"God fucking dammit."

Arkai exhaled the profanity into the cold winter air, the words crystallizing into a small cloud of frustration and arousal that dissipated almost instantly.

The merchant at the far end of the square glanced up from his cart, mildly confused. He squinted at the lone werewolf standing by the frozen fountain, a tall, dark-haired figure in fine clothes, apparently cursing at the empty air, then shrugged and returned to folding his wares. Nobles were strange... as known.

Then again—SLURP!

The hair on Arkai’s nape stood up straight.

[Cecilia.] Oathran suddenly said. [Tell him what I am doing to you.]

Gods, she did not have to tell him. Arkai knew through the shared sense exactly how his elder brother ate their wife out.

The technique was burned into his memory from shared experience, from the times he had watched Oathran settle between Cecilia’s thighs, which was more often than the Dragon’s own meals.

Not just his forked tongue, he used his lips expertly. The tongue was magnificent, of course. That forked appendage the Dragon would only show off on special occassions like these could move like it had a mind of its own, but the lips too. Soft. Full. Capable of sealing, teasing around her clit and sucking rhythmically.

Then, back to the tongue... the twin tips curled. Stroked. Explored. One fork tracing delicate circles around her entrance while the other plunged deep, tasting her from the inside, mapping the ridges and folds of her inner walls.

Once he was sated, done savoring her taste, his lips would return to work her clit, soft and slow, then firm and fast, then soft again, building her up and letting her hover, never quite tipping over, never quite letting her fall.

Arkai could not hear the sound. But he could feel it. The lapping. The slurping. The back-and-forth and up-and-down and side-to-side of that impossible tongue. Cecilia’s mental whimpers, Cecilia’s phantom tremors on his skin...

The slick, rhythmic suck of lips around sensitive flesh. Then again, her clenching, fluttering, arching toward a peak that Oathran kept just out of reach.

[She tastes divine today. You should come verify.]

Oathran sounded serene. Taking advantage of using telepathy while his mouth was busy... how completely unbothered he was. Arkai wondered how the dragon’s mind could still sound so coherent. He himself already felt drunk from the fantasy of eating his wife out in broad daylight on a public square.

[Eastiel.] Arkai called in the absolute limit of his patience. [Just reach out to me, or I am going to start reaching around randomly.]

He turned in a slow circle, scanning the empty square, the frozen fountain, the skeletal trees. His wolf senses were completely useless. The Presence Concealing Ring did not merely hide its wearers, it erased them, after all. Like a gap in the world.

The city murmured in the distance. The winter wind whistled softly through the bare branches overhead. And Arkai’s wife was somewhere within arm’s reach, and he could not—

Ahh.

Fuck.

His cock, which had softened during the time in between, began to stiffen again.

[Cece...] he tried, [Where—]

GRASP!

Large hands seized his waist from behind, and Arkai’s soul immediately vacated his body.

"Hic—"

[HWAHWAHAHHAHAH—] Eastiel’s mental voice exploded through the bond, a howling laughter that vibrated through Arkai’s skull like a cackle of delighted thunder. [Brother, it is me! You went so stiff—WAWHAHWHAHAH—]

The Golden Lion King was physically clamping his own mouth shut, his hands gripping Arkai’s waist from behind, his entire body shaking with the effort of containing the sound.

But his mental voice was under no such restraint. It howled at his brother’s expense.

And with that touch Arkai could finally see them.

The world flickered. Color bled into empty air. Shapes resolved from nothingness.

On the ledge of the frozen fountain, Oathran had spread his fur coat across the cold stone, creating a makeshift nest of warmth and luxury.

The dragon knelt before it, his white hair disheveled and a self-satisfied smile curving his lips. His face was still buried between Cecilia’s thighs, and he did not look up or pause his ministrations.

Cecilia sat on the fur coat, her legs spread wide, her body half-suspended by Oathran’s telekinesis. The magic held her aloft just enough to give the dragon perfect access, her hips tilted at an angle that made Arkai’s mouth go dry.

Her hand was clamped over her own mouth, her eyes glassy and wild and fixed on him, who had just been scared halfway to the afterlife by a lion.

[Arkai... mmm stop your brother... it’s enough...] She squirmed. The telekinesis held her steady, but her beautiful, overstimulated body writhed against the invisible support, her hips rolling, her chest heaving with the breaths she was trying desperately to muffle.

They were right beside him the whole time.

Right beside the fountain. Not ten feet from where he had been standing, cursing at the empty air like a man arguing with ghosts. They had watched him arrive and search and threaten to start groping the empty air like a madman. When were they planning to stop bullying him?!

Meanwhile, Eastiel’s hands were still on his waist.

The lion was groping him now, slowly appraising and kneading. His fingers pressed into the firm muscle of Arkai’s sides, tracing the lines of his torso.

[Hmm.] Eastiel’s mental voice had shifted from hysterical laughter to something more contemplative. His chin hooked over Arkai’s shoulder, his golden eyes narrowing as his hands continued their exploratory journey up and down Arkai’s waist.

[I understand now. Why you grabbed my waist at the time. Men’s waists feel firmer. Easier to control the movement like this. Better leverage.]

His fingers dug in slightly, testing the give of muscle beneath fabric.

[Off.] Arkai wrenched Eastiel’s hands away. He had endured quite enough humiliation for one afternoon, thank you very much. His face was filled with deep mortified crimson blush spreading from his cheekbones to his ears, paired with the bulging veins of pure annoyance throbbing at his temples and neck.

He glared at his youngest brother. Who could blame him? He had just been scared, laughed at, and then appraised like livestock.

[Ehehehe.] Eastiel simply redirected his attention to Arkai’s belt. [We don’t get to rub cocks today, so let me help you with this, hmm?]

His fingers worked the buckle, the leather sliding free with a soft hiss that was swallowed by the silence barrier.

[Eastiel Edengold!] Arkai’s mental scream cracked upward. [What would your father say?!]

Eastiel grinned.

Well, even if Eliam were still alive, he wouldn’t care much about his son removing another man’s belt compared to what they were about to do. Like, for an example, an invisible public foursome.

Cecilia grasped Oathran’s horns.

Her fingers curled around the curved magnificent crown. She gripped them like handlebars, and they were warm beneath her palms.

She pulled them closer, straddled his face without shame now, whatever shreds of modesty she had possessed when they first stepped onto this frozen square had long since been devoured by that forked tongue.

Her thighs clamped around his head, her body bowing forward, her hips rolling against his mouth in a demanding rhythm.

Oathran’s lips worked even quicker in response.

The dragon took her grip on his horns as encouragement and permission as he redoubled his efforts. His forked tongue plunged deep, curling inside her, the twin tips stroking along her inner walls in opposite directions.

He tilted his head, one fork traced maddening circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves just inside her entrance, the other pressed flat and broad against her deepest reaches, lapping at her like a man tasting ambrosia.

[Oathran! Oathran! Oathran! No! Please—! Just my clit, please, just my—]

He pulled off, his lips sealed around her clit and sucked.

His hands, already on her hips, tightened in response. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her waist and he pulled her down harder against his mouth, grinding her against his face like he was trying to devour her whole.

She gasped audibly. Loudly. She couldn’t stop it as it was torn from her throat. Before she could realize what happened, his fingers had slid around to grip her ass, pulling her cheeks apart, exposing her even more completely to his hungry mouth.

[Mmmm—]

The telepathic transmission fractured as she could not form words anymore. Thoughts gone, there was only the tongue and the lips that suckled her clit with obscene rhythm, and the fingers that were now—

[—aaaaaaaahhh—]

One of his hands had released her hip. His thumb pressed against the tight pucker of her other entrance, the one Richard had been filling just moments before, and circled. Gently. Teasingly. A promise of more to come.

It was too much.

[—that is enooooooough...!]