“Hey there, Frankie,” his father said as he entered the kitchen. He was sitting at the small table in the little nook by the patio door, his mug still steaming. Before him there were plates of scrambled eggs, some toast already buttered and piled high, a hill of bacon, and a few plinths of sausage. As well as two empty plates, one being loaded and set at the other chair as Francis lumbered over. “You sleep well?”
“Not really,” he mumbled, plopping into the creaky seat, and, boy, did it creak. It was the loudest it had been in months. But, then again, it only matched how heavy he felt, far too heavy for any ten-year-old to be. He couldn’t even really look at the food since there was at least a small brick house resting in his stomach, and that was the lightest part... However... he wasn’t exactly sure how to bring it, or the dream, up –in fact, just thinking of it made his face burn. And the cabin in his stomach roil. “Dad...”
“Yes... Well? What’s the matter, Frankie?”
“Dad... Do you ever have a dream... Do you...” The harder he tried, the hotter his face grew and the cabin in his gut expanded... and he didn’t even really know why. What his dream was- it was a... funny feeling what happened, but not... ha-ha funny.
His father, though, seemed to catch on to what he was building to. His face started to warm as well, that bronze skin almost copper in shade. He coughed, spluttered into his coffee, but managed to compose himself as he lowered that dark blue mini-bowl, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Ah, I knew it was coming,” he muttered, sighing. “I was hoping it’d be a few more years, but... You see, son, you are... There comes a time in every person’s life where they... grow up- yes! Grow up... What you are feeling, what you dreamed... It is perfectly natural to have those feelings- so long as they are of the same age and both parties consent- agree- okay, one party can be slightly older –at least, if it’s a woman. I’m warning you now, son, don’t go after younger women. Save yourself the headache- and always wear protection- unless you are absolutely certain they are The One and you don’t mind having a kid with them- oh, but you don’t know what that means- okay! When a person finds another person attractive- no. Wait. If you find someone attractive, like in your dream, you will feel something-”
And he kept going, fumbling over his words, growing more and more agitated, more and more flustered as he danced around it. He needed to fill his cup four times during, and not once came close to saying what he truly needed to. At last, the alarm on his flip phone went off, and he put down his cup, clapping his hands together.
“Right,” he said, bolting to his feet. “Sorry, bud. Looks like we rant out of time- and you’re not even dressed. Hurry on! We need to get you to school.”
Francis didn’t argue. In truth, he felt sort of guilty for bringing it up at all, ashamed that he put his father through such a fit. He didn’t bring it up again, or any of the other times he dreamed of that blue dragon and what they did to him. It was only dreams, after all... right?
Just like this was a dream.
He groaned- hissed as something hit him in the mouth. His eyes flew open, flames already rising to his maw... when he saw Jessica on his chest, felt her hand resting on his cheek. Her nails still dwelt on his lips, grazing at them softly as she slumbered away. After the day he had, it felt like he had slept weeks. He would have loved to simply stay there, in the embrace of that manticore, but it was test day. Then he had a day off before he was on (the highly anticipated) date number three with Cassidy.
So he swallowed his pride, sighed again- winced as the sleeping cat slapped his mouth again- and had the nerve to growl at him! It seemed she finally hit her limit and lifted her head, glaring.
“What’s wrong with you?” She mumbled, yawning, and her stomach growled. Making her titter. She kissed him, nuzzled his cheek, and he swore she was purring as she looked him in the eyes again, now beaming. “Oh. Right. Breakfast.”
“Yeah. And class.”
“Oh. Yeah. Class too. I guess.” She eased herself off him- and whimpered, crossing her legs. “Bathroom first! Ooh... You go and start making it.”
“But what if I need to g-”
“Just use the sink!”
She stumbled into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind... and Francis huffed, looking down at his crotch. The blood and scum dried on; it was a wonder the head wasn’t encased and imprisoned against his belly, but, once again, it proved its prowess. Not even boiling cold water could shrink it, and it took six paper towels to remove each layer from it and the area around. At the end, he cleansed the sink with uric acid. And cleaning liquid. He thought about bleach for a split second, but decided he did not want to taste blood for the rest of the day or look stoned.
But now came the fun part of this visit. He turned around to the fridge, opened the freezer, and this time checked the expiration dates on the food. Thankfully, it seemed Jessica learned her lesson. There wasn’t a single item out of date. Closing in, but not there. She even had bread and tortilla shells, meaning his options had grown exponentially.
It was “morning”, though, and what do people usually want when they wake up? Eggs. Sausage. Bacon. Ham. Pizza!
“Hey, little fairies,” he mumbled, closing the freezer. He righted himself... and turned away from the standing box. “Do me a solid here and put a few rolls of pizza dough in the fridge.”
He counted in his head to thirty... then turned around and opened the fridge. Lo and behold, there were no rolls of pizza dough... instead, there were pre-prepared crusts, placed on nonstick pans. They even included two jars of Hollandaise sauce and a half-pound bag of cubed ham.
“You guys are the fucking best,” he said, closing the fridge again and opening the freezer. He pulled out a roll of sausage and a pound of bacon. The scrambled eggs would be last, able to soak in the grease of the meat. “Take forty out of my box.”
“What box?” Jessica said, trotting into the kitchen. She was wearing his shirt, more akin to a dress on her. She trilled as she draped her arms around his neck, nibbling on his ear. “Are you thinking of my fun box?”
“Always, but no. I was thanking the fairies.”
“Ah. Yes. The fairies. They’re going to have fun cleaning the bedroom today... and, perhaps more.”
She tittered, nibbling-then-kissing his ear as her hands trailed down his front, tracing the scars, the scratches, and, lastly, the muscle. He could hear her tail flicking behind, its hard tip cracking against the counter tops, the cabinets, all the while she pressed harder against his back.
“Are you sure? I’m still cooking your meal.”
“Oh, please. You can do both, can’t you?”
“I sort of need my hands to-”
“You have more than enough.” She slipped around and pounced on him. Her legs wrapped so fluidly around- and, as he feared, the stilettos on the back of her ankles dug in. He caught her, if only to alleviate those painful spikes, and felt his throbbing prick meet her warm folds again. Practically drooling on them. Her hands tugged at his wings, purring, moaning as she rocked against the head of his rod. “Just... still be gentle with me. I may not be a virgin anymore but I’m still rather sensitive.”
Obviously, he thought, and finally gave in to her claws’ goadings. His wings unfurled, cracking, creaking as they did. They had that tingling sensation, as if he had slept on his arm –which was accurate, he supposed. But they unfolded. They went over his shoulders-
“No no,” she said, pushing them lower. “Around the side. You’ll have better grip that way and less stress.”
“Sorry. Still getting used to them.”
He corrected, and those long, slender tips crept up her back. It was like watching a spider crawl, each leg so precise, an almost alien movement with tips that curled down. Those white ends, two of them on each hand at least, dug into her shoulders, while two others curled around her sides. The last wrapped around her thighs, taking over for his hands, and he was thankful she was light. Even then, they shook so hard, the arm before the “elbow” feeling like it was on fire.
Forgotten as she plunged on his member.
“There we are,” she said, pulling herself onto it, pushing away on his chest only to slide back. Always keeping that gap from the night before... She stopped a moment, glaring at him, and her tail pointed to the pan hanging above the stove. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
He rolled his eyes, but grabbed it down, preparing the bacon. It was fattier, better to season the pan with- and he had a dreadful realization- TURNED INTO A REALITY. The bacon snapped, crackled, and popped its luscious grease everywhere. Including onto his virginal wings and their fresh webbing... A small price to pay. Jessica was shielded from it, and she paid it in spades, diving deep onto his member.
She lapped and bit at his chest, mewling, moaning as her folds continued to swallow his mast. Her spikes dug in harder, pulling her harder down- gasping as his wings started to help, spurred on by her passion and the hot grease. Slowly but surely that barrier was cracking, that limit, and, as he drained some of the bacon grease into a measuring cup and tossed in the sausage, she was bottoming out on him.
“Oh fu- oh oh oh... fu...” She spluttered out, whimpering a little. Rising. Panting. Her legs locked, bottoming out on his shaft, and she bit his chest. Her tail flicked, knocking against his arm, trying to remove the spatula in it as he broke the sausage apart... She slowly exhaled, a shuddering thing, and pushed up along his rod again- only to be pushed back down. She squeaked, turned to mewls as his wings clenched her hard, shoving her all the way down. Again. And again. And again. His hips bucked her up, releasing those spikes from his back as her legs flopped apart, resting on the counter and against the fridge, hissing under her nails as he continued to thrust. “Give... give it... give it to me, Francis. Give it to me!!!”
He drained the grease into the measuring cup again, placed the sausage in a bowl, and tossed it into the warmed oven with the crumbled bacon before turning around and pulling out the eggs. From the door that her foot wasn’t clinging to. He cracked each one to a thrust, swirled them in the bowl with each bounce. The skillet hissed with her pants, the grease readded, and he poured in the beaten egg, getting them nice, fluffy, and separated.
“W... where did t...” She managed to say, showing signs of a bit of humanity left inside that ravaged, lustful beast, as he pulled out the pizza crusts and Hollandaise sauce. But it was only a glimpse, gone again as the pants overtook, soaking him and dribbling onto the ground under. It pattered away, like the cold November rain outside, while he smoothed the sauce over the prepared discs. The meat was first, then the shredded cheese in the door, then egg... then more cheese. He put both of them in the oven- and his wings finally gave out, laying her on the table.
She looked up at him, her eyes heavily lidded. Drool ran down the left side of her face, lapped aside every so often by her lulling tongue, trying to form words only to be lost to mewls and pants. He caught it, leaning over her as his wings folded behind once more, and if she wasn’t screaming before she was howling as he made that table quake, giving her his true strength. The chairs to the side skittered and creaked, slammed back by the force thrust upon its bearer, and it wasn’t long before he roared as well, filling her up.
Her voice was gone, lost to the pants. Her eyes were rolled in the back of her head, while she wore the biggest, dumbest smiles. Her legs were flopped off the table, dangling, while her tail was finally limp. Francis’s member slipped out of her, and he watched as his slurry mixed with hers, stretching out and down towards the floor with just a hint of pink that time.
He took a step back, and grabbed four strips of bacon, the pieces not crumbled, returning to her. Her tongue coiled around the strip he placed in between her upper lips, and at last a tear fell down her cheek, breaking it up before closing her mouth around the succulent bit of pork.
“Holy... shit,” she managed to say at last. “Why didn’t I do this sooner? Oh... f...”
“It was alright,” he said, and chortled as she scoffed and gave him a dirty look.
“Why do you have to ruin it? Oh, but maybe you’re right... What’s amazing to me could be another Tuesday to you. Way to make me feel good about myself.”
“You’re welcome... but don’t sell yourself short. In fact, you’re the first girl I truly fucked here.”
“And now you lie... What about Professor Deckard? What you guys did in the parking lot?”
“There was no fucking there. Just aggressive masturbation... And I refuse to count Nicole.”
“I don’t blame you. That’s four-feet of crazy I don’t want to mingle with... Still, to think... We took both each other’s cherries –and I don’t mean your virginity... Your first here at the Academy-”
“I understood. And I think that’s what I said.”
“It was, but I made it sound sweeter.” She tittered, and waggled a finger to him, biting her lip. “Come closer... down here.”
He rolled his eyes and bent over her again, his lips closing in on hers- only to be pushed back as she took another strip of bacon- only to gasp as he kissed her anyways, breaking half of the strip off. She growled... turned to a purr as she found the strength to fling her arms and legs around him, holding him there. His lips tried to escape, but hers followed, keeping him prisoner... if only a moment longer.
She popped off, beaming at him.
“So... what are your plans for the rest of the week?”
“Well, I have a test today. I’m pretty much clear tomorrow-”
“Wish I could say the same. My tests are tomorrow THEN I have work... Then I suppose you still have that date with the harpy, right? Casey or Macy or Tracy- whatever her name is?”
“Cassidy, and yeah... Supposedly, she has big plans for me, too-”
“You mean for your dick.”
“You’re not going to start acting jealous now, are you?”
“Thought about it, but it’s such an ugly thing... Nah... Why be jealous when you are one drowsy lurch away from being in my arms again? I will say, though. I’ll probably be seeking more attention from now on. Don’t be surprised if I pounce you when you open your door when you come home at night... Are those pizzas almost done, by the way?”
“I have to check-”
She growled, and dug her nails in.
“No... I didn’t say you can go yet.”
“Do you want food or not?”
“I do, but... I also want cuddles. Don’t stop holding me.”
He knew what she meant, but he really didn’t feel up to it. They were already taxed earlier, and, after his climax, his entire body simply wanted to slump into a chair or couch... However, she wasn’t backing down. His wings worked around again and underneath, “scooping”′ her up. He turned around, lumbered a few steps on his shaky legs, and stepped ahead of the oven, stooping enough to open the door-
“Yeah. They’re ready,” he said, and pulled two oven mitts. But not for two arms. Instead, both hands on the same reached in and pulled each one out. His wing-arm wasn’t as sturdy, but it endured until it deposited the golden delight on top of the stove. Their crust crunched away from his nail, dug right through eight times, carving them into perfect pieces, and he handed her one. “Bon appetit.”
“Ah, Je suis Francais?”
“But you understood what I said... I’m onto you... You only like to pretend you’re retarded.”
“Eh. It works for me.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” She bit into the pizza, and moaned almost as loud as she did during sex. “Oh. My. God... Heaven. I’m in heaven!”
She devoured it- then took the piece Francis picked for himself, wolfing it down under his glower. She winked at him, purring, and kissed him- before taking his next slice... However, the look in her eye, the way she... ate him with those eyes... It reminded him of that dream again. Not the one with his father but the one he tried to tell him about. She had the same glow, the same... yearning. The same goal, and that rebuilt that brick cabin in his stomach, stopping him from enjoying more than a slice.
Especially when a knock came to the door.
“Excuse me? Jessica? Are you home?” Bridget called through, and Francis could hear that she had a bit of a croak.
“I am,” the manticore answered. “What is it?”
“Oh, I was simply wondering if you have heard from Francis. He doesn’t seem to be home, and Ezra hadn’t seem him-”
“Yeah, we’re currently eating breakfast.”
“Oh! Really? That’s... that’s good... How are you, Francis?”
“Better. After yesterday, I slept like a log. Didn’t realize I stumbled into the wrong apartment, so I’m making it up to her with food.”
“Okay. I’m simply glad you are fine... When you are ready, send me a text and I’ll drive you to s-”
“Is he there?” Penny yelled. Easily heard.
“Good... Hey! Dumbass! If you are done pounding a literal pussy, it’s test day. Hurry up and put that knob away so we can get moving.”
“You are so vulgar. Do you really think he and Jessica had relations?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Jessica exclaimed, muffled by half a slice of pizza.
“I mean nothing by it, but Francis is an honorable man. He wouldn’t simply sleep with someone he never had a date with- why did you snort, Penny?”
To cover for us, Francis thought, snickering with Jessica as Penny was busting a gut outside.
“No reason,” the wizard said, though. “None at all...”