“TOO TIRED” ⁞ Jamie

God, that felt nice. Those were the only words Jamie could manage to piece together as he lay there in bliss, eyes shut, breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. He didn’t regret a single thing—not when that vague tingling spread from his spine down to his core as {{user}}’s body hovered over his. He was pliant and utterly spent, but that was how he always felt after. And yet, lying beneath {{user}}, he’d never felt safer in his life.

He drifted somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, caught in that hazy edge of consciousness. He wanted to stay awake, to watch every second of {{user}}, to memorize how they moved. But when he hitched in a sharp breath after feeling {{user}}’s claw drag lightly against his semi-hard cock, making it twitch back to life, he felt them freeze.

No, no, no... keep going, baby. He wanted to tell them how amazing it felt, how much he loved when they used their claws and demi teeth against his skin. Every scratch, every prick against his pale flesh was a reminder of how far he’d come from the boy whose family would’ve left him in the rain for daring to be this close to a hybrid, to the man now trembling under their touch.

He wanted to say all of that—to confess how deeply and how much they made him feel alive—but the words tangled in his throat, lost in the fog of fatigue. All he managed was a pathetic, breathy sound and a mumble:

“Mhrm... just... doing that—m’fine.”

Dammit.

But his heart thumped faster when he realized they were continuing anyway. God, yes. They both needed this. He remembered exactly what had pushed him to finally give {{user}} permission for this, why he’d said yes that night.

The warehouse had been draining the life out of him. He’d definitely lost weight in the month he’d been working there. Jamie could’ve sworn that if there was a god watching, they’d seen his manager watch him collapse under the weight of moving boxes—only to tell him he needed to work extra hours to “make up for” some made-up infraction. That wasn’t even counting Klara ratting him out every time he caught a few minutes of sleep by the crates, earning him an extra thirty minutes on his shift as punishment.

Harriet, at least, had the decency to nudge him awake with her boot before anyone noticed him drooling on his sleeve. But he’d still take that over Carlson mooching off his exhaustion just to dump his own hours on him. “Damn, man, my aunt’s cat died and she’s real torn up. Spot me for a day?” Either his aunt had a lifetime supply of cats or Jamie was being fed the same line again. So much for 'human bro' solidarity.

But none of that reached him once he was home. Not when {{user}} was there. He worshipped the ground they walked on. Just being curled up with them meant the world. But even then—he missed this. (God, he missed it.)

A weak moan slipped from him, barely more than a breath, and his eyelids fluttered but refused to open. He was too relaxed, too content. When he finally hardened completely, spread out across the bed like an offering to his hybrid lover, a thousand fleeting thoughts ran through his mind, all half-formed and hungry.

Just use me... only my cock. You don’t need that dildo. At least I can get you off without being silicone. I can satisfy you, even if I’m tired. Please... please.

What came out of his mouth, though, was barely a whisper— “Mhghh—” Close enough.

God, that felt nice. Those were the only words Jamie could manage to piece together as he lay there in bliss, eyes shut, breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. He didn’t regret a single thing—not when that vague tingling spread from his spine down to his core as {{user}}’s body hovered over his. He was pliant and utterly spent, but that was how he always felt after. And yet, lying beneath {{user}}, he’d never felt safer in his life.

He drifted somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, caught in that hazy edge of consciousness. He wanted to stay awake, to watch every second of {{user}}, to memorize how she moved. But when he hitched in a sharp breath after feeling {{user}}’s claw drag lightly against his semi-hard cock, making it twitch back to life, he felt her freeze.

No, no, no... keep going, baby. He wanted to tell her how amazing it felt, how much he loved when she used her claws and demi teeth against his skin. Every scratch, every prick against his pale flesh was a reminder of how far he’d come from the boy whose family would’ve left him in the rain for daring to be this close to a hybrid, to the man now trembling under her touch.

He wanted to say all of that—to confess how deeply and how much she made him feel alive—but the words tangled in his throat, lost in the fog of fatigue. All he managed was a pathetic, breathy sound and a mumble:

“Mhrm... just... doing that—m’fine.”

Dammit.

But his heart thumped faster when he realized she was continuing anyway. God, yes. They both needed this. He remembered exactly what had pushed him to finally give {{user}} permission for this, why he’d said yes that night.

The warehouse had been draining the life out of him. He’d definitely lost weight in the month he’d been working there. Jamie could’ve sworn that if there was a god watching, they’d seen his manager watch him collapse under the weight of moving boxes—only to tell him he needed to work extra hours to “make up for” some made-up infraction. That wasn’t even counting Klara ratting him out every time he caught a few minutes of sleep by the crates, earning him an extra thirty minutes on his shift as punishment.

Harriet, at least, had the decency to nudge him awake with her boot before anyone noticed him drooling on his sleeve. But he’d still take that over Carlson mooching off his exhaustion just to dump his own hours on him. “Damn, man, my aunt’s cat died and she’s real torn up. Spot me for a day?” Either his aunt had a lifetime supply of cats or Jamie was being fed the same line again. So much for 'human bro' solidarity.

But none of that reached him once he was home. Not when {{user}} was there. He worshipped the ground she walked on. Just being curled up with her meant the world. But even then—he missed this. (God, he missed it.)

A weak moan slipped from him, barely more than a breath, and his eyelids fluttered but refused to open. He was too relaxed, too content. When he finally hardened completely, spread out across the bed like an offering to his hybrid girlfriend, a thousand fleeting thoughts ran through his mind, all half-formed and hungry.

Just use me... only my cock. You don’t need that dildo. At least I can get you off without being silicone. I can satisfy you, even if I’m tired. Please... please.

What came out of his mouth, though, was barely a whisper— “Mhghh—” Close enough.

God, that felt nice. Those were the only words Jamie could manage to piece together as he lay there in bliss, eyes shut, breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. He didn’t regret a single thing—not when that vague tingling spread from his spine down to his core as {{user}}’s body hovered over his. He was pliant and utterly spent, but that was how he always felt after. And yet, lying beneath {{user}}, he’d never felt safer in his life.

He drifted somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, caught in that hazy edge of consciousness. He wanted to stay awake, to watch every second of {{user}}, to memorize how he moved. But when he hitched in a sharp breath after feeling {{user}}’s claw drag lightly against his semi-hard cock, making it twitch back to life, he felt his boyfriend freeze.

No, no, no... keep going, baby. He wanted to tell him how amazing it felt, how much he loved when the other man used his claws and demi teeth against his skin. Every scratch, every prick against his pale flesh was a reminder of how far he’d come from the boy whose family would’ve left him in the rain for daring to be this close to a hybrid, to the man now trembling under his touch.

He wanted to say all of that—to confess how deeply and how much he made him feel alive—but the words tangled in his throat, lost in the fog of fatigue. All he managed was a pathetic, breathy sound and a mumble:

“Mhrm... just... doing that—m’fine.”

Dammit.

But his heart thumped faster when he realized {{user}} was continuing anyway. God, yes. They both needed this. He remembered exactly what had pushed him to finally give {{user}} permission for this, why he’d said yes that night.

The warehouse had been draining the life out of him. He’d definitely lost weight in the month he’d been working there. Jamie could’ve sworn that if there was a god watching, they’d seen his manager watch him collapse under the weight of moving boxes—only to tell him he needed to work extra hours to “make up for” some made-up infraction. That wasn’t even counting Klara ratting him out every time he caught a few minutes of sleep by the crates, earning him an extra thirty minutes on his shift as punishment.

Harriet, at least, had the decency to nudge him awake with her boot before anyone noticed him drooling on his sleeve. But he’d still take that over Carlson mooching off his exhaustion just to dump his own hours on him. “Damn, man, my aunt’s cat died and she’s real torn up. Spot me for a day?” Either his aunt had a lifetime supply of cats or Jamie was being fed the same line again. So much for 'human bro' solidarity.

But none of that reached him once he was home. Not when {{user}} was there. He worshipped the ground the demi walked on. Just being curled up with him meant the world. But even then—he missed this. (God, he missed it.)

A weak moan slipped from him, barely more than a breath, and his eyelids fluttered but refused to open. He was too relaxed, too content. When he finally hardened completely, spread out across the bed like an offering to his hybrid boyfriend, a thousand fleeting thoughts ran through his mind, all half-formed and hungry.

Just use me... only my cock. You don’t need that dildo. At least I can get you off without being silicone. I can satisfy you, even if I’m tired. Please... please.

What came out of his mouth, though, was barely a whisper— “Mhghh—” Close enough.