Mt. Gagazet rose above them, its face stark.

"Ready?" Yoru asked, shouldering his spear. Kital nodded.

The slopes of Gagazet were the last trial for any summoner, before they reached the holy site of Zanarkand, and it was a trial that many summoners failed. The fiends of fallen summoners were the hungriest: hungry for more death. Fiends had no need to eat; when they killed it was for the joy of killing. To make others feast at the banquet of their eternal misery. Only death would cure them of that hunger.

They were out fiend hunting. Many died on Gagazet, and few survivors returned with reports. But recently there had been straggling survivors, staggering down bloodied and dying, who had spoken of a new fiend on the summit: a Behemoth, maybe a pack of them. They were preying on travelers and pilgrims at the final trial of their journey, at the very peak of Gagazet. As the defenders of sacred Mt Gagazet, the Ronso had to respond.

The two were common companions who frequently hunted together. Where Yoru was pale blue, with dark hair, Kital's coat was nearly blue-black, with shocking blond hair. They were both broad-shouldered, solidly muscled: the perfect examples of a Ronso warrior.

Yoru and Kital made their way up the mountain. Rocky scree turned into icy slopes, and snow billowed in great drifts, obliterating vision beyond more than a few body-lengths. Kital took the lead, stoically withstanding the icy wind, while Yoru walked in his wake, isolated from the smallest fraction of the chill.

It also meant he was able to stare at Kital's bulky, muscular ass as they ascended. They were of the same age; if anything, Yoru was the more skilled warrior of the two, but there was something about Kital's vigor: his fearlessness, his willingness to throw himself at even the fiercest fiends. Yoru had a crush on the other Ronso, and certainly the fact that Kital's long hours training had developed his body to the pinnacle of Ronso physique didn't hurt. Even through the heavy fabric of his waistcloth, Yoru could see the twin boulders of Kital's asscheeks, steadily shifting as they climbed the slope. A show of the power that dwelled within the body of a Ronso warrior, as his ass and thighs bunched and flexed with each step upward. Despite the frigid cold of Mt Gagazet, Yoru's blood burned, and his cock thickened, fattening out his own waistcloth.

Yoru had never said anything, and it was unlikely Kital had any clue of his crush. Kital was sociable, popular even, but it was clear he wasn't dedicated to anything beyond training and killing fiends, and he could be more than a little oblivious. Rezna had outright confessed her feelings to him, and he hadn't even noticed, which had been pretty humiliating for her given everyone watching, and Yoru could easily imagine the same happening to him if he ever tried to stammer out a confession. For now he'd content himself with helping Kital hunt fiends, and also staring at his enormous, muscular ass on their walks.

Their fiend-hunting expeditions were the highlight of his days. He'd had more than one dream about it: blood hot with battle, spears stabbing through fiends, the two of them a fierce whirlwind of death, sending pyreflies billowing around them. The heat of battle transmuted into the heat of their bodies, pressed together: Kital's huge, muscular bulk pressed against him, pinning him down. Yoru had stained more than one bedsheet with his issue from those dreams.

Here and now, though, he had no time for distraction. A Behemoth, maybe even a Behemoth King, prowled the icy slopes, and together they were going to end it. As they climbed the summit, Yoru's gaze kept from Kital's ass, focusing instead on the wall of snow whirling around them, keeping his senses alert for movement. His lustful crush was one thing, but he was himself a Ronso warrior.

Even with their warrior senses, the behemoth was on them before Yoru could yell a warning. It was an enormous fiend: as snarling beast with purple-grey hide and an icy blue-white mane. It was tall as either of them on all fours, and when it reared up, roaring as it lunged, it blocked out the sky. They dodged in opposite directions, pinning it between them, and Yoru's spear sliced a curving line open across its hide, drawing its attention to allow Kital to dart in swift and stab deep into its flank. That was as good as they got: the behemoth roared again and swiped, tail lashing out to smack into Yoru with a bone-jarring _crunch_ as, in the same moment, its claws ripped a bloody mess across Kital's chest. The heavy leather of his chestplate tore like thinnest silk, and it was only his sway backwards that stopped its claws from tearing straight through his ribs.

Kital roared, stumbling backwards to his knees, left hand going to his chest -- right arm limp at his side. It was only Yoru's leap, mounting the Behemoth and stabbing down, that kept the Behemoth from finishing him off with a second blow. The Behemoth bucked, tossing Yoru off to slam into the icy mountain wall, his spear still embedded deep in the fiend's back.

Yoru lurched to his feet, about to try tackling the Behemoth bare-handed to keep it away from Kital, when streaks of light burst out from the storm wall around them. A barrage of fire slammed into the behemoth's flank, tossing it to the side, and it let out a bone-rumbling snarl and leapt towards where the bolts had come from, giving Yoru the moment he needed to rush over to Kital. He was still conscious, panting hoarsely as he bled profusely down his chest: the behemoth's claws had sunk deep, shredding across his chest and crippling one arm. Far beyond what Yoru could heal with his limited magical ability.

Kital's spear rested beneath him, and Yoru snatched it up, keeping guard over Kital. Sounds echoed from the storm around them, and dark shapes moved: the behemoth fighting with its unknown assailant, roaring and shrieking as the continual barrage of spells continued. That behemoth was far beyond any other they'd faced; they were like children playing battle compared to it. Together, a behemoth was a challenging hunt, yes, but one that was manageable. This was something else entirely.

Yoru kept his grip tight on Kital's spear, uselessly peering into the snowstorm. The sounds stopped, everything quiet aside from Kital's hoarse panting behind him. A dark shape formed through the snow, and the spear creaked under his grip, until... the shape resolved into that of another Ronso, holding Yoru's spear in his hand.

"Warriors," the strange Ronso said, tossing Yoru's spear back to him. "Barik," he said, and thumped his chest, "has been tracking that Behemoth. Ronso's distraction did well. Barik drove it away."

"Yoru," Yoru said, and with a glance behind him, "Kital."

Kital lurched to his feet, staggering. He was still bleeding freely.

"Come," Barik said. "Kital will not make it back down Mt. Gagazet without treatment." With that, he turned and walked back into the storm, and Yoru and Kital had to struggle to keep up with him.

Barik was perhaps the biggest Ronso Yoru had ever seen: towering head-and-shoulders over Yoru and Kital, who were not small Ronso to begin with, and despite his height he was so broadly muscular his frame seemed too compact for all his muscle. His horn was long and sharp, a glistening spar that seemed to shine with an inner light. His face was craggy, whiskers long, beard black. Where Yoru and Kital were dressed heavily, with heavy loincloths and bulky chestplates, bracers and calf guards, Barik was dressed in hardly more than his smallclothes: a wrapping of undyed fabric across his hips, leaving the rest of his body bare. Like some kind of monk or sage, living in isolation. Yoru had certainly never heard his name before in the village. He was grizzled, certainly not of their generation; perhaps of their fathers'. But a solitary Ronso living on Gagazet for so long, without ever returning to the village...?

Yoru helped Kital stagger along behind Barik. The other Ronso led them into a narrow crevasse that opened up into a cave roaring with wind. One of the forks off of the windy cavern was barricaded off with a solid-looking door, and through that they were abruptly stepping into a house. Simply furnished, but well lived-in. The room they stepped into was a chilly antechamber, and past that was a larger greeting-room, with a single tiny window bored through the rock and plugged with cloudy glass. Beyond that, there was a narrow hall carved from the solid rock, that finally opened into a warm hearth, and Barik led them a room beyond that: Barik's bedroom, with a rough mattress heaped tall with rich blankets. He gestured for Yoru to let Kital settle down.

Barik knelt in front of Kital and efficiently stripped off his ruined chestplate without shifting his shoulders by the simple method of slicing through the straps keeping it fixed. He pressed his hands against Kital's bloody wound as faint pulses of light flashed across his palm. Yoru grimaced. Barik was pressing Kital's hanging muscles back into place and fusing them together with a light application of healing magic. "Kital will not be healed soon," he said, deep voice all the more powerful for the small room they were in. "Needs rest. Several days, maybe longer, before Kital's arm will be usable without tearing. You will stay here until then."

Kital glowered. He flexed his arm, even as Barik glowered at him and Yoru winced. His muscles bunched weirdly, writhing like snakes across his chest. "Kital is fine. Can make it down the slopes like this."

"No." Barik folded his arms over his chest. "That behemoth is Barik's responsibility. Was not killed quick enough. So Kital's injury is Barik's fault. Barik will not send Ronso warriors to their death on the slopes, while it still lives."

"Barik's _responsibility_?" Yoru asked. One could say it was the responsibility of all Ronso to keep the fiends on Gagazet from growing too strong, but... "Barik can posture all he wants, but Behemoth is everyone's problem. Does Barik think he would fare better than Kital, alone?"

"Yes," Barik said simply, turning his stern gaze to Yoru. "It was not the first time Barik has fought a behemoth like that."

His fur, damp now with melting snow, did little to hide the immense swell of his muscles, rippling with every motion of his body. Yoru was not a small Ronso, yet when Barik braced his arms, adjusting Kital, his enormous biceps had clenched tight into rippling swells larger than Yoru's head. He'd held Yoru's spear in perfect warrior's pose, and fought the Behemoth that had effortlessly disabled the both of them to a standstill, without even appearing fatigued. As much as Yoru wanted to argue, it was obvious just from looking that Barik was far beyond them; a warrior with no peer. Now, with the mortal danger of the Behemoth gone; Kital's injuries gone from lethal to merely dangerous, it was harder to ignore just how attractive Barik was. His loincloth was swollen and heavy, cock tightly bundled up, imposingly-large on his already-enormous body, despite even the freezing cold.

A different kind of heat made its way down Yoru's chest, mixed with the flushed embarrassment of being completely useless in the battle. The air of the house was damp, suffused with the rich, heady musk of Barik's body: spice and meat, savory.

Yoru swallowed heavily and turned his head away, fixing his attention on repositioning Kital's injured form without straining his arm, and not the heavy throb of his own cock, fattening under Barik's intense consideration.

"Barik will brew healing paste," Barik said, brusquely. "Stay." He turned, stepping from the small bedchamber back to the kitchen, where he hauled his immense cooking cauldron up in one hand and stepped outside. Filling it with snow to melt. Yoru only ripped his eyes away from Barik's rippling back when the door banged shut behind him, cutting him off from view. He looked over at Kital, and found him still staring in Barik's direction, face flushed.

They bickered a little, quietly, as Barik worked above the hearth. The heady musk of his room was displaced, slightly, by the bitter tang of herbal medicine, and after a short time Barik returned with a still-steaming bowl of greenish mash. He packed it tight against Kital's wounds, ignoring his hisses of pain, and then bandaged his chest and arm. "Rest," he commanded, when Kital squawked and kept trying to get up, and then he turned to Yoru: "If other Ronso wishes to help, gather snow for meltwater."

Yoru did as he was told, grabbing a rough-worked barrel from the antechamber and leaving the cave to collect some of the vast drifts of snow that billowed ceaselessly across Mt. Gagazet. They he returned, and Barik fed them both, and they slept: Kital in Barik's bed, Yoru stretched out on a pallet beside, while Barik retired to one of the side rooms.

The whole situation was strange. How long had this Ronso been on the mountain? There were always rumors and legends of hermits living on the sacred peak, but Yoru had always thought them stories. Had he been exiled from the tribe? He couldn't imagine why else anyone would prefer to live in isolation instead of with their bretheren. And, of course... it was impossible to ignore that they were both sleeping in his room, with blankets rich with his scent. Barik, the mountain recluse, was enormous. His cock, even bound tight in his loincloth, was an impossible-to-miss protrusion. Just thinking of his form, as he lay there on his blankets, was enough to make his cock thicken and stir. If Kital hadn't been sleeping next to him, Yoru knew he wouldn't have had the willpower to resist jerking off, drenching himself in the mingled reek of their scents.

Yoru slept poorly and dreamed of frenzied scenes of muscle and fur, bare cocks, Barik's deep growly voice mixed with Kital's more even temper, and woke achingly hard. He tried to ignore Kital's own erection tenting his sheets as he slept restlessly; clearly his injury hadn't been _that_ severe if his body was still putting all its effort to getting his dick hard, instead of healing.

That was how their first night went. The second was much the same. The people of the village would be concerned when they hadn't returned. One night on the mountain wasn't that unusual, but two, without notice, was. Kital was still in no shape to fight during the descent, and after his effortless defeat by the Behemoth, Yoru felt incapable of protecting him.

---

It was after nightfall when Kital became restless. Kital began to complain when Barik checked under his bandages.

There was a scrambling noise and a restrained hiss of pain. "When will we Ronsos go out to kill the fiend?" Kital said, sounding like he was struggling to stand.

Yoru peeked his head around the doorframe: yes, that's what he was doing. "Kital will rip his wound open from anticipation," he admonished. "Kital is in no condition to do anything aside from lay in bed and recover."

Kital squawked. "Kital is--" he started, and this was an argument they'd had basically every time Kital had ever been hurt. He'd made half his wounds worse from overcompensating, always saying this time was different, this time he wasn't hurt that bad.

Barik's deep voice cut between them. "Yoru is right," he said. "Kital needs rest, and lying down, and _no_ fighting fiends." Kital visibly withered, slumping down with a frown, and Barik softened: "Barik will see if Kital is ready for healing spells tonight. But healing spells will only take if Kital's body has begun to heal, and is not _over-stressed_."


Barik loomed over them both, arms crossed, and he glowered down at Kital, lying resentfully on the bed. "Fetch water," he said to Yoru, and Yoru just snorted and waved at Kital, a dismissive _I hope he yells at you more_ expression.

The chore of fetching snowmelt had become automatic. He stayed beneath the overhang and packed snow tight into the barrel from the broad drifts that built up, and when he returned to Barik's house he remembered the way the wind caught the door and held it tight to keep it from banging loudly against the rock wall. He settled the fresh barrel down within the antechamber with a muffled _thump_, and then stepped inside proper, and had walked a half-dozen steps down the narrow hallway to the brighter, warmer chambers before the scene before him caught his eyes.

Kital was still sitting, surly, in bed, and Barik was still standing before him, glowering down. But something about their postures had changed.

There was a look in Kital's eyes he'd never seen before, staring up at Barik. It made Yoru's guts twist: arousal and envy warring. Kital was so sexually oblivious he couldn't imagine-- he thought, but perhaps his thoughts had been too restrained. Kital raised his good arm and pressed it against Barik's thigh, fingers curling back to grope across his ass, and he tugged forward. The motion pulled Kital towards Barik, and didn't budge the immense Ronso even an inch forward. The huge mound of Barik's dick pressed against his chest, and Kital shifted to the side, leaning in, to mash it against the uninjured side of his body. His hand slowly slid up Barik's thigh. Barik, for his part, did lurch back, bulge pulsing, and said something down, the same tones he'd used when he was admonishing Kital for stressing his injury. 'Kital is too hurt to suck Barik's cock', Yoru could easily imagine him saying.

Barik might have been talking too quietly for Yoru to hear, but Kital certainly wasn't. "Kital can do it," he said, loud, almost desperate. "Let Kital do it!" he pleaded, claws digging into the meat of Barik's thigh. He plead with the awkward certainty of someone who had never attempted to court a single person before in his entire life.

Barik said something in response, voice a deep lull, and sunk down, kneeling in front of Kital's sitting form, until they were face-to-face -- horns crossing, intimately pressed together, with the lump of his dick throbbing between Kital's spread legs. Kital grasped it with his good hand, fingers sliding up Barik's thigh, tugging at the folds of his loincloth, and he let out a shaky moan as his fingers made contact. Barik's hand snapped out to grab his wrist, holding him in place, but when Kital glowered at him and worked against him, Barik didn't fully still his motion. With Barik's hand still wrapped around his wrist, Kital's fingers cupped the immense swell of Barik's cock.

Kital pulled at the edge of Barik's loincloth with his good hand, and Barik's cock burst free with a meaty lurch. It heavily slapped up across Kital's stomach, fat and heavy, turgid length still fattening further as it unfurled from where it had been tucked into place. It was terrifyingly huge, bloated shaft nearly as fat as Kital's head. Kital let out a needy whine of arousal, mirrored by Yoru, out in the hall. He was achingly hard in his loincloth, fabric tented out, cock leaking steadily, but he didn't dare touch himself -- move in any way -- for fear of calling attention to himself, somehow interrupting the scene unfolding before him. Kital groaned, rutting forward, and his bulge mashed against Barik's cock: both their cocks pressing against each other, dark droplets of pre oozing through the fabric, spilling down Barik's enormous cock to sluggishly soak through Kital's loincloth, making it stick to his furred skin and drawing the fabric even tighter around his cock.

Barik was leaking pre freely, coating the pink-purple cocktip, making his spiraling barbs shine. Thin lines of pre webbed across his fluttering barbs, catching in thicker ropes around the ridge of his cockhead, slowly streaking down his shaft. Barik slid his grip up, tangling his fingers with Kital's, and gently but firmly peeled his hand off his cock. He said something, voice a low rumble from the hallway, and Kital pouted and then snarled. A rejection, then. Yoru couldn't tell if he was pleased or upset; if he wanted to watch them fuck more than he wanted to be one of them there.

Barik pressed his forehead to Kital's, horns crossed at the base, and pressed a kiss to his lips that soon turned more intense: mouths opening as Kital began panted, tongues lolling out and wetly catching each other in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Yoru felt dizzy from the heat of it. His cock flexed rhythmically, each time grinding his cockhead against the soft fabric of his loincloth. He was leaking freely, slowly soaking the fabric, making it cling tight to the swell of his cock. The twist of the loincloth, wrapped between his legs and up the crack of his ass, dug deeper between his asscheeks, scuffing the fur there until it came to rest pressed tight against his shuddering hole. His loincloth loosened fractionally, tenting further, and his balls lolled to the side, pressing against the very edge of his pouch, until with a shocky jerk they burst free, lurching out into the open. Their heavy weight, bouncing between his thighs, yanked his whole cock down, peeling his foreskin an iota back, letting his nubby barbs mesh against the sodden fabric of his loincloth pouch.

His hands clenched his thighs, trembling, and he had to stop himself from burying his claws in the meat of his thigh. He rasped for breath, trying to stifle the low growl buzzing up his throat, and he squeezed his eyes tight shut. His entire body was hot, flushed, scent gathering across him as he sweat through his fur.

Then Barik pulled away, pointed at the bowl of stew. A dismissal, even with Kital's dick a hard spike tenting his loincloth and Barik's own dick a monstrous swell jutting forward between his thighs, not even fully hard but already enormous. Kital snarled again. The dizzying haze Yoru was lost in started to dissipate as Barik began to turn, and in fear of being caught in the hall -- his own cock leaking through his loincloth at just the sight of them kissing -- he took several steps back, into the barred cavern entrance, and swiftly and silently eased the door back open.

He stood in the frigid antechamber for a few long moments, until the chill sapped the heat from his cock. He loosened and re-tied his loincloth, hiding the dark splotch -- now uncomfortably chill -- beneath the hanging tassel.

Only then did he open the outer door, letting it bang loudly against the rock this time, and entered as if he was just returning. That time, Kital was grudgingly slurping at his soup, body hidden under a blanket, while Barik was ladling out another bowl from the cauldron on the hearth, almost as if none of what Yoru had seen had happened at all, save for the still-lingering reek of their mingled musk in the air. Looking at them both, it was hard to say if what he felt was envy. Or which he was envious of.

---

Kital fell asleep early, first fitfully and then deeply. Yoru watched him sleep, briefly: face slack, chest rising and falling smoothly, bandages across his chest clean. Barik saw him watching -- not 'caught', despite how Yoru felt when Barik came up behind him and startled at his voice:

"The healing herbs in Kital's stew will keep him resting through the night." Barik huffed, grumbling: "That one makes a poor patient."

Yoru snorted in agreement. Kital argued about everything. But then:

Barik's gaze sunk across his body, slow and intense, and he took a step forward, and then another, until Yoru's horn was nearly stabbing at his chest. His voice was hungry when he spoke. "So, Barik and Yoru will have some privacy. Did Yoru enjoy what he saw? Such a timid cat, running away from the feast laid before him."

A bolt of embarrassment shot through Yoru. Barik's loincloth was straining against the bulk of his cock, as usual, but as he stared it shuddered and pulsed, slowly swelling even fatter. Yoru swallowed nervously. "Barik is hasty, for a recluse."

Barik laughed. "It is not every day that two headstrong young warriors barge into Barik's home and eat his food and sleep on his bed. Headstrong, but not brave enough to speak of it. Instead they sting Barik's nose with the reek of their unspent lusts."

Yoru could only stammer out words. Barik cut him off with his commanding voice: "Come," he said, and Yoru nearly did.

Barik pulled him into the side room. A training room, half flowing stone, with heavy mats on the floor. A narrow pallet was set up across them, where Barik had been sleeping after they had evicted him from his bed. Barik shoved Yoru back onto it, sending him sprawling to the ground, legs spread, and then Barik dropped to his knees before him and yanked Yoru's loincloth off with a single motion. His cock lolled out, heavy and hardening fast, and Barik let out such a deep, guttural groan of need that it rattled Yoru's bones.

Yoru was well-hung; he knew that much from his soaks in the hot springs with the other warriors. His balls puddled heavily between his thighs, fist-sized, with the thick flesh of his sac wrinkling up into furrows as his cock shuddered to life. His pink-white cockhead jutted from his fat foreskin-sheath, barbs lightly prickling as they rolled over the rim, and then Barik was on him: one huge hand splayed across his front, feeling up across his chest, as he dove onto his cock like a man starving. He opened wide and swallowed the whole thing down in a single gulp, lips wrapped around the fuzzy root of his cock as his tongue lapped at the tip. The initial pounce gave way to something slower, as his long tongue coiled around his length, tugging just-so to keep Yoru's cock plumping up fatter. Barik huffed, breath coming out in steaming gouts, billowing up Yoru's front.

Yoru's cockhead jabbed against the back of Barik's mouth, and it only took one hungry swallow for his throat to open up, letting his cockhead shove that inch deeper. His was still lengthening down his throat, not fully erect, but Barik didn't let an inch of his cock peek free; his lips slurped along the base of his shaft, coarse with hair, until his dark nose-pad pressed itself against the muscular ridge of Yoru's stomach, face buried in his shaggy pubes, even as his throat kept massaging his fattening cockhead. Barik's horn jutted up across Yoru's stomach, and he stared down at it, a kind of aroused terror filling his head at the thought of grabbing it and using it to fuck Barik's mouth. Barik held himself there for a long moment, throat shuddering around his shaft, tongue needily stroking along the coarsely-haired root of his cock, before he pulled himself back, spitting out Yoru's shaft to smear his face along the side of it, mouth open and panting as his shaft dripped viscous slobber across his fur.

"It has been a long time," Barik started, before his voice dissolved away into another low groan. "Show this old man your strength as a warrior." His tongue found Yoru's cocktip again, rasps catching and meshing with his barbs, plucking all across his flesh as Barik needily slurped along his stiff cock. Yoru whimpered, fat cock throbbing across Barik's face. Each lick coaxed out a heavy spurt of pre, slimy and glistening across Barik's drooling tongue, and the big Ronso gulped down each spurt like he was dying of thirst. He opened wide, breath hot and wet billowing up Yoru's dripping cock, and then he swallowed the whole thing down again, burying his face in his crotch as his throat milked his cocktip. His tongue coiled around the blunt tip of his cockhead and squeezed down on the spray of bristles there, digging in deep. Yoru couldn't contain his bellowing roar; his hips jerked forward reflexively, sloppily mating Barik's face, and the bigger Ronso just pushed back, a low rumble deep in his chest vibrating up through Yoru's spine.

His glower was still intimidating, that of a strong opponent sizing him up, even with his mouth splayed open around his cock.

Yoru arched up, grinding Barik's face against his crotch, and then he pulled back, barbs snapping wide to rake along his throat. Barik took the assault unflinchingly, gurgling out his approval, and so Yoru did it again, breath coming fast as he messily mated his face. Wet, slobbery squelches burst from Barik's throat as Yoru pummeled it open, fat cockhead slamming into the back of his mouth and spreading his throat wide. The tight, clenching spasm milked gush after gush of pre out of him, flooding Barik's mouth with froth. Sloppy squirts of churned-up pre and phlegm erupted out around the bloated tip of his cock, spilling in slobbery ropes from Barik's heavy lips as Yoru found his rhythm, rocking up hard.

Yoru was embarrassed at how quickly he burst. Messily mating Barik's face, cock throbbing in his throat, as the massive Ronso crooned and gurgled his enjoyment coaxed the load from him in scarce minutes, and he was too enraptured by the sight of creamy throatslop splattering down across his shelflike pecs, glazing his chest in ropy strings of opaque white ooze, to even think of attempting to hold his orgasm back. He slammed forward, mashing Barik's maw against his crotch, fat balls jammed against his chin, and bellowed out his orgasm as his cock erupted, shooting heavy gushes of virile Ronso cum down Barik's throat. Barik swallowed hungrily, tongue coiled around his shaft and milking him in time with each spurt.

[...]

Barik rose from his kneeling position, sex-debauched frame towering before him: fur all across his chest and stomach matted down with stringy cords of throatslop, revealing the boulder-like muscles of his body, and the thick cords of ooze still wound lower, forming dark trails along his thick fur until they hid the twisted waistcord of his loincloth. And his loincloth -- the swollen bulge trapped in his smallclothes was easily as large as Yoru's head. Seeing it when he oversaw Barik and Kital was nothing compared to having it a scant foot from his face. The fabric was soaked through, with sloppy bubbles of silver-grey pre oozing through, forming fat cords that swayed and jiggled, splattering against his tree-trunk thighs and sticking there, forming long, glistening webs of pre that slowly drooled lower.

Just the scent of it was overwhelming: Barik's thick musk, like hotter spice; like rich, succulent meat. Yoru whimpered like a kit; his flagging cock weakly twitched and sputtered a final mess of cum across the floor with a loud _splat_.

Barik hooked his fingers across his pouch and tugged, and the sodden fabric peeled away with an audible crackle of fluid on skin. The entire mammoth swell of his cock sagged out into the open, pendulous and enormous. His balls rolled out like boulders, and their jounce when they reached as low as they could and bounced back up made his entire cock sway side-to-side. It twitched sharply and spewed out a heavy rope of pre that splattered impossibly hot across Yoru's front and dashed hot droplets, faintly salty, into his open mouth and across his tongue.

Yoru whimpered again, hands coming up to cradle his shaft. His cock was bottom-heavy, bloated along the underside, with the spongy flange running up the bottom the width of three fingers. The root was blue and hairy, thick as the broadest part of Yoru's forearm, and it projected, cannonlike, barely tapering up the shaft as it mottled purple-pink and the skin grew rumpled with pinprick barbs. His cocktip itself was blunt and heavy, the divot of his cockslit a warped oval that splayed wide with each pulse of pre.

Yoru shifted to be closer to it and found his ass slipping off the edge of the bed; he sunk down onto his knees before Barik, letting his massive cock hang over him, drizzling syrupy pre down his horn and spilling across his head in hot rivulets. Just the scent of it, clogging his nose, sent his eyes rolling back in his head and a needy whine rippling up his throat.

"Open wide, little kitten," Barik said, voice commanding and teasing both. His fingers, slimy with their mingled preseed, pressed against his jaw, and his thumb slipped inside his mouth to press against his tongue. He eased Yoru's head forward, unresisting, until the fat cap of his cockhead smacked against his forehead, and then he tipped him up, cock dragging heavily across his muzzle, until the head slurped over his dark lips with a wet _squelch_.

Yoru whimpered, nose sucking in musk-laden air as his tongue clumsily lapped against Barik's barb-coated tip. His flesh was dense and hot, a bulky protrusion that forced his jaw wider as he sunk fractionally deeper down on it. It shuddered and pulsed out a single shot of rich pre, hot and thick in the back of his mouth, and a dizzying wash of pleasure rippled through his entire body. Without him even realizing, his hard-again cock erupted, splattering ropes of cum across the floor.

Barik snorted. "Barik should punish young upstart for wasting a load outside Barik's mouth or ass." He tapped his ankle against Yoru's cock, and snorted again at the full-body spasm that rippled through his body.

Yoru's horn spanned across Barik's stomach, tip scraping across his right pec. _Barik_ had no compunctions about just grabbing it: he curled one massive hand around it, midway down its length, and used it as a lever to guide Yoru's mouth. He tipped his head back, fat cock sliding across Yoru's tongue to prod against the back of his mouth.

"Yoru hasn't been taught how to take cock," Barik observed, watching Yoru struggle to take his cock deeper into his throat. He rocked his hips shallowly, lips peeled back in a snarl. "Barik will instruct him."