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thiswasinevitableid · 1 year

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Your Monster (Indruck)

The second place winner of the monster-I’ve-done before was “House Monster.” This fill is NSFW and does reference suicide.

The house on the hill has a thousand eyes

The sentence echoes through Indrid’s mind as he steps from his Super Bee. Those nine words changed his life, gave him freedom, made him a name and a fortune that mercifully eclipsed the memories of the place that had inspired the phrase.

Holding the keys the family lawyer handed him an hour ago–both of them pretending to be sadder than they were–he tips his head up, up, up at the grey and white Victorian. The woodwork along the front looking less like a dainty ladies lace and more like jagged, yellowed teeth. As he steps inside, his impression is exactly the same as it was twenty-two years ago.

When his father moved Indrid and his twin brother into this house, the pair only two months past their eleventh birthday, Indrid felt as if the entire place was watching him. The windows glared down with harsh lights, the movers had already put all the family photos of grim-faced Colds on the walls, and even the wallpaper seems to form irises and ever-watchful pupils.

Yes, eyes had followed him as he dragged his luggage into the bedroom–the one benefit of the move was Apollo and himself no longer having to share–and as he stared up at the light on the ceiling, that of course had two bulbs to look down at him.

He’d turned it off and rolled onto his side, hoping for sleep.

That’s when he discovered there were eyes in the closet, too.

—---------------------------------------------------------

Motuscomes never forget a feeding ground. And if they used one often, they can feel when there’s a sudden shift in its primary emotions, even years after their last visit. ‘Which is why Duck knows it’s time to go back to the house on the hill.

When he was a much younger monster, he’d sniffed out a house with three brand new occupants. His portal opened into the room of one half of a pair of twins, revealing glasses on a bed stand and an odd lack of art on the walls. Humans love to put things on their walls (monsters prefer their art on the ceilings).

Fear was heavy in the house; not an acute kind either. A lingering kind, one that seeped into the floorboards and coated the walls in a matter of months. Duck fed there every day.

But it wasn’t solely about filling his belly. From the closet, he’d watch Indrid Cold draw, or read, or curl up under his covers and shake. And one day, the boy peered out from under the blanket and spoke to him.

—---------------------------------------------

“Go away.” Elliot whispers.

The glowing, green eyes watch him, and Elliot is certain if he blinks they’ll move closer and closer and then he’ll be swallowed up, dissolved in a slimy belly and never heard from again.

“I said go. Away.”

“Go away where? I, uh, I mean, uh, there, there ain’t a monster in here.”

Elliot fumbles for his flashlight, pointing the beam into the crack in the closet. If he didn’t know better, he’d say his old teddy bear had fallen from the shelf. Then the monster speaks, tusks gleaming from the shadows.

“Any chance you’d believe I’m a possum?”

Indrid closes the book, setting it on the shelf with the other first editions of his novels. The House of a Thousand Eyes will always hold a special place in his heart; it was his first, complete with illustrations that his publisher called “the perfect mix of eerie and endearing.”

Wind shakes the shutters and he sighs; he forgot how stormy it was here. How throughout his childhood it was if every night was marked by trees scratching the windows and claws scraping the floor.

There’s so much he tried to forget, it makes him question what he does remember. The incidents when he was in middle school he could pass off as dreams, as they always happened in bed. But there was one night when he was fifteen…

He’s the lucky one and not been dragged off to a work function with father (he and Apollo have both learned to feign disappointment if they’re not chosen, so their father will continue to see it as a means of pitting them against each other to choose them at random). He’s spent it watching as many horror movies as he could, drinking from his hidden stash of Capri Suns as rain pelted the windows and wind battered the trees.

His father called around eight to say the road back to the house had washed out and he and Apollo would be staying at a friends house in town. Indrid couldn’t believe his luck. He stays on the couch through the midnight movie double feature, puzzled as to how his popcorn keeps running out when he’s not eating that much.

When he turns off the T.V, the dark screen reveals the answer. A dark, ursine snout and glowing, green eyes peer over the couch behind him, then disappear. As he hurriedly turns and pokes his head over the couch. There’s nothing there.

But from the shadows beneath it he hears, “Didn’t think that one with the bunnies was all that scary.”

Indrid smiles, glad he’ll have someone to talk to about it with “Me neither.”

His therapist had said Duck, as the monster was called, made sense as a coping mechanism. A confidant when he had none, a defender he could call upon should he need it. And in the A Boy and His Monster series, his hero does just that. He’s learned it’s best to agree with this idea, and not think about the few times he’d been huddled under the covers and paw had pet his side, Duck telling him he was sorry. Agreeing with him that it wasn’t fair. Or how, when he passes an abandoned house or a particularly unsettling closet, he still expects to hear his monster's voice.

—--------------------------------------------------

“How do I know you won’t eat me?” Elliot crosses his arms and keeps his feet firmly tucked beneath him on the bed.

Goose shrugs, his bearish face and komodo dragon body less threatening by the moment, “Monsters don’t eat people. We eat feelings.”

“That’s what my mom calls it when she eats cake when she’s had a bad day.”

“That’s eating her feelings. I only eat feelings that come from someone else.”

Duck snorts and uses the tip of his claw to turn the page; Indrid’s been out of the house most of the day for the last four days dealing with his father’s estate, returning in the evenings to eat, haul unwanted furniture out the door, and bicker with his twin over the phone. They seem to get on better these days, and Indrid radiates exasperation rather than anger or fear while talking with him.

Indrid being gone allows Duck time to pad about the house and see how he’s making the space his own. It also lets him read the books that made Indrid Cold a big name in horror. Duck had overheard people reading the Boy and Monster books aloud, usually to scare their little siblings, and always suspected it was based on him and Indrid. He can’t blame him for giving Duck the wrong appearance; it’s not like he ever saw Duck’s whole body. But “eating emotions” makes it sound like he subsists on happiness and rainbows.

As he closes the book, trading it on the shelf for The Woodsman, one of Indrid’s adult novels, he decides it’s high time for the monster to pay his boy a visit.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Any tedious article about Indrid includes a description of his vivid imagination and awe at his ability to come up with creative horrors that rival the likes of Clive Barker. These same articles seldom mention that a mind like his comes with downsides. Especially when it’s a dark and stormy night and his power has just gone out.

Lightning cuts the windows as he moves from the living room to the hallway as easily as a ghost. The power has always been unreliable here, and he suspects the stash of candles will still be in the kitchen. If not, he can always fetch his flashlight from upstairs.

The candles are right where he expected them, wicks dusty but usable. It’s as he’s lighting the first one that there’s the unmistakable creak of footsteps on the top stair. He cocks his head, wishing the wind would die down enough for him to hear it more clearly.

Another step, then a third, the wood groaning as it supports the encroaching terror. He races through the possibilities: A crazed fan? No, contrary to Misery he finds his fans to be rather respectful and calm. A robber? Possibly, as he does get recognized and someone might assume a wealthy author has possessions worth stealing.

A howl of wind, rattling the house from weathervane to foundation. This house borders deep, thick woods, with hills beyond with plenty of space for creatures to hide. Creatures that can make a meal out a lonely human in an even lonelier house.

Bright, white light cracks the darkness outside, and from his position in the kitchen he watches it throw a monstrous shadow onto the wall by the stairs.

He jams the candle into its holder, takes a deep breath, and steps into the hall, holding the little flame aloft.

The monster takes up the entire width of the stairs, and it’s gleaming black claws are already on the second to last step. It’s razor-backed; short, coppery spines sticking out of its black fur. Tusks the size of his thumb poke out from its mouth as it grins at him. Scales on his arms reflect the light back at Indrid, In the darkness at the top of the stairs, a mussed tail with green feathers on the end flicks menacingly. Its face has a mask of paler color around the eyes. Green, glowing eyes.

One paw rises, holding up House of A Thousand Eyes

“You know, slim, I really oughta get a cut.”

“Duck?”

“Yep” The monster finishes descending the stairs, sniffing the air, “huh, that scared you.”

“Yes, because I didn’t think you’d still be living here.” He blows out the candle as the lights come back on, “At least you got a snack out my brush with cardiac arrest.”

“Aww, c’mon, you weren’t scared of me as a kid. Can’t be any scarier now than I was then.” Duck follows him into the kitchen, barely squeezing through the door.

“You are considerably larger now. And we both know you weren’t the scariest thing in this house back then.” He turns and fights down a smile; formidable as he is, Duck looks rather awkward standing in the muted yellow kitchen with its ugly, spartan white furniture Indrid has yet to re-paint.

“Why’d you come back, ‘Drid?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Felt the energy change and decided to stop by. See how you were doing.” Duck sits on the floor, rests his paws on the kitchen table, “seems to me you coulda handled sellin’ the house without coming back.”

Indrid sits in the chair across from him, “I could have. But I’ve been wanting to move out of the city for awhile, and many of my friends are still in this area. And I…I suppose I wanted to take it back from him. The house, I mean. There were so many things I loved about it and I’m not ready to lose them to him a second time.”

“Does explain why you moved into the turret bedroom.”

“Exactly! He put a study in there and never used it and made Apollo and I cram into glorified broom closets! What?” He frowns as Duck smiles at him.

“Just glad to see you still got some fire in you. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you get back to makin’ dinner.”

As he stands Indrid blurts out, “Will I see you again? Or were you just stopping by to say hello?”

“I, uh, I hadn’t not, uh, decided, fuck. Uh.” Duck clears his throat, “If you don’t mind me stoppin’ by more, I will.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Duck grins with his sharp rows of teeth, “See you around, ‘Drid.”

As slow, padding footsteps retreat, Indrid finds himself smiling back.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Wind shakes the chandelier in the living room. The crystal rattles a second time as Duck sneezes, his short ears wiggling as he finishes with an, “excuse me.”

In spite of the breeze carrying pollen and dust from the valley below, closing the windows is the only way to keep them from choking on the smell of fresh paint. Indrid was determined to get the last of his fathers gloomy touches from his house, which resulted in two full days of painting the rooms emerald greens and desert-rock reds, of splashing blue accents or white patterns across walls and doors.

Duck’s help has been invaluable; he can reach ceilings and high corners, and he’s decent enough at household repairs that the railing on the back porch is stable once again and the doors all sit right on their hinges.

But really, Duck’s been invaluable ever since they reunited. His “now and then” visits went from every few days to daily in a matter of weeks, and at this point he doesn’t knock on the closet door to announce himself; Indrid will just step onto the porch to find a dark-furred boulder sunning itself, or scoot over on the couch as claws click on the hardwood when he turns on the T.V.

He’d daydreamed about Duck following him around when he was young, and it turns out his teenage self was right about how nice it is.

Duck uses his claw to uncap a hard cider, his bulk functionally making a cushion out of the old easy chair in the living room, “Why’d you change how I feed in the books?”

“Because my editor said the monster feeding on fear was too intense.” He raises a teasing eyebrow, “are you going to start going through my books and circling everything I got wrong?”

“Nah. Was just curious. Besides, it ain’t like I told you much about my world.”

“I never thought to ask. At the time it seemed far more important to learn about you.”

The scales on Duck’s arm shift from copper to deep green, “Feels like I oughta admit I ain’t that interesting by monster standards. All I do is work as an arborist and build model ships. And, uh, see you, of course.”

“You’re as fascinating now as you were then, and I won’t hear a word otherwise.” Indrid smirks as Duck gives a bashful huff, “Now, please find us something to watch while I go order pizza. And yes, I will get one with anchovies.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust.

“This from the fella who likes pineapple on his.”

“Hush, monstrous one, and tell me what we should get for dessert.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid lays in corpse pose, breathing deeply. A scent drifts past him, conjuring images of a hollowed out, fallen log in a wet forest, earthy and dark.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He murmurs.

“N-yeah, uh, I wasn’t watchin’, I don’t even have, uh, eyes?” A sigh, “it’s just wild to me that twisting yourself up like that calms you down. Makes me stressed just watching it.”

“I find it helps me remember I’m in my body when I start to drift off for too long. I do love my work, but sometimes…” He sits up, finds Duck sitting in a close approximation of cross-legged at the foot of his mat, “sometimes I wander too far and end up in the past.”

“This got anything to do with the funeral bein’ yesterday?”

“Some. Apollo and I seldom agree, but we seemed to both arrive at the conclusion that it wasn’t worth correcting anyone when they said nonsense like ‘he took such good care of you boys.”

Duck snorts and leans forward, creeping his body across the mat to rest his head in Indrid’s lap.

“Agreed. That man only ever did one good thing for me in his entire life and that was move here. Without that, I’d never have met you.”

“I did turn out to be a hell of a meal ticket.” Duck says without a trace of malice.

“That’s true, but not what I meant. I’m glad we became friends. And I’m glad I came back, if only so you could find me again.”

Duck turns his head to the side, looking up at Indrid tenderly, “Me too, slim. Me too.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Indrid spends his entire Monday in bed, Duck doesn’t worry. The human works hard, and he mentioned he might be coming down with a cold, so burrowing under his blankets makes sense. Duck tells him to take it easy, and says he’ll be back once he’s done seeing his sister and his nephews.

It’s when he comes back two days later and finds Indrid—still in bed–wearing the exact same clothes with dirty plates and wrappers on the floor that his own fear creeps up his throat.

“You doin’ okay, slim?”

Indrid shrugs.

Duck tamps down the hurt that Indrid doesn’t seem to care that he’s back and continues, “When was the last time you got clean?”

“Few days ago.”

“Seems to me you’re overdue then. Howsabout I run you a bath?”

Indrid manages a nod and Duck plods over to the bathroom and turns the taps on the crow-footed tub. He adds in some citrusy soak and returns to find Indrid in the exact same position he left him.

“You, uh, you need help getting there?”

“No…” Indrid sits up as if he’s moving through syrup and makes his way towards the bathroom. The door closes, and when Duck hears the taps shut off and the splash of Indrid sinking in, he shoves all the trash into an overflowing bin and carts the dirty dishes downstairs. Going by the trash, Indrid’s been eating a lot of boxed mac and cheese, so that seems the safest bet for dinner.

Thanks to accidentally piercing not one, but two boxes with his claws and getting cheese powder all over his fur, it takes him longer than planned to make dinner. He lumps the neon orange pasta into a bowl and carries it back to the bedroom, setting it on the bed before knocking on the bathroom door.

“‘Drid? I made us some grub.” He waits a moment, and when no reply comes he eases open the door.

Indrid sits in the tub, staring in the direction of the window but not looking out it. Duck recalls the flat expression from when they were younger, but it seems so much worse now.

“Want me to get you a towel?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Please.” Indrid’s detached tone carries into his movements, and climbs from the tub, seemingly uncaring of the fact he’s giving Duck an eyeful. Duck wishes he could appreciate it, but any desire he feels for those long legs and angular face is crushed under his worry.

Indrid eats mechanically. The only thing that keeps Duck from panicking is that, as he’s clearing the dishes, Indrid touches his wrist.

“This happens sometimes. I ride it out. You don’t need to worry about it.”

The statement calms his fears for a day. But then another day passes, and another, and another, and then it’s been a full week and Indrid has barely left bed, will read or watch videos without his expression shifting in the slightest, seeming so far removed from his usual self that Duck worries he’ll never come back.

Duck should have snuck off to feed three days ago. But he can’t bring himself to leave Indrid, even for an hour. When you feast on fear, now and then you come across someone whose fear that things will never be better, that they will never be better, have become too much.

(Sometimes you stand in an apartment, a human passed out at your feet, raising Cain until the neighbors barge in and find her and you see her a week later alive).

If the choice is starve or lose Indrid, his stomach can fuss all it likes.

Tonight, it rumbles so loud Indrid actually rolls over and looks at him.

“Have you eaten?”

Duck shakes his head and explains why.

“Can you feed from what fear is left in the house?”

“Nope. Because there ain’t any left. The downstairs tastes like hope and the landing tastes like happiness and I can’t eat those. In here is all steeped in sadness and I can’t eat that either.”

“I’m sorry.” Indrid whispers. Then an idea flickers across his face, “what if I watched some horror movies? I, I don’t have a lot of feeling in my right now, of any kind, but if nothing else a scary movie will distract me from how flat I feel and generate enough fear for you to eat.”

“Worth a shot. C’mon, let’s go be couch potatoes instead of, uh, bed potatoes?”

Duck builds a nest of blankets while Indrid queues up several of the “scariest movies ever made.”

Halfway through Martyrs, Indrid is showing little reaction, screams blare from the sound system, and Duck is regretting this plan. A third of the way through Terrifier, Duck’s whole face is hidden behind a pillow and he’s feeling kind of ill.

The screen mercifully goes black and Indrid sighs, “I don’t think it’s working. Are you getting any fear from me?”

“Couple of jumpscares gave me a little, but that’s about it.”

“I hate this.” Indrid tucks his knees to his chest, “I hate this, Duck. And I hate myself for the fact I could just promise you I’d be alright for an hour so you could eat, but I don’t want to, I don’t want to be alone, I can’t be alone. I want to cry or scream or laugh or do something and it’s like it’s all just out of reach. I don’t want to be unfeeling. Not like him. Never like him.” Indrid presses his forehead to his knees and Duck racks his brain for some way to fix this, to make up for all the times he wished he could help Indrid but didn’t know how.

He catches sight of himself in the window, his claws worrying his scales. He’s at a loss for how to help Indrid as a friend. But he might know how to help him as a monster.

“‘Drid? I got an idea. But” he gingerly reaches out, cupping his human’s face so their eyes meet, “before we do it, I need you to hear me when I say I will never, ever, ever actually hurt you. No matter what happens, can you remember that?”

Indrid rests his hands atop Duck’s, “I’ve never forgotten it.”

—------------------------------------------------------

A storm rolls from the ocean up into the hills at nightfall, wrapping around the house as Indrid lays in bed and wonders what Duck is planning. This is an improvement from hating himself or feeling so blank he’s certain he’s not really a person.

His monster had told him it would take him a few hours to figure out just how to execute his plan, but that he’d never leave the house and Indrid should holler if he needed him. And that if he had to, yelling the word “red” would stop the plan.

The lamp in the corner snaps to black and he groans.

“Duck? Could you see if that’s the breaker box or if we’re completely without power?”

There’s no reply. He mutters to himself and stands, searching for flashlights that don’t appear. And where the hell are his glasses?

Never mind. The sooner he does this, the sooner he can get back in bed.

The house is a blurry box of darkness as he steps into the hallway. Then the hall closet flies open and claw grabs his shoulder, trying to tug him into the space. It must be Duck, it has to be Duck.

“I, I spent plenty of time in the closet, I don’t need any more.” He tries to shrug off the hand and finds he can’t.

“Don’t care.” The growl is rougher than he’s ever heard it, “I’m hungry, slim.” Rows of teeth show in the darkness, the grip on his arm loosening so he can pull free right before they snap at him. He wants to pause and figure out the game, but the animal part of his brain has awoken violently and has no desire to stay near a lumber beast with hundreds of sharp teeth.

He bolts for the stairs, running down them as Duck’s laugh rumbles behind him.

“Cute how you think you can run. House is mine as much as it is yours.”

Indrid’s hand finds the handle of the front door. It’s unlocked. But it won’t open.

“You never did ask what powers I got.” Duck is on the landing, scales glowing a slimy green and smile wide, “bet you’re wishin’ you’d been a bit more thoughtful.”

“I, I am thoughtful!” He runs for the back door and discovers the same situation, “we’re friends.”

“Nah” growls a voice from the pantry, “we may be friends, but one of us is a skinny little human–don’t bother tryin’ the windows, they’re all locked–and the other…”

Duck bursts from the pantry, backing Indrid against the wall, “is a goddamn apex predator who’s gone too fuckin long without dinner.”

Indrid dives under Duck’s arm, heart booming in his chest, yelling as he runs, “I said I was sorry!”

“Sorry ain’t gonna cut it.” Duck snaps, charging after him. Indrid braces to be hit, but the monster is gone, leaving only a laugh in his place.

“Oh you’re cute when you’re scared.”

There’s no point in denying it, Duck can taste the truth.

“Yesyes, I’m very scared, which means you shouldn’t be hungry now.”

“Ain’t as hungry now, no. But this whole mess has got me thinkin’” the voice sneaks from under the floorboards, “I ain’t been taking advantage of the situation.”

“What situation?” If he stays right here, in the first floor hallway by the stairs. Duck won’t be able to get to him without Indrid seeing him coming. There’s no furniture, no beds, no closets.

Wait.

There’s a closet under the stairs.

One moment his feet are on the floor, the next they’re kicking helplessly in the air as Duck, on two legs, lifts him up. Pleasure sneaks beneath the adrenaline at how easy Duck handles him, how Indrid can see the muscles flexed beneath the fur.

“See, I’m thinkin we oughta have a new arrangement; I keep living here and keepin’ an eye on you. And you” the clawed hand circles his throat, “are my dinner, every. Goddamn. Day.”

“I have to be, be scared for that” he gasps, scratching at a scaled arm.

A blood-chilling grin, “You think I can’t find new ways to scare you? Lookit me, slim. I can do things to you that horror writer mind ain’t ever imagined.” Indrid jerks forward, Duck bringing them nose to nose, “you are mine, Indrid. I’m gonna do whatever I want to you, good use you whenever I need you, and you are gonna spend your life locked in this house because I ain’t ever lettin’ you free.”

Any fear, any pleasure he felt dies at those words. Panic slithers up his chest and he sobs, the horrible, ragged kind that feels like it will never stop.

“Indrid? Oh, oh fuck, or ‘Drid I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” Duck’s hold changes instantly, and cradles Indrid against his warm, fuzzy chest, his scales the pale, comforting color of glow-in-the dark stars “fuck, I shoulda thought about that, how he always talked about how he’d never let you leave”

Indrid wants to say it’s okay, that he doesn’t blame Duck for not remembering. All that comes out is another, harder sob.

“Shhh, hey, I got you. I got you.” The soft pad of his palm rubs along Indrid’s back, “Lemme, lemme get you-” there’s a whiff and then a tissue presses into his hand, “let’s get you some water, everything’ I read said snacks help.”

“You read?” Indrid manages between hiccups.

“I, uh, I was readin’ up on BDSM. It ain’t like there’s a guide to how to scare humans in a fun way so it seemed like the closest thing.” Duck opens the fridge, reaching for a Capri Sun. Indrid spots their reflections in the kitchen window, Duck carrying him like a thrift store teddy bear he has no intention of letting be discarded again.

He laughs, quietly at first, then bubbling up so forcefully he’s shaking them both. Duck carefully lowers him to the ground, clutching the juice to his chest as he murmurs, “You okay there?”

“Yes, yes I think I am. I certainly feel much more human than I did a half hour ago. And I…I realized something important.” He looks up into green eyes, “I love you, Duck. I think I may have loved you for a long time.”

Duck tilts his snout forward, allowing Indrid to raise onto his toes and kiss it, “I love you too, ‘Drid.”

“Shall we turn the lights back on?”

“Uh, that wasn’t part of my plan. Powers out to the whole area.”

“In that case, I request you bear me to the living room and make me a fire.”

Duck lifts him into a bridal carry with a pleased snort, “You got it.”

Once the fire is going, Duck pulls into Indrid his lap, insisting on feeding him bits of strawberry PopTarts as Indrid gradually feels more and more like his normal self. The depressive episode is still lingering, and he knows it won’t go away that easily, but it’s as if he’s purged a great deal of it from his system.

Duck is so attentive that Indrid’s cock begins to take notice, something he wishes it would do when the monster wasn’t close enough to see him tenting his yoga pants.

“Well now, what have we here?” Duck wipes the crumbs on the rug, then trails a claw up Indrid’s leg.

“We have a situation in which I am both very turned on by the fact that you could so easily pursue and subdue me and also by having such a magnificent creature doting on me like this.” Indrid looks up through his lashes, “I don’t suppose my monster has had such thoughts about me?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck rests his chin on Indrid’s shoulder, “figured you’d rather have a human fella so I never said anything. But, uh, seems I was wrong.” A large paw cups Indrid through his pants, “y’know, back when we were teens, used to get so fuckin turned on by those, uh, those mothman pajama pants you had.”

Indrid laughs, petting his hand along Duck’s back. The spines on them aren’t sharp, and feel more like polished wood beneath the soft dusting of fur. As he rubs them Duck makes a pleased click-growl.

“I’m serious, I had this whole damn fantasy about just, just holdin you down and humpin you through ‘em, so they’d feel soft on my dick and you’d cum on the bed and go all melty.”

Indrid kisses his cheek, “these pants are even softer than those were.”

“Seems they are.” Duck carefully turns Indrid to be facing away from him, then slowly grinds against his ass, the click-purrs growing louder with each roll of his hips. He nuzzles and nips Indrid’s neck and Indrid sighs, relaxing against him as one claw runs up and down his cock.

“Spread your legs for me a sec, darlin. There we go. Close ‘em for me?”

Indrid obeys and looks down. The cock between his thighs his a thick head tapering to a thinner base, with ridges swirling up the sides. The head is dotted with small, short nodes that wriggle as a pearly fluid drips from the center.

“Ooooh! Oh I’d very much like to suck that later.”

“You got it darlin. But right now.” Duck cups his cock in his palm, the movement of his hips causing Indrid to grind against it, “let’s see just how cute you look when you cum.”

“I’m not that close ye-AH, ohgod” Indrid gasps as Duck scrapes his tusks down his shoulder.

“Y’know, my kind mark their mates with these. You someone all scratched up here, you know they’re spoken for.”

“Yes, yesyes.”

“You’re mine, ‘Drid. But not because you’re stuck; because I love you so goddamn much and I, I wanna make, wanna make-” he cuts off with a growl as his hips pump harder and the nodes begin turning to tentacles, “make you feel so fucking good, oh fuck, fuck darlin if your thighs are this good your ass is gonna be even better.”

Indrid moans and wiggles in his arms, cumming with a little squeak; he’s too tired for it to be intense, but it’s bliss all the same, and as he melts against his monster there’s a loud grunt and then cum is spreading down his thighs.

“Guess I’ll need another bath.” He murmurs.

“Uh huh.”

“But this time I’d better have company.” Indrid kisses a scaly arm.

Duck kisses him gently, “You got it. You know I never mind staying by your side.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #duck x indrid #monster march #monster in the closet #terato #human/monster romance #monster boyfriend

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