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The Appalachian night had teeth. Not the metaphorical kind that poets liked to wax lyrical about, but a real, biting chill that sank through the nylon of the tent and into the bones of the two young men huddled inside their sleeping bags. Delirium "Deliun" Gnat Domani lay on his side, his back pressed against Jo'ni Born Lambert's broad chest, feeling the steady thrum of Jo'ni's heartbeat through the thin fabric of his worn cotton tee. The trip had been Jo'ni's idea—a desperate, last-ditch effort to scrape together the fragments of what had been shattered three weeks ago when Jo'ni, in a fit of jealous rage, had accused Deliun of fucking their mutual friend Sammy in the bathroom of that cramped French Quarter bar. Deliun had proved his innocence with timestamped Uber receipts and security footage, but the accusation had left a rancid taste in his mouth, a betrayal that sat heavy in his chest like swallowed lead.
Still, they loved each other. That was the sick, stubborn truth of it. Deliun loved the way Jo'ni tried to gentle his rough edges around him, how those thick, calloused hands that could probably crush a coconut would tremble when they brushed Deliun's narrow waist. And Jo'ni loved Deliun's sharp tongue, his elegance, the way he carried himself like royalty even when they were just eating gas station burritos in Jo'ni's beat-up pickup truck.
The tent smelled of pine needles, boy sweat, and the ghost of the campfire they'd built earlier, roasting marshmallows and not talking about the fight. Deliun couldn't sleep. His almond-shaped eyes stared at the mesh window, watching the fog curl between the dark silhouettes of pine trees. His small silver studs felt cold against his ears. He needed to piss.
"Jo'ni," he whispered, his voice carrying that particular New Orleans lilt, French and Portuguese and something else entirely dancing in his vowels. "I'm going outside."
Jo'ni grunted, his thick eyebrows furrowing in his sleep. His long, dark hair was loose, fanning across the inflatable pillow like a black waterfall. "Mm. Take the bear spray."
Deliun rolled his eyes, sitting up and shimmying out of his sleeping bag. He was only wearing an oversized Saints jersey that hung off his lean frame, barely covering the gentle curve of his slim hips. His tightly coiled hair was protected by a silk durag, his sharp jawline catching the dim moonlight filtering through the tent flap. He stepped into his slides, the cold immediately biting at his bare legs, and unzipped the tent as quietly as possible.
The forest was alive with sounds. Crickets, the rustle of something small in the underbrush, the distant hoot of an owl. The fog was thicker now, a grey blanket that hugged the ground and obscured the tree line. Deliun walked about twenty feet from the tent, behind a thick oak, and pulled up his jersey, hissing as the cold air hit his cock. He was half-hard already—he always was in the mornings and whenever he was anxious—and he aimed carefully, the stream hitting the leaves with a soft patter.
He didn't hear it approach. He was shaking himself off, tucking himself back into his briefs, when the smell hit him. Rotting meat. Wet earth. Something ancient and wrong.
The roar that tore through the night wasn't like anything in nature documentaries. It was the sound of a thousand deer dying in agony, of trees being uprooted by tornadoes, of ice cracking on a frozen lake. It was inside his skull and outside in the world simultaneously. Deliun stumbled backward, his slides slipping on wet leaves, and he hit the ground hard on his ass.
It stood between him and the tent.
The Wendigo was a nightmare given bone and bark. It towered at least eight feet tall, its body emaciated to the point of obscenity—every rib visible beneath skin that looked like rotting pine bark, striated and grey-brown and weeping some clear, viscous fluid. Its neck was grotesquely elongated, corded with muscle and sinew, connecting a humanoid torso to a head that was a bleached-white deer skull. The eye sockets were empty, black voids that somehow still seemed to see, and the jaws were filled with teeth that were too long, too sharp, stained yellow and brown. But it was the antlers that commanded terror—massive, branching structures that spread six feet across, dark at the base and fading to grey at the tips, covered in strips of hanging moss and what looked like old, dried flesh.
Deliun tried to scream, but his throat locked up. He scrambled backward on the wet ground, his jersey riding up, exposing his flat, toned stomach, the faint line of his sternum, his small nipples pebbling in the cold and fear. The Wendigo moved with impossible speed for something so skeletal, covering the distance in two long strides. Those arms—Jesus Christ, those arms—were longer than they should be, hanging past its knees, ending in fingers that looked like twisted roots, tipped with black claws.
"Jo'ni!" Deliun finally managed, the sound coming out as a strangled cry. "JO'NI!"
But the Wendigo was on him. One of those massive hands—bark-skin rough and smelling of copper and decay—pinned Deliun's shoulders to the ground. Deliun thrashed, his sharp jawline clenched, his expressive eyes wide with terror. The creature's other hand tore at Deliun's briefs, the fabric ripping like paper, and then—
Deliun's eyes rolled back. A sound escaped him that wasn't quite human.
The Wendigo's cock was an obscenity. It hung between its legs, black as tar and easily SEVENTEEN inches long, thick as Deliun's wrist, with a flared head that was leaking a thick, iridescent pre-cum that smelled like musk and ozone. It was impossibly hard, veins standing out along its length like ridges on a tree trunk. Without preamble, without warning, the Wendigo pressed the head against Deliun's tight, unprepared hole.
"Oh God," Deliun whimpered, tears immediately springing to his almond-shaped eyes. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, it's too big, it's—"
The Wendigo thrust.
The stretch was catastrophic. Deliun's mouth opened in a silent scream, his back arching off the ground, his small silver earrings catching the moonlight as his head thrashed side to side. The creature didn't care about preparation, about gentleness. It drove forward, burying inch after inch of that monstrous cock into Deliun's tight heat, filling him in a way that felt like it was rearranging his insides. Deliun's hands clawed at the ground, fingers digging into the dirt and leaves, his lean body convulsing.
And then—horror of horrors—it started to feel good.
The Wendigo's cock was ribbed, textured like tree bark but hot, searingly hot, and it was pressing against something inside Deliun that made his vision spark white at the edges. Despite the pain, despite the terror, his body betrayed him. His own cock, previously soft with fear, began to harden against his stomach, leaking clear fluid onto his toned abs.
"No," Deliun sobbed, his French-Brazilian accent thickening with his distress. "Non, s'il te plaît... Jo'ni... don't look... please don't look..."
But it was too late.
Jo'ni burst from the tent, wearing only his boxers and a tank top that strained against his broad shoulders and thick neck. His long dark hair was wild, his deep-set eyes scanning the clearing until they locked onto the scene before him. His tan copper complexion went ashen.
Deliun—his Deliun, his elegant, regal, moody Deliun—was pinned to the ground by a monster. The Wendigo's massive form was hunched over Deliun's slender frame, its deer skull head thrown back as it pistoned its grotesque cock into Deliun's ass. Deliun's legs were spread obscenely wide, his hips lifted off the ground, his face a mess of tears and snot and something else—pleasure. undeniable, humiliating pleasure.
For a moment, Jo'ni felt nothing but ice-cold terror. Then betrayal. Then rage.
"GET THE FUCK OFF HIM!" Jo'ni roared, his voice giving a guttural, thunderous quality. He charged forward, his muscular thighs pumping, his broad chest heaving. He was a strong man—solid, powerful, built like a linebacker from his days hauling firewood and working construction back on the Nation. He threw himself at the Wendigo, fists raised, ready to tear the creature apart with his bare hands.
The Wendigo didn't even stop fucking Deliun. It simply reached out with one of those impossibly long arms and caught Jo'ni by the throat mid-charge, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Jo'ni choked, his thick neck muscles straining, his feet kicking in the air. The Wendigo turned its skull head toward him, those empty eye sockets seeming to bore into Jo'ni's soul.
Then it dropped him.
Jo'ni hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. Before he could scramble up, the Wendigo was on him. Those bark-like hands grabbed Jo'ni's boxers and tore them away with a single jerk of its teeth—fabric ripped, and Jo'ni was exposed.
Jo'ni was a trans man. Deliun knew this, had known since their first date at that shitty diner on Canal Street, had loved Jo'ni's body with a fierce devotion that made Jo'ni feel safe for the first time in his life. But now, in the cold Appalachian air, with a monster looming over him, Jo'ni's most intimate secret was exposed—his pussy, wet and flushed and vulnerable, his thick thighs trembling as he tried to close them.
"Don't," Jo'ni snarled, his hot-headed nature overriding his fear. "Don't you fucking dare—"
The Wendigo's tongue was long, thick, and textured like a cat's but massive, dark red, dripping with saliva. It descended between Jo'ni's legs with terrifying precision and dragged a single, slow lick up the length of Jo'ni's cunt.
Jo'ni's entire body convulsed. His back arched violently, his broad shoulders digging into the dirt. "Fuck!" he screamed, the sound torn from his throat. "Fuck, no, stop—"
But he didn't want it to stop. That was the horror of it. The Wendigo's tongue was hot, burning hot, and the texture—ridges and bumps that shouldn't exist—was hitting every sensitive nerve ending Jo'ni possessed. The creature began to eat him out with a methodical, hungry intensity, its long tongue delving deep, curling inside him, lapping at his clit with a pressure that made Jo'ni see stars. The drool was everywhere, thick and warm, mixing with Jo'ni's own wetness, making obscene squelching sounds in the quiet forest.
Jo'ni grabbed fistfuls of the Wendigo's antlers, trying to push it away, but the creature was immovable. It was growling, a low vibration that traveled through its tongue and into Jo'ni's core. Jo'ni's hips began to move on their own, bucking up against that demonic mouth, seeking more friction, more of that impossible pleasure.
"Jo'ni!" Deliun cried out, his voice breaking. The Wendigo had slowed its pace inside him, long-dicking him now, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in to the hilt. Deliun's cock was leaking constantly, untouched, his flat chest heaving with sobs that were half-pleasure, half-shame. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it feels so good, I can't—"
"Don't apologize," Jo'ni gasped out, his thick eyebrows drawn together in a grimace of ecstasy and fury. "Don't you fucking dare apologize to me, Deliun. Just—fuck—"
The Wendigo seemed to sense their attention on each other. It pulled its tongue from Jo'ni with a wet, filthy sound, leaving him gaping and clenching around nothing, then turned back to Deliun. It began to fuck him in earnest now, brutal, animalistic thrusts that shook Deliun's entire frame. Deliun's head lolled back, his mouth open in a silent scream, tears streaming down his sharp cheekbones. The sound of flesh slapping against bark-skin filled the clearing, obscene and loud.
Jo'ni watched, transfixed, as the Wendigo's cock pistoned in and out of his boyfriend's ass. He should have been repulsed. He should have been trying to find the bear spray, the camping axe, anything. Instead, he was crawling closer, his own pussy throbbing, his clit aching. He needed to touch Deliun. He needed to make sure he was real.
He reached out and grabbed Deliun's hand. Their fingers intertwined, Jo'ni's calloused and thick, Deliun's slender and elegant.
"I'm here," Jo'ni rasped, his Navajo accent thick with arousal. "I'm right here, baby. Look at me."
Deliun's eyes fluttered open, dark and blown out with pleasure. "Jo'ni," he whimpered. "It hurts, it hurts so good, I'm gonna—"
The Wendigo roared, a sound that shook leaves from the trees. It thrust deep one final time, burying itself to the root inside Deliun's ruined hole, and began to cum. The volume was obscene—thick, black, tar-like fluid that spurted in massive pulses, filling Deliun's ass, overflowing around the creature's cock and running down Deliun's slim thighs in rivulets. It was hot, burning hot, and Deliun felt it flooding his insides, claiming him in a way that made his own orgasm crash over him without a single touch to his cock.
Deliun screamed, his back arching off the ground, his free hand clawing at Jo'ni's arm, leaving red marks. His cock spurted white ropes of cum onto his own flat stomach, his toned abs, his heaving chest. He came and came, his whole body convulsing, his mind white-hot blank.
The Wendigo pulled out with a wet squelch, more of that black cum gushing from Deliun's gaping hole, staining the leaves beneath him. It turned its attention back to Jo'ni, who was still on his knees, watching with wide, glazed eyes.
The creature didn't hesitate. It pushed Jo'ni onto his back, those long fingers spreading Jo'ni's thick thighs wide, exposing his pussy to the cold air once more. The Wendigo's tongue descended again, but this time it focused on Jo'ni's clit, lashing it with rapid, firm strokes, while two bark-skin fingers pushed inside Jo'ni's wet heat, curling up, finding the rough patch of his G-spot.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh God," Jo'ni chanted, his head thrashing, his long hair getting tangled with twigs and dirt. "Deliun, Deliun, I'm gonna—it's too much—"
Deliun, barely conscious, rolled onto his side to watch. His ass was throbbing, leaking that black fluid, but he crawled closer, reaching out to stroke Jo'ni's broad chest, to pinch his nipples through the tank top. "Come for it," Deliun whispered, his voice wrecked. "Come for the monster, Jo'ni. Show me."
Jo'ni's orgasm hit him like a freight train. His entire body went rigid, his thick neck straining, his mouth open in a silent scream. His pussy clamped down on the Wendigo's fingers, pulsing in waves, gushing clear fluid that the creature lapped up eagerly. Jo'ni's hips jerked uncontrollably, his powerful thighs trembling, his toes curling. It went on for what felt like minutes, wave after wave of pleasure that left him sobbing and limp.
The Wendigo withdrew its fingers with a wet sound, giving Jo'ni's sensitive clit one last, lingering lick that made the trans man whimper and try to squirm away. Then it stood, rising to its full, terrifying height, looking down at the two young men it had just used.
Deliun and Jo'ni lay side by side on the cold ground, neither wearing pants, both covered in fluids—black cum, clear spit, their own sweat and tears and orgasmic leakage. Deliun's jersey was pushed up under his armpits, his flat chest heaving, his small nipples hard. Jo'ni's tank top was twisted, his thick waist and sturdy hips exposed, his pussy swollen and glistening in the moonlight.
The Wendigo tilted its deer skull head, as if studying them. Then, with a sound that might have been laughter or might have been the wind through dead trees, it turned and loped off into the fog, disappearing between the pines as silently as it had arrived.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing.
Then Deliun let out a wet, hysterical giggle. It started in his chest and bubbled up, uncontrollable, slightly manic. He turned his head to look at Jo'ni, his almond-shaped eyes still wet with tears, his full lips split in a grin that was half-embarrassment, half-delirium.
"Did that just fucking happen?" Deliun asked, his New Orleans accent thick and slurred with exhaustion.
Jo'ni stared at the sky for a moment, his broad chest rising and falling. Then he started to laugh too—a deep, rumbling sound that shook his whole frame. He rolled onto his side, wincing at the tenderness between his legs, and reached out to cup Deliun's sharp jawline.
"We just got fucked by a Wendigo," Jo'ni said, his voice gravelly. "I... I came so hard I think I saw my ancestors."
"I know," Deliun giggled, pressing his face into Jo'ni's thick neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and pine and something else—something wild. "It was inside me, Jo'ni. It was so deep, I felt it in my throat."
"I know," Jo'ni whispered back, his possessive nature somehow still intact despite everything. He pulled Deliun closer, wrapping his muscular arms around Deliun's slender waist, ignoring the mess between them. "I saw. I saw everything. A fucking forest demon was breeding you, Deliun, and I watched like a cuck."
Deliun snorted, another giggle escaping him. "You were jealous of Sammy," he said, his voice muffled against Jo'ni's skin. "But not of the Wendigo?"
"Fuck Sammy," Jo'ni growled, but there was no heat in it anymore. "I'm gonna kill him later for making me doubt you. But that thing..." He shuddered, not entirely with disgust. "That thing can have you when I'm dead. Not before."
They lay there for a while longer, the cold starting to bite now that the adrenaline was fading. Deliun's ass was sore, gaping, leaking that strange black fluid that seemed to tingle more than burn. Jo'ni's pussy was swollen, sensitive, his clit still throbbing with aftershocks.
"We should get back to the tent," Deliun said eventually. "Before it comes back."
"Yeah," Jo'ni agreed, but neither of them moved. He kissed Deliun's forehead, then his sharp jawline, then his full lips. "Are we... are we okay? After everything?"
Deliun looked up at him, really looked at him, his expressive eyes soft. "We're fucked up," he said honestly. "But we're fucked up together. And honestly? I think that thing just... reset us somehow. I don't even remember why I was mad at you."
"Because I was an asshole," Jo'ni supplied.
"Yes," Deliun agreed. "But you're my asshole. And apparently, you're also the asshole who shares me with Appalachian cryptids."
Jo'ni barked out a laugh, then winced, holding his sensitive groin. "Don't make me laugh. I think my soul left my body when I came."
They helped each other up, both wobbling, both wincing. Deliun's slides were long gone, lost in the underbrush, so Jo'ni carried him piggyback style, his thick arms hooked under Deliun's slim thighs, ignoring the way the black cum smeared against his skin. Deliun clung to Jo'ni's broad back, his face buried in that long, thick hair, smelling sweat and woodsmoke and sex.
As they approached the tent, Deliun whispered, "Jo'ni?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"If we tell anyone about this, I'll deny it. I'll say you hit your head and hallucinated."
Jo'ni chuckled, the vibration traveling through his chest. "Deal. But... maybe we camp here again next weekend?"
Deliun slapped his shoulder, but he was smiling, his elegant face flushed and happy for the first time in weeks. "You fucking freak. I love you."
"I love you too," Jo'ni said, and meant it more than he ever had before.
They crawled into the tent, naked from the waist down, filthy and marked and strangely, perfectly content. Outside, the fog rolled in thicker, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of antlers clicking against tree bark echoed through the night. But inside the tent, wrapped in each other's arms, Deliun and Jo'ni fell asleep within minutes, both dreaming of white skulls and pleasure that bordered on pain, and the strange, wild magic of the mountains that had somehow, impossibly, brought them back to each other.