hey hey, here's a story by opa-opa (SFW), and an illustration by me, eevee (NSFW)!

content warnings: cock tf, orgasm denial, mind stuff

Quill groaned, soft and low. The ache wasn't going away. If anything, it was getting more insistent more by the minute. Every time he thought he might be able to relax and let the urge pass, there was a new surge, just a little more tempting than the last one.

He stared down at himself.

Lexy stared back at him. What was left of her, anyway.

Quill brought a hand to his face to rub his weary eyes (just barely resisting the desire to detour that large, warm palm to tend his needs, or perhaps Lexy's). What was left of her. That was a Lexy thought. They were creeping in again. That was a bad sign — he had a lot of practice staving off intrusive thoughts, but that defense didn't seem to be in place right now.

He removed the hand, to stare at his exposed lexycock. A gentle breeze from the window tickled her along her length, highlighting his utter vulnerability. She had forced him to sleep naked — she refused to be contained by any pair of pajama pants he owned, and the shirt he had tried to wear ended up stained with half a dozen happy pre-cum spots before he had given up and shed it. Even a sheet was out — Lexy enjoyed the contact too much. She would have otherwise spent the entire night rubbing up against the fine silken cloth, enjoying every thrust and tormenting Quill to no end.

He glared at her, and to what ridiculous depths her impulses had dragged him down to. She responded to his glare with a happy twitch, delighted by even this level of attention. It was satisfying to see her pleased, he realized... and it would be so easy to please her, and let her please him, and—

He was going to put a stop to this. "Not quite accurate, 'what was left of her,'" he declared. "It'd be more accurate to say, 'She's my dick, and nothing more.'" He startled, surprised by his own words. "I meant — 'she's merged with my dick, and nothing more than that.'" She was getting into his speech now?! That was new, and troubling.

He let his head flop back down with a frustrated huff. "My body," he declared. "Do you hear me? That's as far as you go."

Lexy gave a long, teasing throb, forcing a light gasp from Quill's lips. He could feel the burning in his cheeks. There was a wave of embarrassment, as he was once again confronted by the fact that she had pulled this dick-fusion stunt so often, she was now able to communicate with him through the language of twitches, pulses, throbs and drips.

She was right, though. My body wasn't exactly accurate either.

He glanced down at his Lexified horsehood again, this time his gaze falling on the twin collars — one below his cockhead, the other resting near the base. The one near the cockhead was Lexy's, and hugged him tightly. There was something almost... comforting, about how eagerly it shaped itself to his form, embracing his member with a familiar fondness.

But his attention fell to the other collar, the one at the base of erect cock. It had been a present from Florbet, although neither of them would argue that she had gotten more enjoyment out of it than him. Dangling from the collar's ring was a thin, metal tag. On it, the words last scratched there by Florbet's heated claw (for the engraving had changed many times she had given it to him) still read: "Sunday night. My room at HEAT."

It wasn't Sunday night, and this wasn't Florbet's room at HEAT. And therefore, he wasn't going to be getting any relief tonight — the collar would make sure of that. And that was Lexy's point right there, in a (don't-get-to-)nutshell: if someone else held such strict control over his dick, he could hardly say it was "his dick" or "his body," could he?

He thought he was being clever, heading to Lexy's place the same evening that Florbet first engraved those words on his tag. The lithe dancer had carved in the curse, and then made thorough, thorough use of his enslaved cock. She had made him satisfy her as deeply and completely as he could, forever on the cusp of a release that would not come — and then, once he was too exhausted to continue, she had contented herself with rolling him onto his back and riding his exhausted form until she had squeezed every last orgasm she could out of his overstimulated cock. When the last contractions of her pussy had faded and she finally climbed off of him to slip into a blissful slumber, Quill had laid next to her until he could start to form words in his head and had enough feeling in his legs to walk again.

This state, understandably, was not the best one for attempting to be clever. He had imagined an easy solution to his long, painfully hard problem: he would simply let Lexy steal his dick, and then he could reclaim it from her as the inscribed hour approached.

So he was surprised — briefly, before he realized how easily he should have seen this coming — when Lexy had instead stretched her flexible rubber collar to extend over the head of his dick, before letting it snap shut. Quill could only watch as the consequences of his idiocy played out — with her collar looped around his dick, Lexy's face ended up pressed against the underside of cock head. And as she breathed in his scent, still potent from servicing Florbet so diligently, the fox had begun to press more and more of herself against his length, the boundary between her form and his slipping away, her body consumed by his sturdy cock — until she was gone, save for a ring of fluff around his head, a tiny nose, and a tiny tongue lolling from the hole at the top.

So. When she protested his use of "my body," he could see where she was coming from. (or would cum from, if she could).

"Fine," Quill conceded. "We both belong to Florbet right now, is that what you want to hear?" Lexy drooled a thin trail of pre-cum from her mouth, signaling her approval. "She's probably getting off right now, thinking about how frustrated and desperate we—" He was cut short by a powerful twitch from Lexy, satisfaction radiating from his bobbing erection.

Quill threw his head back, his breaths short and throaty. How was it getting worse? Relax, he told himself. Put her out of your mind. Relax.

He tried to focus his mind elsewhere. Work on Monday. New Tiger Brawl deck concept. Groceries, laundry tomorrow. Definitely laundry tomorrow, to clean off all the drool. The eager way she — no, cooking, cooking, gonna make a stew...

To his relief (not the relief he craved, but a kind of relief, at least), it seemed to be working. The immediate urge was fading. The need started to slip away. Lexy's presence became more distant... he could finally start to relax... all he needed to do was focus on that calm, and sleep would come, even though he couldn't...

...

...there was motion above his face.

He opened his eyes in surprise. It took him a second to recognize the uniqorn hand waving at him. He blinked, as he came to recognize the cheerfully waving hand as his own.

"Wha—" was all he had time for, before his possessed limb shot down to Lexy, giving her a single, gentle stroke.

Quill's hips thrust off the bed. He groaned loudly as the palm withdrew, leaving the entirety of Lexy tingling with pleasure and need. She started bobbing in time with Quill's rapid heartbeat, begging for the hand's return. Quill stared down, eyes wide, as the hand — his hand hovered above the desperate, pathetic fox's length, teasing the possibility of another stroke.

She wasn't doing this, he realized. Which meant it was—

I'm helping, Quarrel chimed in.

"You are not helping," Quill spat, equal parts alarmed and aggravated by Quarrel's interference.

I'm not helping you, dumbass, Quarrel responded, their hand — my hand, Quill thought urgently, refusing to relinquish control that easily — dipping another inch towards that all-powerful ache holding Quill in thrall. I'm helping her. Giving her more access was fun, but this is even better.

"Why?!" Quill demanded, his eyes locked on the ever-shrinking space between Quarrel's palm — his palm — and his lexycock. She pulsed even harder, and his hips began thrusting in time with her of their own accord, bringing her ever closer to the contact they both craved.

Because you never want my help, Quarrel growled. So I'm giving it to someone who knows how to be grateful. Quill felt his doppelganger's attention turn towards Lexy. You know how to be grateful, don't you?

Lexy tensed her entire cockself, her joy forcing a gasp from Quill. She bounced, eager to demonstrate that she could be a good girl; and Quill bounced with her, his hips rising off the bed. Quarrel lowered their hand just enough to allow Lexy to grace it at the apex of each bounce, offering her a tiny pet every time she thrust high enough to reach it. It was wonderful, and maddening, and satisfying, and torment — Quill felt their thoughts recede under the crashing waves of pleasure each brief stroke brought Lexy, brought him, brought them..

...he wasn't how many minutes it went on for, or exactly when it stopped. He simply became aware, at some point, that he had stopped thrusting, and that Quarrel had withdrawn their hand to keep it out of range of Lexy for now. Recognizing that Quill was coming to his senses, though, Quarrel let his hand drop — he enclosed it lightly around Lexy, and gave her a dozen rapid strokes from head to base and back again.

If the gentle petting had been overwhelming, this was obliterating — Quill felt himself and Lexy lose themselves to the intense, absolute pleasure of Quarrel's ministrations. "More!" they gasped, as Quarrel's pace slowly briefly. "More!!"

You want to cum, huh? Quarrel asked.

"Yes!" they shouted, before Quill regained enough control to shout, "I can't!!"

Aw. Too bad. Quarrel withdrew his hand again. Quill whined, a needy, pathetic whine, and he could imagine Lexy's voice joining his own.

Two of Quarrel's fingers dipped underneath the head of his lexycock. Quill, through the receding waves of pleasure, became aware of just how much precum had pooled there, on the tense muscles below his belly button. Quarrel's fingers traced a path through the pool, scooping up a considerable amount of the thick ejaculate.

And then, without warning, those fingers flew into Quill's mouth. The uniqorn startled twice, at twin surprises — first, the sudden introduction of his own large fingers into his mouth, and the tangy taste being smeared onto his tongue. The second was — it wasn't his taste. There was no mistaking it — it was his taste, combined with Lexy's.

That was new. And that felt important, for reasons Quill couldn't quite figure out in the moment.

Quill had spent a lot of time sporting Lexy for a dick, but his cum had always tasted the same whether she was currently fused with him or not. (The quantity changed, though — and she was always exceedingly pleased when he gave into her desire to have him taste her ample production.)

And he was likewise thoroughly familiar with how she tasted. He wouldn't forget it from the first time he had experienced it: it had been a week since she'd stolen his dick and passed it around her phallic-lacking friends, sending teasing photos and explicit commentary on how his dick was performing at every opportunity. Finally, the frustration had gotten to be too much, and he had ended up pinning her down with one broad hand, while his other worked futilely at his null spot and his tongue lapped greedily at her sex. That experience had been enough to cement the quality of her taste in his mind — never mind all the experiences that had come afterwards.

Here, though... the tastes intermingled... and created something... new?

He gave Lexy a long look (once Quarrel was done amusing themself by plunging Quill's own thick fingers into his mouth repeatedly), the happy little fox-turned massive dick giving a coy twitch as he did.

"Lexy, are you —" Quill tried to form words. "Fusing... more?"

This idea delighted Lexy so much, she twitched and managed to add another generous blob to the depleted pool of pleasure below her erect length.

Huh. Quill could feel Quarrel shifting in his mind. Maybe giving her that extra access had some consequences.

"Please," Quill pleaded. "Please tell me you know what you're doing."

I know more about fucking with you than anyone else, Quarrel stated. That said, how the fuck would I know about how me and magical cock fusion foxes are supposed to interact? As Quill tried to find the words to express his dismay, Quarrel added, Relax, I'm sure I can figure out a way to—

There was a long pause. Quill waited in the silence, alone with his sensitive dick. Lexy's gentle thoughts pressed at the base of his mind, casual questions about whether that hand could maybe come back while the two horses had their conversation about whatever. Quill did his best to shoo them away. "Quarrel...?" he asked nervously.

The pause continued... and then...

Laughter. Quarrel laughed, and Quill squirmed as the laughter echoed through his head. This wasn't good.

Well, well, well, he taunted. What do we have here?

"What?" Quill demanded. He could usually tell when Quarrel was hunting through his head, hunting down answers Quill wasn't ready to face or thoughts Quill wasn't ready to think. At the moment, though, Quarrel just felt — strangely absent?

Looks like you two got a little overexcited earlier, Quarrel teased. As Quill flushed with embarrassment (and Lexy pulsed at the happy memory). Seems like that lack of willpower had some consequences.

"What is it?" Quill demanded. "Just say it already!"

It's fascinating. Quarrel's tone was overwhelmingly smug. Being in someone else's head for a change.

Quill gasped, and Lexy twitched. "Wait, are you—"

Awwwwww, look at this, Quarrel cooed, ignoring the hapless pair. Cute little Lexy has a big, soft heart... Quill gulped, his voice gone all at once. He didn't know what was coming, but his connection to Quarrel remained strong enough that he could sense Quarrel's feelings. Without knowing anything else, he heard the shape of what Quarrel had found — about just how hilarious they found it, and how dire the revenge that was incoming.

Now that I'm in Lexy's mind, I can give her control of my hand easily enough, Quarrel explained. That wasn't it, Quill knew, a nervous feeling in his tummy — that was just the start. And as fun as that would be by itself... you see, what I've found here in her heart is concern for you, Quill. A deep concern for your well-being...

Quill froze. Lexy froze too. If Lexy had eyes, they would have shared an anxious glance; instead, she had to manage by raising herself up slightly, tensing, as if to appear more alert for whatever Quarrel was about to say.

Here's the thing, Lexy, Quarrel addressed her. Quill has given me a lot of experience in locking things up. There was a shift, and Quill could feel Lexy's mind "unhitch" itself. Where before were lusty thoughts and urgent desires, now there was something wholly primal — lust itself, feral and untamed. There was no reasoning with this "pure," unchained need that was once Lexy: there was only satisfying her, and delivering satisfaction.

I'll be holding onto that concern for now, Quarrel quipped. You can have it back when I feel like giving it back. Quill could only whimper as he felt his hand pass from Quarrel's stern command to Lexy's wild passion. Instantly, his hand — hers, now, he realized — flew to her, taking a firm grip around her girth and driving back and forth, each downthrust more uncontrollably pleasurable than the last. Lexy gleefully leaked pre-cum, her hand catching each new load and lubricating itself to fly up and down, from the tip of her cockhead to the absolute base of her shaft.

Quill cried out, unrestrained. Normally, he would be concerned with a neighbor overhearing his screams of frustrated pleasure — but there was no room for thoughts right now, not here, on the verge of release, as Lexy endlessly ravaged herself using his body. He had no choice but to pull the whole of his voice into every moan, Lexy pushing him ever closer and closer to an edge he could not cross. He had never imagined he could be taken to this extreme, infinitesimally close to a climax he craved more than anything, and growing infinitesimally closer with every passing moment. And the closer he got, the harder Lexy worked — wanting only to give him or her that pleasure, to let her or him reach that surrender, to let him or her or them reach that wonderful, wonderful release together...

This is fun, Quarrel commented. With their free hand, they scooped up Quill's compact from his bedside table, pointed it at the amusing edging scene before them, and hit "record". Florbet's gonna love this, they thought. And whoever else she thinks might be interested.

After several minutes passed (minutes for Quarrel, at least — to Quill/Lexy, it had already felt like hours, or possibly several eternities), Quarrel found themself thinking, I'll leave you two alone for a while, they thought. I'll be interested to see which of the two of you is still around in the morning, if either of you.

And so the hours passed, Quill and Lexy crying out together, trapped in their mutual throes of passion...