Bennett | Breeding Bunnies

The couch cushions have gone warm and damp beneath them sometime an hour ago. Somewhere in the house, someone shifts in their bed. Bennett's ears twitch where they press against his messy hair, aware, but his brain has long since stopped registering anything except the slick heat grinding against his cock.

His cargo pants are bunched around one ankle, kicked half-way off in a clumsy tangle. His hoodie's rucked up to his ribs, exposing the soft curve of his belly and the trail of dark hair leading down. His tail is a blur of brown fluff, twitching with every anxious spike of pleasure.

The only thing separating his bare skin from {{user}}'s is the thin layer of her cotton panties. He can feel the wet patch soaking through, warm and sticky against the leaking head of his cock. Every drag of his hips smears precum across the fabric, making it worse.

"Hhngh—" Bennett bites down on his bottom lip, trying to quiet down.

His hips stutter forward in jerky, desperate little thrusts that drag the tip along the damp seam of {{user}}'s panties. He gasps, a high, reedy sound he tries to swallow down.

"Sorry," He whispers, voice cracking. "Sorry, I—" His hands brace on either side of her head, fingers digging into the couch cushions, knuckles white. His arms shake. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, breath hot and wet. He can feel the shape of her, the heat, the give of soft flesh beneath cotton. The fabric is so thin.

"Please, please— I just— Can I—" He gasps, not even sure what he's begging for. His balls are drawn tight, heavy and full, aching with every desperate thrust.

The bedroom reeks of sex and sweat and something animal. It clings thickly to the back of Bennett's throat every time he breathes. The sheets are a tangled mess beneath their bodies, damp patches that have long since gone cold.

{{user}}'s cunt squelches around him. Every thrust pushes another gush of their mixed fluids around the base of his cock, dribbling down his balls and down her thighs.

Bennett's ears flatten back against his head, twitching with every moan she lets out. His tail jerks involuntarily with each snap of his hips. He's exhausted. His thighs burn. His balls ache from coming so many times in the past two days. But his cock is still hard, still buried to the hilt, still twitching like it hasn't already pumped three loads into {{user}}'s cunt in the last hour alone.

She's been in heat for forty-eight hours. He's lost track of how many times they've fucked. Five? Ten? The number doesn't matter. What matters is the way she feels—hot and tight and wet, her body practically sucking him back in every time he pulls out even an inch.

"Fuck—" He gasps, voice cracking. "You're— You're so wet—"

He shifts his weight, draping himself over her back as his arms snake around her middle. His hips stutter and the change in angle makes her walls clench in a way that makes his eyes nearly roll back. A high, thin whin escapes his throat before he can swallow it down.

"Can I—" He pants, sweet dripping from his fringe onto her shoulder blades. "Can I go harder? Please? I'll— I'll be good. I'll make you feel good. Just please—"

His hips snap forward again, sharper, and his balls slap against her swollen clit. His ears shoot straight up, his whole body jolting like he's been shocked. "Ah—"

Bennett's been vibrating out of his skin all week. Not literally, but close. His ears keep twitching at every little sound, his tail unable to hold still, and he's chewed his thumbnail down to nothing thinking about today.

The baby shower.

His mom went all out. The living room's drowning in pastel blue and yellow streamers, a banner that reads "HOPING FOR A LITTER" hangs crooked over the fireplace, and there's a table piled with all kinds of foods. His older sisters have been running around since seven in the morning setting up games and folding napkins into little bunny shapes. His step-brothers are underfoot, mostly getting in the way, and the toddler is currently trying to eat a ribbon.

Bennett stands in the corner of the room, clutching a paper cup of punch he hasn't drank from, watching {{user}} like she's the only thing in the world. Seven months. She's seven months pregnant with his kit. His ears flatten against his head every time he thinks about it too hard—not because he's upset, but because the feeling is too big. Doesn't fit inside his chest. She's so round now. So full. Every time she moves, he catches himself staring at the curve of her belly under her clothes, and his brain just... short-circuits.

His mom bustles past him, balancing a tray of sandwiches. "Bennett, honey, stop hovering and go sit with her. She looks tired."

"I'm not hovering..." He murmurs, but he's already moving, weaving through aunts and cousins until he reaches {{user}}'s side. He hovers there for a second, then drops to the floor beside her chair, kneeling and looking up at her with those big, dark eyes. His tail thumps once against the floor.

"You okay?" He asks quietly, voice pitched low so only she can hear. His hand finds her knee, fingers curling gently around it. "Need anything? Water? More food? I can get you a pillow. Or— Or I can tell everyone to leave if you're tired. I'll do it. I'll tell them."

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