AGNPH Stories

Rara Avis by Arcane_Reno


Author's Chapter Notes:

Posted on behalf of, and at the request of, Brn.Quil. This story is written by him. 


File Name: Rara Avis
Owner: BRN.Quil
File Location: 
File Type: Story, Adult, M/M C/H Oral
Caption Text: Support us on Patreon for special art, stories, and more!
Inspired by Dark Violet. Not safe for children; choking hazard.

Rara Avis

|||Rara Avis|||
Seven hours into a two-hour ‘cheese raclette’ get-together, and somehow the beer and wine just kept on appearing from the depths of whatever godlike pantry Esther had. The old girl was truely a stunning lady; silver hair wired down her creased face in wirey fornication with her ears, and yet behind her crisp, aged fringe lay bright blue eyes that sparkled with brilliant humor. The old lady was hardly attractive -- old ladies rarely ever were -- but at the least, Esther was a dignified presence at any table. Sharp wit, intelligent retorts and other blistering verbal strikes all seemed to hang decoratively atop an unstoppable charm, and a glibness that oiled every conversation.
At least, Alejandro had used to have that impression of his elderly neighbour; now that he was seven hours into a two-hour ‘cheese raclette’ get-together, the deep red wine was flowing so fast from bottles to glasses that it could only have been trying to keep up with the conversation, which itself had grown as colored as the tinge of rose colouring everyone’s cheeks. The five guests sat around a table which had collapsed into complete disarray - at some point, the raclette had fallen from its gasburner stand and knocked a bottle of wine over. That had been at least two hours ago, and even as the wine gulped freedom from the neck of the bottle and spread across the tablecloth to wage war with the stains of molten gorgonzola and chorizo oil, the only reaction had been a resounding ‘mazel tov!’.
Small wonder that he was grinning from ear to ear. Esther was proving herself to be a fucking fantastic host, once again.
“So the little ‘trike now had her wedding dress, and our dear bride was spinning in circles to keep up with it, you see-” Esther continued, her wine glass held pointlessly high above the table and jerking with every word. A thick globule of wine fell from her waving arms, and a familiar creature yelped; everyone laughed as her growlithe dashed from the dining room out into the hallway, carrying a new splotch of bright red fur atop her back.
“Good aim!”, commented the large man across the table as the laughter died, earning a spank across the shoulder from the smaller lady seated beside him.
“Oh, and you’ve never spilt something a little valuable where it shouldn’t go… ‘Michael Bezzler’, was it-”
“Hm,” he replied, grinning as he leaned back, patting his huge belly. “That investigation was dropped, you know.”
“And I’ll suppose you paid for that, too.”
“I never-”
“Excellent suggestion!”, called out Tom, standing up suddenly enough to knock his chair over, and launching Alejandro’s hand from Tom’s knee. The chair careened backwards, falling with a clatter; the thin, blonde-haired man looked sheepish as he stared back at it, before slamming his spare hand into the table. Cutlery rattled. The fallen wine bottle rolled, clinking into the full one beside it.
“I never played a terrible dinner game like this, with amazing wine.”
The fat man’s mouth hung open.
His wife smiled a strained smile.
Esther blinked a single blink.
A clock ticked.
“Ayyy,” hissed Alejandro, before raising his beer, and taking a long, slow sip. Tom grinned down beside him, mouthing a ‘Thanks, Al.’
Now it was the crowd’s turned to stare at Alejandro. Even the growlithe had returned to the diningroom doorway with an accusatory stare, red eyes shimmering.
“Hey,” he nodded to the sad, red growlithe. “At least I never got a dog wet.”
Tom was in the process of picking up his chair again as he said this, but stopped long enough to raise his wine flute. “Ayyy,” he hissed. Then, Esther laughed.
“Ayyy,” she joined in, smiling, before downing the last mouthful of her own flute, and pouring herself a fresh one. “Well, I never… visited Kanto?”
The large man’s wife, Alejandro, and Tom, all called out. Voices clamored and rose around the table as Tom sat down again, the game rolling around the table; soon, Esther was procuring yet more wine, pulling out several bottles of a thick dessert white.
“I never worked in a Poké Mart.” (“Ayyy.” “Ayyy?” “Ayyy!”)
“I never tried a poffin.” (“What? Uh, ayyy!” “Ayyy, yeah, pretty good. “Ayyy.” “Ayyy.”)
“I never taught a chatot to swear, eh, Alex-” (“Fuck’s sake, ayyy…”)
“I never got stopped for speeding, but charged with public indecency, eh Tom-” (“Oh, c’mon! Ayyy…”)
“Bloody hell. I never ate magikarp?” (“Ayyy, a fine dish.” “Ayyy!”)
“I never visited a sex shop.” (“Ayyy.” “Ayyy.” “Oh, you too- Ayyy.” “Esther?!”)
“I never sexed a Pokémon.” (“Ayyy!” “Ayyy…”)
“I never had sex with a Pokémon,” tried Tom.
Esther snorted into her wine as Tom made this most recent one. The fat man bristled, and his wife smiled silently. Perhaps if Alejandro had drunk a little less, he might’ve held back.
“Fuck it. Ayyy.”
“Yeah. It was a weird night, like-”
“You’re serious?”
The fat man’s wife’s smile faltered as everybody seemed to search for words, but she was the first to find them.
“You know that’s, like, illegal, right?”
“Well,” Alejandro said. “It wasn’t there and then. I was in Johto, it was different times.”
“Hold up,” said the fat man. “It only recently got its own, additional law, yes. But it’s always been illegal; just filed under Trainer Abuses.”
“Well, I.. actually wasn’t the creature’s trainer-”
“You slept with a wild Pokémon, Alex?” Esther, this time. Her eyes shimmered with humour.
“No! It wasn’t like that! Just... ah, forget it, I-”
The fat man’s wife spoke up once again. “You could probably get charged with rape, you know. They can’t consent; everyone knows that. What were you thinking?!”
“I don’t know about that,” said Tom. “Just think of all those lucarios, and Psychic-types, and other Pokémon who can clearly communicate.”
“Hm, you don’t say. I’ve always been a bit wary of those Trainers who keep gardevoir as primes,” hummed the fat man. “It’s eerie.”
“I still don’t believe anyone would sleep with a Pokémon,” huffed his wife. “It’s just… weird.”
“Eh, it really wasn’t-” Alejandro tried.
“Augh, just… please, don’t. They all just hump by instinct anyway, or to have kids.”
Tom once again. “I don’t think that’s true, right? If they’re smart enough to know the link between sex and eggs, it’s not instinct, it’s a decision.”
“Well, maybe-”
“And if they’re not smart enough to make that link, then… well, it just follows that they can’t know where eggs come from, so it’s all fucking for pleasure. That’s why you get things like Esther pulling her growlithe off her leg--”
“That’s quite enough, Tom,” laughed Esther. “I can’t believe we’re talking about literally ‘screwing the pooch’... I think you all need more wine. And we need a different game, too.”

Even the dim, dying LEDs stood out against the cheap screen of Alejandro’s watch in this place. There was more noise, more clamour, more bodies than last night at Esther’s place; the small bar was animated with the twisting bodies of shifting service staff, endlessly managing to avoid the gazes of dozens of patrons. Above the bar, even the TV was glaring; shouting its static-laced nonsense of popular news through a snowing screen that jittered with the image of some comedian or another…
Who cared? It took a place just like this, so relentlessly busy, to feel anonymous. Alejandro took a long sip of the honey liquor, the briefly overpowering heat of the cheap whiskey sending every other overwhelmed sense to rest for a moment.
The bar was painted with a sombre mauve hue; the lights were shitty and fluorescent. Noises, regional accents, meaningless words tumbled around each other from a half-dozen tables, but all of it was somewhere behind him, a million lightyears away.
Tick, tock. 19:15.
Another sip: fucking hell, Tom. Hurry up.
The clear bottom of the highball clacked with a plastic thud against the vinyl bartop as Alejandro wiped his mouth against his sleeve,
Finally, his Gear hummed in his pocket. Drawing it out quickly, Alejandro grinned as the screen lit up; the new message scrolled through the notification bar; the age-old marquee displaying each word in sequence.
Sorry so late! Taxis pulling up. 1 min Xx T
Alejandro waved down the barman, ordering a new pair of drinks to pass the precious seconds before swivelling on his barstool, smiling broadly at the door. When Tom’s thin body and blonde visage finally tumbled through the heavy entrance, coat sparkling in the dank lights with specks of rain, somehow that grin just grew wider.
The noise of the world suddenly meant a whole lot less.
He signalled, and Tom drew his wiry self across the floor, slipping into the seat beside Alejandro, just as a pair of berry ciders appeared before them.
“Put it on my tab, thanks -- heya, Tom!”
“Fuck me, babe. Work was awful. Sorry for being so late, traffic was-”
“S’alright. I’m used to it. You can’t organise shit.”
“Oi.” Tom grinned, reaching for the bottle. He closed his eyes, taking several deep gulps, downing half the glass before finally breaking his lips away from the cold glass. “Ahh…”
Alejandro raised an eyebrow. “Thirsty?”
“Nah. Work was just that bad. Sod you though, how many have you already had?”
“Pft, only two... Wait, three. Shit.”
The pair began talking, swapping the day’s stories. Tom’s retail work left him with many stories of nightmare customers, and Alejandro dutifully plugged him for information, watching as the stress vented from Tom’s pallor and seeing the berry cider calm his nerves, as they laughed together about The Old Fat Woman, the Large Loud Man, and the many other denizens of the retail world. Happy moments passed, the pair laughed; conversation dulled in the bar, parties of others came and left. Finally, the two emptied their third bottles.
“Another?” Tom offered.
“Yeah, please.”
“God, you’ve been drinking all night. One cider almost cooks me. How do you keep it down?”
“Keep it down? I’m still handling the hangover from last night…”
“”Hah! Yeah, you were right about Esther, by the way. She might be old, but she’s a total riot!”
“I’m fairly sure she was in riots when she was younger.”
“Wouldn’t blame you for believing it. By the way, we’ve got to talk about that…”
Alejandro paused, tugging gently on the paper lable of his empty bottle. “Hm?”
“Last night,” Tom said. “You didn’t forget, did you?”
“No, I…”
“Listen, how long have we been dating, now?”
Alejandro paused. “Two years, three months. And a week, give or take.”
“That’s… um, precise. Yeah. That long.” Tom grinned. “How come you’d never told me that you had-”
“Because,” Alejandro interrupted. “I didn’t want you to think bad of me.”
“Think bad of you?” Tom leaned in. “When I was a kid... shh. When I was a kid… we had an electrike. Darling thing. Super cute. Super smart. Me and her were best friends. And every year, from when I was eight to when I was thirteen, we’d experiment together.”
Tom swallowed, looking around conspiratorially. His sentences grew faster, shorter, jumbling together in hushed excitement.
“It started when I’d touch her here. She’d lick me there. We’d nuzzle, cuddle, spend the night in the same bed. I’d stroke her chest and she’d pawpad my body. Nibbles, licks, a little electricity, even. And when I was older, with puberty and libido on its way? I was so ready to try things… then my brother moved out, and took her with him. I got a dumb girlfriend who wasn’t half as exciting, life moved on, but I’ve always, always wanted to know... Come on, man. Don’t hide this from me.”
Tom was breathless, heat flourishing in his cheeks. His gaze were wide, staring, bouncing from Alejandro’s left eye to the right.
“Wow,” Alejandro breathed. “Okay, okay. Calm down… It’s not that I didn’t trust you. The reason I don’t talk about it, is because the whole thing happened when I was being arrested.”
“Wait, what?” Tom leaned back. “You got arrested after… you-know-what?”
“No, no, it wasn’t like that…” Alejandro sighed. “Come on. If you’re really interested in hearing me out, can we at least get a more private table? Why do you like this bar, anyway?”
“I grew up here, man. Cheapest drinks around.”
“They’re probably watered down, anyway.”
“Still cheap, though...”
“Listen; earlier on, I wasn’t lying. Yeah, I’ve slept with a Pokémon. It happened in Johto, seven years ago. I didn’t get arrested for it -- I meant that it happened when I was being arrested. It’s probably the best ‘get-out-of-a-ticket’ story anyone has ever had.
What do you know of Burned Tower? Nah, Ho-Oh lives in the other one. So it’s summer in Johto, Ecruteak City, seven years ago. It’s a windy night, and at dawn, the machines were going to come in to fell Burned Tower’s upper levels for -- I dunno, public safety? Anyway, I was young, and I couldn’t stand for it. And that’s where it begun, really…”
The bright LEDs of his watch shone fiercely through the screen, lighting up the borders of the cubby-hole at the edge of the building. Ash stained most of his clothes, and Alex found himself wishing that he’d been able to find another entry to the upper floors without dragging himself against the tower’s charcoal walls -- but Burned Tower, in its immolated opulence, refused to give up its secrets easily, and lived up to its name. Firedust lingered on every surface at these lower levels, making the climb so far a frustrating adventure.
He grunted, leaning out from the edge of the indentation in which he was resting. Two stories was a long way to fall already, and even though he only had limited rope, it was starting to look like a good idea to fix his first support line here. Even though it was fire-damaged, the wood here was solid and thick, and the load-bearing framework of the building was obvious through the Eastern construction of the tall twin shrines.
He’d hoped to start affixing lines a little later than this: shoving more supports into a building meant more evidence, more noise, and a tougher climb down to collect all the materials up again. Still, he sighed; attracting attention would have to happen sooner rather than later. His backpack lay open by his feet already, where he’d pillaged his own food supplies.
Now he reached back in, tugging free a light hammer, a spike, and a lightweight karabiner.
Clank! Clank!
The metal crashes of the hammer slamming into the spike-tip were loud enough to wake the dead, and with slam after slam, the spike began to crunch deeper into the building’s wood, bursting through the noise with splintering crunches of cracking wood. A light flicked on in a nearby house, and Alex cursed inwardly.
Well, shit. The attention was inevitable, anyway. He’d just hoped to get a little higher up before attracting it.
“Hey! What the fuck! Get down from there-”
Alex turned away, hiding the sight of his face as he pulled free a length of rope from the backpack and began tying a swift loop around his chest harness’ karabiner. More voices shouted and yelled. A bright light flicked over his position, lighting up the side of Burned Tower as he guided the remainder of his rope through the support created by the spike he’d slammed into place, and Alex leaned out into empty space, shrugging his backpack over his shoulders as the rope took the weight onto the harness at his hips.
The clamour of the awakening public pulsed with anger, shock, surprise. It sounded like at least a dozen voices had piled together to watch him climb.
Alex started the labouring process of hoisting himself up against the side of Burned Tower. Its wood provided plenty of handholds; fire damage to the sleek paneling walls was much more obvious than in the heavy wooden framework that surrounded each storey, making the climb surprisingly easy to manage. Handhold to handhold, footrest to footrest; Alex strained upwards with each reposition, swiftly rising as lights continued to flicker up and down the building, tracing his progress. Some were just sweeping flashlights, but some lights flashed the tell-tale double-flash of camera bulbs; with each of those, Alex grinned.
Perfect -- a little publicity.
It wasn’t long before sirens wailed in the distance, and the sweeping lights of personal flashlights became the spiralling red and blue parade of police attention. Alex looked up: halfway there.
“And that’s when the cocky bastard landed. I remember that moment well; I’d just managed to crest onto the fourth storey of the tower, reaching over the broad bulwark to grab at a nice handhold when - ‘crunch’!
A pair of vicious talons screamed out of the night sky, and I swear to god you’d never see that bird until it wanted you to see it. I didn’t even hear it approach - either it reached me too quickly to be heard, or pidgeot’s the stealthiest rainbow ever to fly.
Anyway, important point here: I’m straining upwards to reach the best handhold available to me to reach the fourth storey, and a pair of raking talons slam on either side of my hand. Splinters showered my face; I freak the fuck out and drop my grip. I’m falling. My head grazes through the pidgeot’s tailfluke. The big bird does a hop, no sweat, no pausing-- and in the fractions of a second between me letting go of the wall when it collided with my handhold, and gravity taking hold to drag my heavy ass a whole lot closer to earth, I swear to god: it darts forwards, still holding itself in place on MY handhold, and grabs my coat’s collar in its beak.”
“No shitting me?”
“No shitting you. This fucking bird.”
Alex cried out as the wood crumbled under his grip; the solid handhold he’d been about to trust disintegrated with the crunch of talons while a heavy shadow swooped overhead. Gravity lurched as his weight took hold -- he was gonna fall; the rope would grab him, but he was gonna… oh, fuck --
A brutal display of speed; the talons danced, twisting around each other, blazing in a circle around his outstretched hand, and the shadow from above rushed forwards to swallow him whole. As soon as it had begun, the feeling of gravity disappeared, and Alex’s head slapped back against feathers and bone.
Against his better judgement, he looked down. The rope he was attached to hung slack, and his limbs dangled above darkness… fear, burgeoning in his gut, started to raise its creeping, freezing grip along Alex’s throat before the creature holding him in place twisted again, throwing him forwards-- and he barely had time to come to his senses before colliding with Burned Tower’s outside once again, clamoring for handholds as splinters raked his squeezing fingers.
“Climbing’s dangerous, boy! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Alex’s heart pounded with a brutal beat as he hyperventilated into the facade of the tower. His frozen fingers clutched sharp chunks of burned wood, and his legs shuddered.
“Oi! Look at me when I’m squawking to you, brat-”
Shaking his head, Alex’s gaze stabbed upwards, meeting a pair brilliant red eyes that glimmered with the reflection of the spiralling lights below. Red lights played over the bird’s body, distorting shadows and turning the predatory silhouette into a mess of shifting shapes; huge, dark wings fluttered in the night as the bird clung at an impossible angle to the edge of the building. Wood crunched as the bird shifted; Alex could only imagine what those fearsome talons were doing to the weakened walls of the building to keep the creature in place. It was spider-like, and the twin, glaring eyes staring down at him curved wickedly inwards to point at the sharpened blade of the bird’s beak.
But as a suite of gentle, blue lights played over the bird and revealed more details, something seemed softer. The bird loomed over him protectively, and the hook of its beak was carefully kept within range to grab him. Its wings fluttered, but most of all, the stunning plumage atop the bird’s head waved in the wind, falling back against the bird’s strained body; impressive streaks of pink and yellow obscured by the soft lights that stroked him.
“Pidgeot,” murmured Alex. “A talking pidgeot. I must be high.”
“Glad you can see, kid. Maybe use those eyes to find a proper handhold next time, yeah?”
Alex blinked. The pidgeot was still there.
He took a risk, settling his weight onto his legs - and slapped himself. The pidgeot was still there.
“What the fuck-”
“And that’s when it began. No matter how high I got, or how well I did, the bird just kept taunting me. The weather got worse, too.”
“It began raining?”
“Oh, god no. Not yet. It would rain later, but thankfully not while I was climbing. It’d probably be impossible to get to the top if the wood was wet; the ash on the walls would turn to soap. Still, the weather got pretty bad.”
“Put your back into it, kid!”
The gale winds rocked the tower as Alex pressed his weight into the wood, grimacing. The weather screeched through the few trees whose canopies reached this high; the sun had risen, warming the ground and hills surrounding Ecruteak City, bringing the high pressure systems that whipped above the distant earth.
“I said, put your back into it!”
“What does that even mean?! Help out or shut your beak!”
“Ask nicely!”
Alex screamed a frustrated yell, stretching upwards. His legs burned with the intense climb, and he ached for a break -- but there was no way he could stand to give this pestering bird the pleasure of seeing him weaken. Somehow the pidgeot was unflappable, climbing the tower by rending new holes into the weakened walls, staying in stride with Alex’s climb… and never once seeming to show any difficulty with the whipping winds.
Alex pulled, bringing his legs up to his most recent handhold. In frustration, he looked around - the lip of the roof of the tower was barely a yard above him now… but…
“Looking for the next handhold? You fucked up! This route goes nowhere!”
“I said -- “
“I heard what you squawked, feathers! Fuck!” Alex slammed his head into the wall in frustration, instantly regretting it as sparkling dots flew along his vision. “Couldn’t you have told me earlier?”
“It’s two handholds down. You need to go several steps left instead of further up.”
Alex hissed, as the dawn winds rushed the tower with frosted strokes. Straining down to backtrack, he followed the pidgeot’s advice; sure enough, handholds to the left traced the building to its summit. In the dawn light, missing them had been a costly, amateur mistake.
“Son of a…” He cursed, and reached for a new karabiner, lodging the metal hook deep into the burned wood. Frustration strengthened his blows as he hammered it into place, threading the rope through the life-saving hook before stretching out to start the new route. With pained, exhausted efforts, the lip of the roof came into reach; he grasped out, kicking with the last strength in his legs to lurch over the edge. The pidgeot landed in the middle of the roof, watching him carefully.
In the dawn light, the bird was impressive; gold and pink streaked through the pidgeot’s plume. The furious winds battered at the downy feathers of the bird’s chest but the predator’s wings and hawkish gaze didn’t waver in examining him back. Alex grinned, waving lazily to the bird; but the weight of half-a-dozen stories worth of rope hung from his hip, and he finally crawled along the roof, tying off the rope against a burned pillar of wood that stood proudly at the corner of the Tower’s summit.
“Fucking… made it, birdbrain.” Alex chuckled weakly. “Bet you didn’t think I could.”
“Great! You’re finally safe. And now, you’re under arrest. Police protection.”
The words hung heavily in the air. Alex sat up, open-mouthed - and slumped back against the wood corner-pillar. Radio static crackled, pumping some words out that Alex could barely hear; the bird tilted his beak, responding into some device at his wing-joint.
“Confirm suspect in custody, waiting until clear skies for remand, over-”
Alex simply stared. Something in his expression must’ve caught the bird’s eye, because the feathered fiend began explaining further.
“Officially, you’re under arrest. You’re just lucky I can’t move you from the building until this wind dies down, and that I’m no longer allowed to throw people off.”
“What the fuck-”
“Mike Three, Aerial Forces; Community Protection. Cool title, right?”
The bird lifted its left wing, revealing the harness strap that ran against the joint. Embedded onto the strap itself, the silver rectangle and insignia of the Johto Police glinted below the sizeable radio clasped to the shoulder.
“Nice to meet you, officer,” Alex mumbled, closing his eyes.
“You too, civvy. You have the right to remain silent, by the way.”
“Yeah, sod that. Two chevrons on your badge mean you’re just a Private, right?”
The pidgeot paused. “Non-commissioned officer, actually.” It seemed to struggle with the complicated pronunciation. “Nice of you to notice.”
Alex pulled his backpack from his shoulders, before slumping back once again in defeat. His eyes stayed closed a good, long while… before opening them as wind rocked the Burned Tower again. Something creaked far below, rumbling through the building itself, and Alex clutched at the
The bird spoke first. “I guess you’re here to protest the building’s demolition.”
Alex nodded. “Got that right. You pigs can’t take our history; this place is our culture.”
“Birds. Whatever.”
“We don’t make those choices, either. Just doing my job.” The pidgeot preened, tucking its beak under its wing for a moment before continuing. “It’s my job to keep you off a building that’s either going to collapse or be brought down, so,’ it cocked its head, “you could make this easier for me.”
Alex huffed.
The bird’s head tilted further. “Fine. Well, Tell me about yourself.”
“I have the right to remain silent, you know.” Alex rubbed an arm, slacking back against his rucksack. Filled with rope and karabiners, it made a pretty terrible chair, but he was too exhausted to care.
The silence stretched on for a while. Winds continued to stir, kicking up dust and settled ash around the tower.
“You know, I’m not questioning that. But since we’re stuck here a while… it’s going to be real boring if you just want to sulk, kid.”
“So yeah, we passed the time. Couldn’t really do anything else, after all; the weather didn’t clear up all day, so morning stretched into the afternoon, stretched into dusk... ‘Mike Three’ turned out to be a male, and actually was a pretty interesting talker. Probably the best night’s company I ever had.”
“Wait, what? You can’t just build up like this and leave out the good parts, Alejandro. Come on! Where’s the juicy details?”
“Shit, really, Tom? Agh… buy me another drink, and I’ll tell you. Okay, okay! It started out like this: the day rolled on, we got to talking. And eventually, I asked him whether the job he had was really satisfying him, because he didn’t seem to be that into it, you know? And he told me…”
“No, I live a pretty modest life,” the pidgeot mused. “The police are a great part of society, keeping a lot of folks safe from criminal elements, or in the case of people like you, keeping them safe from themselves.”
“Heh,” Alex chuckled. “You don’t sound like you really believe it. Haven’t you ever done anything really exciting on the job? I mean ‘community protection’ just sounds like you’re a state-funded babysitter.”
“What? Sure. Kid, I save lives. That’s something I get to be proud of every day.”
“That's great; admirable even, but… c'mon,” Alex tried again. “When's the last time you did something you couldn't believe you were pulling off? Something stupid and dangerous but worth being alive for? I stand up for things I believe in, like saving this tower. I bet you just bring coffee to the desk jockeys.”
The pidgeot paced in a circle, miming a few pecks at the ground before answering. His pace was measured and slow, each word falling out of his beak with a comfortable drawl.
“You humans are weird… do you think piledriving out of the sky any time I like isn't the most free feeling in the world? There's an element of control you'll probably never get to feel.”
The words faltered for a moment; the bird’s thick, conical tongue twitched against the gap in his open beak, and Alex saw a warm huff of breath glide out into the darkening night sky.
“I get to guide a hundred-mile-an-hour gale through tiny gaps in my feathers, solely to keep my body an inch above the ground. Danger is my everyday.”
“Sounds like fun,” nodded Alex, slowly. “Most Pokémon do get decent lives. Even the dumb ones get food, shelter, and love if they find a Trainer.”
The pidgeot paused in his pacing, staring out at the horizon for a moment. Alex followed his gaze.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that you’re not personally interesting; I just think the police are like… state militia. Population control, thought control, I can’t stand it.”
“Kid, I don’t do any of that. I just help people like you, and sometimes forcibly stop them from hurting themselves.”
The bird seemed pensive. Staring out to the darkened horizon, Alex watched the pidgeot ruffle its wings, before settling, staring left and right.
“If you’re looking for something, the clouds are closer and the police cars haven’t moved… that’s about it,” Alex huffed, amused. “I’m not going down, so you can guys buzz off.”
“No, no. It’s nothing. However, you’re right. It’s been a while since I enjoyed the job.”
Alex paused.
“Uh, shouldn’t you… not be telling me that?”
“Climbing a tower like this just because it's illegal. You live an interesting life, too.”
“Yeah, well…” Alex shook his head, trying to recover. “I like doing the unexpected. It’s a decent way to live a life.”
“Kid, you’re pretty wise for a dumb damn child. Name something unexpected that I could do.”
The innuendo slipped out before Alex had even thought about it, leaving him blinking as the reflexive, immature response hung between the pair. Something about it…
The pidgeot was staring at him. Seconds ticked past in silence.
“Hm. What?”, the pidgeot finally said.
The bird’s words came out quietly, expectant and heavy. Alex swallowed.
He should take it back. He should definitely take it back-
“Me. You and me. Interested?”
Static crackled out of the square device on the pidgeot’s wing, and Alex flinched at the burst of noise. For a while, the pidgeot’s empty gaze stared at the wing-radio, but slowly his crimson eyes travelled around to linger on Alex’s body, who grinned, sheepishly.
Mike Three, Mike One.
“You should probably-”, Alex started. But mid-sentence, as if his words were a call to action the bird’s wing whipped around. Wind coursed through the top of tower, leaving Alex recoiling and crying out as his backpack toppled over, rolling towards the edge of the building.
“Mike Three,” drawled the bird. The words were thick and slow.
Mike Three, Dispatch looking for update, over.
“Still negotiating, over. Situation under wing.”
“Mike Three, understood. Also be advised, further inclement weather on approach; and escort vehicles departing for the night. Take care. Out.”
Alex slowly picked himself up, dusting off his sleeves. With his back to the old wooden beam, he looked up; fat clouds nestled in the sky, barely visible in the darkness through the well-lit framework of burnt-out supports hanging above the windswept roof. Seeing his gaze, the pidgeot craned his neck, too; plumed, cream feathers hung about his neck, shifting with gravity to cover the change in pose.
“So… just us two now.”
“That’s, ah…” Alex fumbled. “Convenient.”
Alex could even hear the quiet rustle of the feathers shifting through the silence of the dead night. Red and blue lights still spiralled in sequence from the road far below, faintly painting the periphery of their vision; the distant noise of engines starting cut through the silent dusk, and soon even those lights disappeared. Not even the moon penetrated the thick cloud veil.
Spats of rain began to slap at the wooden rooftop.
“So, uh…”
“Don’t ask again, kid.”
“Right… right. Uh, let me get some light. I brought a lantern. We should do something about the rain, too-”
“I didn’t bring anything for the weather; I figured you’d be smart enough to hand yourself in by now.”
“Shit. Well; I’ve just got a raincoat... Going to be a wet night...”
Alex ruffled through his backpack; soon, gently lit by the lantern light, the rising beams of Burned Tower hung above them and surrounding them, reflecting the orange glow. Even the darkness of the outside world disappeared, the poorly-lit evening world dunked into obscurity by the warm glow of the electric light.
Alex missed the moment when the pidgeot started to look at him, but when he turned, he saw the bird’s gaze focused right on his own. The light of the lantern shadowed most of Mike Three, yet the bird’s red eyes still glinted out of the shadow and bored into his own.
Silhouetted, the bird was an exotic arrow, a violent weapon; the spear of his beak pointed upwards while the barbs of his wings and hair streamed down. Alex could feel the pace of his breath rising as the reality of the situation presented itself; in this light, the bird was beautiful.
Holy shit. Alex swallowed.
“Ck,” clicked the pidgeot. “Were you serious?”
“Well… hell yes,” breathed Alex. His arms were shaking against the pole behind him.
The bird nodded, bobbing his neck slowly.
He stepped forward - and pressed the crest of his head against Alex’s collar. A tense gasp rumbled from Alex’s throat as the strange texture and pressure of beak caressed at his neck; it occupied so much space under his jaw that he craned his neck, the back of his head bumping into the wooden pole, but he didn’t dare move it back.
The beak scratched faintly at Alex’s skin, surprisingly warm breath rolling from within. Inelegant and imprecise, it nudged in erratic, tiny motions, the faint shivering of the bird noticeable in the lines that the crook traced against Alex’s collarbone. It left him breathless.
With shaking arms, he reached out, embracing the thick trunk of the pidgeot’s upper body. Feathers seemed to melt under the toned skin of his arms, falling amongst themselves to drape over or compress underneath his advancing limbs; thin edges dodged between his fingers. And underneath it all, the strong body of the pidgeot hinted at untold warmth, pressing against him even tighter as Alex’s arms squeezed to embrace it.
The pidgeot nuzzled under Alex’s jaw, rolling the side of his heavy head against Alex’s breathless breast.
“Then calm the hell down, and guide me through this. I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing with humans.”
“Me-... me neither. With birds, I mean.”
“What’s your name?”
“Alex. Yours?”
“Mike Three.”
“No, I… hold on, really? That won’t do.”
Alex hummed. His squeeze grew a little firmer, and feathers parted under his tracing fingers. Secret flesh underneath the soft down was warm against the creeping pads of his fingertips, and finally, a smile grew on his lips. He rested his chin atop the pidgeot’s head. “Let’s call you, ‘Free’.”
Free grunted. “It’ll do.”
Alex began to sink down the pillar, sliding his back uncomfortably against the thick, supportive wood. His fingers traced down Free’s downy chest, feeling the gentle heat underneath as his palms resonated faintly with the bird’s breathing. It was insane, exotic; he could feel his legs shaking, but it was no longer from the exertion of the climb. The feeling of fear, anticipation… somehow melted through his limbs, encouraging him onwards.
This was insane.
Alex’s hips touched the rooftop, and he sat, sliding his legs between Free’s taloned legs.
“Here, sit with me-”
“Sit on you?”
“No, just… well, yeah, sit on my hips - like this-”
Moments passed awkwardly as the pair jostled together, casually embracing, but even the hug felt charged to Alex; he had to make sure his anticipation didn’t show; confidence was sexy, right? Still, his trembling touches stroked along Free’s breast and wings and belly with slight trepidation, only slowly relaxing as Free seemed welcome to trust his playful exploration, relaxing in turn. Soon, the pidgeot was resting his beak on top of Alex’s head, protecting the human from the spitting rain while he gradually explored the delicate curves of the bird’s firm musculature, scoring routes and trails for his fingers beneath Free’s heavy feathers.
“Hey... watch it, that tickles-”
“Sorry. I just--you’re a bird, so-”
“I’m aware, kid.”
“Shush! I just mean that it’s different, and, uh.. I just… want to try everything-”
“Mm… slip a little lower down my belly?”
Alex’s fingers stroked through thicker, downier feathers as his explorations metered down the creature’s chest until his digits slipped along softer flesh beneath the feathers. Free trembled.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, but seriously, keep going. You’re almost there.”
“Almost where-”, Alex started, just as his fingers stroked through a patch of wetness unlike any of the rain-soaked patches he’d met before. The fluid here was stickier, warmer; he swallowed. “Oh.”
His trembling fingers stroked upwards just a little further, following the slick stream of single matted feathers, guided by the subtle river of Free’s body fluids and the bird’s anxious, tickled vibrations. Suddenly, he found himself poking a defined, unsubtle bulge; large, horizontal lips that felt at one soft, warm and pliable even to the delicate, explorative touch of his fingers. Alex sucked in a chilled breath, feeling that viscous liquid roll wetly against a finger-pad before dripping down his palm; there wasn’t much of the stuff, but it was warm, with a familiar consistency that could only be one thing…
Alex grinned a knowing grin, drawing his hand back to examine it. As he’d guessed, the thick streaks of fluid running down the back of his hand were mostly clear, but glinted through with pale white streaks. A fat raindrop splattered against his knuckle; the water carried most of the sight away. Still, the grin on Alex’s face wasn’t fading; the view had been pretty spectacular.
“Hey, I didn’t say stop,” whined the bird, beak open against Alex’s collar. A silent melody rumbled through the bird’s girthy throat and the softer, downy feathers of Free’s chestruff rested and rustled against Alex’s neck in the wind. Except for the chilled rain that slipped between their bodies,it felt like hugging heated flakes of vibrating silk.
Spurred into a good mood, Alex chuckled. “Were you about to cum from a single touch, bird?”
“Uh - of course? Don’t you guys?”
“Er… not really,” Alex blinked.
“Then… you humans are weird.”
Alex shook his head, bringing his stained fingers to his own lips again.
“Listen, just… Gimme a sec. Let me show you something.”
“Better be good.”
“Yeah, our ladies love this part.”
With that, he slipped his fingers into his mouth. The taste of the pidgeot tumbled along his tongue; the first touch of the strange fluids rang with salt, a thick tang of salt that melted away as his lips clamped down and he suckled. Two knuckles deep felt like enough preparation, and when the flavour of Free’s seed melted into a bizarre, encapsulating sweetness. It wasn’t just sugar, it was like… honey.
Salt for the seed, sweetness for energy. Biology writ large hung on his fingers.
He finally pulled his digits free, the now-slippery pair of fingers chilling quickly in the wind. Alex stroked against the side of Free’s body, feeling the power buried within under the bird’s lightweight form.
“Alright, tell me what you think of this.”
“Better be good, you’ve been keeping me waiting long en-”
Free squawked! The bird’s entire body shuddered against Alex’s braced form, a trilling song vibrating out of Free’s throat as Alex’s fingers pushed between the pidgeot’s cloacal lips; veins of warmth greeted his fingers as muscles undulated against his slender knuckles, and the nub of something even hotter than the bird’s fiery body temperature kissed at Alex’s fingertips as he gently circled them around inside, stroking a slender circle around the muscular tunnel.
Free’s wings fanned outwards, snapping sideways in a gesture that rippled the muscles all the way through his huge form, before the great shadows fell around Alex like a heated cape. The sudden winghug left him breathless as he found himself pinned even tighter between the wooden pole and the rounded, feathered crest of Free’s chestruff; but he circled his fingers one more time, slowly treating the slick muscles of the cloacal walls. That huge, heated nub of flesh inside twitched, kissing his pair of fingers, swelling against the shifting digits.
The pidgeot’s beak tapped and scraped at Alex’s scalp, leaving the human grimacing to bear it; his legs found themselves pinned when Free moved, leaving his left ankle trapped under the weight of the pidgeot’s taloned foot. Thoughts of how fortunate he was to avoid being sliced by the talon claws themselves crossed his surprised mind just a moment before Free shuddered one more time, singing a single high note, masking a heavy, liquid phlut. The pidgeot’s lips clenched down against Alex’s trapped fingers, and pulses of hot, slippery liquid began to roll against his palm and the back of his hand, dripping in thick rolls down his arm. Alex didn’t dare to move as Free clung to his body, the bird’s taloned foot clenching around his ankle: splintering wood complained beneath them as Free’s other claws clenched and cracked at the soaked, wood rooftop.
Free’s huge, feathered body was rolling back and forth in slow arcs, but Alex could feel the pressure slowly easing against his chest, even as it increased against his hand where the heavy and heated nub of flesh throbbed against his trapped fingers, deep inside the bird. It kissed his fingertips, pressing the wet invaders against the slick walls while growing, and throbbing until it felt the palm that remained pinned against the outside of Free’s trembling cloacal lips was tapped heavily against some monolith of flesh. Alex sucked in a breath as Free moved back at last, freeing up his chest; he had no doubt what the slippery wedge of flesh against his fingers was, but the sensations of the moment clamoured together in a mess. He was reeling!
Free finally relaxed, shifting his beak back from the Alex’s now-painful scalp before blinking his crimson eyes. Alex carefully maneuvered his hand free from the pidgeot’s undertail, examining himself. His whole arm was slathered in a wet film of seed!
“Fuck me,” he gasped, shaking his hand; splats of the thick fluid flying free. “You guys are… productive… oh, shit--you okay, Free?”
Free was bent forwards, bowed down. The bird’s eyes seemed glazed, unfocused; his beak hung open, the thick and conical tongue within the pretty beak shifting in slow patterns. Music thrummed from his throat, beats of a repetitive melody that rang like a tweeting music-box; pleasant, though they fell flat in the rainy ambience.
“Yes,” he managed, hissing out the word as if it belonged to an alien language. “Amazing. It were am. Oh…”
The pidgeot’s eyes closed for a moment, muttering a strange selection of nonsensical words. Alex watched with curiosity, before something heavy and wet dripped onto his foot, and guided his gaze down the pidgeot’s ruffled breast.
A thick, triangular taper dappled red and pink hung between the pidgeot’s rain-matted haunches, and dripped with a sheen of fluid which glinted in the ethereal lamplight, as Free gently moved side to side.
“That was incredible,” Free purred, before humming a single, undulating note.
The sensual display was one thing; the scent was another. Whatever flavour could be described by the shifting of salt and sweetness Alex had discovered in the bird’s pre, the fragrance of the air hung with it too; a salted, caramelised sweetness at odds with the dashing rain.
It was a hell of a view: by the dim light of the moon and the bright, sparkling light of his lantern, Free was bowed forward, humming a single, unending note. The bird’s gaze was hungry, predatory, yet his posture was submissive; feathers hung with glinting decorations of rain that jostled from layer to layer as the downy sheets shuffled together; the plume of silken pink feathers that spanned along Free’s tail stood upright to attention, while the red and gold of the streaks that crowned Free’s head stroked violently backwards along his curved back, accentuating the creature’s speed; violence; brilliance.
Alex was stunned. He swallowed, eying Free up and down.
“I… thought you guys didn’t have dicks, right?”
“What?” Free blinked, turning; his rump wriggled amusingly as he seemed to try and get a look at himself. “Oh. We don’t. That’s… I mean, it’s kind of just… a guide?”
Alex blinked, uncomprehending.
Free’s gaze flicked from his own underbelly, to Alex, then around his own side again, before back to Alex once more. “The fun part’s all in the lips. The rest is just a guide. It aims. Goes into our mate so that the cum’s got a way to drip down to them, right?”
Alex grinned sheepishly. With the rain splashing down at his head again now that Free wasn’t covering him, his soaked fringe was starting to hang over his eyes, and he was sure he looked foolish.
“Don’t tell me you guys have something different-”
“Yeah,” Alex confirmed, nodding. “And, uh, bad news: that’s not gonna fit in… uh, me. You guys are all… horizontal. We’re… um,”
He held up his fingers in the divers’ O.K. sign, thumb and finger together, and ran his other index finger around the circle. “Like this. Circular.”
Free’s head cocked. “That’s weird as hell,” he grumbled. “I don’t think I was coming again tonight, anyway.”
Alex looked at his right arm again. Down to the elbow, it was still soaked with thick rings of seed, even though the rain was trying hard to wash it away. He grinned, bringing his arm up to his cheek, licking the sweet fluids from his wrist before wiping the down the rest with his sleeve. The sheer amount of it was insane.
“No kidding…”
Once again, Alex watched the pidgeot pace towards him.When standing, Free lost the height advantage against him; yet seeing the shoulder-height predator bob towards him, the silhouette of his form commanded respect.
Alex kneeled, bringing himself below Free’s beak, and reached for the waist of his shirt, starting to pulling it up.
“Wait a second. We can do better than this.”
With a little ingenuity the pair fashioned an impromptu bed from rags, spare fabric, protest posters and the rope in Alex’s rucksack, with the softer fabrics on top making decent protection from the hard wood and scattered debris of the Burned Tower’s roof. It had seemed like a good decision at the time, but the inclement weather had made it difficult. Finally, his own shirt had folded into a pretty decent pillow.
It had seemed pretty convenient at the time, Alex’s libido-fuzzed mind riding amongst the rational edge of thought - and on second thoughts, he probably should have undressed before getting into position. Now that the seeping cold of the night atmosphere played against his exposed skin, the fiddly job of unhooking his belt was almost impossible with numbed, shaking fingers, especially with Free’s body softly pressed against him.
“Ow, c’mon; ow, that thing’s sharp.”
“Kff. It was barely a nibble.”
“Yeah, it’s also scary as hell to have you biting my neck, so-”
“That wasn’t biting, I’m just-.”
Alex felt Free’s beak scrape at the back of his neck again, gently tickling at the naked flesh.
“Sorry,” Alex grumbled, controlling his chattering teeth. “Shit hurts, that’s all. If you knew how badass it was for me to be removing clothes right now…”
“It’s just a little rain, and with me here you’re not even getting wet.”
“Yeah, but it’s ten below, and I’m getting naked on a windy roof.”
A few spatters of icy rain crashed against Alex’s now unsleeved arms as Free shifted above him, cocked wings ruffling, A spark of guilt pulsed through him, and his fingers froze momentarily at the rim of his trousers, where they’d clumsily been trying to open his belt while the weight of Free’s lower body pressed down at his legs.
“Sorry,” he mumbled again. “You okay up there, covering me?”
“I think I handle the rain better than you, yes.”
Finally, his thumbs cupped the release catch just right, loosening his pants in a sudden lurch of freedom. Free shifted above him, the bird’s heavy beak tapping at the crown of his head as Alex awkwardly making to tug his legs free from the trapping confines of the wet fabric as he lay back against the bed, once again slipping himself underneath the predator. Free’s hips adjusted, straddling over his legs as Alex’s free hand hid his privates.
Compared to the pidgeot’s unabashed display of arousal, his own embarrassment felt childish. Alex could feel himself blushing, but still couldn’t move his free hand away from his hips. Free’s bobbing, tilting head seemed so curious, experimental, but…
“Just, promise me you won’t scrape it like you’re beaking my neck, okay?”
“Beak what--oh! What’s this-”
Almost instantly, as Alex drew his hand away from covering his manhood, Free’s unabashed curiousity moved him between Alex’s shivering, half-bared legs. Alex’s trousers hung awkwardly around his knees as Free dipped his feathered beak; Alex gasped, clenching his legs against Free’s thick neck as the bizarre, bony texture of the pidgeot’s heavy beak nudged his newly-freed shaft left and right!
Free’s feathered head tickled his navel, and Alex curled forward, reluctant to release the grip of his half-controlling legs from against the pidgeot’s investigating head. Leaning forward, Alex gasped again, pressing his forehead against the impressive span of Free’s red-and-gold headcrest; the gentle pressure of Free’s beak moved around his length to tickle his thighs, before resting against his balls, and made another shuddering gasp ring out from Alex’s wordless throat.
He clutched roughly at the wet feathers of the pidgeot’s wingjoint; the bizarre feeling between his legs could only be the bird’s strange tongue; slippery, conical, indelicate muscle probed at the soft flesh, while Free’s beak rested against the underside of Alex’s length. He could feel himself growing along the beak, but its cool, rain-slick wetness hardly masked the bizarre texture--
“Free, hold up a sec-!”
Obliging, Free shifted upwards, his thick neck sliding between Alex’s rain-slicked thighs, the feathers tickling the human in seemingly impossible ways. He shuddered, unfurling his back and slumping against the wooden pillar behind him…
Feathers, tongue, heat, beak; rain, arousal, and embarrassment… the stimulation was beyond any encounter he’d ever had, and the blush that coloured his chilled cheeks paid testament to the heat of his rolling breath, as he took a second to raise his hand to his forehead, gasping up at the sky.
“What’s up?”, asked Free.
Alex looked down. Between his raised legs, half-bowed forwards, Free’s head tilted against his right knee. A slippery tail of fluid clung to Free’s beak in the rain, paying testament to where his growing shaft had stroked; he looked down himself for a moment, seeing his own manhood stand to attention. Pretty average in length, he was still proud of his girth. He matched the thickness of Free’s bizarre tongue surprisingly well, he noticed.
“Give me a second,” he mumbled. Half-turning, he fumbled with the zip of his fallen rucksack, haphazardly opening the main pouch and grunting as rope fell from the pocket.
“So that’s your…” Free asked.
“Yup.” Alex foraged inside his bag, scrambling through rope and paper. Where was that pocket?
“Not what I imagined. Does it always hang out?”
“Huh? I… well, yeah. We don’t have anywhere for it go, uh, in.”
“Oh,” Free said, nonchalantly humming a note as the pidgeot watched him scrabbling inside his bag. “That explains clothes, then. Sexual protection.”
“Close enough,” grunted Alex again, chuckling. “Ah! Here!” He pulled his hand from the bag, clutching a small, bright-red plastic bottle. ‘RAWst. For The Man’s Man.’
“Don’t judge, alright? It was gonna be a long, lonely night before you showed up.”
“Shush, feathers. Anyway… this stuff’s Oran flavored,” Alex continued. “You guys like berries, right?” He resettled himself against the wooden pillar, taking a deep breath. Even in the rain and the chill, Free rested over his legs, a looming, sensual shadow that was somehow exciting every time his gaze swept over the feathered creature; even the rain was slowly letting up, but water still glinted between his feathers, sparkling along with the bird’s curious gaze.
He’d put on a show for those eyes.
Holding the bottle in one hand, he squeezed a generous river of the pale lubricant into his other palm, rolling the fluid between his fingers until his whole hand was slick.
“Alright, watch this. We’re kind of delicate, so see if your tongue can match what my fingers are doing…”
Alex began to twist and circle his shaft between his fingers and palm, slender spiralling motions that eventually covered the whole length in a layer of sweet-scented lubrication, paying special attention to his head. Free’s gaze never left his shifting hands.
Guess he was trained to learn pretty well-
Almost as soon as his hands left himself, Free sank down again. His beak split open wider than before, and this time Alex had a momentary, perfect glimpse of Free’s curved, thick tongue before his length sank between the keratin lips. The heat and pressure of Free’s tongue sank against his length, and Alex felt himself pushed against some secret flesh within the beak!
Unlike the rolling suction of human partners, Free’s technique seemed more raw, primal; tiny jerks of the bird’s head rotated and moved his thick tongue in unique ways around his lubricated length, leaving Alex gasping, flinching with the sensation each time. He grinned, leaning back against the wood as Free began to bob… the tension in his legs relaxing against the embrace of the pidgeot’s wings, wrapping his arms gently backwards against the pole he was leaning against while Free practiced, spiralling his tongue in impressive ways.
“Ah, fuck,” mumbled Alex, his breath coming in short, laboured spurts. The sensation of his already-teased length with the new, unique technique of Free’s dextrous tongue made little lightning sparkles of sensation roll up his chest, and he tried to relax further as the bird’s beak toyed with him.
Motion after motion; once or twice the upper lip of Free’s beak poked at his groin, gently scratching at the skin, or the lower beak pressed against his sack, nudging against an orb within… he took to holding a hand against Free’s neck, sliding his paw up to the base of the bird’s head crest, affectionately stroking as moments of intense sex ticked by, and gently guiding the bird away from dangerously close contact.
“You’re goddamn good, Free,” Alex mumbled, closing his eyes as the pidgeot relaxed into an rhythm. “Fuckin’... amazing. Not long, promise… nn…”
Meaningless speech tumbled out of him from moment to moment as minutes ticked by, the wet sounds of Free’s bobbing rolling away into the gentle wind of the night. Embraced by feathers and lamplight, Alex felt his own heat rising; the tension in his legs clamped against Free’s feathered neck a little tighter…
A few… more…
Alex grunted, clenching his teeth as his peak rolled closer in building waves while Free pumped, and--then, there! It broke over!
He called out, clutching at Free’s feathers as the bird’s eyes suddenly opened, looking up at him in surprise, then understanding, as pulses of pleasure tumbled upwards through Alex’s body; he slumped forwards, catching himself with a grip on the wooden pole behind him as he held Free closer, shifting his hips upwards to hold his hips against Free’s cool beak. Held in place, the twin beaktips pressed at his belly and nudged at his sack, but the momentary pressure was nothing compared to the lightning of his peak. “Ngh!”
The pleasure came in bouncing peaks with each heartbeat; one, two, three… fading off slowly, as he lowered his hips to the makeshift bed again. Realising just how tight his grip on Free’s feathers was, he let the pidgeot go, but Free didn’t move, watching Alex’s actions, reactions… that curious sparkle in his red eyes shimmering away as Alex grinned down at him.
Only once Alex was breathing normally again did the pidgeot take a half-step backwards, Alex’s length falling gracelessly from the bird’s beak with a shining bridge of fluid momentarily connecting his shaft-head to Free’s tongue.
Moments passed; hot breaths rolled between them. Finally, Alex’s legs fell away from Free’s wingjoints.
The words tumbled quietly from Alex’s grinning lips without a moment’s hesitation.
“Stay the night, Free.”
A deep, heavy, blanketing winghug came just a moment later, as Alex found his face buried in mottled chestfeathers once again. Grinning into Free’s breast, he wrapped his slender arms around the bird’s back.
“I’m gonna let you off with a warning, kid.”
“T-thanks, officer.”
“Yeah, well… I like Orans. You got lucky.”
Tom’s mouth was hung open quite impressively.
Alejandro watched carefully, raising his highball up to his lips without breaking his gaze. He didn’t even have to stop grinning; only a slender trickle of amber remained in the emptied glass of brandy, and it took several seconds to trickle down and kiss his lips with its spice.
A good long minute after he’d stopped telling his story, Tom finally leaned back into his chair.
“You’re not lying,” he said, matter-of-factly. “We’ve been dating two years, and you never said a thing, but you’re not lying. Wow.”
Alejandro pulled his wallet from an inner pocket, flipping the leather open. He teased a finger underneath one of the tighter leather leaves, spreading a rarely-touched pocket, but withdrawing a slightly-weathered card.
Community Protection, Aerial Forces.
Help Us Help You !
Holding the card in two fingers towards Tom, Alejandro slowly turned the card.
445 60144 3. ext 11.
“I got two weeks house arrest for community disruption. It didn’t even go on my criminal record,” he hummed, as he handed the card over. “Me and Free spent the next four years meeting up. He went abroad one year; I met you, things settled...”
“No kidding…”
“Yeah. You know that time I went skydiving?”
“Mhmm. I think that conversation is how we met. I was into paragliding at the time,”
“Yeah… well, funny story. There wasn’t a plane involved. Free just accidentally dropped me.”
Tom looked askance at him, before laughing into his sleeve.
“I should give him a piece of my mind,” he giggled.
“Yeah, well, if you want to,” Alejandro smiled. “I think he’s back in the region…”
Author’s Note:
While ‘rara avis’ translates literally as ‘rare bird’, it’s idiomatically used to mean ‘special person’ or ‘interesting story’. To refer specifically to a bird without idiomatic twang, use ‘mirus avium’.
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