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It’s been a while since Soap visited the hybrid vet, and he’s never been to a specialist like this. He’s nervous, ambling around the clean, neat office that smells just enough like someone’s been here not to be overwhelmingly sterile, but thankfully doesn’t reek of medicine or other hybrids. There are anatomy posters on the walls, a cluster of diplomas and awards by the cluttered - but orderly - desk. The computer is one of the old boxy types and hums along with a sleeping screen. There’s a single bed with a half-curtain for privacy, a secured and bolted clear case with various medicines and sterile equipment inside, and another locker that has a numbered padlock. Soap doesn’t know what’s in that locker and, though he burns with curiosity, he resists the urge to pick the lock and peek inside.
He straightens up, ears perked on his head, at the steady footsteps approaching the door. A sharp two-strike knock comes before the door opens, revealing…a giant. He stands a whole head taller than Soap, wears muted grey scrubs, comfortable shoes, and a lab coat with the letters ‘S. Riley’ embroidered on the chest pocket. He has a clipboard in his hand and a paper medical mask around his mouth.
He’s huge, has Soap’s tail going still and his ears low, unsure.
“Hey there,” the doctor greets, closing the door behind him and quickly moving to the desk chair, sitting himself down. Soap watches him - not fearful but wary, as he always is when meeting new people in an unfamiliar setting. “I’m Doctor Riley. You can call me that, or ‘Simon’ or ‘Ghost’, whatever’s easier.”
Soap blinks at him, frowning. “Ghost?” he asks, taking a tentative step forward.
Ghost’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Some of my patients have trouble with ‘S’s and ‘R’s at the start of words,” he explains kindly. “Nickname’s an old joke that stuck.”
He has a nice voice, Soap decides. A little rough like he’s a long-time smoker and throatier than Soap is used to from humans, his accent making his vowels sound big and round in his mouth. He takes another step forward towards Doctor Riley, sniffing tentatively. He smells good, too. Not at all like a doctor that has to deal with hybrids all day, but warm and welcoming all the same, like a banked fire and cinnamon sticks. Soap’s mouth floods with saliva, his tail giving another tentative wag.
Ghost smiles at him, wide enough his eyes crinkle up again, then looks down at Soap’s chart. “You prefer ‘Soap’ or ‘John’?” he asks. Most hybrids have their ‘official’ name which, more often than not, is just their owner’s last name with something random and people-sounding in front. Soap’s current owner didn’t give him his name, but it stuck.
“Either’s fine,” he says. He tries not to be difficult at the doctor’s, knows all-too-well how hybrids can be labeled ‘uncooperative’ and end up getting muzzled and restrained during their check-ups. He’s been blessed to have a long line of vets and medics that were kind to him and respected his boundaries, and he hopes Ghost doesn’t break that trend.
Ghost nods and looks back to his chart. He nudges the mouse and the computer blips to life, revealing a plain, old-looking software full of empty boxes for Soap’s information to get typed in. Some of it is already filled in, but the picture is grainy and Soap’s too far away to peek at any details.
“I’m just going to go over a few things before we get started so we’re both on the same page,” Ghost tells him, his gentle voice pulling Soap out of his musings. He nods. “Would you like to sit? Your choice.”
Soap’s knees already bend with the unintentional command. His eyes dart to the examination bed, and after a moment, he goes over and hops up to the edge. The plasticky cover is uncomfortable against the fur of his tail, the bed a little too high for his toes to touch the ground. He tries to ignore it.
Ghost goes through the basics with him - name, age. His breed is listed as canis-hybrid. Purebred - in as much as hybrids can be ‘purebred’ - Chessie. His ears are a little more pointed and stand straight up compared to the real dogs, but that tends to happen with hybrids. He shares their dark brown coloration, wire-curl fur type, and temperament - intelligent, happy, energetic, exceedingly loyal to one person at a time.
“It says you’re here for a physical and fertility check,” Ghost finally says, setting the clipboard down and turning to face Soap fully on his chair. He’s doing his best, Soap notices, to keep himself small, his head lower and his spine hunched to rest his elbows on his knees. His eyes are kind, a pretty brown so dark they’re almost black under the shadow of his hair.
Soap shifts his weight, tail curling tightly around his hip. “Aye,” he replies, picking absently at his joggers. “Havenae gone inta heat yet.”
Ghost nods, a small crease forming between his brows. “...Ever?” he asks politely.
Soap shakes his head. “No’ since I was…sixteen, maybe? The first one, s’on the chart.”
Ghost doesn’t look. At Soap’s twenty-eight years, any teen year is too long ago for someone of his age and physical health. “Are you stressed at home?”
Soap blinks at him. No vet’s ever asked him that, they’re always quick to say what a lovely patient Soap is, endlessly buoyant and extroverted, never causing problems. Not to say he’s ever been mistreated or given a reason to seek help, but the fact that Ghost even asks…
Soap likes him very much.
He shakes his head. “Nah, ma owner is great,” he says earnestly. “Real stand-up bloke. Have nothin’ bad ta say about ‘im.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Ghost replies, smiling. “Do you feel like you’ve struggled with any kind of attraction? To other hybrids, or humans?”
Soap’s cheeks heat up quickly, his ears going low. “I, ah…” He wants to curl up, feels too exposed suddenly on this bed in the middle of this strange, unfamiliar room. He tucks his feet up and digs his heels into the edge of the bed, claws digging into his shins as he wraps his arms around his lower legs. “Ah mean, felt it, sure, occasionally. Never really been allowed to act on it, though.”
Ghost’s head tilts. “Why not?”
“M’meant to be a carrier,” Soap mumbles into his knee. “No use makin’ a litter that’s no’ intended, ye know how it is.”
Ghost makes a sound at that, dismissive enough it startles an answering noise out of Soap, a tentative smile. “There’s more to attraction than sex for breeding purposes, Soap,” he says, his brows arched when Soap blushes and huffs a noncommittal sound. “The times you’ve felt it, has there been any consistency? Certain aspects that you’re more attracted to than others?”
Soap’s ears twitch, his fingers kneading anxiously at his shins. “I, ah…” He swallows, sure his cheeks are red as the Swiss cross on the medical kit on the wall. “I like ‘em bigger than me.” His eyes dart up to meet Ghost’s, then fall away again. “Dinnae really care about species. That’s no’ up ta me.”
Ghost makes another sound, but before Soap can ask about it, he turns to his computer and types away at one of the boxes. Soap wishes his eyesight was better so he could see the tiny string of black text, and could know what Doctor Riley is saying about him.
A few moments later, Ghost turns to face him again. “Do you know what my specialty is, Soap?” he asks, his voice still gentle, eyes warm. Soap shakes his head. “I studied, specifically, in inducing heats and ruts. It’s my job to find out the kinds of things you like in order to help your owner find a good breeding partner for you.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “It’s important to me that you know that whatever you tell me doesn’t leave this room. I can make recommendations for breeds and temperament, aesthetics and behaviors that I think will work for you, but ultimately, it’s my job to help you figure out what you like, to make it easier to trigger your heat cycle.” He pauses again. “Do you understand?”
“A-aye,” Soap stammers out, his cheeks so warm he might just burst into flame.
“My examination will be more thorough than any you might have had in the past,” Ghost presses. “If at any point you feel uncomfortable, you can ask me to stop, alright Johnny?”
Soap’s tail twitches without meaning to, fur rustling along the plasticky cover. He nods. “I understand,” he says again, more firmly this time. Ghost smiles at him and then stands, a little groan as he straightens his knees escaping that makes Soap snort a laugh.
“C’mon, up,” Ghost says, gesturing for Soap to join him. He gets to his feet and walks over, smiling as Ghost’s warm, callused hand wraps around the nape of his neck in a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Shoes off, on the scale here.” Soap obeys, kicking off his tennis shoes and nudging them against the wall by the scale. He steps onto it, tail swinging lazily back and forth as Ghost slides the clips along the top bar. Soap’s never been able to figure out how the Hell these things worked, how the balancing is meant to tell his weight, but the number Ghost notes down is consistent with his previous weigh-ins and he seems pleased. He finds he likes making Ghost pleased.
Ghost directs him back off the scale and has him sit on the examination table, pausing when Soap huffs and shifts his weight awkwardly. “If you’d like, I can get a blanket for you to sit on,” he says.
Soap nods, watching Ghost go to the locker and enter the code. He positions himself so the door opens towards Soap, his big frame blocking the gap so Soap can’t see what’s inside. He pulls out a lap blanket, a deep blue and soft to the touch when he hands it over. It smells like him, Soap realizes as he takes a cautious sniff. His tail wags fiercely as he gets up, lays the blanket out, and settles back down. It’s immediately worlds better on his fur and palms, just enough catch to it that a cat would have no problem kneading, soft and warm against his calluses and not staticky enough to rub his fur the wrong way.
“Better?” Ghost murmurs, and Soap nods. “Good boy.”
Soap’s breath catches, cheeks flaming at the praise. If Ghost notices, he doesn’t comment; he’s turned away to pull on a pair of animal-safe gloves, as well as one of those odd stick-things humans use to check Soap’s ears. He shivers at the first brush along his left ear, straightening out the floppy point so his canal is exposed. A light shines down it as Ghost examines his left ear, then his right, giving Soap a gentle pat when he’s done.
“What kind of studs has your owner tried to set you up with?” Ghost asks as he works.
Soap swallows. “Isn’t tha’ in ma chart?”
“It is, but I’d like to hear it from you.” Ghost grabs his chin and shines a light in front of his left eye. “Follow the light, there’s a good boy.”
For a moment, Soap can’t speak. The grip on his jaw is firm and steady, clearly something Ghost has done many times before. He fights the urge to sag his shoulders and show his throat, only able to really see the vague outline of Ghost beyond the light. He strikes an intimidating pose, and the question has Soap’s heart rate quickening as he tries to wrack his brain.
“T-there was a Rottie mix,” he finally manages, as Ghost switches to his other eye with another murmured command to follow it, back and forth, oddly hypnotic. “He was nice. Smelled weird, though.”
“Weird how?” Ghost asks, clicking off the light and sliding it into his pocket. He keeps a firm hold on Soap’s jaw. Staring up into his eyes is somehow so much more intense, has warmth pooling low in Soap’s belly, his mouth flooded with saliva.
“Just…weird,” Soap says lamely, whining.
“Hey, shh, you’re alright,” Ghost says, cupping his face in both hands. “Do you like my scent?”
Soap is absolutely going to burst into flames from the force of his blush. “Aye.”
“Good.” Ghost smiles, and then gently applies pressure to the corners of his mouth. “Open wide.”
Soap obeys, fingers tightening in the blanket as Ghost carefully examines his fangs, the enlarged gap behind them where a human molar would be behind the canines. Soap’s teeth have always been large, his fangs impressive and usually more than enough to cow another hybrid into submission. Ghost’s thumbs press gently on his molars, deep enough into his mouth to touch the fleshy curve of his lower jaw. He tells Soap to lift his tongue, to stick it out, and brings his light back to examine Soap’s gums, molars, and tonsils for any breaks, decay, or abscess.
“Beautiful,” Ghost says, pulling his fingers out and clicking off the light again. “I have some things to type up; go on and tell me about other attempts if you’re comfortable.”
Soap swallows, trying desperately to get his teeth and tongue to work properly again. His mouth is flooded with saliva, an itch in his incisors he’s never felt before, like he desperately needs to sink them into something and bite until he tastes blood. It’s not an aggressive instinct - at least, it doesn’t feel like one, more like he desperately needs something to hold onto. His entire body feels warm, his thighs tingling, the seat of his pants weirdly slick.
He watches Ghost go back to his desk, admiring just how large he is compared to the tiny wheeling chair, how broad his shoulders, how large his hands. His scent has lodged itself into Soap’s soft palate, his nice voice and words of praise making him feel all lightheaded, eager, like he’ll say or do anything to earn more of it.
“There was a cat I thought I liked, last month,” he rasps. “A tiger, I think. He smelled nice but he was…pushy.” His ears sink low at the memory. “I dinnae think he said two words ta me. Treated it like just some chore.”
Ghost makes a quiet, sympathetic sound. “Did you allow him to mount you?”
Soap’s upper lip curls back. “No,” he says sharply, the implication obvious.
Ghost turns to regard him. “It’s alright, Soap, I’m not trying to imply anything. I just know male cats have barbs and want to make sure there’s no risk of you being torn when I start my examination.” After a moment of hesitation, Soap gives him a slow, shy nod. Ghost gets to his feet again. “If you’re comfortable, we’ll get started properly. Is there anything else you feel I should know before we begin?”
Soap blinks up at him, once again enthralled by the sheer size of him, the way his scent blooms in the entire room and makes Soap feel so completely at ease in a way he can never remember feeling before. “I, um.” He clears his throat, coughing. “No. Nothin’.”
“Great,” Ghost says, smiling again behind his mask. Soap wishes he could see his mouth, but understands it’s standard practice for doctors to wear masks and gloves like this. He’s gotten used to it. “Go ahead and get undressed and lay back on the bed. Would you like to use the curtain? I can position it so your face is hidden if you find eye contact overwhelming.”
Soap shakes his head before Ghost even finishes his spiel. “I’d like to watch,” he says. “And if ye could…explain what yer doin’, when ye do it. Helps.”
“Of course,” Ghost says, scritching Soap’s chin in reward. The action sends a powerful shot of heat right down Soap’s spine, makes him shiver, that do anything please him do what he says feeling rearing its head with a vengeance. “Hop to it, then.”
Soap gets to his feet and pulls his shirt over his head, shaking out his arms and shoulders as he folds it and sets it on the floor by the bed. His joggers come off next; he strips down efficiently, used to having to get naked in front of strangers at this point. There’s a dark wet patch in the seat of his pants, his clothing sticking stubbornly before he peels it free. He blushes at the sight of it, the scent of his own arousal that tickles his sensitive nose. He folds the joggers so that Ghost doesn’t see and then gets back onto the bed, perched on the edge with his thighs clamped tightly together, shoulders hunched in as he fidgets with the blanket.
“Good boy,” Ghost praises again quietly, a gentling hand on Soap’s nape. “Lie down for me.”
Soap swallows, looking over his shoulder. “Can I…have somethin’ ta scent?” he asks, embarrassed at asking for something only pups are given, but he knows if he’s going to get through this with any kind of dignity or good behavior, it’ll help to have his lungs and nose full of this doctor’s warm, soothing scent.
Ghost doesn’t mock him, merely smiles. “Sure, Johnny,” he says. Soap expects him to grab another blanket or pillow. His eyes widen when Ghost simply shrugs off his lab coat, revealing his broad shoulders, long pale arms bulging with muscle, and a sleeve of dark ink that extends up his left hand to his elbow. Doctor Riley is strong, his hindbrain screams at him. Mortifyingly, more slick starts to pool between his legs.
Ghost folds up the lab coat into a grabbable bundle and offers it. Soap takes it with shaking hands, his thighs trembling as he clutches the coat to his chest and takes a greedy whiff. Ghost lets him without comment, before Soap chokes on a breath as his fingers, suddenly, squeeze. Pure lethargy sweeps through Soap from the scruffing, his body going limp and more warmth pooling between his legs, which fall open at the touch.
“Mm,” Ghost murmurs. “While I’m up here I may as well examine your scent and mating glands.”
Soap hums, confused. To his knowledge his scent and mating glands aren’t exactly important in terms of getting him pregnant. A prospective stud might enjoy stimulating them or mixing scents, but it’s been found to have little to do with hybrids’ actual arousal, and more to facilitate bonding a permanent mate after the fact, irrespective of any mounting taking place.
Most of the time his vets avoid the place entirely aside from a brief visual examination to make sure they haven’t punctured or appear swollen. Given that Soap has never been offered the chance for a consistent, permanent bondmate, he’s never had problems before.
He opens his mouth to say as much but Ghost’s thumb rubs along the tendon in his throat at that precise moment, rolling over his mating gland like a knot of muscle - the fiercest and most purposeful touch Soap has ever gotten there. He can’t stop the whimper that escapes his lips, his body hunching and legs spreading in submission.
He’s so wet, his thighs stick together for a brief moment before separating. He’s throbbing, his cock quickly growing hard as he shudders and gets even wetter. His throat and pussy are so tender and it’s hard to swallow, to say anything except another low, frantic whine.
“Hush, Johnny,” Ghost says softly, as he comes around Soap’s other side and gives his other gland the same treatment. Soap gasps against his lab coat, biting down hard on the material so he doesn’t moan. Electric flashes of heat race down his spine, the flush spreading down his chest making him sensitive and sore, like needles of sensation pricking his skin. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, this is perfectly normal.” His thumb pulls back, but Soap doesn’t have a moment to breathe a sigh of relief as strong fingers wind up through his ‘hawk of hair and tug him back, forcing him to expose his throat and unable to stare anywhere except up, into Ghost’s dark, dark eyes.
His other hand starts in, now, drawing slow lines from beneath Soap’s jaw, down to his collarbone. He pets and thoroughly examines Soap’s larynx, the tendons in his throat, the line of his pulse and, again, his tender scent and mating glands. Soap can only sit and sweat under his intense gaze, lashes fluttering when he catches a hint of himself, as Ghost’s thumb now damp with sweat drags another path down his neck.
He’s panting, mouth open and flooded with saliva. Ghost barely blinks, just watches him intensely as he thoroughly bruises trails in the shape of his thumb over every bared, stretched inch of Soap’s throat. His gaze compels Soap to silence, to obedient stillness, even though all he wants to do is throw himself back onto the examination bed, expose his belly, and open his legs to offer Ghost anything he wants to take.
He’s wet enough it’s drying cool and tacky on his fevered skin. When Ghost has finished his first pass, he cups Soap’s flushed jaw. Soap lets it hang open without prompting, tongue out so Ghost can grab and manipulate that piece of him, too. Ghost watches him, gently tugs his lower jaw back and forth until Soap has to fight the sting of Ghost’s fingers along his scalp in order to follow. He doesn’t speak, for all Soap knows this is a genuine examination for all there’s a lack of any other emotion on his face. Like he’s not aware that Soap is hard and slick and would do just about anything for him in this moment.
“Perfect,” Ghost murmurs after what feels like a century. Soap exhales, whimpering, sagging into the grip on his hair. Ghost smiles and releases him, pats him on the head like the good puppy he is. “Lay back for me now, Johnny.”
Soap obeys without protest, too far past the point of being embarrassed when Ghost replaces his gloves with a fresh set and pulls his desk chair into place between Soap’s knees. Soap clutches Ghost’s lab coat to his chest, staring up at him from the slightly elevated pillow. The bed is tilted up so Soap’s arse is at waist height when Ghost stands, the perfect height to -.
He blushes, and bites his lip to try to force the thought away.
Ghost watches him, and lays a careful hand on the outside of Soap’s knee. “Alright?” he prompts gently. Soap nods, too hazy to speak. His legs open immediately at Ghost’s touch, but Ghost just chuckles and pushes them back together. “I need to check your serial number, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Soap whines. Given that hybrids often have opposable thumbs and the wherewithal to find and pick at stitches, microchipping them is considered an outdated practice. Soap has, instead, a tattoo on his pelvis, currently hidden by his fur. He stays obediently still as Ghost pulls a drawer out from the body of the table. There’s some plasticky rustling as Ghost shifts and reveals a disposable razor and a small tube of cream, which he squirts onto his gloves and works into a lather. Soap hisses at the first cold touch, his toes flexing and tail wanting to tuck itself in, but unable to with how he’s positioned. He feels Ghost’s clean hand stroke gently through the fur on his tail as he rubs a small palm-sized area on Soap’s thick, fur-covered abdomen, a few centimeters inward of the crease of his thigh.
“Hold still for me,” Ghost orders, flattening his palm low on Soap’s stomach. He’s so warm even through the gloves, has Soap mortifyingly slick as he feels the first kiss of the razor, the low rush of sound as Ghost carefully shaves a small patch of fur off him. Soap clutches the lab coat tight to his face, huffing in a breath and trying to remain calm as the swath of skin is revealed so Ghost can take note of his serial number. He hears a low hum, then more rustling as Ghost grabs a wipe to clean him up, tosses the razor in the small bin next to the table, and gives Soap a gentle pat to indicate he’s done.
He’s so close, it must be an accident when the heel of his palm strikes the very tip of Soap’s cock. Soap lets out a sharp, high-pitched whine, hips jerking up in reflex for more of the touch. His cheeks are so red and he’s panting, so turned on he can’t think. The strike of sensation against his cock is more than he’s had in ages, feels electric and hot like a branding iron.
Ghost goes silent. When Soap dares to open his eyes, he finds the doctor watching him with a dark, weighted gaze. “Did you like that?” he murmurs, still on the right side of clinical. Soap must be imagining the new rasp to his voice.
His ears flatten to his head, shy and embarrassed, but he nods.
Ghost hums quietly. He takes off his foamy glove and puts on a new one. The stretch of latex over his knuckles is maddening, Soap can’t peel his eyes away as Ghost, slowly, moves his hand down to Soap’s furry abdomen to where his cock is jutting insistently from between his lips. He can feel how wet he is, practically dripping, so warm and tender that just the heat of Ghost’s body is enough to have him tingling, thighs tense.
This time, when he opens his legs, Ghost doesn’t push them closed again. His mask bulges out with the force of his exhale and he nods to himself, straightens his position in his seat, and arcs his thumb in a brutally firm stroke up Soap’s cock, from the base to the very tip. Soap whimpers, sweat breaking out all over his body, his face damp and hot from panting against Ghost’s lab coat. He’s dizzy with arousal and fogged up in his head, his molars ache, his chest feels too tight.
Ghost does it again - slow, painfully consistent strokes of his thumb up, leaving and going up again, pressing so hard at the base Soap feels it inside, like a pulse of sensation that has his stomach tensing up hard enough to hurt. Soap’s hips judder and flex, desperate for more, pleasure like teeth in his neck, pinning him down.
Unseen because he’s so focused on Ghost’s thumb, Ghost’s other hand slips between his legs and his strong fingers spread Soap’s folds, baring his gushing, twitching hole. Soap can feel the slick drip down his crack, pool against the blanket and the base of his tail.
Ghost’s fingers brush along his hole and Soap practically jackknifes off the bed, spreading his legs so fast his ankle knocks against the extended drawer, causing its contents to rattle. Ghost makes a sound and stands, his hands leaving Soap’s cock and hole so suddenly it makes him howl quietly in distress.
“Hush now, sweet’eart,” Ghost says immediately, giving Soap a firm pat on his chest. “I’m just going to grab some restraints for you so you don’t hurt yourself.”
Even if Soap wanted to protest, his tongue is thick and jellied in his mouth, his head too clouded with denied pleasure to speak. He stares as Ghost goes back to the locked cabinet and, a moment later, pulls out two detachable stirrups and another set of banded restraints. Soap has seen them before, they’re used on hybrids who need extra bondage during exams or shows. He’s always tried to be good, never had to use them himself.
“I’ll be good!” he says weakly, but doesn’t move as Ghost comes back to the table and begins to affix the stirrups. “I’m sorry, I didnae mean to, I’m sorry -.”
“You’re not in trouble, Johnny,” Ghost assures him, eyes crinkling at the corners as he gives Soap a warm smile and another pet between his ears. “These examinations can get intense, and I want to make sure you’re safe. Don’t want you hurting yourself.”
Soap swallows, clinging to the lab coat. He’s good, he’s being good. This is just good doctor behavior, Ghost does this all the time, he knows best. He knows best, do what he says and maybe he’ll touch you again.
Ghost carefully lifts his legs into the stirrups, binding him across his ankles and knees. Another strap goes across his pelvis, and a thinner, softer band loops around the base of his tail to keep it pinned to the table. They aren’t tight but they are…oddly comfortable. A reassuring weight Soap can’t help but relax into. This is fine. Everything is fine. Ghost has him, Ghost isn’t going to let anything happen to him.
It’s oddly thrilling, to be completely at the mercy of someone like him.
Ghost nods to himself when the straps are secured, then comes to Soap’s head. He grips his jaw firmly and pets over his ears, his hair, until Soap is doe-eyed and lax in his hold. “I’m going to get my examination tools now,” Ghost tells him, his voice low and hypnotic, his eyes so dark they’re almost black, unblinking. He’s so strong, his presence is enough to bring Soap to heel so easily. Soap nods dumbly, wetting his lips. “Some of the items I want to use may be uncomfortable, even frightening at first. I want you to tell me if anything hurts, or if you’re in genuine distress. Otherwise, I’ll continue my exam until I’m satisfied.” He pauses to let the words sink in. “Do you understand, Johnny?”
Soap’s mouth is so wet with saliva, his tongue so heavy. He swallows and makes himself nod. “Aye.” Ghost arches a brow. “I understand. Sir. I’ll be good.”
“I know you will,” Ghost soothes, his fingers brushing Soap’s brow, the bridge of his nose, his blushing cheeks, the corners of his mouth. Under the hinge of his jaw to make him show his throat. “You’re a good boy, I know you are.”
Soap nods frantically. He’s good, he’s so good, he will be so good for Ghost, he wants to be. His pussy gushes more slick, his entire lower body warm and throbbing with desire to show Ghost just how good he can be. He wants to give Ghost everything; his teeth, his heart, his heat. He can think of no greater show of gratitude than falling into heat for this man, to offer him breeding rights that have been given to no one else.
Ghost smiles, squeezing Soap’s chin, and turns back to the locker. He gets out a small folding table and places a paper towel on top of it, then starts retrieving items. Some of them Soap recognizes vaguely or has heard stories about from the heat rooms - there’s a small, purple silicone dildo with a bulbous head curved up for g-spot stimulation, a clear stroker with ribbed innards, a palm-sized vibrating pad. Clips and clamps for nipples or clits - Soap’s breath catches at the sight of them, his chest tingling. Ghost pulls out some items Soap doesn’t recognize, can’t equate - long thin metal rods, a small battery pack with an egg-shaped attachment, a massage wand and switchable head attachments in various shapes and sizes.
It occurs to him, suddenly - late enough he feels silly for only just now coming to terms with it - that Ghost’s full intent, his job, is to make Soap come. Drive him so crazy with pleasure and want he’ll go into heat. He’s going to spend the however-much-length-of-time here completely at the doctor’s mercy, with only trust in his word to stop if Soap asks him to.
The idea of this big, self-assured man with the incredible scent putting his hands all over Soap and fucking him stupid with all these tools makes him shiver. A smaller, whinier voice wonders if he even needs all of that. He wants Ghost’s hands, his teeth, his cock. He’ll happily breed with the man, be so good for him Ghost doesn’t need to waste his time or energy trying to lead Soap’s body to water.
He bites his tongue and remains silent, watching as Ghost wheels the tray over to his chair and takes his seat. Sharp chemical spray blooms in the air as he disinfects the toys one by one, methodical and patient. Soap’s so wet it’s pooling around his arse, getting into his fur.
He shifts his weight, impatient, and draws the doctor’s amused eyes. “Eager, are we?” he murmurs, patting Soap’s thigh.
Soap’s ears flatten and he clutches the lab coat tighter, face flaming. “Sorry,” he mutters into the fabric, but can’t help another eager wiggle as Ghost shifts closer on his chair and picks up the dildo.
“Nothing to apologize for,” Ghost soothes him, smiling warmly. “We’ll start simple.” He lifts the dildo for Soap’s approval, and when Soap nods, he dips it down and rubs the head through all the slick leaking out of him. “Don’t even need to use lube with you, you’re slicking me up all on your own.”
Soap has always been weak to praise, most hybrids are. His tail thumps dully against the table within the looped restraint, his toes curling in pleasure. He sucks in a breath when he feels pressure, the bulbous head of the dildo slowly working its way inside him. It’s not all that big, but feels massive inside Soap’s pussy; it’s been so long since he had anything larger than his own fingers inside him, it fucking aches, stretches him out so perfectly he’s whining, lashes fluttering as he watches Ghost’s bare arms flex with muscle as he slowly, carefully, works the dildo inside.
“Hybrids have more nerve endings than the average human,” Ghost says conversationally, his eyes laser focused on the spread of Soap’s pink, wet hole around the toy. “And almost twice the amount of erogenous zones when you factor in the glands and placation points.” Almost for emphasis, he rests his free hand on the crease of Soap’s thigh and curls his fingers, dragging his nails through the gloves down the curve of his thigh. Soap gasps, hips flexing against the restraints, a sudden hot flare of needy arousal making him clench around the toy and suck it in deeper. There’s a spot near the tendon that feels like another gland - it is, he realizes, one of his pheromone producing glands, usually ignored on a day-to-day basis but suddenly so swollen and sensitive when Ghost brushes his fingers over it. Soap whines loudly, tries to spread his legs further apart but can’t.
The dildo is deep enough Soap can feel Ghost’s fingertips rubbing against his folds, the slick sounds they make so fucking loud. He’s panting and drooling all over Ghost’s lab coat, can’t stop himself, and shrieks when Ghost abruptly ruts the dildo up and back, dragging over his g-spot with devastating precision.
“Ah, fuck,” he hisses, throwing his head back, a full-body shudder rattling the table and restraints. Ghost makes a soft sound and does it again, and again, digging hard and letting Soap rut himself down onto the bulb frantically. He can’t really move how he wants to, can’t get the force and pressure he’s so desperate for, but it’s good, it’s so fucking good, he just needs a little more, a little more, “Please, Ghost, Sir, please, please please.”
Ghost hums, and slowly pulls the dildo out. Tears prick in Soap’s eyes at the loss, he shows his teeth and moans desperately, hole clenching around nothing.
“You reacted well to that,” Ghost notes mildly. “Let’s see if your cock likes the attention too.”
Soap barely has time to form a response before tight, ribbed friction greets his cock. Ghost has the stroker in hand, no lube inside it so it’s dry on the first pass, but Soap’s leaking enough from his cockhead that he soon slicks the toy up. Ghost grips him like he’s trying to crush Soap’s cock, stroking quickly enough that it forces out a raw, ragged noise from Soap’s throat. He stares up at Ghost’s face, begging without words for the doctor not to stop this time.
His reaction must be unsatisfactory, as Ghost hums and slows his strokes, tilting his head to one side. “Wants to be stuffed,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for Soap to hear. “Makes sense.”
He reaches and picks up one of the long, thin metal rods, still shiny from disinfectant.
“Do you know what this is?” he asks, holding it up for Soap to see.
He doesn’t. He shakes his head.
“This is called a sounding rod. It goes inside you,” Ghost tells him. Soap’s ears perk up. It’s not nearly big enough, he thinks, to satisfy him but maybe it’s good for g-spot stuff -. “Here.” He taps the end of it to the tip of Soap’s cock, peeking out from the top of the stroker.
Soap’s eyes widen. He tenses.
Ghost notices. “Oh, none of that,” he says, his voice still warm but firmer, harder now. “You’ll be a good boy and take it for me, won’t you?”
Soap would do just about anything for Ghost to think he’s good. Slowly, he nods.
Ghost smiles. He dips the end of the rod in Soap’s pussy, a short sharp jab of cold to get it wet. Soap shudders, biting his lower lip hard as he watches Ghost carefully stand his cock straight upright - hardly needs the help, with Soap so hard and the stroker keeping him locked in place - and align the tip of the sounding rod to his cockslit.
“Deep breaths for me,” Ghost whispers roughly. He meets Soap’s eyes, waits for him to suck in a breath, and then pushes the sounding rod into his cock. It’s…intense, there’s no other word for it. Somehow fuller than the dildo felt, in a place Soap simply can’t reconcile feeling so full. He whines and squirms, uncomfortable but not in pain. It’s slow, but he doesn’t stop, retreat, wait for Soap to adjust. Bit by bit, the long cool rod sinks down his cock, stuck in Ghost’s tight gloved grip, until it hits resistance at the base.
Ghost smiles. “There we go. All the way in,” he murmurs with another light but intoxicating pass over Soap’s thigh gland. Soap whimpers, cock twitching and stuffed full, trapped in the stroker. It’s both too much sensation and not enough, no friction or anything for him to focus on except how stuffed he is.
Ghost gives his cock another gentle squeeze, then he sits and grabs the dildo again. Soap groans loudly, muffled ‘Thank you’s and ‘Please’s falling nonsensically from his lips as he gets that wonderful pressure on his g-spot again. Every time he moves, wriggles, twitches, the sound butts up against the base of his cock and makes him moan, dribbling come and slick.
His orgasm chases him down like a pack of braying hounds, swiftly gaining on him. Soap clenches his eyes shut, lost to it, panting and mewling, toes curled so tight they go stiff as he clenches down, desperate for more, that same pressure and rhythm, fuck it feels so good, he’s going to come, he’s so fucking close -.
Ghost stops, the dildo trapped deep inside Soap’s pussy, and he howls with loss. Tears stream down his hot cheeks as he stares at Ghost, pitiful little whines he can’t control falling from his mouth.
“Please,” he whimpers. “I was so fuckin’ close, please.”
“I don’t need you close, Johnny,” Ghost replies coolly. “You’ll be good and take what I give you.”
His eyes are shards of black stone above his mask, the sheer presence of him making Soap want to tuck his tail and show his throat. He whines submissively, tilting his head to show his neck, pulling the lab coat away so his belly and chest are bared.
He gets a slow pet down his abdomen for the show, and then Ghost stands. He leaves the sound, stroker, and dildo all where they are, much to Soap’s anguish - which triples when he sees Ghost pick up the clamps. Most of them look like sleek, metal clothespins, but there are a few that look closer to screws.
He sets them on Soap’s chest like they’re a table; immediately Soap tries to calm his breathing so they don’t slide off or get matted in his sweaty fur. Ghost tilts his head, then suddenly flattens both hands on Soap’s chest. He swoops them back and forth in tight arcs, over Soap’s nipples, further down. He does it again, seeking -.
“There they are,” he murmurs, spreading Soap’s fur to reveal his second and third set of nipples. They’re smaller, vestigial since even now hybrids only have one or two pups at a time, but still very sensitive - or at least, Soap’s are sensitive to Ghost’s touch, as he whines and arches into the little pinches they receive as best he can.
Without another word, Ghost picks up one of the clips, squeezes Soap’s lowest right nipple, and pinches it between the sharp metal teeth. Soap whimpers, fresh tears leaking from his eyes as Ghost methodically locates, traps, and clips each nipple in turn. It hurts, it’s a sharp bite of pain right through Soap’s core that makes him tremble, but it’s also…
He doesn’t understand. It hurts, but he likes it. He likes Ghost’s casual, possessive control of his body. Likes how stuffed and unsatisfied he is. Likes the weight of Ghost’s stare and the heat of his hands through his gloves, how fucking unaffected he looks through this whole thing. It’s doing terrible things to his brain, desire writhing like worms, an ache in his teeth he has no outlet for.
With all his nipples clamped and stinging, Ghost moves on to his other glands. The two on the crease of each thigh get another clip. The scent glands on the side of his pecs, right beneath his armpits, get another pair. Ghost tugs him up by his hair and tugs his head to one side, Soap so limp he goes easily, and shudders when the screw-like clamps get pinched into the skin on either side of his spine at the nape of his neck; his scruff spot. Liquid pleasure drips out of him, feels almost like he’s pissing himself, but when he stares down his body with hazy eyes, only pitiful amounts of precum are budding around the neglected sounding rod.
“Lovely,” Ghost praises quietly, careful when he lays Soap’s head back down so as not to jostle the screws. They lay fairly flat against his skin and aren’t tearing into him, he kind of likes the ache when he tries to roll his head or arch his neck. They feel like teeth, the best kind of teeth - Doctor Riley’s teeth, maybe, if he imagines it hard enough.
He’s so lost in the feeling he doesn’t notice Ghost moving back to the tray and grabbing the vibrating pad. But he definitely notices when Ghost, abruptly, flattens it over his mating gland on the side of his neck and twists the dial to its highest setting.
Soap comes so hard and so suddenly he doesn’t make a sound, his breath escaping him in a ragged gasp, chest arching and immediately screaming as all the clamps pull on his nipples, his thighs, his underarms and nape. Ghost’s hand lays flat on the pad, pushing it hard into Soap’s mating gland. He grabs Soap by the jaw and tilts his head so their eyes meet.
“Look at me, Johnny,” he commands, his voice like a snarl. Soap tries, he does, but there’s just so much happening. His pussy clenches around the dildo and forces it against his g-spot, his entire lower half juddering as his cock twitches, aching to spill but unable to with the sound inside. He’s leaking everywhere, from his mouth to his hole, stiff and stuck in the stirrups and pinned down by Ghost’s fierce eyes that burn into him, unblinking. “That’s it, keep your eyes on me.” He moves his hand from Soap’s jaw to his lips, forcing his fingers just barely covered in Soap’s slick, deep into his mouth. Soap groans, sucking them eagerly. His whine comes out garbled both from Ghost’s fingers and the vibrations of the pad. “Next time your owner breeds you out, think about this feeling. Right now. How good it feels to be pinned down and at the mercy of something so much bigger and stronger than you.”
Soap chokes on Ghost’s fingers as he comes again.
Ghost withdraws, but leaves the pad running. He switches out for a new pair of gloves and grabs hold of the massage wand. Soap watches him with hazy, unfocused eyes as he plugs it into the battery pack.
“I think…” Ghost begins, assessing the attachments, “you’re ready for the next step up.”
He takes a huge silicone bulb, almost as large as his fist at its widest part with a long, severe taper ending in a little nub. There’s a gap on the base to fit over the wand’s head, which he does with practiced, efficient movements. He steps between Soap’s legs again and Soap tilts his hips up, body clenching in readiness, prepared to push the dildo out and open his hole up for something that, to his instincts, looks far more enticing.
Ghost’s laugh startles him, makes him look up as Ghost regards him fondly. “Not quite,” he murmurs, nudging at the dildo sharp enough to make Soap gasp. “Got one more hole to break in, Johnny. Some hybrids have two cocks - it’s bad manners to leave one neglected, don’t you think?”
With that, the pressure of two of his large fingers gathers up the leaking slick and starts pushing against his rim. Soap whines in distress, ears going flat. He’s never thought of playing with himself there, and none of his studs have expressed interest aside from the wayward flick of their tongues.
But Ghost’s fingers are insistent and sink in so easily. Soap’s body wants to be good, there’s no room for argument in the doctor’s eyes. Soap will take it, and he will like it, his gaze seems to say, and Soap’s already fluttering and clenching around him in readiness.
Ghost adds another finger - it’s embarrassing how easily Soap sucks him in, how wet he is that the doctor doesn’t even need lube. He spreads his fingers, forcing Soap wider, nudging that fucking dildo against his sweet spot in arrhythmic, maddening pushes. Soap’s pussy is practically sucking on the damn thing, desperate for more, his cock purple and aching with neglect. With his head tilted forward the screws on his nape tug and bite painfully, sending more fissures of pleasure and forced laxness down his spine.
With being so thoroughly scruffed and soaked, it’s like nothing at all to take the toy. It pushes past his rim and widens, widens, fuck it’s big, has Soap breaking out in a cold sweat as he writhes and gasps through it. Ghost flicks the clamps on his thighs in warning, utters soft soothing noises as he carefully works the bulb head deeper, deeper, fuck, fuck, too much, too much -.
It’s in, and settles as Soap’s rim clamps around it. He breathes a sigh of relief, and remembers too late:
It’s attached to the wand.
Ghost turns it on and Soap lurches in his restraints, making the table rattle as he shouts and screams his way through one of the most intense orgasms of his life. It’s, fuck, it’s not ending, the bulb shoves the dildo into his pussy and every twitch and judder of muscle makes the clamps sink their teeth harder into him, and the pad around his mating gland is so strong, and his cock aches so fucking much, God, fuck, oh God… Splattering noises make his ears twitch, the scent of his own arousal thick enough to gag on, he’s so wet…
He squirted. Fucking Hell, he squirted and Ghost isn’t stopping.
It hurts soon after, his abs ache from tensing and every muscle locked up and quivering. Ghost’s fingers are working the dildo in and out of him with brutal pressure, his other hand wrapped around the stroker and working Soap’s cock through an endless, pathetic stream of come.
“You’re doing so well, Johnny,” Ghost murmurs kindly, his hands far from gentle now as he mercilessly works Soap right up to the edge again. “Taking everything like a dream, such a good little pup for me, aren’t you?”
Soap nods frantically, sobbing as he’s torn through the edge again, more squirt pulsing out of him and undoubtedly coating Ghost’s hands, his table, his fucking shoes. The fur on his tail is absolutely soaked through, he can feel it dripping off the end and onto the floor.
Ghost turns up the vibrations on the wand and Soap screams, biting through the lab coat just because he can’t take it anymore, his mouth suffused with Ghost’s scent and sending him headlong into another orgasm, powerful enough to force the sounding rod up a little from his cockslit, only to sink back in like a full-body thrust. He yanks at the clamps around his nipples, his thighs - not to remove them, just to feel the stinging tug. Sweat coats every inch of him and leaves him shuddering and cold, whimpering pitifully as Ghost keeps stroking him, fucking him, yanking him to the edge over and over and over again.
“Please,” Soap rasps, throat screamed raw. “Please. Fuck me. Breed me, Ghost, fuck, please.”
“Oh, sweet boy,” Ghost replies, eyes gleaming. “Do you think you’ve earned it? Think this little bitch hole could feel good enough for me to breed it?”
“Please!” Soap begs. “I’ll be good, I’ll make it so good for ya, I swear, I’ll breed, let ya have ma heat, please, fuckin’ -.”
Ghost smacks the base of the dildo and Soap’s voice is lost as another orgasm tears his vocal cords to shreds.
“You’re not in heat yet, puppy,” he says darkly. It sounds like a threat.
He turns off the wand, giving Soap the briefest respite before his fingers take the end of the sounding rod. He twists it back and forth, gentle but still awful for how sensitive Soap is. He whines and bares his teeth as it’s slowly tugged back out, and when it leaves his tip he can see how he gapes around it. Ghost leaves the tips touching for the briefest moment, and when he pulls them apart -.
Soap gasps, eyes widening at the single, tiny electric spark that arcs between the metal and his dick. It’s a whipstrike of pleasure that has him dribbling come into the stroker.
Ghost goes still. His brow furrows.
“...Soap,” he says slowly, putting the rod back on the table. It’s streaky and creamy with come, stinks up the place, stings Soap’s nostrils. “Were both your great-grandparents Chessies too?”
Soap frowns at the question. “...Aye, I think so,” he murmurs. “Breeding docs are in ma chart, I think.”
Ghost hums, and to Soap’s dismay, he fucking leaves and goes back to that damn computer, exiting out of the current window and going back in Soap’s file. Soap bites his lip to stop a whimper - in all honesty the break is good, helps him settle back into his stiff joints and calm his racing heart. He’s still sensitive and turned on beyond belief, the clamps and toys making him ride the edge of overstimulation oh-so-sweetly.
Ghost’s murmur of ‘Interesting’ draws his attention. He stands swiftly and regards Soap. “Hybrids are considered purebred if there are two generations before them of the same species,” he says. He sounds excited, which makes Soap excited. His soaked tail wags slightly. “You have deep sea in your bloodline.”
“...What does that mean?” Soap asks, frowning.
Ghost’s grin is wide enough to crinkle his eyes, but also feel a little menacing as he makes his way back to the locker. He pulls out another device on a cord for the battery pack, vaguely like a tattoo gun but with an extension at the head, what looks like an energy efficient glass bulb. He grabs another very thick dildo, bulbed on the inside like there are balls inside it that can be moved around or squeezed out the tip.
“It may explain why you have had such bad luck with mammals,” Ghost says, coming back to Soap. “Deep sea hybrids are rare these days, and recessive to boot. But you, my sweet little pup, you’re special.”
Soap’s ears perk up. The compliment from Ghost’s mouth warms him all over. He likes being Ghost’s special boy.
Ghost sets the bulb-like device down and comes to stand between Soap’s legs again. He takes the massage wand off and sets it down, then carefully works the huge bulb out of Soap’s arse. It hurts to let go of but goes a long way to settle Soap’s nerves when it comes out. He heaves a breath and whines when Ghost slips the purple dildo out as well, a huge amount of slick following the removal of the toy.
“I think you’re going to like this one very much,” Ghost promises, and angles the new dildo against Soap’s folds. It slicks up easily with how much Soap is leaking. It’s much less firm than the first one, but it’s wider. Ghost has to hold it with both hands and force it in. Soap gasps at the stretch, his sensitive nerves all firing off as the first bulb sinks in and squishes its way up the dildo. Then the second ball, the third, the fourth. The dildo shoves its way inside him, feels like its coiling and crushing up on itself, like a… like a fucking tentacle.
Once the dildo is settled, Ghost plugs in the bulb. Soap’s eyes widen as he flicks a switch and lightning sparks to life inside the bulb, like a plasma ball. When Ghost holds it, it gravitates to his hand. Ghost’s other fingers flutter along Soap’s thigh. There’s a hum of energy to him now, a lick of heat that sparks between Soap’s skin and the gentle brush of his fingers.
Ghost flicks the metal clamp on Soap’s thigh gland and Soap gasps. Lightning, real electricity, arcs up his spine, settles in the marrow of his bones, his molars grinding together. Ghost does it again, and again, ticking up the setting each time until the touch of electricity bites into Soap’s skin every time. He shudders and whines, flexing each muscle it touches involuntarily. Ghost chuckles to himself, and wraps his hand around the stroker.
“How’s that feel?” He asks it like he’s taunting Soap - and to his credit, Soap can’t speak. The lightning licks down his cock and into his pussy, which twitches and shudders around the strange dildo in rhythm. Ghost strokes him quickly, heavy wet sounds echoing from the toy as Soap whimpers and tries to fuck up into it, desperately chasing the feeling of lightning. Ghost uses the hand holding the bulb to flick his nipple clamps, draw lines down his chest, pinch his thighs and folds and the base of his tail, all the while holding tight to that warm, energetic humming, every touch like a sharp slap and a petting hand and pure pleasure all at once.
Soap throws his head back as he comes again, gasping to the ceiling. He’s exhausted, but he wants more, he needs so desperately to - to what? To rest? No, he can’t rest, he can feel something urgent and hot unfurling inside him, fogging up his head and creating a deep, pulsing ache in his gut that’s desperate to be soothed. Does he want to come again? No issues there, Ghost doesn’t seem to give a fuck how many orgasms he wrenches out of Soap, keeps touching and fucking him no matter how sensitive Soap is.
He clings to the patch over his mating gland, dares not yank it off, digs his nails in tighter for more pressure as Ghost fucks down hard on the stroker, pulling Soap’s gut against the bulbous dildo inside him. Fuck, he’s so full, but he needs it deeper, he needs it to take, needs to be mounted and fucked properly.
Yes, that’s what he needs. He needs it so fucking bad.
“Ghost, please, I need -.”
“Yeah, sweet’eart? Tell me,” Ghost purrs.
“Wanna breed for ye, feels - feels warm. Need it deeper, please, please fuck me, please fuck me, I’m so fuckin’ empty, please.”
“Oh, puppy, you’re almost there, I can feel it,” Ghost soothes. He pulls the stroker off, Soap’s cock so drenched with come it lies in a puddle on his stomach, red and sore and not quite as hard anymore from all the come being milked out of him. “Be good for me and clench down, yeah? Keep that pussy nice and tight for me.”
Soap would die for him. He nods frantically even though he doesn’t understand. Ghost wraps the hand holding the bulb around Soap’s cock, just holding it, as his other hand pinches the strangely squishy dildo and starts to tug. The electricity forces Soap’s hole to clench down hard, sharp little judders that ache something awful, clamping down on the bulbs in the dildo like a treat in his teeth. He shudders as the ball catches, his pussy unwilling to part with it. But Ghost keeps pulling, and the balls aren’t coming out. They butt up against each other inside him, he physically can’t relax to release them, but the dildo keeps going, blooming open at the tip to lay the bulbs inside him.
Like eggs.
Soap shrieks through an orgasm at the realization, panting and drooling and sobbing with gratitude and relief as that feeling ebbs. He’s being bred, he’s going to be bred, yes, yes, this is what he wants. The fact that the eggs are likely some inanimate toy doesn’t factor into his mindset, that blooming feeling is sinking into him like a bear trap’s teeth, he’s heavy and gravid, he’s going to be bred up, finally, yes yes yes yes yes.
The dildo withdraws and thuds dully on the table. The eggs remain inside. Soap’s body and mind dive headfirst into heat.
He tries to sit up as best he can and reaches for Ghost, yanking him close and tearing off his mask so he can lick and kiss the doctor’s scarred, inviting mouth. “Simon,” he whispers, character and setting forgotten, all thoughts of play flying out the window and replaced with nothing but the need to get his mate inside him. “Si, please, please I cannae take anymore.”
Simon’s hand flattens over the screws on the nape of his neck, still tingling with promising electric current. Simon kisses him, the flick of his tongue along Johnny’s fangs causing another strike of lightning down his throat. “You’re such a good fucking boy,” he snarls, and shoves his gloved fingers inside Johnny to force the eggs deeper, heavy and bulbous and settled right where they belong. “My good boy.”
“Yours,” Johnny echoes, another submissive lick along Simon’s lips for good measure. “Yours, please, please, oh God -.”
“You don’t need God, Johnny, I’m right here,” Simon teases. He pulls his fingers out, shoves his scrub bottoms down just far enough to expose his hard, dripping cock. He fists it once, his hand more than slick enough, his skin damp with Johnny’s squirt. He flattens his hand over the vibrating patch on Johnny’s mating gland and grips Johnny’s cock with his electrified hand, holding him steady and shivering as he forces his cock inside in one smooth, deep thrust.
Johnny mewls for him, sucking a dark mark to Simon’s neck as Simon notches his hips, nice and deep inside. The eggs shove for space against his cock, Johnny so full, practically bloated and bulging with them. He gushes slick around Simon’s cock and tears at his flanks, wanting him still closer.
“Fuck,” Simon growls against his ear, tucking Johnny tight to his throat so he has room to flick at the screws in his nape, play with his hair, drag nails down his spine and back up. “Drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, how are you still so fuckin’ responsive to me.” He rocks his hips, a sharp helpless thrust that has Johnny whining in encouragement, wishing he could spread his thighs even wider even though he’s already in a bastardized version of the mating press. “And that fuckin’ mouth, almost broke the first time you begged me, yer fuckin’ dangerous, Johnny.”
He smiles, nuzzling into his mate’s neck as Simon fucks him - ruthless, selfish, so fucking good. Simon’s always so good for him. Simon bares his teeth and bites down, human teeth far too dull and jaws too gentle to break skin even though Johnny would certainly let him. The feeling of Simon coming deep inside him, fertilizing the eggs, sends Johnny over the edge again - it’s a gentle orgasm compared to the rest, leaves him floaty and lax, pleasure like a blanket wrapped around every part of him.
Simon stills, panting against his sweaty, warm neck. His fingers go gentle on Johnny’s mohawk, scraping along his hairline, the ridges of his ears until Johnny purrs and wraps his arms around Simon, holding him while he steadies himself.
Simon breathes out heavily, rolls out his shoulders. He turns off the electric wand and sets it down, still with his cock buried in Johnny. Johnny looks down obediently as Simon starts detaching all the clamps on him, admiring his pink, swollen nipples, his sore and tender cock, the leaking froth of their mixed come oozing out around Simon’s shaft. His mouth waters and he sighs as the vibrating patch is switched off and carefully peeled away.
“Down, luv,” Simon urges, helping him lay flat. He pulls out with a hiss and apologetic squeeze to Johnny’s thigh when Johnny whines, then unbinds the restraints and helps him move his legs from the stirrups and lower them to rest off the edge of the table. Johnny scoots up once his tail is freed, stretching out like an indolent king on the blanket and happily burrowing into Simon’s soaked, ruined lab coat while Simon busies himself with correcting his clothes and cleaning and returning all their toys.
He drifts happily, well-fucked and buzzing with the edges of his heat. His heats have always been fairly gentle, he’s able to keep working through them if he needs to, but it’s eased when Simon triggers and soothes it early, helps him stay more focused and less like a whiny pup in the days following.
A blanket reeking of Simon’s scent wraps around him and he yips happily, curling up so Simon has room to sit and pet him on the ruined blanket they brought from home beneath him. He’s given water that Simon carefully holds and pours into his mouth for him, and some of his favorite sweet treats and a rawhide to chew on while Simon cleans him up.
By the time Simon returns to him, Johnny’s head is clearer and he’s floating on cloud nine. He nuzzles Simon’s hand and doesn’t protest as Simon lays him out on his back again, pushing gently at his abdomen until he can feel the pressure of the eggs.
“Want these to stay in a while longer, luv?” Simon asks, head tilted.
Johnny nods, humming. “Full,” he offers, teeth too numb and tongue too dumb still. But Simon understands, he always does.
He smiles and kisses Johnny’s forehead, his cheeks, his lips. “We have the room for another half hour,” he warns, petting Johnny’s glands in gentle, soothing strokes that bloom warmth through every inch of him. “Then, since you were so good, I reckon we can go home and spend a lazy weekend in your nest.”
“Our nest,” Johnny corrects him.
Simon’s smile widens, his eyes warm and so full of adoration when he leans down to kiss Johnny again. “Our nest,” he agrees. Johnny’s tail wags happily, still damp but free now to thud against the table. Simon climbs back on and lets Johnny snuggle up against his chest, the blanket draped around them, Simon’s arms pinning him close and just how he likes.
He wants to get home quickly, wrap himself up in his mate and nest and ride out the rest of his heat together, but for now, Simon says they have a little bit of time, and a nap in the arms of his mate, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath his ear, sounds like the best idea he’s ever had.
…Maybe second best. This roleplay scene was one of his better ones, too.