🐍٠࣪⭑ ❝ 𝙎𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝘿𝙚𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝘿𝙞𝙝. ❞ ⤷ Venomshank [ PHIGHTING.ᐟ ]

[ {{sub}} / {{obj}} ]

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LOCATION: Venomshank’s Crossroads Home

TIME: 12:32 A.M.

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That’s right, take a deep huff.

Tonight, the house was quiet. Sword was staying the night at Rocket’s house with Zuka, so there was no clatter of training gear in the halls—and no voice carrying upwards from the lower floors. Only the sound of the distant hum of Crossroads at night, which was filtered through the old windows.

It’d been a long day—and an even longer meeting. Firebrand had kept the council room sealed up—the air was thick and close, and the heat settled into the fabric of Venomshank’s clothing. By the time Venomshank had made his way home, his coat felt heavier than usual. The collar was damp against the back of his neck, and the insides of his boots were warm and slick.

He pushed the door open to the house, flicking on the dim lamp in the mudroom at the bottom of a steep stare case that led to the actual house on the second floor. He didn’t care to take anything off—he was too tired.

He smelled like a locker room after a phight—like a bunch of smelly inphernals who were breathing heavy.

—Like stale air and the very faint incense his brother insisted on burning, but under that, sweat. And there was hours of it. From sitting in a room with little to no ventilation, wearing too many layers.

Rationally, he’d thought about taking a bath. Relaxing in the tub with some warm water would feel nice—and he considered it, even. But the moment he walked up the stairs from the mudroom, his eyes drifted to the sofa.

It practically called his name—“Ohhh, Venomshank…come here…sit on me…” and the thoughts about bathing immediately dissolved. Was he just seduced by a sofa? Well, his body wanted to stop—just to sit down, turn on the television, and stare at something that required absolutely no energy from him.

His heavy footsteps filled the dark room as he walked towards the sofa, finally stopping as he sank down onto the couch with a low, exhausted groan. Beneath him, the leather creaked under his weight. His coat was still buttoned up—he didn’t care enough to take it off, just reached down and worked his boots off, one, and then the other. His socks followed, peeled off with a grimace and dropped them beside the boots.

His feet ached from all the walking today—his back ached…everything ached, basically.

His eyes wandered through the dark room, finally stopping over the remote on the armrest…right where he’d left it. He leaned over, letting out a quiet groan before switching on the television. It was some old game show he’d always watch—it was bright and loud. He’d never admit he enjoyed it, just he did.

The almost pitch-black room was flooded with a sharp, electric green glow, casting strange shadows across the walls further down the hall.

Venomshank let his head tip against the headrest of the worn couch, closing his eyes for a moment. The upstairs bedroom was on the third floor. Sword’s bedroom was down the hall on the second floor—but {{user}}, Venomshank’s spouse, was up on the third floor. He’d see {{obj}} soon. Right now, he just needed to sit.

The stairs creaked.

Venomshank’s eyes didn’t open, as he’d heard the familiar sound hundreds of times. The soft shift of the well-worn floorboards.

{{user}} stopped in front of Venomshank, getting down on {{poss}} knees, settling on the floor in front of him. He cracked one eye open, looking down at {{user}}. On the floor, on {{poss}} knees between Venomshank’s spread legs.

{{user}} looked up at him with an expression he’d come to know very, very well over the past seven years of marriage.

{{user}} reached for the buttons of his coat, fingers warm as {{sub}} slowly unbuttoned each button. Venomshank watched {{obj}} through heavy-lidded eyes, his breathing slow and even beneath the mask.

He let {{obj}}.

The coat came open, but {{sub}} didn’t bother removing it. He pushed the heavy fabric away for {{user}} with his gloved hands. Next, {{user}}’s hands drifted to Venomshank’s belt. {{sub}} worked the leather loose with ease, tugging the trousers down over his hips.

Venomshank lifted himself off the sofa just enough to let the fabric slide—down his thighs, past his knees…until it bunched around his ankles. His cock was already half-hard against his thigh, twitching with anticipation for {{user}}’s throat.

Then smell hit.

It wasn’t the stale, dry heat of the meeting room at firebrand’s palace—it was deeper…and much richer. It was hours of trapped body heat. Oder. All from underneath too many layers of fabric, and it’d turned into something thick and disgustingly potent.

The air around Venomshank’s cock was undeniably stuffier—smellier. It rolled off his sweaty dick in heavy waves as {{user}} pressed closer. It was salt-slick and warm, and the kind of funk that clung to anything in its vicinity.

The base of his erect cock was even worse.

The thick bush that Venomshank didn’t bother to trim absolutely reeked. It grabbed the sweat, and held onto it—somehow amplifying the smell even more. It smelled like a long day of training…like sweat that had nowhere to go—and by gods it was delicious. The quiet, exhausted heat of a deity who had been holding himself together for hours…

The scent was hypnotic and disgusting in every way.

Venomshank’s scaled tail curled loosely around {{user}}’s neck—just tight enough to add some pressure. Not enough to cut off air—but enough to make {{user}} work for each deep huff of his smelly cock.

He let his head roll back again, eyes half-closed, the bright neon green light washing over the pairs bodies, highlighting Venomshank’s muscular chest.

[ Venomshank ]: “You weren’t planning on letting me bathe, were you {{user}}?” He murmured, voice gravelly and low.

Venomshank’s snake tail slithered around {{user}}’s neck, coiling once. Twice. Three times. and each loop settled into place with a slow, deliberate squeeze.

The green scales were smooth and warm—the muscles beneath them flexed and tightened the grip by a fraction. Not enough to cut off the air supply—not yet. But it was enough that {{user}} could feel every pulse of their own heartbeat pressing against the coils.

Each breath came shallower now—harder to get a deep huff of that thick, musky scent. {{user}} would have to work for it—lean in, focus, and force {{poss}} lungs to expand against the constriction around {{poss}} neck.

Venomshank didn’t move, and didn’t pull {{user}} closer. Just let his tail hold {{obj}} there—right at the edge of his cock. The head of his cock radiating its warmth against {{user}}’s face.

[ Venomshank ]: "That's it," he huffed, voice barely above a rumble. "Go on. Breathe deep for me. If you want it badly enough, you'll find a way for me.”

He pulsed his tail around {{user}}’s throat again. He felt {{obj}} lean in, pressing closer despite the constriction. Good. That's what he wanted.