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Five years ago, Tighnari made the decision to disengage from the Akademiya, the hustle and bustle of city life, and move deep into Avidya Forest, where he was content to pursue a life of peace and solitude.
Many would call him jaded. Tighnari wouldn’t disagree with such a character assessment, but he didn’t consider it a negative trait. He had many reasons to be jaded—greed, corruption, selfishness, all embroiled within the almighty Akademiya, festering deep inside the leylines of Sumeru. The stress had been bad for his heart.
Building a modest homestead for himself in the forest had been fulfilling, more so than all his years toiling away as a researcher in the Akademiya. Rather than run himself ragged fussing over a thesis, he could take his knowledge and put it into practice. Out here, he was healthy, mindful, and—for the most part—happy.
Yes. He was happy here. The occasional pang of loneliness was a small price to pay for peace of mind.
A big component of his reclusive, humble lifestyle was foraging for his own food. The more time he spent outside of the city, the less he could tolerate the din of the bazaar. Thankfully, his Amurta education provided him with ample knowledge of which plants and fungi were poisonous, which were edible, and where the forest hid its bounty.
Late summer was buttershroom season. One particularly balmy morning, Tighnari set out in search of a generous flush of fungi, hoping to gather enough to cook for the next few days and to dehydrate the rest for the rainy season. Sadly, luck wasn’t on his side; by noon, he hadn’t found more than a few bushels of fenugreek and a handful of harra fruits.
Just as he contemplated returning to his home and setting off in another direction, the rustling of some nearby underbrush piqued Tighnari’s interest, his ears swiveling to pinpoint the exact location of the sound. It ceased momentarily, then picked up in earnest; he whirled around at the exact moment the culprit of the disturbance crawled out from the undergrowth, and nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him.
Despite its slender, gangly frame, the desert jackal standing before him was a stunning specimen, its ruby red eyes locked with Tighnari’s. Its tail hung low at its side, its posture defensive, and its sleek, snow-white coat stood out among the emerald foliage like an oasis among the sand dunes.
“I’ll be damned,” Tighnari breathed, ten seconds into their stalemate. “What are you doing all the way out here?” There wasn’t a trace of desert for miles; a displaced jackal was not only highly unusual, but alarming.
As if in response to Tighnari’s thoughtless utterance, the jackal took one pitiful hop towards him, drawing attention to its left forepaw, which it held delicately off the ground. It was swollen, marred with an angry wound just above its wrist from a foothold trap.
Rage flared in Tighnari’s heart. Poachers, most likely. Jackals were a protected species, and these types of traps were both illegal to deploy and unfathomably cruel.
It was strange that it fled into the forest, rather than escape elsewhere in the desert, but Tighnari could save his curiosities for later. “Poor thing,” he murmured, carefully reaching for his satchel. The jackal flinched, but it didn’t flee; it watched him intently as he pulled out a strip of dried meat he was saving in case of emergencies. As far as Tighnari was concerned, this counted as an ‘emergency.’
Holding the scrap of meat out to the injured beast, Tighnari coaxed it in a gentle, even tone. “Are you hungry? You must be, so far away from home.”
The jackal bowed its head, nostrils flaring. Tighnari wondered if it would take the offering, or if its distrust ran too deep. He certainly couldn’t blame it—after all, a deep distrust of his fellow man had been what led him to seek his solitude.
But the jackal surprised him by inching forward and snatching the meat from his hand. It gobbled it up without chewing and looked to him for more. With a fond laugh, Tighnari broke off another chunk and, piece by piece, fed the jackal until his rations were gone. He held his hands up to show that there was nothing left, and the jackal, almost disturbingly intelligent, settled with a disappointed huff.
“You’re quite tame, aren’t you?” Tighnari asked, offering his empty hand for the jackal to sniff. It hesitated, but—to Tighnari’s surprise—pushed its long snout into the palm of his hand and gave him a tentative lick. He giggled, its whiskers tickling his skin, which only spurred the beast to lick him with vigour.
When Tighnari dropped his hand, the jackal looked at him with soulful eyes, emitting a soft whine. Even as Tighnari rose to his feet, it didn’t run away. He’d always had a way with animals, but even he was surprised by how quickly this wild beast had taken to him, the way it seemed to hang onto his every word. He glanced down at its injured paw, the quiver of its tail, and stared down the winding path leading back to his homestead.
“I don’t have any way to treat your injuries here,” he said, proceeding as though the beast could understand him, “but my home is not far away.” He pointed down the path; the jackal followed his hand, its tail wagging faster. “Can you manage just a little farther?”
Tighnari had departed his home this morning alone, with nothing more than a pocket knife and a woven basket in his hand. He couldn’t have imagined that when he returned home in the afternoon, it would be with a furry, elusive companion in tow. Already, he felt a little less lonely.
Everything Tighnari had learned about desert jackals led him to believe that they were shy, solitary creatures, crepuscular like most canids, and unlikely to stray far from home. Yet here he was, in the middle of the day, with a jackal that had willingly—if not eagerly—followed him to his modest home deep in the heart of the rainforest, and now sat patiently in his bath as Tighnari carefully cleaned him and his wounds.
It was remarkable how this elusive creature, which Tighnari had discovered upon closer inspection was male, had taken to him so easily. He was a fascinating specimen. While disgusted by the actions of the poachers, he was grateful to be given the opportunity to examine one up close; after one too many mishaps, Tighnari had accepted he was ill-suited for desert expeditions and assumed he would never have the chance.
The beast didn’t so much as whine as Tighnari tended to him; he almost seemed to understand that even if what he might do felt unpleasant, Tighnari was doing it to aid him, and went along peaceably. Even when he bandaged up his wounds, he trusted that he wouldn’t hurt him.
While the beast rested, no doubt exhausted from this ordeal, Tighnari set upon recording his findings and dove further into research about the species. The hours bled by as he spiraled deeper into his fixation, and before he knew it, the sun had set.
The jackal was still lethargic, but he gobbled up the dinner Tighnari prepared for him and laid at his feet while he fed himself. When Tighnari headed to bed, the jackal refused to part from him, and so, rather than kick the poor thing out of his bedroom, he cobbled together a makeshift nest beside his bed. The jackal settled into it like a domestic pet, and as Tighnari drifted off to sleep, he let his hand dangle over the side of his mattress and fell asleep with the beast's head nestled into the heart of his palm.
Like most mornings, Tighnari rose when the sun diffused through his gauzy curtains, lapping against his skin. He would usually take at least ten minutes to lounge in bed before rising, but excitement roused him from his drowsy reverie early this morning. He peeled off his blankets and peered over the side of his bed, hoping to see the jackal curled up where he had left him—but his heart sank when he discovered the little nest empty.
There was endless mischief the beast could get up to without supervision; Tighnari felt foolish for not considering this possibility last night. Slipping out of bed, he called for the jackal, straining his ears for the sound of nails tapping on the wood floor, a low whine, any indication of life—but Tighnari roamed from room to room and found no signs of the animal anywhere.
Just as he was starting to panic, he passed by the open window across from his greenhouse, and that was when his keen ears picked up on it: the sound of running water.
Without even pulling on his shoes, Tighnari tore out of his back door and sprinted over to his greenhouse. Had he forgotten to shut off the valve? That was unlike him, but no one was infallible. Bracing himself for the worst, Tighnari burst into the building, but stopped dead in his tracks when he encountered not an unmanned sprinkler, not a sopping wet jackal, but a man standing over his prized cacti, drowning them with a smile on his face.
Incandescent rage swelled within his chest. He had watered those cacti one week ago; the soil most certainly had not had enough time to dry out.
“What the fuck are you doing to my plants?” he spat, stalking over to the water valve with his tail thrashing behind him. The water ceased with a loud creak, and the man—who Tighnari now noticed was stark naked—turned to him with panic flickering in his crimson eyes, still holding the trickling hose.
“I was—”
Tighnari cut him off. “Never mind, save your breath. You clearly don’t have a clue.” He stormed over to the intruder, his ears pinned against his head. “Who are you, and why are you in my greenhouse? Do you have any idea the damage you might have caused?”
The man stared at him, lips pressed into a tight line. Tighnari gestured for him to speak, noting the white, erect ears atop his head, and the tail hanging limply between his legs. “I thought I would water your—”
“Did you? Did you think?” The man shrunk away from Tighnari as he jabbed a finger in his direction. “Because if you had ‘thought,’ you would have taken one look at these cacti and realized they are from the desert, where it is quite famously arid, and they have evolved to retain water through long stretches of drought.”
The man hesitated before speaking again. “I only wanted to—”
“And where are your clothes!?” Tighnari’s voice bordered on shrill; the absurdity of this situation had finally dawned on him, driving his fury into a fever-pitch.
The man said, in a very small voice, “You didn’t give me any clothes.”
“I didn’t—excuse me?”
“Last night. You didn’t provide me with any clothes to wear.”
Tighnari’s thoughts whipped into a frenzy. Had he, at some point last night, blacked out, ventured into town, and picked up a man? He had been a bit lonely lately, sure, a touch pent up, but he had more to worry about than waterlogged plants if he had such a gulf in his memory.
The man capitalized on Tighnari’s bewilderment and continued evenly, “You showed me much kindness, and I wanted to repay it. There wasn’t much I could do like this”—he gestured to himself, and Tighnari’s eyes followed his hand, appreciating his bronze skin, lean muscles, and the faint dusting of white hair on his stomach—“so I thought I could attend to some chores.”
The pieces slowly fell into place in Tighnari’s mind. He took a good look at his ears, his tail, and his red, red eyes, but the most indisputable evidence of his identity was his left hand, wrapped in sloppy bandages—as though he had taken used dressings and attempted his own first-aid.
“The jackal,” he deadpanned. The jackal’s handsome face lit up into a warm smile, more dazzling than the sun sparkling through the atrium’s glass ceiling.
“Cyno,” he said, tail twitching. “My name is Cyno.”
Avidya Forest was rife with magic, and Tighnari had encountered far stranger phenomena than creatures who could assume several forms. He wasn’t troubled by that; on the contrary, it explained why the jackal had seemed aware of his intentions. His main concern remained the fact that he might have caused irreparable damage to his prized plants from a moment of well-intentioned ignorance.
After a stretch of tense silence, wherein Tighnari desperately searched for something kinder to say, the only words he could summon were, “For a desert native, you have a very poor understanding of your local ecosystem.”
Cyno’s tail stopped wagging instantly. His ears drooped, his handsome face fell, and Tighnari felt like a monster, imagining the same dejected posture in the wounded jackal he took home with him last night. He cleared his throat, and held out his hand. “Give me your paw—” He sighed. “Your hand, please. Give me your hand.”
Without hesitation, Cyno placed his wounded hand in Tighnari’s palm, huddling much too close. He could feel warmth radiating from his body at this distance, and carefully kept his sight trained on his hand.
“It’s hard to properly dress a hand wound yourself,” he said, unwinding the bandage from around his hand and proceeding to redress it. “How did you end up here, Cyno?” How did you go from frolicking in the sand dunes to ruining my garden ?
“I was foolish, and stepped in a trap poachers had carefully hidden near my den,” he said, flinching when Tighnari grazed the raw flesh on his wrist. “Once I was caught, they shot me with tranquilizers.”
What remarkable tenacity. “And here you are, still standing? Impressive.”
“I assume they miscalculated the dose,” Cyno said. “I was able to escape, but became disoriented. I fled in one direction, and when I regained myself, I was in unfamiliar territory and unable to secure my own food and water.”
Ire prickled beneath Tighnari’s skin. “I hope you bit them,” he said, fastening the bandages. “Too tight?”
Cyno shook his head. “I believe I did,” he said. “I could taste blood.”
Satisfied with his care, Tighnari relinquished Cyno’s hand. “Good. If there is justice in this world, they’ll come down with an infection, become septic, and die.”
“I’m very lucky I stumbled upon you,” Cyno said. He took Tighnari’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles; Tighnari pulled his hand away, cradling it against his chest with colour tinting his cheeks. It had been far too long since he’d received the attention of a man. “I apologize for mishandling your plants. I wanted to find some way to repay you for your kindness.”
Cyno stared at him with wide, soulful eyes, a plaintive look that pulled at Tighnari’s jaded heartstrings. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to stay angry with this man.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I only did what I should.”
“Please.” Cyno’s begging caught Tighnari off guard. He crowded him with his eagerness. “I would like to do something to help, now more than ever. Is there nothing I can do for you?”
Tighnari took a step back. His eyes roved over Cyno’s body, admiring his build, the sweet curve of his jaw, the slope of his handsome nose; he even allowed himself a quick glance below his waist and was impressed by what awaited him there. He thought about how long it had been since he’d known another man’s touch, and how eager Cyno was to prove his usefulness.
What was the harm in a little taste? Tighnari bit his lip and stroked Cyno’s cheek; he leaned into his touch like a dog. “Have you… ever been with a man, Cyno?”
He braced himself for rejection, but was pleasantly surprised when Cyno’s eyes kindled with heat.
“I know how to please a man,” he said, adopting a suave affectation—but his tail was a blur of excitement, betraying his nonchalance. Tighnari smiled and took both of Cyno’s hands, pulling him back towards his washing station, where he braced himself against the countertop.
“Please, demonstrate,” he requested, and guided Cyno’s hands to his hips.
Cyno didn’t hesitate; he snaked one arm around Tighnari’s waist and pulled him close, kissing him as though he had spent years yearning for his lips. He pressed him right against the counter, and Tighnari could feel every curve and line of his body like there was no barrier between them.
Though he had been the one to solicit Cyno, Tighnari couldn’t help but feel courted when he kissed him like a lover instead of lunging for the goods like he anticipated he would. He was a gentleman—almost too respectful, frankly. This was sweet, but Tighnari hadn’t propositioned a stranger out of the desire to be respected.
“This might be my greenhouse,” he said, “but I’m not a plant. You don’t have to be delicate with me.” He hopped up onto the counter and, while Cyno stared at him slack-jawed, wrapped his legs around his waist and roped him in.
Cyno regained his composure quickly. “Will it please you if I’m aggressive?” His voice had a new, dangerous edge to it.
Tighnari curled one hand around the nape of Cyno’s neck, smiling. “Why don’t you find out?”
When Cyno kissed him this time, he was far less gentle. Tighnari could feel the threat of his razor-sharp canines when he pried apart his lips with his tongue. His hands found his ass with professional finesse; Tighnari’s tail quivered as Cyno squeezed him, his fingers kneading his flesh. The fabric of his breezy shorts was so thin that Tighnari could feel the heat of his hands against his skin, the imprints of his fingers. Now this was the passion of a wild animal.
As Cyno rocked him against the counter, Tighnari could feel his cock filling with life. He wanted to take a look at it, watch him get hard for want of his body, but Cyno’s mouth dominated his attention. One wandering hand stole beneath his shirt, groping higher; he bunched it around his chest and finally broke from Tighnari’s lips, kissing down his neck, his chest, his stomach.
Tighnari couldn’t suppress his desire. He drew his lower lip, already swollen from Cyno’s ardent attention, between his teeth with an encouraging moan, his stomach quivering. Down and down Cyno’s mouth wandered, until he landed upon a small tattoo on his hip of a stylized chartreuse flower.
He paused, running his fingers over it. “This is very cute,” he said. “I like it.”
“Thanks. I like it too—” Tighnari’s thought was cut short by a sharp gasp as Cyno traced the outline of his tattoo with his tongue. He feared Cyno would continue to tease him upon reaching the waistband of his shorts, but he took his instructions to be bold to heart and tugged them down over the curve of his ass instead.
Tighnari had no more than a second to feel shy and exposed before Cyno took him in his hand. He was already aroused, but the look on Cyno’s face and the warmth of his fist brought him to full hardness in moments. Cyno returned to his mouth, kissing him languidly as he pumped his cock. Just as Tighnari’s toes curled into the floor, Cyno broke away abruptly; before Tighnari had a moment to think, he sank to his knees and, their eyes locked in a feverish gaze, took him into his mouth.
It would have been a fun game, seeing who could sustain eye contact the longest, but Tighnari lost that fight before it even began. The second he disappeared inside of Cyno’s mouth, his eyes fell shut, an unseemly squeak tumbling from his lips. He didn’t have ample experience to draw from, certainly nothing recent, but Cyno wasn’t lying; with his skillful tongue, the confidence of his hands, the enthusiasm with which he serviced him—he absolutely knew how to please a man.
Tighnari’s hand, the one not currently occupied with his own mouth, found Cyno’s head. He curled his fingers hesitantly into his hair, kneading his scalp. Experimentally, he put pressure on his crown; Cyno easily took the hint and took him deeper into his mouth.
“Oh—” Tighnari gasped out as Cyno hollowed out his cheeks, applying pressure to his frenulum with his tongue each time he took him down. He cracked open one eye, curious if Cyno was still looking at him—surely, he would have looked away by now—and was stunned to find him gazing up at him with reverence, as if savouring how he looked in ecstasy.
That alone was his undoing, unexpectedly and without time to brace himself. He might have choked out the first syllable of Cyno’s name as his orgasm hit him, but everything outside of the serotonin flooding his synapses became nothing more than white noise.
It had been a long time since he experienced an orgasm this intense. For a few, glorious moments, he felt euphoric, but shame descended upon him quickly as his climax dispersed. His eyes flew open, skin burning.
“I’m so sorry,” he sputtered, reaching out to stroke Cyno’s cheek, thumb at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t realise—it’s been a while, I—”
Tighnari didn’t know what to expect from Cyno, but he could never have anticipated the way he delicately opened his mouth and allowed his seed to drip into his cupped hand. Such an embarrassing act was strangely arousing, and he couldn’t look away.
“No apologies necessary,” Cyno said with a smile, entirely unfazed but for the want in his eyes. “This will make things easier for me.”
Tighnari was too dazed to ask for clarification before Cyno grasped his left thigh with his clean hand, spreading his legs to expose his hole; no further explanation was needed. In a blaze of bright, burning desire, Tighnari tilted his hips to provide Cyno better access; the first press of his slick fingers against his rim coaxed a whimper out of him.
“You like this?” Cyno fished for praise.
“I do.” Tighnari slid a hand under his own shirt, caressing his chest as he stared at Cyno’s impressive cock, glistening with arousal. His mouth watered. “Go on. You’re doing well.”
Cyno’s cock throbbed in response to Tighnari’s praise, a pearl of precome rolling down his shaft and onto the ground. He bent Tighnari in half as he lunged for his lips, spreading his seed across his hole. He was relaxed enough from his orgasm that the first long, eager finger slipped in without resistance.
Further demonstrating his skill, Cyno found Tighnari’s prostate easily, which he rewarded with a moan; Cyno devoured it ravenously. Tighnari was keen to indulge in his lips, feel the taste of himself on his tongue, and whined in disappointment when he broke away too soon. His disappointment faded quickly, however, when Cyno took his thickening cock back into his mouth instead.
He felt positively spoiled. He would have gladly returned the favour, but Cyno seemed intent on servicing him, and Tighnari certainly wasn’t going to protest. If Cyno was this taken with him, he could have ample time in the future to taste every inch of him.
Cyno worked a second finger inside of him, massaging his prostate with steady, deliberate strokes. Eventually, rather than split his focus between two tasks, he steadied his head and allowed Tighnari to use his mouth to his own whims. Tighnari was hesitant, at first, but lost himself quickly as Cyno began to pound into him.
Tighnari felt dizzy, swept into a hurricane of mindless pleasure. None of his previous flings had ever paid much attention to his needs; it was overwhelming. His thighs quivered, toes curled, breath clouding with need. He dug his fingers into Cyno’s scalp, tugging at his thick hair, and relished in the low moan that reverberated through his chest.
“Good,” he gasped out as Cyno put his full weight behind his handiwork. “You’re doing so good—”
Cyno’s tail thumped against the base of the counter with such force that it shook the foundation. As the pressure inside Tighnari mounted to unbearable highs, he couldn’t open his eyes for the life of him—but he could clearly picture Cyno’s handsome face flushed with desire, and his hard cock dripping onto the ground. It was a waste, really. It should have been inside of him.
Tighnari’s lascivious thoughts brought him to a state where he could no longer bear it. This time, he still had the barest thread of lucidity to announce his impending climax, and Cyno took that as a challenge. He took Tighnari down to the base, nose buried in his pelvis, and not for one second did his devilish fingers ease from their target.
The second orgasm was more intense than the first. It made Tighnari feel sluggish and stupid; drugged and giddy. A pleasant numbness spread through his body as every limb trembled in its wake. Cyno kept him in his mouth until Tighnari collapsed against the counter, arm draped across his forehead as he caught his breath.
He cracked one eye open to see what Cyno would do this time. He covered them with his arm when he noticed that he had swallowed.
Tighnari wasn’t a bashful person, but he couldn’t help but feel a touch sheepish from his selfishness. Cyno kissed up his neck, nudging his arm with his nose, just like the jackal who had nuzzled into the palm of his hand as he drifted off to sleep last night. Tighnari let his arm fall and felt a squeeze in his chest when he was greeted with Cyno’s plaintive eyes, like a dog seeking praise for performing a trick.
He cleared his throat. “Can I return the favour?”
Cyno averted his eyes, skin flushed. “That won’t be necessary.”
“No?”
Tighnari craned his neck, peering between Cyno’s legs. A grin crept onto his lips as he noted a generous spattering of come on the ground beneath him.
Cyno cleared his throat, and Tighnari met his eyes just to spare him the embarrassment. “Did I do well?” he asked, with a tinge of desperation. “Have you forgiven me?”
Tighnari forgave Cyno the second he learned who he was. Who could stay angry with a loyal hound? But sometimes, honesty wasn’t nearly as fun as duplicity, and what was life without a little fun?
“I’m not sure,” Tighnari said coyly, with a spurious sigh, dusting Cyno’s nose with the tip of his tail. “I think I’ll need to try it a few more times. Just so I have a proper sample size.”
Perhaps, Tighnari thought as Cyno carried him out of his greenhouse with his lips at his throat, he didn’t have to be alone out here to live a peaceful, fulfilling life.