#i’m sorry you can’t handle it marcille

[chilschuck]

— ONLY IF YOU’D LIKE ME TO:

(I COULD FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU.) ♡ chilchuck x gn!reader.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ sfw, ment. of n//edles (the sewing kind, lol).

꒰ wc: ꒱ 809 words. just a drabble!

꒰ note: ꒱ guys i can’t stop thinking about this repressed-emotions-having-ass man. i wanted to write something with the song “clusterhug” by iDKHOW as inspo. i don’t know if i like this or not, so maybe i’ll delete it later. i took inspiration from the mimic chapter in the manga. sorry if it’s a bit ooc, i just kinda let my heart go with this one. i hope you enjoy!

Little things lead up to big ones. In other words, small acts of kindness become forces to be reckoned with. There’s only so much someone can do to brace themselves for the impact of falling in love, which Chilchuck had learned the hard way. His efforts to keep work and private life separate were not enough. Despite his measures at bracing himself, the problem seemed to somehow build itself into something he just couldn’t fight; something he knows he’s not skilled at.

Your touch, so gentle when handling his wounds compared to others, was the first hit to his willpower. Chilchuck was used to leading and making sure others were safe in their steps, but even then he felt he couldn’t hold a candle to you. If there’s one thing you did for the party that he considered your skill, it was being a source of light. A source of delicate touches in which he had forgotten he craved.

Chilchuck believes he could blame this all on that single encounter with that mimic. You had beat Marcille to him, immediately dropping to your knees and making sure he was safe. The cut on his cheek was handled easily with delicate touches and small tuts under your breath. “I’m sorry,” he heard you murmur. “Someone should’ve gone with you.” The cloth in your hand did not bring as much relief to his wounds as your presence seemed to.

Later, he had tried to distract himself by mending his clothes, stitching the rifts in the fabric with precise hands. It was best to stay focused and squander any emotions he considered useless. The greater the attempt, though, the harder it came back to bite him in the ass. This was only one of many things he had to learn the hard way.

“Your stitches are really neat,” You had commented in that gentle voice of yours, the same pitch you always spoke in. It wasn’t syrupy sweet, but delicate in ways he couldn’t understand. It wrapped around his brain and inched into his chest. “It’s entrancing to watch you work.”

I could say the same about you, he could say. He pictured your bashful smile. Chilchuck reminded himself to breathe. You’re entrancing in ways I can’t explain.

There was something about your gaze that made him feel like the room rose in temperature. Rolling his shoulders, he flicked his eyes up to yours.

“Just something I had to learn.”

Just like the fact that you were winding your way around his heart. Could he even begin to comprehend what you were doing to him, what you were making him feel? The depth at which you were breaking his walls down scared him. Even the thought that maybe, just maybe, you reserved those sweet looks just for him sent him over the edge.

“You should teach me one day.” You whispered.

Only if you’d like me too. He could mumble back instantly. You waited patiently, smiling at him. He swallowed.

“Yeah, sure. Here.”

His fingers brushed against yours, the green fabric resting in your hands. Chilchuck held the needle, watching the thread cascade before setting it into your palm.

“I can teach you.”

Gods, don’t look at him like that. Don’t ever beam like that, not when he’s so close and looking over your shoulder as you thread the needle.

“There, now pull it through. Make sure the stitch isn’t loose.” You did as he asked, waiting for his next instruction. When you lit up at the progress, the rip shrinking in the scarf, he couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe while you’re at it, you could stitch up the rifts in his heart he let grow. He knew if anyone could, it’d be you. But before he knew it, you had repaired the hole, holding it up proudly.

“Thank you, Chilchuck! Now I can help next time, too.” You folded it, placing it into his hands. He felt his ears burn. There was something about how thankful you were to everyone, him included. Another shot to his willpower. It’s not like he really even did anything… It’s something anyone could learn.

Even then, as your attention was called upon by Marcille, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Gaze locked on the fabric in his hands, he let himself get lost in thought while you watched Senshi and Laios prepare the next meal. If you kept shining so bright like that, he’d have no choice but to fall in love with you. There’s only so much kindness he could handle from you. You were giving him no choice but to swallow his pride and reconsider everything he knew about living a double life like this. Could he really make you happy?

Only if you’d like him to, he let his heart say. Whether or not he would listen is for time to tell. He could fall in love with you.

[wombrion]

Okay I’m sorry if this is weird but For that last comic you made I imagine that Senshi, Namari, Kabru, and Laios are all at Laios/Falin’s house drinking/pregaming/chatting to go out together for the evening with Chilchuck and Marcille’s there too (she didn’t drink but just likes feeling included) and Falin was drinking with them for funsies and drank too much since she can’t handle alcohol and Marcille takes Falin upstairs to her bedroom to rest and then a lil later Chilchuck shows up in his car (which absolutely CAN fit Laios and everyone a la clowncar physics) but Chilchuck sees that Laios looks way too drunk and goofysilly and doesn’t feel like dealing with that so he lies a little on the spot that Laios won’t fit (which Laios buys bc he’s drunk) and then Laios stumbles back upstairs to hang with Marcille and Falin.

Yes I’m sorry this is oddly specific but ily. Mwah. Everytime you post it activates the part of my brain that compels me to chew on things. Hope this helps

😳... do u wanna kiss rn orrrr

no but srsly you got it like. perfect tbh

only difference is that i imagine it to be marcilles place instead of falins, i just think itd be funnier that they just used her appartment to crash a pre party, mess most of it up, then dip to some other place AND she didnt even gets to drink (also she now has to put up with falin willingly + laios by defect)

[nicomaki-trashblog]

Transizione Ecologica

Pairing: Marcille/Falin, farcille Words: 5,919 Rating: E Summary: After an annoying argument with Laios, Marcille turns to Falin to try and relax. Little does she know she's in for a not-so-relaxing surprise—one that will shake the very foundation of their friendship. Content Warnings: Dragon dick, slight piss Mirror: [AO3]

“Stupid Laios, stupid Laios,” Marcille grits as she stomps down the hallway, her fist forming a white-knuckled grip around Ambrosia.

It’s only been a week since she’s been the court magician, and she’s already at her wit’s end. How could he insist on integrating monsters to human society? Just because he can’t be near monsters anymore doesn’t mean that all his residents should be forced to interact with them in his stead. He, of all people, should understand the risks involved with trying to domesticate them. Unbelievable!

Marcille is trying not to be ungrateful. There are perks to her position, obviously. For one, she’s not in jail; diplomatic immunity against utilizing forbidden magic is not something she’ll take for granted. Secondly—more importantly, rather—she can see Falin whenever she likes. Falin can always calm her down. Right now, it’s just what she needs, and that’s exactly what she’s going to do. Her blood pressure always lets up with just the thought of Falin’s gentle smile.

Third, the castle of the Golden Country is actually quite nice. After spending so much time in the dungeon, Marcille had almost forgotten what it was like roaming down warm, candlelit hallways. When the castle emerged from the depths of the dungeon, Marcille never would have imagined it’d become her new home, let alone one she could find comfort in. Certainly not in the state that it had resurfaced, with all its dingy cobwebs and dilapidated cobblestone. She feared it would take much time dusting off the walls and removing all the monsters that made themselves home there, but with the help of its old citizens and the dungeon cleaners, it didn’t take very long at all.

As king, Laios had designated the biggest and nicest room for Falin: a suite large enough to host a decent party, with its own master washroom. Falin insisted on not taking up such a fancy space for herself, but the promise of privacy in her new form was not something she could deny in the end. Marcille can understand. Even though Falin finds pride in the changes of her body, Marcille can only imagine the discomfort of others looking after her in awe or fear.

Falin’s door is unlocked when Marcille arrives. The room itself seems empty, but there’s the sound of running water coming from the washroom.

“She should really be more careful about that,” Marcille mutters, placing her staff next to the door before locking it shut. As a part of royalty now, she wagers there’s no shortage of people waiting for their chance to assassinate the Toudens and claim the throne for themselves.

Making her way to the washroom, Marcille raps her knuckles against the wooden doorframe. “Falin? Are you in there?”

“Marcille?!” comes Falin’s voice.

Marcille furrows her brow. Is that panic in her voice? “Yeah, it’s just me! Are you alright?”

Something clatters from the other side of the door. “Just fine!”

“I’m coming in, okay?” Marcille announces, pushing down the door handle.

“Erm, uh—hold on, please!”

Marcille hesitates, then shrugs. “It’s fine!” she says, hardly intent on waiting for a response. Why the sudden bashfulness? It’s not like they haven’t shared a bath before.

There’s a shrill, not-quite-human screech when Marcille finally opens the door.

Her jaw goes slack at the sight before her: Falin, eyes wide, face flushed, stark naked, cock out in its full glory.

And the spray of yellow liquid against the wall.

“Oh.” Heat rushes to the tip of Marcille’s ears.

“Ah.”

They stare at each other for a moment before Marcille’s brain finally catches up to her. “I’m so sorry!” she yelps, pulling the door back shut. She presses her back against the doorframe, hands covering her mouth.

All things holy!

Marcille knows, of course, that Falin had come back with… an extra appendage. When she and the other mages had resurrected her, it’d been far from an easy task remolding the lower half of her body. But as long as souls were still bound to the body, then they could serve as a blueprint of sorts, a guide for their magic to bend and shape flesh into place. Since clearly a part of the dragon’s soul had melded with Falin’s, that guide dictated that she come back with a lush plume of feathers decorating her chest and thighs.

…And because the dragon had been male, a thick red cock between her legs.

At the time, Marcille didn’t think much of it. During the resurrection process, when an amorphous red bulge had begun to form on Falin’s crotch, everyone had been stumped. Restructuring of bodies requires a deep understanding of anatomy, and none of them had known exactly how to form a dragon penis. To Marcille’s chagrin, they needed to consult Laios for the finer details. Being an expert in monster physiology—and having literally been underneath the red dragon’s crotch—he’d been the only one they could turn to.

When the organ had formed without any further troubles, along with the rest of Falin’s lower body, Marcille felt nothing but relief. But beside her, Laios had expressed fascination, and perhaps envy, at his sister’s new appendage. Marcille could only give him a good thwacking for it.

After all, how could he say that, when the more pressing issue was that Falin was still comatose? Sure, Falin had come back alive, breathing, but her eyes weren’t opening. Marcille had spent the better part of those nights just lying beside her, pressing her ears to Falin’s chest, listening to her heartbeat—making sure she was still alive—until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. Rinse and repeat, day after day.

Marcille had been so worried Falin would never wake up. There’d been no time to consider the implications of her changes.

“Marcille!” Falin calls out. The door swings back open.

Without a solid surface to hold her upright, Marcille stumbles backward and yelps, arms flailing. Her face lands into a chest full of soft feathers.

“Oh good, you’re still here,” Falin says, relief flooding her eyes. She wraps her hands around Marcille to stabilize her but quickly retracts them as soon as she’s steady on her feet. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

Marcille shakes her head vigorously. “No, no! I’m sorry for walking in on you. It’s my fault for not checking first.”

“How much did you see?” Falin asks, biting her lip. The worry shines bright in her amber eyes.

It’s strange, being able to see Falin’s eyes so clearly now. Before her resurrection as a chimera, Falin had always held a squinting expression due to her nearsightedness. It’d been so endearing back then, when they were growing up at the academy. Falin used to be such a gifted child, and it was amusing seeing her best her classmates at various subjects with half the eyesight.

It’d become concerning during their early dungeon days, though. Not just for the fact that an impaired eyesight meant missing certain threats, but also because Falin had become harder to read in their four years apart. Sure, Marcille had been with Falin throughout her childhood and until she reached adulthood, but they were apart for most of Falin’s adult life.

Falin had left the academy. Had left her. Had kept secrets from her. Big secrets, like her knowledge of teleportation magic. In those four years, Falin learned how to hide herself with those closed eyes and half smiles. Short-life species could change so fast.

But now, with her new and improved eyesight, Falin is easier to read than ever. And she seems to be willing to open up to her now. Marcille is grateful for it.

“I think I saw enough,” Marcille offers vaguely. She’s still processing it herself, and she’s not sure if she should let Falin off without any further embarrassment. Maybe that is the best course of action. She waves a hand dismissively, nervous laughter escaping her lips. “You know, it’s okay, I can totally forget that—”

“I don’t know how to aim it,” Falin admits. She hangs her head in shame. “When I have to use the toilet.”

“—oh.”

“And I don’t want to ask my brother about it!” she continues. “It’d be so embarrassing. Just… ugh, you know how enthusiastic he would get about teaching me, and I don’t want to deal with that. I really don’t.” She holds her head in her hands, a sort of far-away horror creeping into her expression as the scenario no doubt runs through her mind.

“Oh, believe me, I can imagine,” Marcille says. Laios would be so overbearing and invasive.

“And it’s just so cool! I really like it, but it’s already been a week—and I don’t know the first thing about how to use it!” Falin says, panic sinking into her voice. Her nails start to dig into her scalp.

Marcille’s heart sinks. Has Falin been cleaning up after herself every time? Now that she has a better look of the washroom, the walls are spotless again. No wonder Falin had changed her mind about wanting the room.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Marcille says, pulling Falin’s hands into her own. She notes with a bit of tenderness that the tautness in Falin’s grip softens away with her. “Maybe I can help?”

Falin blinks. “Help?”

Marcille nods. “Sure, I mean, you just need help with aiming, right?”

Or you could just sit, Marcille thinks. Quite frankly, it’s more hygienic and it’s cleaner. Even men who’ve had experience with their penises their entire lives don’t aim well. Marcille can’t count the number of times she’s visited public restrooms in the dungeon with piss staining the walls. (It’s the dwarves, she bets.)

Marcille’s tongue holds fast from speaking these thoughts, though, when the weight of her suggestion catches up to her.

Helping Falin would mean… holding her penis in her hands. Helping to point it. Oh, gosh.

Marcille’s eyes flit downward. Falin’s still naked. Her red dragon cock is out and proud. Up close, it’s easy to see all the details of it. Marcille hadn’t paid attention to it before, but now it’s impossible not to notice the thick bumps and ridges lining the shaft; the dark, purple head peeking out of the foreskin. It’s so thick. Marcille imagines wrapping her hand around it. Will it even fit?

“Um, if you’re really sure…” Falin says. “I understand if you don’t want to, though. It can get messy, and I don’t want to get you dirty.”

Marcille gulps, her mouth feeling dry. She can’t back down now. Falin is counting on her.

“What’s a little mess?” she huffs. “I’ve washed blood off your entire body. This is nothing.”

Well, it should be nothing. Again, it’s not like they haven’t bathed together before. Marcille isn’t a stranger to seeing Falin naked, or helping her scrub those hard-to-reach areas of her back. She’s not totally unfamiliar with the changes to her body, either. The past few days, she’s even taken to helping Falin preen her new-grown feathers, straightening out the barbs, working kelpie oil into her plumage to condition it. Human, scaly, feathery—it’s all still Falin. Just in a slightly different shape.

So, yeah, what’s a bit of holding her best friend’s newly-acquired draconic penis in her hands? This isn’t weird.

Apparently this is nothing is the wrong thing to say, though, because Falin’s shoulders just droop, her eyes skitting to the side. “You’re always doing extreme things for me. The ancient magic, and now this…”

“Don’t say that, Falin,” Marcille says, squeezing her hand. “I regret nothing. And this is hardly extreme. I’d do anything for you, because you’re my best friend. And I know you’d do the same for me.”

“Yes… you’re right,” Falin says, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “If you’re sure.”

Marcille grins back. “I already said so, silly. Let’s get to it, then.”

On queue, Falin breaks from Marcille’s grasp and shimmies over to the toilet. “Okay, Marcille,” she says. “I’m ready.”

“Okay.” Marcille follows suit, eyes fixed on Falin’s cock, almost hypnotized by its sway as Falin repositions herself over the bowl. It’s floppier than she’d imagined. Then again, her only experience with penises are with diagrams in medical textbooks and the explicit novels she’d surreptitiously purchased from the dark corners of shady bookstores. In all her fifty years of living, she’s never actually seen one in person until now. Are they all like this?

“Marcille?”

“Uhh, yes!” Marcille clears her throat. She just has to touch Falin’s penis for a little bit. No big deal. It’s not even sexual. Why would it be! They’re friends.

Marcille rolls up her sleeves, feeling the clammy tackiness of her palms peel from the fabric. She unconsciously squeezes her fist, imagining the girth around her hand. Oh, heck. What is she thinking? Holding Falin’s penis? Her friend’s penis? Do friends actually do stuff like this? This isn’t covered in any books!

Then, before Marcille can spiral further, Falin settles into a half squat. Her arms shoot out into a T pose. “What do you think? Thoughts?” she asks, looking straight at Marcille.

Marcille’s brain halts, dumbfounded. “What are you doing?”

“I’m aiming,” Falin says emphatically.

Marcille stares. Falin’s penis is out, limp, very much not being aimed anywhere.

“I’m balancing myself, too,” she clarifies further. “I think the problem is my balance is off, so it’s affecting the direction of the stream.

Marcille wants to scream. “That’s what you’ve been doing?!” She slaps a hand to her forehead.

Falin frowns. She scratches her chin. “No? Okay, how about this,” she says, lifting her arms up, pinkies pointing to the ceiling. “Maybe the balance is better this way?”

“No!” Marcille screeches. “No, no, no!” She rushes over and lifts Falin up to a standing position and drags her arms down back to her sides.

Falin’s frown grows deeper. “Huh… That bad, huh?”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve been experimenting with all that and haven’t thought of just… holding and pointing it!”

“Oh,” Falin says, humming thoughtfully. “That would make a lot of sense.”

“Yes, it would!” Marcille hisses.

“You’re so smart, Marcille.”

“This is just common sense!”

Marcille pinches her nose. So much for going to Falin to calm down after dealing with Laios. Both Toudens will be the death of her. If she’s lucky, maybe they’ll both stress her out so much, her life span will get cut in half. That’ll bring her in line with the rest of the elves, at least. 

“Maybe, but you’re still smart,” Falin says, a dopey smile forming on her face.

“Hush.” Marcille flushes, turning her face away. She can’t stand when Falin looks at her like that, with those large doe eyes and that pretty smile. She sighs. With all of Falin’s innate talent in magic, it’s easy to forget she can be surprisingly clueless in other areas. Not unlike her brother. Too much like her brother, in fact.

Huh. So the issue is that Falin hadn’t even thought of the obvious solution. Meaning she doesn’t have to actually help Falin aim. Meaning she doesn’t have to touch it at all. Falin can do it herself. Marcille almost wants to laugh. How silly of her, getting so worked up!

But I want to, a treacherous part of her thinks. Is it as rough as it looks? Warm? What if…

Marcille shakes the thoughts from her head. No, no, that would definitely be weird!

“Alright,” Marcille grits out, forcing herself to pay attention to the task at hand. “Why don’t you try again? Hold and aim.”

Falin nods. “Okay, here goes.”

Marcille can’t help it. She peeks over Falin’s shoulder, eyes wide as she takes in the sight of Falin holding of the massive specimen in her own hands. Touching is weird, but observing should be fine, right?

It’s not until a several seconds pass that she realizes Falin is looking back over her shoulder inquisitively at Marcille, their faces an inch apart.

Marcille’s breath hitches. When did they get so close? 

Falin exhales in turn, and Marcille can feel her breath brush against her face. Falin smells different than she used to. There’s always been a grassy scent to her—a result from always frolicking outside in the plains and dungeons—but where there used to be a floral tone, there’s now a hint of charcoal. Probably another remnant of the dragon. It’s different but still nice. Marcille could get used to it.

Falin’s bangs fall over her face. Marcille brushes them back without thinking, like second nature, always fussing over her. Her hair is still slightly damp from her bath. Marcille tucks the locks behind her ears so she can see her face again. Falin’s eyes look so intense now, pupils dilated. 

“Do you… want to hold it for me?” Falin asks.

Marcille gulps, eyes flickering back down to the red cock between Falin’s legs, heart thudding in her ears. She does. She really does. She wants to touch her. Is it so obvious that Falin picked up on it?

“Yeah,” Marcille says. Confesses.

“Okay.”

Falin pulls her hand back and grabs Marcille’s, bringing it slowly to her length. Her grip is loose enough that Marcille could move away if she wanted. Instead, Marcille reaches the rest of the way, gasping as her fingers close around the girth. Her ears tickle with the light hitch of Falin’s breath next to her.

Falin isn’t just warm. She’s hot. So, so hot. Almost uncomfortably so. Is this how penises usually are, or is this the natural heat of the dragon? Or maybe it’s just Falin?

“I’m going to help you aim it now, okay?” Marcille says.

Falin nods wordlessly, and Marcille takes that as her cue to wrap her hand firmly around the shaft and guide it. A steady, warm pulse beats underneath her palms. The ridges of Falin’s cock dig into her skin. But they’re softer than she’d expected. Not rough, just textured. Malleable. She bets if she squeezed, she’d feel them give. It’s a bit like a sea cucumber.

Just as she’s contemplating, a strong stream expels the head, arcing into the toilet bowl. The pungent scent of urine fills the air. Marcille holds her breath, watching in awe as it sprays out. After several seconds, it settles down to a trickle, not a single drip splashing outside or on the walls. It’s a clean shot.

Whoa. So that’s how it’s like. 

“Marcille, I did it!” Falin exclaims, almost disbelieving.

Marcille laughs. “You did! See, not so hard, right? Seriously, I can’t believe you—”

A wetness trickles down onto Marcille’s hand. She yelps.

Falin must’ve noticed what happened, too, because she’s squirming like she wants to get out of Marcille’s grasp. “I’m sorry, I got you dirty!”

Marcille shakes her head, laughing again. “It’s fine,” she says. “I did say I’d help you.”

Falin sulks. “That’s what’s different about having one… It doesn’t come out all at the end if I don’t give it a few shakes to get everything out,” she explains.

“Like this?” Marcille asks, tightening her grip around Falin’s cock, looking intently at it as she pumps it slowly upward, marveling at how the spines of her shaft slide against her hand.

“Marcille!” Falin hisses, eyes closing shut. Surely enough, another spurt of wetness comes out of the head.

Marcille’s eyes dart back to Falin’s face. Her eyes are shut tightly, and her pointy fangs peek out as she bites her lips.

“I’m sorry!” she says, releasing her grip. “Did I hurt you?”

Falin’s eyes open again, her expression dazed. There’s a light flush on her cheeks. “No, but…”

Marcille blinks. If not pain, then…

Oh.

Marcille’s whole body lights up on fire.

Oh no, she wants to feel Falin’s cock around her hands again. Wants to stroke her again. Wants to hear Falin sound like that again.

This definitely isn’t about teaching her how to aim anymore. No, this is… sexual desire, isn’t it? 

Despite never having been intimate with anyone before, Marcille knows a thing or two about sex thanks to the raunchy derivative works of the Daltian Clan she’d discovered in fan conventions in her twenties. She’s touched herself a few times, imagining herself as General Halleus’ lover. In those days, though, she never would’ve imagined the shape of her fantasies morphing to someone she knew—someone real.

And Falin is very much real. Falin, who’d taught her the importance of field research instead of being stuck reading books. Falin, her first and best friend. Falin, whose skeleton she’d dug from the corpse of a dragon and reassembled, bone by bone. Falin, who she’d committed crimes for.

Really, there’s no one else Marcille could want more.

Tentatively, Marcille slides her hands down Falin’s belly. There’s an expanse of soft skin of her abdomen before it transitions to light down feathers coating her pubic area. Marcille stops there, fingers burrowing into the plushness.

“Marcille,” Falin breathes. “What are you…”

“Falin,” she says. “I want to keep feeling you… Is that okay?”

Marcille watches the bob of Falin’s throat as she swallows.

“Okay.”

With that, Marcille’s fingers slide lower, brushing past the feathers until she finds purchase on Falin’s cock again, wrapping around the girth. She pumps her hand down, biting her lips as the foreskin pulls down to expose the purple head. There’s a translucent bead collecting at the tip, viscous-looking, different from earlier.

“You’re beautiful,” Marcille says, giving another stroke. The wetness slides down her shaft, and Marcille coats her palm in it, humming at its slickness. She spreads it over the length, smearing the red skin with a sleek shine, amazed at how it twitches in her hand. It’s very much alive and a part of Falin. Falin, who’s reacting to her every little touch, letting out little light sighs that ring against Marcille’s ear. Marcille loves it.

“That feels… good…” Falin says, her hips jerking into Marcille’s hand. “Marcille.”

The feedback shoots straight between Marcille’s legs. Fuck. She’s making Falin feel good.

“I’m glad,” Marcille says, continuing to pump and match Falin’s rhythm, chasing her erratic movements. The flesh quickly hardens under her ministrations, curving upward, the ridges slipping and sliding against her hand like a firm massage. So this is what an erection is. “I’ve never done this before.”

“I—ah—haven’t either.”

Marcille frowns at the thought of Falin being with someone else. “You better haven’t. Especially not with Shuro.” Her grip tightens around the head.

“Ow—I haven’t!” Falin insists.

Marcille gasps, releasing her cock. Oh, that’s definitely pain. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Falin laughs. “It felt good.”

“Mhm.” Marcille’s shoulders slump. Her long ears sag alongside them. “I’m sorry, Falin.”

“It’s alright, Marcille. Really.”

There’s a beat of silence before Falin’s eyes flicker nervously to the side. She isn’t asking for Marcille to continue. Is she shy about asking? Or does she not want Marcille to touch her anymore?

Oh, shoot. Marcille bites her lip. Is the mood ruined?

Then, Falin’s cock throbs once, a slick bead drooling from the tip.

Marcille licks her lips. Oh, there’s no way in hell she’s going to let it end here. Not with a job half done. “I’ll make it up to you,” she says, reinvigorated. “Sit on the stool?”

At that, Falin starts back into life, sending Marcille a salute. She pulls over the wooden stool tucked in the corner and sets herself on it. “Um, like this?”

“Yes,” Marcille says, grabbing a set of towels from the shelf. She parts Falin’s legs before laying them on the marble floor, kneeling between them. Satisfied with the cushioning, she shuffles forward, inching closer until she’s face-to-face with her waiting cock. Truthfully, she has no idea what she’s doing, but she can always count on books to give her some idea. Performing oral stimulation is apparently pleasurable, and protecting her knees while doing so is important.

Marcille swallows nervously at the sight before her. Falin looks much bigger up close, and her testes are the size of plums, full and rigid. She doesn’t know where to start. All she knows is that she wants to make Falin feel good.

Falin shuffles in her seat. “Umm, you don’t have to force yourself to do this, Marcille,” she says, apparently taking Marcille’s nervousness for a change of mind.

Marcille shakes her head. ‘Forcing’ is quite possibly the least accurate descriptor there could be for how badly she wants to gobble down the meal in front of her. “I’m not. I want to,” she says, placing a kiss along Falin’s inner thigh. “May I?”

“Yes,” Falin says, her answer almost instantaneous. Her thighs part even wider in response to Marcille’s touch.

Heart pounding, Marcille places her hands on either of Falin’s thighs, leaning in. She ducks down, her tongue darting out to collect the line of precum that’s dripping from Falin’s cock, humming in appreciation at the salty, savory taste. She can’t tell whose moan echoes from the washroom walls when her lips connect with Falin’s tip, its heat suffusing over her mouth. She gives it a little kiss, and Falin’s hips buck in turn.

“Marcille…”

Marcille’s eyes flicker back up to Falin. She’s looking back at her, amber eyes dark and full of desire, her feathery chest rising and heaving. Her hands are gripping the sides of the stool in an iron grip. Marcille’s heart sings at the sight. Falin wants her, too.

“You can put your hands on me,” Marcille says. She slides her hand up Falin’s thighs, palms slipping past the grain of her feathers until she reaches either hand and places them on her shoulders.

“Ah, sure,” Falin says. Her grip on her shoulders is feather-light, like she’s afraid of hurting Marcille. How considerate.

Marcille returns her attention to Falin’s cock, gripping the base and placing another few pecks on the underside of the tip, tongue darting out occasionally as she acclimates to the feel, dipping between the spines and bumps.

“You taste wonderful,” Marcille says, between the little kisses.

It’s a little funny. In a way, Marcille isn’t new to this either, taking Falin’s flesh inside her mouth. The flavor reminds her a lot of the steak meat that they’d grilled at the banquet: like firewood and roasted parsley. Slightly bitter, yet fragrant. She swirls her tongue over the head several times before lowering her head to swallow the entirety of the glans, moaning as another spurt of precum shoots into her mouth. Her jaw is sore. She’s never had to open her mouth so wide before.

“Ah!” Falin gasps. It doesn’t take long for Falin’s hold on her to tighten, almost painfully. Sharp nails, almost clawlike, dig into her skin. Her fingers slide to the nape of Marcille’s neck, threading themselves in her hair. 

Marcille purrs as Falin’s nails scrape against her scalp, a pleasant shiver running down her spine, down to her nether region. She’s aching so badly. She doesn’t even remember the last time she’s touched herself. Being in a dungeon party doesn’t lend much privacy, and the past few weeks have hardly provided the mood to do so.

As Marcille bobs her head up and down, she unbuckles her robe, letting the skirt fall to her ankles. She releases Falin’s tip with a pop, bringing a hand to stroke at the base of her shaft to compensate for the absence of her mouth. “How does this feel?” she asks. Falin seems like she’s enjoying it, but some more commentary would be nice. “I don’t really know how to do this…”

“It’s so good,” Falin says, voice husky. “Really, really good. Your mouth is amazing.”

Marcille moans. She can’t help but shove her other hand down her panties, hissing in relief when she finds her clit, rubbing it in tight circles. She’s already so drenched that it doesn’t take long for her fingers to get soaked in the slick of her own juices. She slots her mouth back on Falin’s cock, head bobbing in opposite motion of her hand stroking her length, relishing in the way that Falin starts to whine. 

“Marcille, I’m gonna—”

That’s all the warning Marcille gets when Falin’s hips buck forward sharply, her cock slipping deeper into Marcille’s mouth, almost reaching the back of her throat. A hot burst of thick liquid and flavor explodes onto her tongue, salty and metallic, and she groans and takes it dutifully. Her tongue swishes back and forth on the underside of Falin’s tip, eagerly coaxing out the rest of her orgasm, lapping up each spurt that shoots out. It’s wonderful—Falin’s seed. It’s irrevocable proof of her virility, her life. Marcille swallows it all.

When there’s finally no more to consume, Marcille removes her mouth, Falin’s cock falling limp and spent in front of her. Marcille presses the side of her head against Falin’s thigh. Her knees start to shake as she works her hand between her legs with renewed vigor, fingers swiping back and forth against her clit. Fuck, she isn’t going to last long. “Falin,” she whimpers.

Just before Marcille hits her peak, she feels Falin’s arms around her and a swoosh of motion, and suddenly she’s on the stool while Falin sits in between her legs.

“Falin?” Marcille squeaks. “What are—”

“I want to watch you,” Falin says. “I want to learn how you do it.” She hikes her hand up Marcille’s thigh, hooking her fingers on the waistband of her silk panties.

Marcille’s body flares. She hadn’t really taken into account Falin wanting to be an active participant. She’d only started this because she wanted to get Falin off. Somehow it feels selfish bringing her own pleasure into the mix.

“Um…”

“Please?” Falin pouts.

Marcille’s heart clenches, and she’s giving a nod of affirmation before she knows it. Oh, that’s just unfair.

Falin slips off her panties in no time, flinging them to the other side of the washroom. It lands against the marble tile with a wet plop, and Marcille’s cheeks pinken at the unabashed proof of her arousal. It doesn’t help that Falin clearly notices as well, a knowing, pleased smile curving on her lips.

“It’s your fault, you know,” Marcille huffs. “For making me feel like this…”

Falin laughs, her eyes forming those little crescent-moon shapes that Marcille adores. “Then I’ll gladly take responsibility.”

Ugh, extremely unfair! “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Keep going,” Falin urges her. There’s a slight grumble to her voice now. With her gaze trained on Marcille’s cunt, the pupils of her eyes look more reptilian than ever. “Keep doing what you did before.”

Marcille gulps. Back before Falin was watching her, it was easy to get lost in the heat of the moment, rubbing herself frantically without a care in the world. But now with Falin’s attention so focused on her, it’s taking Marcille all of her willpower not to just shut her thighs together in embarrassment.

But Falin wants to learn, and Marcille is always happy to teach her.

Marcille slips her fore and ring finger between her lower lips, parting her labia. She hears Falin let out an exhale as she exposes herself, baring her vulva for her to see. Her middle finger finds her clit again, circling slowly. She mewls, hips jumping.

“You’re so beautiful,” Falin says, pressing kisses along Marcille’s inner thigh. “So pretty and pink…”

“Falin,” Marcille whines, shuddering as Falin licks her way closer to her junction of her hips, leaving a hot trail of saliva on her skin, the point of her fang grazing gently along. Marcille works her fingers faster, feeling her cunt react in kind, clenching around nothing. What would it feel like, having Falin inside her?

“That’s it, Marcille,” Falin coos. “You’re doing so well.”

“Oh,” Marcille sobs. Her legs impulsively lock around Falin’s back, dragging her forward. 

Falin doesn’t waste any time using the momentum to press her mouth against Marcille’s wet entrance.

“Falin!” Marcille cries. “Oh my god.” Her other hand threads into Falin’s hair, pushing her head closer into her pussy. 

“You’re delicious,” Falin mouths against her, tongue teasing around the edges of her hole before swiping up to meet Marcille’s fingers. “So good…”

“Mmph!” Marcille’s head grows dizzy at how Falin’s mouth tangles with her fingers, her tongue and lips sliding and weaving in between her labia and clit. The crude sounds of wet sucking and slurping echo in the washroom, like Falin is a woman starved. With Falin’s mouth on her like this—this is… sex, isn’t it? They’re really having sex. “Falin, Falin—I’m so close.”

Swiftly, Falin’s tongue slips back down to her entrance, dipping inside. It stretches in deep, serpentine-like, curling against her upper wall, massaging the spongy tissue. Marcille screams, sees white as her orgasm overtakes her. Distantly, she’s aware that she’s shaking uncontrollably, but Falin holds her thighs, steadies her, licking into her over and over again until her body finally relaxes.

Falin pulls her into a hug. “You were so good, Marcille,” she says, planting a kiss on her cheeks. “Thank you.”

Marcille’s skin burns where Falin’s lips were. She wraps her arms around Falin, hiding her face in her feathers. “What are you thanking me for?” she says, laughing. “That’s the hardest I’ve ever come.”

“Me too,” Falin says. “It’s very different with a penis.”

“Really?” Marcille blinks. “How so?”

“I’ll tell you more about it in a bit. For now… how about a bath?”

Marcille sighs contentedly as she sinks into the hot water, feeling her muscles loosen. The nice thing about Falin’s washroom is that the heat runes are always quick to warm up the bath to suitable temperatures. If lucky, the ones in the dungeon would work, albeit slowly. Most of them didn’t work at all.

“By the way, Marcille,” Falin says, pulling Marcille to her chest, “is there a reason why you were visiting me at this hour? Weren’t you supposed to be meeting with Laios and Kabru about the… what was it, agricultural development?”

Shoot. She did stomp off in a huff from the conference…

Marcille sighs, slumping until her shoulders submerge in the water. “I needed time to cool off.”

She feels Falin smile into her hair. “Did you get exasperated with my brother again?”

“Yes… though now that my head is clearer, I know he has a point. With the land still recovering, we’re going to be scarce in resources. But the folks from the Golden Country were able to harvest a whole bunch of byproducts from the domesticated monsters from the dungeon.”

Falin nods. “We could learn a lot from them.”

“Yeah,” Marcille agrees. “But we’ll have to be careful. We don’t know how monsters are going to behave in this new nation now that the dungeon is gone. I just… wish we didn’t have to deal with monsters again so soon.”

“Well, you dealt with me just now. I’m part monster.”

“That’s—that’s different!” Marcille flushes, turning her body sharply to face Falin, water splashing.

Falin only smiles. Because she’s right, of course. There’s no way Marcille can deny the benefits of introducing monsters into their economy. Especially not now, that she’s personally attended to monster dick and enjoyed it. 

Not that introducing monsters as sexual objects is a good idea! It’s an awful idea! Definitely not something that should cross Laios’ mind!

Marcille deflates. “I’ll talk to Laios tomorrow…” she grumbles.

But for now, she’s going to enjoy resting on Falin’s feathery bosom.

-

Notes:

I thought it'd be interesting to explore how Falin reacts to her new changes, assuming she does get a dragon dick. I imagined it'd be quite a learning curve to get used to an entirely new set of genitals, even if she would be totally ecstatic about it. Given Marcille's history as Falin's mentor in the academy, it felt natural for Marcille to help guide her through this new transition process. And being as thirsty as she is, it wouldn't be hard for her to push the boundaries of their relationship, blurring her desire to help with sexual desire. So that's how this fic was born! Also, it's kind of funny that this is my SECOND work involving piss (the other one is anonymous still lol). I swear that it's not actually a kink of mine, but now it's starting to look suspicious, huh?

Also entirely aware they didn't kiss. I debated whether or not to add the 'friends to lovers' tag, but I opted not to, because it's funnier thinking about how they had sex without redefining their relationship. Of course that's something that would slip Marcille's mind. Where the story ends leaves it up in the air and gives room for them to actually explore later on, and I think that'd be fun to write, too.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!