could think about. He looked back over one shoulder and then the other, trying to find a good angle, wanting to watch it as it happened: Beakret adjusted his stance, drew back a bit, then lowered down closer, took in a breath, nudged forward – and Jason gasped as that tapered tip nestled up against his tailhole.

First he clenched, reflexively tightening back against the attempted entry, then relaxed, bit by bit, and felt that piss-slickened, pre-smeared tip began to push its way in. Jason moaned out, rocking forward, then pushing back, then repeating again and again, the sensation of deep, fulfilling pressure steadily growing: there was the distant discomfort of the ring of muscle being stretched, and the odd sensation of the act itself, but with the taste of Beakret’s piss fresh on his tongue and his musk puffing out on every breath, the fox wanted nothing more than this union with his companion.

Crouched down on all fours with his rump hoisted up into the air for the beast’s access, Beakret soon managed to work himself into a smooth, steady rhythm within the hunter’s rump. He had lowered himself down far enough to practically pin the fox between his own body and the sand underneath him, shifting gently with the ongoing thrusts; Jason reached out for the rock ahead him for support, eyes foggy, teeth gritted, with little clouds of that sand puffing up around his muzzle with each thrust.

It was the best thing he had ever felt – this given with how Jason did have a bit of trouble recalling most things before this period of time spent in the desert with Beakret. All that mattered to him, at least for now, was the powerfully muscular, streamlined body of the bird on top of him, and the way he rhythmically pushed deeper into the hunter’s rump, and the sensation of closeness and intimacy with him.

He swallowed again, once more tasted Beakret’s mark on his breath, and folded one paw over his muzzle, the other still reaching out across the rock. With each thrust he could feel the beast’s growing pleasure, his movements steadily becoming quicker, deeper, more urgent, while Jason himself could no longer resist squeezing back around the firm cock plunging inside of him. A squeeze every time Beakret tugged back, a deep, firm push from inside each time he pushed forward; the fox’s own shaft, fully hard, leapt underneath his belly, steadily dribbling a thick, unbroken rope of pre that pulsed further out with each of these muscle movements, swinging with the rhythm set by the bird.

For a while Jason got lost in the rhythm and the pleasure, sucking in breaths of sand, sighing out low, shuddering moans still tasting of Seikret mark and musk. His hindlegs trembled, his heart pounded, and distantly he wondered if he had already been pushed through an orgasm of his own and simply had not noticed – but when Beakret’s approached he became sharply aware of it, and deliberately shifted his posture and position to accommodate. He brought his paws more underneath himself, and lifted up and back against the bird’s thrusts; he bit his lip, tightened his muscles, pushed harder and harder to more fully sleeve his companion’s shaft within his guts, felt that shuddering urgency peak – and then definitely came alongside Beakret as soon as the beast pounded forward, his head twitching back, his wings briefly spreading out.

The sensation that he had felt along his tongue so many times before now pumped deep inside of him, tapered shaft pulsing, knot swelling out to seal his volume deep inside, throbbing within his tailhole, emptying that thick, delicious load so deep that he felt its sticky heat swelling within his belly. Beakret shuddered with each powerful pulse, his entire body tensing with the immense pleasure; his feathers ruffled and he clacked his beak, and some part of Jason wanted to purr good boy, but instead all that came out was a loose, senseless rumble of a moan, drool dripping from his mouth, his own load dribbling out from his spent, untended cock with each residual thrust, Beakret’s pleasure far sharper and more in the forefront of his attention than his own.

Still panting, still groaning and moaning with the residual connection between hunter and mount, Jason gradually let the tension fizzle out from his muscles – but then tightened right back up as Beakret gave yet another thrust to lock himself deep, fluffed his feathers, then twitched once more. This time it took a moment for him to feel it, and the fox could tell that the Seikret had to push it a bit, but the thick, sticky heat inside of him soon shifted and stirred around another liquid warmth pouring in, just continuing to balloon his guts from inside as Beakret resumed, and then finished, emptying his bladder inside of him.

Must have… stopped himself before… Jason thought, the words becoming foggy and distant. Saving it… just for this…

No longer had traveling, had continuing his initial hunt, been his priority. Across these past few days Jason had wanted nothing more than to settle back in this little cavern with his bird, and wake up alongside – or more commonly, underneath – him, and to become steadily familiar with the surrounding environment for their food and water…

~ ~ ~

...or, rather, for Beakret’s food and water, for as the weeks continued to pass Jason consumed less from the earth around him, and more from the Seikret himself. The beast would gently nip at him if he reached for anything other than what hung between his hindlegs, and as that time continued, the hunter found himself desiring anything else less and less. As the days passed no longer did the sweet, cool water of the oasis call to him, or the luscious, dense fruits that hung from the sparse trees; it was instead the rich, sharp salty musk of Beakret’s mark, and the thick indulgence of his seed that he wanted to fill his belly, time and time again from either end.

At first Jason thought that Beakret kept him fed like a king, so that his belly remained constantly swollen out and heavy with his claim. But before long the fox realized that this was not the case – or at least, not entirely; other parts of him began to change as well, the small, subtle shifts in stature, and behavior, and most of all in temperament that he had noticed in his adventures and across his hunts, signifying what might have been happening to him.

And on the day before the season changed again, his suspicions were confirmed. That great, solid pressure head steadily worked its way down through his system over the passing days, to the point where the fox could barely lift himself up off the ground to move around; Beakret still took care of him, though, nudging him this way and that along his powerful neck, settling up behind him for warmth during the night, and then just as he did now, sprawling out on his side with one hindleg raised into the air, so that Jason could still attend to him as needed. His breath still tingling with the familiar, comfortable musk of the beast’s mark, now he bobbed his head along Beakret’s full length, hungry for his seed as well – when the eggs started coming.

Something in his body shifted like the flip of a lever, like the primal instructions for hide or sleep or eat. A moan of mixed discomfort and pleasure built in his throat, rumbling out through his nose as he kept Beakret’s cock between his lips; the fox rolled over onto his back, rubbed at his belly with one paw, then continued down where he lifted one of his own legs, and relaxed first, then pushed, and pushed, and pushed.

By now he had become well accustomed to the stretch and push of Beakret’s arousal sinking up into him, and the extra swell of his knot as well, and each time the two had mated, the bird had held back a little bit less. That same stretch coming from inside felt a bit different, but the more it made itself known, the more his discomfort thankfully melded to pleasure: Jason cupped his fingers right there across his tailhole, the succulent ring of muscle already bulging out from inside, and felt the firm, rounded surface of the egg as it began to push free, well slickened by the natural lubrication of his insides. Still he continued bobbing his head along Beakret’s cock, pushing far enough down to nestle his nose into the musk-wet folds of his genital slit, the bird’s smooth, rounded knot nudging at his lips, where he could breathe deep of that intoxicating scent that dominated every minute of his life now.

And he pushed, and pushed, then paused to relax and catch his breath, and then pushed yet again, tailhole nearly folding back along the wide middle of the egg – and then suddenly squeezing down along the backside to push it out. The egg rolled down between his legs and nestled against his footpaw, but Jason could tell that, still, he was not done: the second lingered up in his bowels a short distance, and as such he straightened up, reached down, and dug those fingers into the loose, sloppy meat of his tailhole, reaching around for it, teasing it closer to its exit until his natural muscle movement could take over.

As expected, this second egg came more easily, slopping out in the gape left by the first – and the third and fourth rolled out almost accidentally, leaving Jason panting where he lay, his own hard cock twitching across his thigh, a pool of pre mixed with forcibly released piss and perhaps a bit of his own seed trickling down to mix with the sandy surface underneath him. He looked down between his legs at his suddenly much flatter belly, and the source of that bulge now resting underneath him.

Beakret chirruped softly. Jason looked up at the beast, gave a tired, affectionate smile, and then resumed his work.

~ ~ ~

Nobody knew where they came from: the Seikret was naturally a desert-faring creature, but until recently the species had been relatively unknown in this desert. The longer that time went on, the more seasons that passed, though, the larger the flock seemed to grow, eventually attracting the attention of researchers and hunters from other nearby climates and settlements. Not only were there more, but they were intelligent, too: quick to react and quicker to learn and, once tamed, more responsive to the needs and wishes of their hunters than any others documented. The genetic pool was kept vibrant, too: as the initial flock expanded, it attracted the attention of other similar flocks, and the group began to mix and interbreed – but there still remained that initial unknown component, the genetic anomaly that lent to their unusual intelligence and, in some individuals, a peculiar growth of under-feathers more similar to fur than anything else.

But this was just the way of things.