Chapter Text
Z’skuy’thwei is a man with curiosity equivalent a cat. He knows his pursuits are not quite acceptable in the social circles of his clan, but he does not care for most Yautja in his clan to start with. He is a man of simple pleasures, a man easily satiated by the comings and goings of life. It is of no surprise he does not bide by his clan leader’s suggestion to stay far away from breeding other species. It may not be dishonorable, but many Yautja detest the idea of cross-species copulation.
He is not ‘many’ Yautja.
His mate is out on a hunt spanning multiple star systems millions of light years away. Kwei-nan’ku was apologetic, but only to an extent, as the Hunt demanding his attention was one even Z’skuy’thwei considers worthy of skipping sex over. With his mate away, and M-di-Guan-Luar-ke and her handsome ooman companion unavailable—strange, that, Luar-ke is especially occupied this season, not even responding to his transmissions to discuss casual weaponry or clan politics—Z’skuy’thwei normally sticks to his hands and the recordings his mate and him keep tucked away in the two’s primary ship.
But with the Hunt taking Kwei-nan’ku months, his mate has not only given him permission but encouraged him to seek out relief from others.
Permission. The hulking, seven-foot-six Yautja hunter draws his mandibles taut over his inner jaws. He stalks out of his bedchamber, grabs his bio-mask, and marches to the cockpit of his ship. The beautiful ship is a speedcraft, built off an old model his clan once possessed called the Echinos, but that is where Z’skuy’thwei’s knowledge of the craft ends. He doesn’t care for the history of his ship besides what is necessary to maintain it.
Balot… The land of nectarine forests and dancing leaves. The Yautja contemplates his destination with a furrow of hairless brows, void of the nub-like quills growing out of the sides of his head and across his chest. He dons minimum of armor; the Berserker’s hulking muscles a sign of his strength and prowess. He doubts anyone on Balot possesses the nerve to challenge a kv’var-de of his status.
Briefly, Z’skuy’thwei contemplates whether Balot will have what he needs.
He desires a companion capable of physically accommodating his form when he claims them. As an honorable warrior, he seeks one who is not simply a body to pauk but a mind willing and wanting, someone desperately craving the same carnal pleasures as himself. Man or woman, or perhaps something beyond either of those, gender doesn’t matter to Z’skuy’thwei. The intense connection an individual can form with another through intercourse is part of why sex is so great for him, bringing a euphoria very little of the universe can compare to.
No. Balot will. It will! It is… a planet of beauty. The gods bless it with prey and ripe nourishment. Bountiful harvests. Plains of great animals and intricate landscapes. The Yautja sits in the pilot’s chair in the cockpit leans back. He shuts his eyes and exhales. I will find someone there. I am sure of it.
He finds prey in the open-air markets beneath Balot’s grandiose green skies. There, surrounded by a collection of colorfully decorated stalls and bustling market attendees, Z’skuy’thwei catches a whiff of ambrosia; tt sets his four hearts pounding wildly in his chest as he silently marches past vendors calling for him and his credits. He traces the tantalizing aroma—flowery, in a way, yet carrying a note of something desperate—to the farthest edge of the market. Billowing yellow and blue clouds roll and stretch overhead while the kv’var-de’s eyes narrow.
Before his eyes, tucked away from the main street and looking around with worry, is a short Mandrygaia, a plant-like extraterrestrial with a sentience on par with himself. Perhaps the Mandrygaia species is not as advanced as the Yautja scattered among the stars, but Mandrygaia are full of woefully brilliant brings who specialize in alien flora and engage in riveting religious rites. Notably, they worship some of the same gods found in most Yautja clans, including the Payas domineering fertility and agriculture.
This Mandrygaia is a lady, shorter than him at a measly five-one, with intense green leaves shadowing her tubular, root-like body and hiding what has drawn him to her side. Z’skuy’thwei growls deeply, a husky note of intent clear in his voice. He stalks forward and circles his chosen quarry once before settling in front of her and waiting for a response.
“Hello,” the voice of the Mandrygaia is hollower than he expects, as if the body the voice trails from is carved out on the inside. “You are… You are one of the Hunters. A Hunter blessed by the gods?”
“Sei-i. Do you speak the primary Yautja tongue?” Z’skuy’thwei trills impatiently. He believes he knows the aroma she gives off. It is a mating musk, but not in the traditional sense, as Mandrygaias possess unconventional fertilization cycles and reproduction methods. Mating one is not how Z’skuy’thwei typically acts in a bedchamber, but his body is slowly warming in the Mandrygaia’s proximity. He wants her. He wants to try taking one of her kind, to find release, and to build up to the glorious, vulnerable intimacy of intercourse.
“I do not speak it, but I understand your words,” the Mandrygaia wrings a leaf between two twisting, knotted finger-like protrusions, coming from beyond the coat of leaves obfuscating her figure. She has no eyes, but blossoming flowers across her ‘head’ twitch and trail Z’skuy’thwei’s figure as he shudders. “I am Nalis, blessed Hunter.”
“Z’skuy’thwei.” He doesn’t hesitate to click and trill each of the rough, ruthless syllables of his name. “You expect any sirer to walk this path and find you? S’yuit-de. Fool.”
“A fool doesn’t seek another fool,” Nalis bows her head, leaves shifting like hair falling off her. “You are not a fool, hunter.”
“I’m not. You want the help of an honorable warrior? Sei-i?” Z’skuy’thwei grits his teeth.
“A sirer, hunter. I need a sirer,” her hand has three extenders, each laden with disgustingly sharp thorns protruding like claws. She reaches for him; he clicks in warning but does not push her away when her hand touches his torso. “A sirer to fertilize and plant my seeds. Can you aid me, blessed Hunter?”
“Nalis.” The name is hard on his tongue. His mandibles twitch; Z’skuy’thwei considers his options. He ignores the fire building in his groin when Nalis drags her thorn-tipped fingers across his muscles. “I am a Hunter in heat. Relief is my quarry. If I assist you—You will assist me in return.”
If a plant could perk up, the Mandrygaia would. She has no eyes, but her form twitches and her head nods behind the curtain of leaves shielding her face. “I would be honored to fornicate with a blessed Hunter, by one chosen of the gods! Please, allow me the privilege of bringing you fulfillment. All I ask is your cooperation in fertilizing and planting my seeds.”
“This is casual, Nalis. Nothing more than pleasure,” the hunter makes his conditions clear. “Where are your living quarters?”
He is not bringing the Mandrygaia unto his ship.
“We live in the jungle, a large village at the base of trees.” Nalis gestures t the side, at the treeline indicating the start to one of Balot’s most infested forests. Memories of leeches and nasty flies buzzing about fill Z’skuy’thwei’s head.
Z’skuy’thwei grimaces. He's bringing her onboard after all.
“Beautiful,” the alien comments as she examines the ramp descending from his and Kwei-nan’ku’s personal spacecraft. The Mandrygaia, though initially hesitant, soon becomes eager to ascend the chromatic steps leading into his craft. It is strange for Z’skuy to witness, seeing such a plant like entity move with the grace and zeal of organic races.
The hollow voice of the Mandrygaia continues singing and echoing through the air even after she disappears into the ship. Z’skuy follows her in, stopping only to input the command to shut the craft and reactivate cloaking. He watches his guest, his temporary mate, run to different rooms and examine everything.
Less bashful now than before. Z’skuy holds in the growl. He needs predictability in his life, to a degree. He knows what he has agreed to, the ways of which an organic creature may assist a Mandrygaia in the fertilization cycle, but even with the foresight to prepare on the trip to Balot, Z’skuy feels strangely tense. He knows it is not from Kwei-nan’ku’s absence, not this kind of tension. He realizes with a growing, snarling blush that he has not engaged with someone this way in… In what could be well over a hundred cycles.
The tension exists for good reason. Mandrygaia mating sessions are physically intense, just what he needs to lose the goddamn heat pervading his mind with sinful thoughts of Luar-ke’s tight slit, or her ooman companion’s equally clenching sphincter. As if his body can read his mind, blood pools in the Yautja's groin. Z’skuy exhales and acknowledges the arousal. He begins to unsheathe, the physical acting tearing a deep rumble of need from his throat.
He joins the Mandrygaia in his bedchamber. Nalis is already stripped of her clothes—all made from plants, no surprise—but her vivacious leaves conceal what he wants and needs. He knows a Mandrygaia’s anatomy is not in line exactly with a Yautja or ooman, but things can work. Nilas tilts her head to one side, heavy green leaves falling cover half of her face as her bark-like skin carries a glow of joy.
As she should, given she has the honor of receiving his semen to fertilize her seeds.
“By all the Gods, new and old, thank you, bless you, I praise your name for this opportunity..." the Mandrygaia begins praying while Z’skuy’thwei busies himself unclasping pieces of armors, putting away weapons, and eventually stripping himself of his thermal mesh.
His crimson scales ripple from the muscles underneath as he frees himself of his bio-mask, only to growl deeply and put it back on in realization he needs the translation software. He winces as the mask sensors plunge through his flesh and connect to his nerves. He flexes his muscles and begins pumping his cock, building up the erection to a hard, throbbing pole. The barbs of his blood red cock are stiff and ready to aid in penetration. Z'skuy is ready to mate.
The man looks at Nalis, who is still in prayer. Devoted.
Nalis whistles a series of notes when she completes her prayer. She lays her intricate body across the pelts of his bed. The flora-like entity runs 'hands' up and down swollen mucilage glands, each glistening at the tips of the bulbous lumps. These bumps are in the dozens across the Mandrygaia’s body, notably gathered around her pelvis, but several run down her thighs and climb her abdomen. Each gland is as swollen as the last. Several are erect and remind Z’skuy’thwei vaguely of mammalian glands of Yautja bearers, though Z’skuy’thwei knows no milk will come from the glands. Still, he reaches for a large one and pinches it. Nalis sings a song of ecstasy while Z’skuy’thwei kneads and rolls the lump between his fingers. His other hand probes more of the glands, making several excrete a sticky substance across the scale-covered flesh in the process.
“Oh, Hunter, blessed Hunter, bless you! Bless me! Ah, oh, please, I beg, bless me as you have been blessed by the Gods!” The Mandrygaia comes alive under his caresses. Z’skuy’thwei’s pride spikes and he growls loudly, this time squeezing one bump hard enough to make the sticky fluid squirt in a spray of clear liquid. It lands on his chest and arms. Z’skuy’thwei huffs and wipes it off on the Mandrygaia beneath him. He is careful not to be too rough with her, not yet, reminding himself a Mandrygaia is not quite as sturdy as the trees on Balot.
At the Mandrygaia’s pelvis is a hollow dipping between her many legs; it is much like what Z'skuy has seen on trees and similar flora in the past, and it dips out of sight into her body. Z’skuy’thwei breathes in the sweet, delicious nectar Mandrygaia are known for compiling during their mating season. He reaches for it, no hesitation before he shoves his hand inside and fists the alien. The Mandrygaia is not very flexible, but the hole has enough bend to not rip or crack as he reaches inside and feels for the source of the nectar. She buckles beneath his touch, helplessly melting into the pleasure his rough, clawed fingers scour and dig into her depths. He thrusts his hand as far as it can go, to the point the Mandrygaia whines and arches her back in submission. Her many legs tremble wickedly. Z’skuy’thwei hisses when his hand makes contact with the substance deep inside. He feels the plant-like entity writhe beneath him as he roughly claws the nectar out.
He shoves his hand beneath the bottom of his mask to taste it, his long tongue snaking forward to bring it back to his inner jaws. Divine!
Mandrygaia are disgustingly glorious creatures, as succulent as a succulent in flavor. To find one so sweet, so damn subservient overwhelms the Yautja with the need to claim her before another does. Z’skuy’thwei shoves his fist back inside. He gorges on the substance the Mandrygaia produces while she shudders and cries aloud in ecstasy. The Mandrygaia’s body twists and writhes around his touch as he digs through the hollow, easily forcing his fist deep enough to scrape every point of pleasure she possesses inside. It becomes a frenzy to consume the nectar. Z'skuy'thwei roars as begins vigorously pumping his hand in and out of the nectar canal, twisting it in such a way Nalis shrieks and clutches him with thorn-tipped fingers. He cannot get enough of her, taking every last drop until all he tastes is her sweet nectar. The only thing he hears is his ragged breathing and her pants. Nectar stains his mask and muscles; he doesn't care.
He needs more.
His stomach is full and slightly bloated by the time he finishes feeding. He is beyond erect now, his cock throbbing wildly against the Mandrygaia’s lower abdomen. Z’skuy’thwei begins to rock his hips against Nalis as he imagines how the rest of the night cycle will proceed. His entire body burns to seed the Mandrygaia, but he knows this form o mating is a time-consuming process. He must be patient.
Nalis shudders and heaves when the Yautja finally wrenches his fist out of her hollow. She spasms and the flowers of her face sway lazily, as if in an ecstatic stupor. The Mandrygaia parts her many leaves and bashfully pushes aside leaves until her lower half is exposed to the hunter's predatory gaze. Z'skuy'thwei rumbles with approval at the the mess of nectar strewn about Nalis' entrance. He runs a hand down her thick thorax, as covered in rough, bark-like texture as the rest of her 'skin'. He is too distracted by the scents wafting from her body to pay attention whether or not she reacts to him grabbing and kneading her thorax.
“Your kind—You have a… Where do I put it in?” The Elite clicks in growing frustration. He knows he does not penetrate a Mandrygaia’s nectar canal, as such a place is reserved for the production—and his excavation—of the delicious substance. He does not want an infection riding his dick from nectar shooting up his urethra. Kwei-nan'ku would never let him live it down, and his reputation as one of Gahn'tha-cte's surviving Elites would be ruined. Z'skuy'thwei shudders at the disgraceful thought.
“The pistil,” Nalis is quick to direct him. She exhales through a mouth lacking teeth, then begins to groan as if in pain. Her legs spread wide and her pelvis twitches and bucks. At the same hole—though he can tell it is nowhere near as deep as his hand went before—the Yautja watches a protrusion expand and begin to emerge from the nectar canal. A long, slender appendage, with multiple lines indicating a slit at the tip of the oblong phallange, rises.
It is not a dick, but it is sensitive as one. Z’skuy’thwei growls with satisfaction when he grabs the length of the pistil and strokes it. Nalis keens and thanks him, blurting out holy prayers and blessing him again and again. The Yautja feels his cock burn. He ignores the leaves of Nalis’ lower legs scratching him as he rubs himself against the end of the pistil. Nalis whimpers thrusts the pistil at his cock, failing multiple times to push him through her slit.
Z'skuy'thwei groans at the contact. The pistil does not feel organic like flesh, but the plant-like tissues are spongy enough to satisfy him. Z’skuy’thwei hisses, “You are desperate to be seeded, Nalis. Desperate to pauk—To breed—"
“Oh, Hunter—I need you—Ah, ah! Ah! Hunter, please—!” What begins as pleasurable pleads becomes strained breathing.
The pistil’s sticky surface coats Z’skuy’thwei’s barbed cock like lubricant, but his girth is still large enough to stretch the tissues of the pistil to full capacity when he pierces her. The Mandrygaia arches her back and claws at him. She finds purchase digging sharp thorn-like claws into the flesh of his chest, drawing blood and spurring Z’skuy’thwei to have her now. He thrusts forward in vigor and rams the head of his cock against the wall inside, too engulfed in pleasure to recognize it as an internal stigma.
The sticky wall is normally outside on flora, but in the Mandrygaia it acts as a place to receive and filter through the proteins needed to complete fertilization. Now, it becomes a target for him to batter into. Z’skuy’thwei’s chest heaves as he pounds the alien into the bed of pelts, roaring in dominance with each crashing of hips. Nilas cries aloud and clutches him. Her noises are almost unnoticeable by the pleasure raking Z’skuy’thwei’s body. Part of his mind makes out her begging him for more, repeating the phrase Oh blessed Hunter and the word please one too many times, as Nalis is fucked against the pelts. Her body bounces and shakes from how hard he smacks into her, driving the barbed shaft as deep as it can go and burying it to the hilt multiple times.
Occasionally his penis' barbs dig into the internal stigma’s surface. That is when pleasure seeps the most, when Z'skuy'thwei bellows and arches his back with a growing submission but equal parts triumph at having the Mandrygaia for himself. Nalis grabs at him again, tearing and pulling his hair, dragging his masked face down to her eyeless one, whispering sweet praises and songs of submission as she takes him up a cliff of climax in a desperate union of the two species.
Z’skuy’thwei bottoms out in the Mandrygaia and orgasms with a furious set of jabs into her internal stigma. He fucks her through the crash of pleasure until the barbs of his cock dig into stigma and hold him in place. It is only temporary; Z'skuy'thwei howls and gruns as he ejaculates, soon rolling his hips to free his cock and thrust back inside the pistil. The swelling bulge at the base of his cock grows in size until he struggles to shove it inside of the pistil. The man holds the pistil and manually jerks his cock in, crushing and grinding the head against her internal stigma until the Mandrygaia shrieks and pulls him close. His ball of swollen flash pops inside with a squelch of the skin smacking against semen-covered tissue. Nalis squeals and clings to him as he thrashes and humps every drop into her.
It feels heavenly to Z’skuy’thwei. He hopes the same for the Mandrygaia.
Eventually, he stills with his cock locked inside her pistil. Z'skuy'thwei purrs in satisfaction; he rubs the side of his mask against her head.
“The seeds are fertilized,” Nalis whispers after a time. She remains beneath the Yautja, pinned by his larger frame yet not attempting to move. Nalis exhales when Z’skuy’thwei strokes several tubular-like mucilage glands speckling her torso. She moans softly and drapes her legs around his waist. The flowers on her head twist to 'look' Z'skuy up and down, stopping at where his pelvis locks with her pistil. Nalis hums, “It is—It is time for you to receive them, blessed Hunter. You must plant them across this green planet."
“Plant… I forgot about that part.” Z’skuy’thwei clicks. The man pulls out of the Mandrygaia when his cock goes soft. He grunts and sits upright. “Where do you want me?”
He doesn’t get a reply for a bit, as Nalis is busy concentrating on cleaning up her pistil using some of his pelts. Given the Mandrygaia’s appeal—and delicious flavor—Z’skuy’thwei does not complain. He admires the sight, then stills when Nalis reaches a hand underneath her pistil and fingers several glands. She moans as her claw-tipped fingers grind against swollen lumps. The ‘glands’ begin to throb and a deep, indulgent aroma wafts through the thick air, bringing a new wave of sweetness with it.
Z’skuy’thwei’s cock begins to twitch. He swallows and watches the glands detach from the pistil’s base, revealing themselves as no glands at all but rather thick, girthy stamen with swelling bulges at the end excreting a clear white fluid.
He decides to climb to his hands and knees. He doesn’t know what to expect, whether the Mandrygaia will lay the seeds down his throat and into his stomach for him to partially digest and crap out over several days, or if the stamen will hold him still while Nalis' pistil delivers each seed to his intestines directly. He gets his answer when the stamen, now four in number, caress him. One presses his face down into the bed, two spread his ass for the Mandrygaia to examine, and a fourth probes at the man’s sphincter.
He has not received in a long time, but he is horny enough to take anything the alien throws at him.
She is slow, carefully caressing the Yautja’s toned ass, torso, and back. Nilas murmers appreciatively as her pistil rubs against the man’s crack, occasionally bumping into his growing erection. Pre dribbles out of Z’skuy’thwei’s cock. He exhales sharply when Nilas begins fondling each ass cheek with rough, textured hands. The sharpness of her claws leaves occasional puncture wounds. He hisses and bucks his hips when her claws dip to his sphincter and massage his hole.
“Blessed hunter, I cannot thank you enough for offering to plant these seeds,” the Mandrygaia utters, sincere in every word. The stamen around her arm releases, only to join the one at his clenched sphincter. “I understand you are nervous. Please relax—I can stop if you feel this is no longer adequate for one of your caliber, Hunter.”
He is nervous, but he wants to fuck more than anything else. In fact, the man has become overwhelmed by the thought of the Mandrygaia pressing every seed into his rear, filling him to the brim and then some. Already, Z’skuy’thwei fails to thrust his hips at her. He snarls when she hesitates.
“I came here for pleasure,” Z’skuy’thwei growls. “This is part of the... experience. I will have them."
He curses and squirms when two stamen slip past his ring of muscle. The tentacle-like appendages open him up and begin to stretch him, dripping with a substance that fills the Yautja with heat. He moans and throws his head back, hands gripping the pelts tightly as the normally dominant Elite is reduced to a needy hole wanting to be filled. His face burns in his submission but he soon loses himself in his groans and whimpers. In seconds, Nalis has both stamen thrusting into him. The two appendages twist as his fist once did inside her: demanding full subservience and nothing less as the stamen slap his his inner walls and grind against each other.
It burns. His ass burns in pain. He knows he is being stretched to the very limits of his preparations. He knows his poor puckered sphincter wants to rip or tear from the girth inside him, from how stuffed he is by Nalis' stamen, but Z’skuy’thwei holds clenches his teeth and holds off on the pain. He focuses on the pleasure, on the waves of white-hot heat taking him whenever the stamen slams against his prostate. The gland nestled inside his anus is stimulated relentlessly, to the point the stretch fades to the back of his mind and he moans and gasps in sharp spikes of bliss.
What is two stamen becomes three just as he begins climbing the cliff to pleasure. It edges him toward an earth-shattering climax, but the burn returns anew under the presence of the third stamen. Z'skuy'thwei throws his head back and exhales. He loosens a pained noise and his hips instinctively buck to meet the stamen's thrusts. There is no mercy, only relentless pleasure and pain. It grows when the fourth stamen joins in, all four now demanding refuge inside his ass. Z'skuy howls and writhes underneath the overstimulating appendages. He feels Nalis rub his ass and whisper encouraging words, but they become lost in his growing pants.
"So—So much," the Elite chokes out. He doesn't dare ask to stop, it is the furthest thing from his mind when the stamen wriggle and snap against his prostate. His bruised gland asphyxiates him in a haze of pained glory. He thinks, breathes, and worships the four stamen through his cold sweats and beating hearts. When the stamen begin drilling against his prostate, it pushes Z'skuy over the line of unspeakable euphoria, into the vivacious, intimate connection he seeks.
His back arches as he orgasms, screaming the cry of release while his body twitches and shudders on the bed. The stamen continue their ministrations until his cock finishes spewing every drop of semen over himself, coating his abdomen and legs. His cock aches enough for the Yautja to moan in pain. Finally, after he is spent on the bed, do the stamen retract.
The stamen pull out slowly, one-by-one, each bringing brief pain to his throbbing, sore sphincter. His muscles clench weakly in protest when the last leaves. A newfound emptiness filling the man. He pants heavily while Nalis rubs his ass again. “You are beyond recognition, blessed Hunter, to accept all of me no matter how they stretch you. The Gods... They bless me with your presence. Your will and desire to plant the seeds will be remembered across generations of Mandrygaia!"
“They better,” Z’skuy’thwei grits his teeth. He exhales when Nalis applies the familiar sensation of nectar to his ass. It begins building new heat in the man. He clicks weakly, “Do it, now. Before my energy is depleted.”
He groans when her pistil prods his anus. The protrusion pushes inside and begins invading, filling him in a way he has not been filled before. The stamen had phallus-like shapes, but the pistil is far from a phallus. It has a tampered, budded end, but quickly widens into a smooth, monstrous girth at the base. Z’skuy’thwei shivers when the pistil stretches his hole wide. He thrashes and bucks his hips against the pistil, desperate for sweet, wonderful friction, but finding none.
“How many?” Is all he can choke ou.
“Five-two seeds, Hunter,” Nilas hums. She massages his back. “Blessed Hunter, if you cannot take them all—It is fine to—”
The Elite hisses softly. "I can—I will take them all."
When the first one comes, it is small. It is ejected from the pistil with a groan on Nasil’s end. The seed travels through the pistil in a series sharp clenches until it shoots into the depths of Z’skuy’thwei’s rear. He shakes.
Then Nasil whines and whimpers, and Z’skuy’thwei realizes not every seed is as small as the first. He soon joins the Mandrygaia in trembling and keening weakly as the pistil passes a massive seed deep into his bowels. After that, every seed is agony. None spare him relief as the sizes differ from smooth but large to jagged and thorny. Though he doesn’t feel each pass through his already stretched sphincter, Z’skuy’thwei croaks and trembles whenever one grinds into his prostate. He climaxes twice before becoming a whimpering mess of overstimulated nerves. Each seed drags cries from his body. He does not sob, but he lowers his head submissively as more and more seeds pass.
His groin feels numb but painful when it is over. He doesn’t look different, but he struggles to roll unto his back once Nalis pulls her pistil out of him. Z’skuy’thwei collapses into the pelts with exhaustion.
His abdomen feels bloated. Swollen. His ass hurts. He groans when Nalis begins rearranging pelts around him, making him comfortable with his legs spread and body bare for her to see and monitor.
“Do you want me to wait here until you are ready plant them, blessed Hunter?" The Mandrygaia offers. At his stiff nod, Nalis goes on. "May I fetch you substance? A drink?”"
Z’skuy’thwei’s throat aches. He throws his head back and clenches his teeth when a cramp rifles his body. His back muscles ache horribly; the seeds shift inside him uncomortable, with several jamming his bruised, swollen prostate. He trembles from the sensations. When he can think again, the man glances at Nalis and considers her offer. A thought comes to mind, one that leaves his maw salivating behind his nectar-strewn mask.
“There is something,” he clicks deeply, already feeling calmer at the thought of what he wants to soothe his pain. “Your nectar."
"That is not nectar, Hunter." Nalis sounds amused. The hollow quality of her voice is more obvious than ever. She lays down next to him, her smaller, leafy form resting against him and caressing his flesh. "It is sap. It does not come from a flower."
"I want it." Z'skuy'hwei huffs when the Mandrygaia angles her head at his, as if staring at him.
Nalis chuckles, "My blessed Hunter, I would be honored to fill you with every drop I can offer."