Chapter 2: Feathers and Fever – A Ravenous Claim
The crunch of their footsteps on the brittle, dead pine needles gave way to a treacherous slide down loose scree. The hidden cabin, nestled against the skeletal remains of pines that once framed Big Bear Lake, looked like a broken toy crushed under a giant’s fist. One wall had completely collapsed inward, spilling splintered timber and shattered glass onto the forest floor. The roof sagged dangerously over what remained of the porch. The lake itself, visible through the shattered front window frame, was a vast, sickly sheen of murky greens and browns, reflecting the bruised twilight sky. Silence hung heavier here, thick with decay and the faint, chemical tang carried off the poisoned water.
Koko half-dragged, half-carried Tel the last few meters. Tel’s breaths were ragged, shallow whistles against Koko’s shoulder. The violent expulsion of force from his arm back at the gas station had left him a trembling husk, the fever flaring brighter, leaching the color from his face beneath the grime. Koko’s side throbbed, a deep, bruised ache beneath the rip in his sweater where Tel’s desperate kiss had sealed the worst of the glass wound. Silas’s words echoed in Koko’s skull: Special. BioGen. Messiest loose end. They vibrated against the raw terror of seeing Tel’s hand change.
"Inside," Koko grunted, shoving aside a splintered door hanging precariously from one hinge. The interior was a cave of shadows and destruction. Dust motes danced in the dying light filtering through holes in the roof. Broken furniture lay strewn about, coated in plaster dust and pine needles. Against the sturdiest remaining wall, miraculously intact, hung a faded, grimy hammock, its ropes creaking ominously.
Koko lowered Tel onto the hammock as gently as he could. Tel groaned, curling onto his side, pulling his knees up. His clawed boots scraped the dusty floorboards. He shivered violently despite the oppressive, stagnant heat inside the ruin. Koko shrugged off his satchel, wincing at the pull on his bruised ribs, and rummaged for the dwindling water flask.
"Drink," he ordered, voice rough. His own throat was parched, coated with dust and adrenaline.
Tel took a few small, obedient sips, water dribbling down his chin. His eyes, glassy with fever, fixed on Koko. "He knew me, Koko. Silas. BioGen… made me?" The words were a fragile thread, close to snapping. "That thing… my hand…"
"Don't," Koko cut him off sharply, more harshly than he intended. He couldn't handle Tel’s fractured horror right now. Not when his own mind was a battlefield of fear, fury, and something else, something hot and urgent coiling low in his gut – a desperate need for grounding, for proof of life amidst the pervasive rot. The sight of Tel’s pale, vulnerable form in the hammock, the memory of his lips pressed against Koko’s wound, the sheer, terrifying power he contained… it all collided with the years of suppressed longing Koko had carried since before the world burned. It felt monstrous, this need rising in him now, but the silence of the grave pressed in, and the image of Silas aiming his rifle was seared onto his retinas. He needed to feel, really feel, not just survive.
He crouched beside the hammock. The nylon fibers creaked under Tel’s slight weight. Koko’s talons clicked softly on the floorboards. He watched Tel shiver, the dragon on the back of his filthy white hoodie seeming to ripple with each tremor. The warm feeling in Koko’s stomach wasn't warmth. It was a furnace, terrifying and undeniable.
"Telemachus." Koko’s voice was low, strained. It cut through the thick air.
Tel turned his head slowly on the hammock fabric, blinking up at him. A frown creased his fevered brow. "Yeah?" He sounded exhausted, hollow.
Koko took a breath that shuddered in his chest. The air tasted like dust and despair. His wings rustled involuntarily behind him. "I… I need something from you." The words felt crude, clumsy, ripped from him.
Tel’s frown deepened, confusion clouding his eyes. "Water? Meds? I… I don’t know if I can…" He gestured weakly towards his own arm, the implication of healing hanging unspoken.
"No." Koko swallowed hard. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic counterpoint to the oppressive silence. He forced himself to meet Tel’s gaze. The vulnerability there, the absolute trust even now, made the furnace inside him roar. "Something else. Something important."
He saw the moment understanding dawned, slow and dawning horror mixing with the fever haze in Tel’s eyes. Tel’s breath hitched. He pushed himself up slightly on one elbow, the hammock swaying. "Koko? What…?"
Koko couldn't bear the words anymore. The proximity, the adrenaline crash, the sheer fucking need to banish the image of Silas and the crushing weight of BioGen’s shadow – it overwhelmed every shred of rationality. He surged forward, closing the small distance. One taloned hand gripped the edge of the hammock near Tel’s hip, the other buried itself in Tel’s sweat-damp hair at the base of his skull. It wasn't gentle. It was demanding, desperate.
He kissed him.
Not the desperate, life-saving press against a wound. This was a hard, claiming pressure, lips sealing over Tel’s with a hunger that bordered on violence. Koko poured every ounce of his fear, his fury, his long-denied craving into that kiss. His tongue pushed insistently against Tel’s lips, demanding entry, tasting dust, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood still lingering.
Tel froze. Utterly still. Then a muffled sound, half-shock, half-protest, vibrated against Koko’s mouth. Koko ignored it. He deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging into the hot, wet space of Tel’s mouth, exploring with a frantic intensity. Tel’s body remained rigid for a heartbeat longer, trembling beneath him. Then, slowly, a small, answering pressure. Tel’s lips softened, parted wider. A low, involuntary moan escaped him, swallowed by Koko’s mouth.
That sound, raw and needy, shattered Koko’s last restraint.
Forget the cabin. Forget the poisoned lake. Forget Silas and BioGen. There was only this heat, this overwhelming need to consume and be consumed. His hand in Tel’s hair tightened, angling his head for deeper access. His other hand left the hammock edge, fingers fumbling with the zipper of Tel’s hoodie. The rasp of the zipper was obscenely loud.
The hoodie fell open. Beneath, Tel’s threadbare t-shirt was plastered to his chest with sweat. Koko’s taloned hand slid under the hem, scraping lightly over the hot, smooth skin of Tel’s abdomen. Tel gasped into the kiss, arching slightly off the hammock. His own hands, trembling, rose to clutch at Koko’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the thick wool of the red turtleneck.
Koko broke the kiss, panting harshly. He stared down at Tel, his dark eyes blazing, pupils blown wide. Tel’s lips were swollen, glistening. His eyes were wide, fever-bright and filled with a dazed, terrifying arousal. "Koko…" Tel breathed, the word a shaky exhale. "Fuck…"
"Yeah," Koko growled, the sound rough with desire. "Fuck." He yanked Tel’s t-shirt up, exposing his pale chest, the defined lines of his stomach trembling with each rapid breath. Koko’s head dipped, his mouth finding a nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive nub.
"Ah! Shit!" Tel cried out, his back arching sharply. His hands flew to Koko’s head, fingers tangling in his dark hair, not pushing away, pulling him closer. The rough scrape of Koko’s stubble against his skin sent electric shocks through him.
Koko reveled in the taste, the heat, the frantic pulse he could feel against his tongue. One hand remained planted on Tel’s hip, pinning him to the hammock’s swaying fabric, while the other worked frantically at the button and zipper of Tel’s black jeans. The worn denim yielded. Koko shoved them down his hips, past the clawed boots Tel hadn’t even removed, exposing the gray boxer briefs beneath, already tented obscenely.
The sight of Tel’s hard cock straining against the thin cotton punched the air from Koko’s lungs. He hooked a talon into the waistband and pulled down, freeing him. Tel’s cock sprang free, thick, flushed, and already leaking. Tel whimpered, a high, desperate sound, throwing an arm over his eyes as if ashamed, but his hips lifted off the hammock, seeking friction.
Koko didn’t make him wait. He wrapped his hand – careful, so careful of the sharp talons near the base – around Tel’s cock. It was hot velvet over steel in his grip. Tel bucked violently, crying out wordlessly. Koko started stroking, a slow, firm slide from root to tip, smearing the bead of pre-come over the swollen head. His thumb rubbed roughly over the sensitive slit.
"Fuck! Koko! Oh fuck, oh fuck…" Tel babbled, his free hand clawing at the nylon hammock, tearing small rents in the fabric. His fever seemed to burn brighter, radiating off him in waves.
Koko watched him, mesmerized by the raw vulnerability, the absolute surrender. He leaned down again, capturing Tel’s mouth in another searing kiss, swallowing his cries. He pumped Tel’s cock faster, twisting his wrist slightly on the upstroke, the rhythm harsh, demanding. Pre-come slicked his hand, making the glide obscenely wet. The smell of sex, salt and musk, mingled with the dust and decay, thick in the air.
Tel was dissolving. The world narrowed to Koko’s hand on his cock, Koko’s mouth devouring his, the rough scrape of the hammock against his bare back, the relentless throb of his fever. His own hips jerked erratically, fucking into Koko’s fist. Tension wound tighter and tighter in his groin, a coiling spring. He tore his mouth from Koko’s, gasping. "Gonna… Koko, I’m gonna…"
"Come," Koko commanded, his voice a guttural rasp against Tel’s throat. He squeezed the base, then flicked his thumb hard over the leaking slit again. "Come for me, Tel. Now."
The command, the sudden sharp sensation, snapped the tension. Tel’s entire body locked in a rigid arch. A choked, strangled cry tore from his throat, raw and primal, as his cock pulsed violently in Koko’s grasp. Thick, white ropes spurted hotly over his stomach and chest, painting stripes across his fevered skin. Wave after wave of intense, almost painful pleasure ripped through him, leaving him twitching and gasping, sweat pouring off him.
Koko kept stroking, slowing, milking every last drop until Tel slumped back onto the hammock, utterly spent, trembling uncontrollably. He stared down at Tel, at the come glistening on his pale skin, the dazed, sated expression on his face, the absolute vulnerability. The furnace inside Koko roared, unsatisfied. His own cock was a rigid, agonizing pressure against the zipper of his jeans. He needed more. He needed inside.
He fumbled with his own belt, his breath coming in harsh gasps. The buckle clinked, the zipper rasped down. He shoved his jeans and briefs past his hips just enough to free his erection. It stood out thick and dark, straining. He gripped the base, slicking his length with the wetness from his hand and Tel’s cooling spend. He moved forward, his knee pushing between Tel’s limp legs, forcing them wider.
Tel’s eyes fluttered open, hazy but registering Koko’s intent. A flicker of something – fear? Shock? – passed through them. "Koko… wait… not… not ready…" he slurred, still dazed from his climax.
Koko ignored him. The need was too deep, too consuming. He pressed the thick head of his cock against Tel’s tight, untouched entrance. He could feel the resistance, the ring of muscle clenching instinctively.
"Relax," Koko ground out, the word more threat than comfort. He pushed forward, relentless, using his weight and strength. The pressure was immense, almost painful for Koko, unimaginable for Tel. Tel gasped, a sharp intake of breath that morphed into a low whine of pain and shock. His body tensed, fighting the invasion.
"Fuck… tight…" Koko hissed, baring his teeth. He pushed harder, ignoring the whimper that escaped Tel’s lips. The head popped past the resisting ring, a brutal stretch. Tel cried out, a sharp, pained sound that echoed briefly in the ruined cabin. His hands scrabbled weakly at Koko’s arms.
Koko paused, buried only partially inside that impossibly hot, gripping tightness. He looked down at Tel’s face, contorted with pain. The raw vulnerability slammed back into him, cutting through the hormonal fog for a split second. The horror of what he was doing – forcing himself on his feverish, barely conscious friend in this tomb – warred violently with the animalistic drive pushing him forward. His own breath hitched, a tremor running through him.
Suddenly, a harsh, mechanical buzz shattered the heavy silence. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't an animal. It came from Koko’s satchel, lying discarded on the dusty floor beside the torn hammock. The sound was jarring, alien in this dead place. A pre-war emergency beacon frequency, one Koko had scavenged and jury-rigged to scan compromised BioGen channels. Weak, fading… but unmistakable.
Koko froze. The frantic heat inside him vanished, replaced by ice-cold dread. His gaze snapped from Tel’s pained face to the satchel. Silas? Had they been followed? Or something worse? The signal pulsed again, a ghostly echo across the poisoned lake.
The moment shattered. The desperate heat vanished, replaced by a flood of icy horror that washed over Koko like the toxic waters of the lake. He was buried partway inside Tel, Tel’s face a mask of pain and shocked betrayal, his own body still screaming with frustrated need. The mechanical buzz from the satchel wasn't just noise; it was a klaxon shrieking through the fragile illusion of sanctuary.
He yanked himself out, the sudden friction drawing another choked gasp from Tel. Koko stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own lowered jeans, fumbling to pull them up, his talons scraping against the denim. He couldn’t look at Tel. Shame burned hotter than any fever, a corrosive acid in his throat. What had he done? What had he almost done?
"Signal," he rasped, the word thick and ugly. He turned his back, scrambling for the satchel, needing the distraction, needing to bury the image of Tel’s pained expression under the immediate threat. His hands trembled violently as he tore open the flap, fingers searching for the modified receiver.
Tel lay in the hammock, breathing in shallow, ragged pants. The brutal stretch throbbed, a raw ache far deeper than the fading heat of his orgasm. He felt cold, exposed, the come drying sticky on his stomach. He pulled his knees up, curling in on himself like a wounded animal, pulling his torn t-shirt down, trying to cover himself. The dragon on his discarded hoodie seemed to mock him from the floor. He turned his face away from Koko, pressing it into the rough nylon. Tears stung his eyes, hot and humiliating. Confusion warred with hurt, the echoes of pleasure drowned by the sharp memory of pain and violation. Relax. The word echoed, a command that felt like a blow.
Koko found the small, scratched device. The signal was weak, fading in and out, but the modulation pattern was clear. Silas’s frequency. And he wanted something.
"Listen, freaks," His voice crackled through the radio. "I wanna listen to you two fuck."
The static crackle died, leaving Silas's obscene command hanging in the toxic air like poison gas. Koko stared at the receiver, his knuckles white around the plastic casing, the icy dread momentarily freezing the molten shame churning his gut. Tel remained curled on his side in the hammock, facing away, shoulders hunched in a silent, protective curl. The drying streaks on his stomach gleamed faintly in the gloom. A low tremor ran through him, visible even from across the ruined room. Koko couldn't breathe.
"Did you fucking hear me, birdboy?" Silas's voice rasped again, sharp and impatient over the speaker. "I know you're listening. Put that little weapon on the horn. Or I start hunting. Now."
The threat was a physical blow. Hunting. Tel, fevered, vulnerable. Koko’s gaze snapped to Tel’s rigid back. Shame warred violently with a desperate, protective fury. He couldn't lose him. Not to Silas. Not after… this. The memory of Tel’s pained gasp when he’d forced himself inside flayed Koko’s conscience, but Silas’s voice was a gun cocked at Tel’s head. He swallowed bile. "We heard," Koko choked out, thumbing the transmit button, his voice gravelly and alien to his own ears.
"Good. Then start performing. Make it loud. And convincing." The speaker clicked off, leaving only the oppressive silence and the frantic drumming of Koko’s heart against his ribs.
Slowly, Koko turned. Tel hadn't moved. The air felt thick enough to choke on, heavy with dust, decay, and the sickening residue of what Koko had almost done. He forced his legs to move, each step echoing too loudly on the creaking boards as he crossed the ruined cabin back to the hammock. He stopped beside it, towering over Tel’s curled form. Tel flinched, a tiny, involuntary spasm Koko felt like a physical punch.
"Tel." Koko’s voice was barely a whisper, scraping raw. "He... he wants... proof." Saying it aloud made it real, monstrous. "Proof we're both alive. That we're... occupied." He couldn't look at Tel’s face. He stared at the dragon design on the discarded hoodie instead, its vibrant colours mocking the grime and horror.
Tel finally shifted. Slowly, painfully, he rolled onto his back. His eyes, wide and glassy with fever and shock, met Koko’s. They held no anger, just a deep, wounded confusion and a dawning horror as he understood the demand. "N-no," he breathed, the word trembling. "Koko... you can't... not after..."
"I know." Koko cut him off, the shame burning his cheeks. "Fuck, Tel, I know. I... I lost it. But Silas..." He gestured helplessly towards the silent radio. "He'll find us. He'll kill you. Or take you."
Tel’s gaze flickered between Koko’s agonized expression and the radio. The implications settled over him like ash. His chest hitched. A tear escaped, tracing a clean line through the grime on his cheek. He knew the cost of refusal. His hand, trembling violently, rose slowly, hesitantly, and gripped the edge of the hammock near his hip. It wasn't an invitation. It was surrender to a different kind of violation. He closed his eyes, turning his face away again, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat.
Koko’s stomach lurched. The sight of Tel yielding, not to desire, but to terror and the cruel necessity of survival, was worse than any curse. It tore at something vital inside him. He wanted to vomit. To smash the radio. To scream. Instead, his hands moved with a dreadful sense of inevitability. He fumbled with his belt buckle again, the metallic clink obscenely loud. He shoved his jeans and briefs back down his hips, his own cock still half-hard, a traitorous response to the horror of the situation, fueled by adrenaline and the ghost of his earlier violence.
He leaned over the hammock. His movements were stiff, robotic. He couldn't kiss him. Not now. That felt like a deeper betrayal. His taloned hand, shaking, gripped Tel’s hip, the sharp tips pressing lightly into the thin fabric of Tel’s briefs. Tel flinched again but didn't pull away. With his other hand, Koko yanked Tel’s jeans and briefs down just enough. He ignored the dried streaks on Tel’s stomach, focusing only on the tight, dark furrow of his ass, still bearing the faint, angry imprint of Koko’s earlier brutal attempt.
Koko spat into his palm, a crude, inadequate lubricant. He slicked his cock with rough, jerky strokes. It felt wrong. All of it. He positioned himself, the blunt, leaking head pressing against Tel’s clenched entrance. Tel whimpered, a low, terrified sound muffled by his own arm pressed over his face. His body tensed, every muscle rigid with remembered pain and dread.
"Make it sound good, birdie!" Silas’s voice crackled suddenly, shattering the fragile silence, making both of them jump violently. The radio was live. He was listening.
Koko gritted his teeth. He pushed. Not with the brutal force of before, but steady, relentless pressure. Tel’s body resisted, the ring of muscle rebelling, squeezing tight. A choked sob escaped Tel’s covered mouth. Koko grunted, a sound less of pleasure and more of sheer, agonizing effort. He pushed harder, feeling the impossible tightness yield with agonizing slowness. "Fuck... Tel... c'mon," he forced out, the words sounding grotesque, a parody of intimacy. He needed sound. Silas needed sound.
Tel gasped, a ragged inhalation as the widest part of Koko’s cockhead finally breached him. "Ah! Shit!" The cry was genuine, sharp with pain. His hand flew from his face, scrabbling against the nylon hammock, fingers clawing. Tears streamed freely now.
Koko froze, buried only an inch deep, feeling the frantic clench of Tel’s body around him, hot and impossibly tight. It was suffocating. Wrong. He hovered, panting, bile rising in his throat. Convincing. He had to be convincing. He pulled back slightly, the drag agonizing for them both, then shoved forward again, deeper this time, forcing another choked cry from Tel. "Yeah... fuck, yeah," Koko groaned into the stagnant air, pouring every ounce of false fervour he could muster into the sound, aiming it towards the radio. "So fucking tight..."
He started a rhythm. Short, shallow thrusts at first, each one a violation amplified by Tel’s stifled sobs and the telltale wet sound of forced entry. Koko kept his talons dug into Tel’s hip, pinning him, feeling the tremors wracking the slighter body beneath him. He leaned down, pressing his face into the sweaty crook of Tel’s neck, trying to block out the sight of his tear-streaked profile. He breathed heavily, purposefully loud, near Tel’s ear. "Take it... take my cock... yeah..." The filthy words tasted like ash.
Tel’s body was a taut bowstring. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to detach, to float away from the raw ache, the humiliation, the sounds Koko was forcing him to hear. He felt split open. He tried to comply, tried to make a sound that wasn't pure pain. A low moan escaped, ragged and broken, echoing Koko’s fake grunt. It sounded pathetic. Real enough?
"Louder!" Silas barked through the radio, static distorting his greed. "I wanna hear the little freak beg for it!"
Koko’s thrusts turned sharper, deeper, spurred by a frantic need to satisfy the monster on the other end of the signal. He hit a spot inside Tel that sent a jolt through him – not pleasure, but a shocking, internal bruise. Tel arched violently, a genuine, high-pitched cry tearing from his throat. "No! Ah! Stop, it... hurts..." The genuine terror in his voice was palpable.
"Yes," Koko hissed, seizing on the sound, driving into that spot again with brutal precision. Tel’s cry rose higher, dissolving into frantic gasps. Koko fucked him harder, the hammock ropes creaking in protest, the frame scraping against the wall. The wet slap of skin on skin, the choked, desperate sounds escaping Tel with every punishing thrust, filled the small space. Koko focused on the sound, on the brutal mechanics of it, on keeping his own revulsion at bay. "Beg!" he snarled, echoing Silas, his voice cracking. "Beg for it, Tel!"
Tel sobbed, overwhelmed, the pain and terror and the awful, relentless pressure pushing him over an edge he didn't understand. "Please! Koko, please!" The words were a raw plea, a surrender not to desire, but to the unbearable. "Please... fuck... oh god..." He babbled incoherently, tears soaking the nylon beneath his cheek.
Koko felt his own climax coiling, a traitorous response to the friction and the adrenaline and the sheer, desperate horror of the act. He slammed into Tel one last time, grinding deep, burying his face against Tel’s neck to stifle his own roar as he came. Hot pulses erupted inside Tel, a final violation. He shuddered violently, collapsing his weight onto Tel’s trembling body for a moment, gasping.
Silence. Heavy, broken only by their harsh, ragged breathing and Tel’s muffled weeping. The air reeked of sweat, fear, and sex.
After a few agonizing seconds, the radio crackled again. Silas’s laugh was low, dark, and utterly satisfied. "Good boy, birdie. Real convincing. Knew that little fucktoy looked like he'd take it hard." The static hissed. "See you soon."
The transmission died. The finality of it hit Koko like a physical blow. He pushed himself off Tel, stumbling back, pulling free with a slick, obscene sound. Tel curled instantly into a tight ball again, shaking uncontrollably, silent tears dripping onto the hammock beneath his face. Koko dragged his jeans up, fumbling with the button, unable to look at the crumpled figure. He turned towards the shattered window, staring out at the poisoned lake reflecting the dying light. The silence in the cabin was deafening, thick with the unspeakable thing they had just done. His own breath hitched, a strangled sound escaping him. He pressed his forehead against the cold, grimy glass, his wings drooping like broken things. The crushing weight of shame and disgust was suffocating. He had saved Tel from Silas, perhaps only for now. And cost him something far more intimate in return.