𝕻𝖊𝖆𝕶-𝕬-𝕭𝖔𝖔 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 - I

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Warning: This chapter contains sexually explicit content, obvious and not so subtle breeding kink, graphic depictions of birth, and plot filled tension. As always view discretion advised.

P.S. If you wish to skip the smut, just scroll to the break in the page, "———" 🫡
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-𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐍𝐨𝐰-


(𝙿.𝚘.𝚟 ~ 𝙹𝚊𝚢𝚍𝚎𝚗)


I find very few things exceptionally pretty about this awful, nonsensical, floating space rock we call a planet.


The way the summer mango grove in my kingdom looks when it's fully ripened. The color of the sunrise when the light falls upon the earth like a million shining stars.


The sound of freshly fallen snow crunching beneath boots. Or even the way the tide looks when it comes to hug the shoreline, as if were a lifelong friend.


Caught in a repetitive pattern of push and pull. Caught in a familiar pattern of Yin and Yang, give and take.


I've always been a giver. Sometimes I think I was born into the role.


I am a king, a confidant, a brother, a son. I give my very soul, love, and attention to my people and pack affairs. I give endlessly until I am left with nothing in my cup.


Though not with Dylan. Never with Dylan.


Our dynamic has always been push and pull, he gives me the world and I take it all into my arms. Though it's always been too ample for me alone to carry, he leaves me with such and abundance of everything. Its as if he's endless, and he always allows me the space to be selfish for him.


I'm hungry for him and he always seems to have enough love for me to eat and then some.


Enough love for me to drink and then some.


I had so much more to say, something on the lines of me being a mutt. Him being the moon that I gaze upon each night.


I lost my train of thought when a high pitched whine cuts through the heat in the space. I damn near lost my mind when the scent of pleasure and slick floods into the room in waves.


Damn.


I continue to push my fingers into his core, looking up from my place between his silky thighs to see him peering down at me.


Eyes glossed over in the aftermath of one too many orgasms. His breath was ragged and hoarse with something raw and unbashful.


Each time he opened his mouth to protest the overstimulation, I speed up my ministrations.


I had one hand on his stomach, caging him in. The act was possessive and protective, ensuring he didn't move too wildly from the pleasure.


"Good job Dylan, just relax." I'd say as I coach him through each peak.


His body was string taut from all the stress he's been through these past few months. I was sure now that we were together again he'll come to loosen up.


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