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It's going to be dark soon, a fact that is practically burned into Martin's retinas as the day's dying sun hangs just above the horizon. He's seeing spots when he rounds the bend to what he hopes is their camp, his hands too full with nature's bounty to rub his tired eyes. He's not as familiar with the area, so he has to trust that the vague shape of a singular tent is his, and he's not about to startle some poor traveller out of their boots.
Martin hardly slept a wink last night, riding by the full moon for as long as his horse, Nessa, would tolerate. At least until they were past the last town.
The only available lodging for miles was a bustling hostel, too noisy and too crowded for either of their comfort. He would have spent the night awake regardless, sat by Jon's side like a guard dog with his hand resting on his sword. And when Jon could potentially lay their egg any day now, they need privacy more than a roof.
If it wasn't for Jon's insistence and Nessa's growing fatigue, he wouldn't have stopped at all. It's bad enough they've been asked to travel with Jon still recovering from the throes of their heat. Martin would have said no outright – Her Majesty be damned – if Jon weren't so insistent that they could be back in time before it's time to nest. He didn't entirely believe them, but saying no to a direct order could mean even more trouble for them both. And after spending weeks tending to his mate, laid up in bed, and the sofa, and the floor, and that awful little chair in Jon's study that creaks with every movement…
They were both feeling a little stir-crazy. A bit of fresh air couldn't hurt. And Jon has mostly returned to their right mind…mostly.
When Martin trudges up to camp, Nessa greets him with a sweet little trot. Probably grateful she didn't have to lug all this stuff around, and eager for whatever gifts Martin might have brought her. She was right, of course, he always likes to find a treat for her when he can. He sets down two pails of water, filled to the brim from the nearby creek.
One is for her to drink, though her interest is immediately drawn to the handful of bilberries, produced from a bag slung over his shoulder. She accepts them gladly, as well as a few pets, before nearly helping herself to some of the wild onion peeking out from the bag when he bends down to wash his hands. That he can't allow, they'll turn her stomach sour.
He'll need those onions for stew, anyway. Martin managed to catch two rabbits with all the snares he laid out. Those bilberry bushes were a great find, making for effective bait. This section of wood is lousy with them, so Martin set his snares near every bush he could find. Hunting isn't his favourite, he'll admit. He's quite fond of little forest critters. But Jon needs the meat to stay strong and healthy. They'll be chuffed to have a real stew tonight, though he suspects with Jon's sweet tooth, the rest of the berries will disappear soon enough. He pops a few into his mouth for a quick snack. He'll need the extra energy if he wants to get through cooking supper, and be ready to pack things up by dawn.
"Hey Jon? I'm back. You awake? Got you some-"
When Martin pokes his head inside the tent, hoping to tempt the sleeping dragon with his finds, there's no one inside. All that's here is their supplies, a few discarded articles of clothing, and a Jon-shaped indent on their bedroll.
He's alone.
"Jon?" Martin spins around, calling out to the slowly darkening wood. "Where'd you go?"
No response. Even the birds are holding their breath.
He can't panic just yet. They can't have been gone long, right? If he just goes back to the trail…
Martin hastily makes his way back down the slope leading from their camp, scouring the leaves and soil for any odd tracks he might have missed. Human or otherwise.
No, if something grabbed them, he would've heard it. Maybe he should go back to the stream, he might have just missed them. Where else would they have gone?
Then, something snaps in the wood to Martin's right, and a familiar cry rings out through the dense canopy. It sounds close, and they sound scared.
"Jon?!"
Another, weaker sound follows, and with no time to waste, Martin breaks into a dead sprint straight through the thicket. He draws his short sword from his hip, cutting through some of the impeding brush that blocks his path. His heart is pounding with every swipe, fear pushing him through the sting of briars against his shins, until he finally hacks through the dense wall of foliage and stumbles into a small clearing.
There he spots a rope, wriggling from one end of a juvenile tree that has bent down into a solid arch, too green and stubborn to snap under any force. But Jon is equally hard-headed, struggling in vain against a hunting snare. The rope has them by the ankle, their leg lifted in the air as if held by a proud fisherman gloating at the size of his catch.
Just by Jon's side, Martin spots a cloth bag that was once filled to the brim with bilberries, along with a few herbs, now mostly scattered in the dirt.
"Jon."
Jon's head snaps up, and they go very still. A look of relief washes over them. Followed by utter embarrassment.
"…Don't laugh."
That of course only makes the situation ten times funnier. Martin's worry deflates all at once, falling from him in a burst of laughter.
"Gods, don't frighten me like that! I thought something was trying to eat you."
Jon thumps their tail against the ground, their nose crinkled and brow furrowed – that's a very grumpy bunny.
"In my defence, I couldn't tell the difference until I was upside-down." Jon makes another pitiful attempt to break free, but their squirming does no good, only managing to loosen the sash of their already dishevelled robes. "Could have just as well been a dragon of the Buried snatching me up from the dirt."
"Yeah, it could've!" Martin huffs, his laughter wearing thin. The fear is gone, but his heart hasn't quite got the message, and he pauses to catch his breath. There's a lot more he could say on the matter, but he doesn't have the will to argue. "Stress is bad for the egg" Sasha had warned them. And if, after all this, what cost them another year of trying was the two of them having a tiff, he'd never forgive himself.
Martin steps forward from the treeline, returning his blade to its scabbard.
"Hey, don't struggle, yeah? You'll just tangle yourself up more." He inspects the snare between his fingers, relieved to find that Jon's scales have spared their ankle from the rope's bite. He massages the joint, checking for any sensitivity or broken bone, and when he finds none, he continues down the rest of Jon's calf. "Are you alright? Nothing injured or anything?"
"No, no, just startled me, is all. This, ah – this is one of your traps, right…?"
"Yeah, this is mine. I set out a bunch earlier. Forgot I even made this one." Martin grins. "Never trapped a dragon before, though. Caught a cute one, too."
Thump.
Jon bats their tail against the ground. "It's not funny. And I am not cute."
"It is kind of funny. And, I'm sorry, but you are very cute."
Thump.
Another wave of giggles bubbles up, much to Jon's bemusement. Martin crouches down, continuing his inspection by squeezing either side of Jon's bare thigh.
Now that he's up close, it's impossible to see this position as anything but lewd. The lack of undergarments doesn't help, leaving the pillowy mound of scales between Jon's legs on full display. Dragon or no, this is hardly appropriate attire for trudging through the forest. But it does make for a lovely view.
"I bet you taste really sweet." Martin says. He already knows that to be true, but it's fun to pretend. His hands settle into the crease of Jon's hip, where there's quite a bit more meat to the bone. "Can't decide what part would taste best, though. Not sure where I'd even start."
Jon's breath hitches, hips jolting at the touch. Martin lets go at first, worried he struck something he shouldn't, but before he can ask what hurts, Jon asks meekly,
"Are – are you not going to let me go?"
The question knocks Martin off kilter, and he opens his mouth to speak, ready to assure Jon that he wouldn’t just leave them out here (even if it might teach them a lesson about wandering off…) But he keeps silent, made curious by the warm flush that trickles down Jon's neck, the rise and fall of their chest, how they wriggle and squirm beneath the intensity of his gaze.
If Martin didn't know them better, he would think that Jon was actually scared. But as evidence by the slowly forming knot at the base of Jon’s abdomen, fear may very well be the point.
Martin's stomach growls.
"…I haven't decided yet." Martin crawls forward, dwarfing the little dragon beneath his bulk. "You're the nicest catch I've had all day. It'd be a shame to let you go before I've even had a taste..."
With nowhere to run, Jon’s hips are forced flush against his own, and a helpless little gasp squeaks from their throat. “Ahh…n-no, please, you – you can’t…let me – let me go…let…oh~”
Jon’s performance would be more convincing were they not rutting against Martin’s stomach between their desperate pleas for freedom. Their humping only grows more urgent when Martin forces them into a ravenous kiss, taking their bottom lip between his teeth and sucking around the tender flesh until it’s slick and plump, and his mouth tastes faintly of bilberry. The taste only grows sweeter when Jon’s tongue slithers around his own.
He has no idea where this lurid hunger has been hiding. Surely he should be more than satiated after spending the better part of two months tending to Jon’s every need.
Mating season is much harder for Jon, of course, and it feels silly to even complain. Oh, poor Martin, he has to shag the most beautiful person in the world so they can make a baby together, how dreadful. But he’d be lying if he said it hasn’t worn him down a little. Breeding Jon again and again, until his legs would cramp, and his balls would ache. Summoning up his desire at their beck and call, forgetting what it means to want purely for the sake of it.
So it’s nice to just take something, for once – even when it’s so coyly offered. For once, he can take his fill.
With Jon's mouth thoroughly occupied, Martin helps himself to their chest, taking care to avoid the scar over their heart while kneading the flesh beneath his palm. When the weather turns warm, their glamoured form takes on some noticeable changes; their hair turns smoother, their skin softer, scales flashing iridescent hues more striking than Her Majesty's finest opal. And, to Martin's delight, their body takes on a bit more fat, readying itself for the coming nest. It's very fortunate that this change mostly coincides with Jon's seasonally voracious libido. Martin could spend all day exploring their newly formed curves, and his mate is more than happy to oblige.
They seem to prefer it when Martin is rough with his groping, squeezing and tugging at their chest and stomach. He can feel them purring before he hears it, the vibrations ringing through his skull when he takes a pert nipple between his teeth.
"Gods…" Jon breathes, grasping at the back of Martin's tunic, "you're – actually going to eat me, aren't you?"
Martin responds with a low growl, greedily taking more of the plush skin into his mouth. His hips stutter at the sound of Jon's moan, grinding his frustratingly clothed erection against their ass. He considers shoving down his trousers and fucking Jon here and now for all the birds and hares and gods to witness. But he's only just begun his meal. He wants to savour this.
So rather than spoil his appetite, Martin continues down Jon's torso, leaving scattered love bites along the path. Jon is a mess by the time he reaches their thighs. The scales around their slit are sticky and sodden with the fluid that continuously spills from their hole.
Martin's mouth waters at the sight, rising to his knees and snatching Jon up by the hips. He tosses their legs over his shoulder, bracing their lower half against his chest with his arms hooked around their thighs, teasing apart their folds with both thumbs.
"Martin, what are you…o-oh~" Jon shudders violently as Martin laps his tongue across their slit. They throw their head back, the ends of their horns carving small patterns into the soil, moaning into the open air. At some point, they must have remembered the game they had started, making a pitiful attempt to wriggle from Martin's grasp. "Wait, you – you can't…not there…"
It's less convincing the second time, with Jon tugging at the rope to lift their hips higher, only to grind against Martin's mouth, tempting him to taste. Martin digs his fingers into their thighs, holding them firmly in place while he stretches Jon around his tongue. The flavour is incredible. Warm and sweet like spiced honey that drips down his parched and weary throat, sending a rush of heat straight to his cock. Each swirl and stroke of his tongue forces Jon's mouth just a little bit wider, forming such beautiful curves. He thinks they might be saying something, but he can hardly make out the words; the details muffled by soft thighs hugged tight around his ears.
Martin splays his hand across Jon's stomach, massaging their trapped cock down and out. When the tip meets his tongue, Martin lets his jaw fall slack, the ribbed length pushing apart the folds of Jon’s slit, before sliding down his waiting throat.
He's not sure how much he can take (unlike Jon, he has a gag reflex) but Jon’s fluids do a wonderful job of numbing him to the impossible stretch to come. He’s determined to swallow his prey whole, or give it his best try.
Despite his enthusiasm, the odd angle is too much to overcome, and Martin can only hope to take them two-thirds down. Jon's cock pulses hard against his tongue, and he stifles a cough, only to bob his head with a renewed vigour when Jon’s moans rise in pitch.
"Dear…getting d-dizzy…"
His own needs are catching up to him now, rubbing himself raw against his undergarments. Martin blindly fumbles for his belt, abandoning his sword to the side, shoving down his trousers before closing his fist around his swollen cock and pumping himself in time with the motion of his head. On every downstroke, he paints the underside of Jon’s tail with precum.
"Ma – Martin…please…please…ple-"
With a startling cry, Jon’s spine arches from the ground, claws sunk deep into the soil as if to tear the world in two. Martin gags, lifting his head to dislodge Jon's cock from his tight, spasming throat, the ache tempered by the hot spill that spreads over his tongue.
Martin’s hand stalls as well, not enough room to move with the twitching, shivering form of his mate, half-collapsed into his lap. Not that he minds, anyway. To make Jon come so urgently is deeply satisfying on its own, but as their body settles, his own release is quickly becoming more of an afterthought.
It's getting dark so quickly now. Within minutes, he won’t be able to see at all. They’ll both need to wash up, and there’s still supper to care for. He hasn’t even dressed the rabbit meat yet, let alone butchered it for stew. Too many thoughts bounce around his head, too many things to care for, and Martin resolves to leave things there. He’s been selfish enough for one evening.
Martin releases Jon's slowly softening cock with a pop, laving them clean as best he can around the base. "Thank you for the meal, love. That was incredible."
Whatever sound comes out of Jon wasn't any spoken language he's ever heard, and Martin's chest swells with pride.
"Alright, love. Let's get you out of this and washed up for supper. Might take some-"
Thump.
Something smacks against the top of Martin’s head before falling to the ground. He hardly has time to ask how Jon had managed to slip out of their sandal before something creaks up from overhead. He looks up, just in time to spot the now untethered rope, flying off with the rest of the tree as it springs back to its upright posture.
Thud.
A weight crashes into Martin's chest and knocks him onto his back. His hand instinctively drops to his sword, but finds nothing there. A set of claws splay across his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. All Martin can do is stare in awe of the lithe figure spread across his lap.
"I don't – think we're done yet, dear." Jon says. "You haven't had your fill of me yet, have you?"
While it's difficult to see in the encroaching night, Martin thinks he sees what Jon has done. They retracted the scales on their captured leg beneath their glamour, untangling themself from the snare, allowing them to slip free with ease. This trap may have been for him all along.
"Jo-" A set of lips crash against his own, Jon nicking his bottom lip with a fang. They flick their tongue across the wound to sooth it, and Martin melts back into the bed of leaves, succumbing to the dragon's hunger without a second thought.
Who was he kidding. He's always been prey. Jon could tear out his throat, and he would thank them for it. Luckily for him, Jon doesn't want his blood.
Clawed fingers wrap around his cock, stroking and squeezing with a clever roll of the wrist. Martin moans into the crook of Jon's neck, bucking up into their fist while clutching them around their waist.
"Ah…love, that's – you don't have to-"
"I thought it would be much harder to catch a human." Jon says, reminding Martin of their game, and his place. "I hadn't thought you'd take the bait so quickly. It's almost cute."
"I – I'm sorry. Gods, forgive me, p-please…"
In one easy motion, Jon lifts themself up from Martin's side, slinking down his torso before settling between his legs. They watch him from below with the sharp, calculating eyes of a predator, nuzzling their cheek so sweetly against his cock while their tail slithers across the dirt.
Gods, they actually might eat him. That thought shouldn't make him this fucking hard.
"You've been keeping me waiting so long, dear. I've been dying to taste you all day." Jon's tongue darts out, licking parallel stripes up along either side of Martin's shaft. "I hope you'll be worth the wait."
Jon guides the tip up to meet their lips, rolling both ends of their tongue over the leaking head, before it disappears into their waiting mouth. Martin's leg gives an involuntary jerk, stifling a particularly embarrassing moan as he's engulfed into the impossible heat of Jon's mouth.
He can't recall the last time Jon has taken him like this. Since their heat began, at least. With their combined efforts dedicated to the arduous task of breeding, in a species where birth rates are so dreadfully low, neither would ever think to let an opportunity go to waste. Not if it meant waiting another year for the birth of their child. They only have so many years to get this right. Martin even less so.
Despite Jon's playful threat, they're the one who's making it all worth the wait; wrapping the ends of their tongue around Martin's shaft, coaxing him deeper still, until they've successfully swallowed him down to the root. They have no issues adjusting to the stretch as he had, but each time his head grinds into their soft palate, it pushes out another wave of tears mixing with the saliva that drips from their chin.
It feels nice to want purely for the sake of want again. And to be wanted in kind.
Rather than remain a passive participant, Martin reaches out, grabbing Jon by both of their horns, guiding them down at the pace they so desperately crave. His assertiveness is rewarded gladly with deep, rumbly moans, sending wave after wave of pleasure down his already trembling thighs.
"You're – you're so fucking perfect, love. Gods, I've missed your mouth so much…"
Martin spreads his legs apart to grant himself a bit more leverage. He knows Jon can handle a bit more, thrusting himself as deep as he can fit. The light of dusk has completely faded, unable to see more than the vague silhouette of horns bouncing into his lap, and hear the cacophony of wet, hungry sounds as he carves the shape of his cock down Jon's throat as he's thoroughly consumed.
"Jon…Jon, I'm-"
A guttural groan is ripped from Martin's chest, his vision blinded by spots. Martin holds Jon there, muscles frozen in rapture, his grip so tight around Jon's horns he fears they will shatter in his hands. But if Jon has any complaints (or lack of oxygen) they are hiding it well. From the pleased hum that vibrates through Jon's throat, they seem delighted with their meal, drinking him down to the final drop.
His pulse slows, fatigue winning out, and Martin collapses back onto the ground, staring up at a dusty night sky. Jon's face pops into view a few moments later, their cheeks flushed and stained with dark waves matted to their skin, smiling down at him with well-earned pride for their efforts.
"H-Holy shit. You're way too good at that." Martin says, completely breathless and somehow wobbly, even with the whole of the Earth to his back. He takes the end of his cloak, holding one side of Jon's face as he gives his best effort to wipe them clean.
"Good to know I'm not out of practice." Jon replies, brushing back the sodden bangs clinging to Martin's forehead. "You look like you're about to fall asleep out in the dirt."
"Thinkin' about it." Martin yawns. "Think you took too much out of me. I'll be lucky if I'm up before noon tomorrow."
"Good. You could do with a lay-in."
"No, it's not good, love. I need to get you home."
"I appreciate the urgency, dear. But there's really no need." Shaking the dust off their robes, Jon tightens the sash before rising to their feet. "The cottage is only two days away. Maybe three, if the river is high. We can spare an afternoon to let you catch your breath."
"Yeah, but, but what if you're early? Wouldn't be the first time." When Jon offers him a hand, Martin takes it, sheepishly tugging up his trousers once he's back upright. "I don't want you stuck laying an egg the size of my head in some dingy patch of woods. Gods forbid we have to find an inn. Not sure any rooms would be big enough to hide you when you're at your full size. And I'd have to find a way to explain the towels and the growling-"
A single claw pressed to Martin's lips frees him from his spiral.
"Dear, you've barely slept in days. I'm fairly certain that's bad for humans."
"…I had a nap waiting for the traps to go off." Not intentionally, but… "Jon, It's okay, really. I just want to get you home safe. You know what Sasha said about stress, you shouldn't even be out here."
"I would think bearing Queen Magnus's ire if we were to ignore a direct order would be far more stressful." Jon crosses their arms over their chest. "And I don't take any comfort watching you wear yourself down to the bone for my sake."
"That's – fair…" Martin sighs, wrapping his arms around Jon's waist and resting his nose on the crown of their head. "I'm sorry. I know I've been a lot. I just – I feel so helpless, y'know? Without your powers, I can't do your job. I definitely can't make a baby, or at least not the hard bits. I just – I wanna help anyway I can. I don't care if it hurts."
The tension in Jon's shoulders gives way, their body slumping against his chest.
"I'm sorry, dear. But I do." Jon replies, returning the embrace. "I refuse to watch you hurl yourself into an early grave before our baby's even born. And, and what if it's all for nothing? If you come to regret all this one day when I'm the one who can't-"
Jon grips him tighter, claws sunk into Martin's cloak. They don't finish the thought, and Martin doesn't ask them to.
"I could never regret you, love. Not for a second." Martin gives the back of Jon's hair a gentle pet. "And I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, alright? Not until I can give you a proper family. I'll fight Terminus themself if I have to buy more time."
Jon's body starts to shake in his arms, and Martin squeezes them so very close, soothing them through their quiet sniffles. Then the laughter starts.
"H-Hey, what's funny about that? I mean it, you know."
Jon leans back, wiping the corner of their eye, their smile uneasy. "No, no, I know you do. It's the sort of daft thing someone would say if they're so allergic to leisure that they'd rather fight a god instead."
Martin tries to pout – very tempted to lob back all the times he's had to peel Jon off their desk after they passed out drooling on important papers – but he can't bring himself to argue the point. And, in their defence, it is pretty funny. And they look very cute right now.
"Right, fine. Have your laugh." He slips a hand between them, letting it rest over Jon's stomach. "Just know that I mean it, alright? I'd do anything for you, love. And our baby. I wanna get to meet them someday, so I'll do whatever it takes to stick around until that day comes."
Jon melts at that, clasping a hand over his. "…Will you let me make supper tonight, then? One less thing to worry about."
Martin chuffs. "Okay. I can do that."
With another sniff, Jon wipes their face again. "We, ah – we should probably wash up first."
"Can pop by the creek if you want to lead the way. I can't see when it's this dark."
He thinks Jon nods in response. Mostly just shadows now. Though before they leave, Martin can hear Jon shuffling through the leaves, snatching up their lost treasure of bilberries and herbs, before leading him by the hand towards the nearest trail.
"Hey, so…did you plan all of that?" Martin asks.
"Plan what?"
"I dunno, all of it? Did you get caught on purpose just for fun, or did you actually get stuck at first?"
"Ah, right." Jon clears their throat. "I would hope you'd think better of my survival skills, dear. I'm not so helpless that I can’t-"
On their next step, a branch cracks beneath Jon's foot. They jump hard at the sound, grasping for Martin's arm, scanning the forest floor for another rope hidden in the leaves. Martin does his best not to laugh. It's not going well.
"So – I'm mostly sure I didn't leave any more on this trail, but I was half asleep when I all these. Who knows if there's more I’ve missed."
"…mostly?"
"More or less. I could carry you if you like. Unless you'd rather take your chances. Demonstrate those survival skills..."
A teasing grin spreads across Martin's face. He waits patiently to see whether Jon’s dignity will win out over their innate desire to be cradled like Her Majesty's most spoiled cat. Could go either way.
"…I could have actually eaten you, you know." Jon mutters in defeat, tugging insistently on Martin's sleeve.
"As fun as that sounds, should probably save that until after our baby gets here." With one swift motion, Martin hoists Jon up into his arms. "Besides, I don’t actually think I’d taste very good. Definitely not raw, anyway. Maybe if you were desperate, but-"
Once they’re safe above the ground, Jon reaches into their bag, plucking out a plump bilberry with two claws. They cut off Martin’s morbid track of mind by pressing the berry to his lips, and he mindlessly accepts the treat. The thin flesh pops between his teeth, coating his tongue with a tart, sticky juice, before Jon chases it with a kiss. Martin gasps against their mouth, falling back against a nearby tree to brace himself as Jon’s tongue twists around his own.
Once the flavour has washed away, Jon breaks from their kiss with a satisfied hum, and it makes Martin’s heart skip.
"For what it’s worth, I think you taste divine, dear." They whisper sweetly, taking one last lick across Martin’s bottom lip. "But I think I’d rather keep you, as long as I can. Something this sweet ought to be savoured."
