Page 65 of Palingenesis

"You find this attractive."

Jolting as if I'd slapped him, my human's eyes flare wide and that gap in his mind slams closed.

"No. Stop. Don't do that."

Simple. Concise. Direct. The signs on his hands are jerky and singular as he conveys this.

However, his face betrays him once more by tinting a rosy red over his cheeks.

It has my smile widening, and I dip my talon into the bowl meant for him once more, coating myself in the mixture of berries and honey that will heal him, and bring it to my lips.

I do not find it difficult to part my own, flicking my tongue out to receive the golden sweetness along my tastebuds.

His breathing intensifies, laboring as he observes me.

Cleaning my talon under his supervision only serves to make my own groin ache with need, one I cannot address until he obeys me.

"I hate you," he pants out with his lips and his hands in kind.

My low laugh is one I allow to travel over our connection to ensure that he understands it, and his lips part once more.

Tongue poking out, I follow his silent command to feed him.

This time, I use the utensil to scoop a bite and place it between his spread lips.

The moan that radiates up his throat as he swallows is one that I feel in my gut and down to my tightening shaft, one that I am certain he did not intend to make aloud as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

His eyes are hooded when I feed him another bite, then another. Still, as I crawl closer to his frame and grip his face once more, tilting the edge of the bowl to his lips. He permits the remainder of the meal to slide down his throat with large gulps, barely chewing the coated fruit as it occupies his mouth, and never once shying away from me.

My shaft pulses in acknowledgement of his actions, and I find myself ready to dismiss his injuries for the sake of addressing what this human does to me.

A need from deep within my core erupts, spreading beneath my skin like wildfire as I empty my hands and stare at him.

Slowly, so very slowly, I crawl down the bed, careful of his bound leg.

He watches each movement, enraptured as I secure his bad leg to the bed with my smoke, then lift his good one to make space for me between them.

"More healing," I tell him as I curl my talons around his waistband and tug.

Just as he is in slumber, he is soft. Pliable. Willing to do as I command as his length bounds free from the confines of his clothing.

It is stiff and thick, pointing straight up his belly to his navel, and I wrap my hands around the base to squeeze.

His gasp is audible, lips parting with the sound as I stroke him.

I easily work him over, my motions gentle.

"Fuck," he mumbles, his hands flaring in unreadable forms before they finally settle in my mane. He tugs the strands, directing me closer to the plush crown of his leaking shaft.

My intentions were already set, even if he didn’t wish them so.

I would take this from him, whether in slumber or consciousness, as it is what his human body needs to survive. Food, slumber, and to mate–the core things any mammal needs to survive.

Allowing himself to feed me his length only serves to make it easier than taking it on my own.

The soft flesh of his tip drools as I close the distance, a shining bead of his pleasure ripe for my taking as I unfurl my tongue and lap at the drop before it can roll down his shaft.

"Jesus Christ," my human snaps, breathless from merely a touch, and tightens his fist in my mane.