Damn it all. 

Kyzar was ready for the earth to swallow him whole. All it had taken was a slide down his body, Chrys clinging onto him, her legs against his, for his members to be standing at attention.

Get down, you stupid things! Before I crush you to smithereens and there’s no coming back!

Nothing had gone right for him the moment that cheeky silver soldier of his showed up. Even in his theriomorphic state, as a measly snake, he had managed to do everything that Kyzar had failed at. He had brought a smile to Chrys’s face, and then he had gone on to elicit the most adorable giggle out of her. From day one, she had never cracked a shadow of a smile, and in just one outing to the woods, in less than twenty minutes, that silver worm had accomplished everything worth accomplishing in life.

And now, Chrys was staring at him as if he had just used a cat’s asshole as a face towel. He had no words. Other than himself, no one had ever gotten him hard before, and he did not appreciate that this was how it was all going down. She was not even dressed to seduce, not in her thick winter coat that hid all her curves and prevented him from feeling her soft body against his.

Not that it makes her any less attractive, though. She’s so lovely and I want her. Wake up, Kyzar. That’s not the point. Your dicks are still up. How are you going to sort this out?

He wanted this woman to like him, not think of him as a lecherous reprobate who only sought her body. How was he going to come back from this when he could not explain himself to her?

“I… May I excuse myself?”

Grunt, grunt. No! Hear me out. How? Bellow. How?

Her face had gone pale. This was not working out well for him. She was terrified, and it was obvious what she was thinking – that he would force himself upon her and that she would never see the light of day again. Whatever amity they had managed to nurture up till now was gone. If he did not think fast, this would be the end for him – Chrys would leave him, and he would never be able to hold her hand again.

He reached out for her.

The whimper that broke from her throat was a dagger piercing and twisting in his heart. She was afraid of him, again. Any hope he had left, it was all shattered, strewn on the ground around him. His erections finally subsided, but it was already too late. Chrys wanted nothing to do with him. He sat down on the floor, deflated. She was still in front of him, eyes wide, guard up, shaking like a wet dog in the rain, watching him. He was so miserable he could lay down and curl into a ball. He was never weak, never thought of as weak, but Chrys could be the first to see him mull over his wretched state and what his life had amounted to just because he rejected a witch’s proposal for marriage seven years ago.

“I…I’m sorry.”

He raised his head from the floor, still dejected, not wanting to let his hopes up. Chrys looked ashamed, and it flustered him. Of course she thought that he was capable of taking her against her will – he could easily overpower her, she hardly knew who he was on the inside, and she was in his house, his domain, where no one would be on her side. He could not blame her for fearing for herself. 

Grunt, grunt. Please just don’t avoid me. Grunt.

On her knees, more timorous than a mouse, Chrys crawled over to him. An arm’s length away, she folded and sat on her heels. He waited, knowing he could scare her again if he tried to touch her. But, her head was hung, and her eyes remained downcast for the longest time, so he placed his hand on the floor palm up and slid it forward until it was directly under her nose. 

Finally, their eyes met. She had been gnawing on her lips, evident from their soft, pink puffiness. He needed help. His members were misbehaving again, but before they could put a tent in his pants, he planted a hand through the crevice made by his crossed legs, pressing his forearm against his crotch. He would smother them if he had to.

Her supple, tender mouth, the luminous porcelain of her skin, her lovely light blue eyes and her silky white hair – he wanted to claim them all. He wanted to hear her call his name as he made love to her under the stars, to whisper to her sweet words of the finest honey as they shared passionate kisses. He wanted to tell her that he had fallen hard. 

But he could not. He had no right.

It was a vile curse. His feelings were tainted, his love for her, his desire to have her in his arms, all of it just felt dirty. If they shared any relations, it would always be smeared with a partiality towards breaking the curse. He could not simply indulge in his affections for her, because there would always be that insidious thought in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind, that this was not love, this was him wishing she could break the curse for him, wishing she could open the door and whisk him out of his hell. If she ever allowed him to touch her in his monstrous form, he would only be haunted by the notion that he was only using her for her body, for her potential to save him.

Every piece of him, everything that made him, him, had been defiled.

He had to somehow let her know that the curse could only be broken with sex. No matter how much he loved her, should she come to reciprocate his feelings, all of it would disappear if she found out only after they did the deed. Chrys was a wary person who treaded lightly; she was not someone who would submerge herself completely, rather, only dipping her foot in as far as it was still easy to extract and bolt. She would not hesitate to leave him at the slightest reason. She was also sharp-witted. He moved his arm away.

She flinched almost instantly, as if he had just thrown boiling hot tea in her direction. 

Grunt, grunt. You don’t have to look at me like that. I couldn’t hurt you. Grunt.

“Do you expect me to…service you?” Her voice shook.

No, never.

“Is this normal for you?”

Not at all. You’re the only one who’s gotten me hard, twice, for that matter.

He wished she could read his thoughts, but the only source of her understanding was his head nods and shakes. He supposed he should be satisfied that she was no longer trembling at the sight of him, but the more time they spent together, the greedier he became. He wanted to connect with her, to exchange words that travelled far beyond the realm of just yes and no.

“I know you can’t answer this, but…does your condition have anything to do with the curse?”

He stilled. She was indeed quick to catch on. But he was not in the mood for a torture session, so he kept his head motionless. Instead, he grunted once, a sound he hoped came across as one of affirmation. Her expression became grim, and he could almost see the gears behind her eyes shifting as she tried to piece together the curse that had befallen him.

“Do you need someone to engage with you?”

Grunt. I want it to be you. It may not have mattered to me before, it could have been someone, anyone, no one, but now…if I can’t have you, I’d rather stay a monster for the rest of my life.

“Will you give me time to think about this?”

Grunt. Of course. 

Night fell.

Sleep was not coming easy. Shrouded in darkness, Kyzar laid in bed, one arm under his head, legs crossed, deep in thought. He had left Chrys’s room in a hurry with a hand covering his crotch, fearing that she might change her mind if he kept tormenting her with his erections. The expression on her face when he turned his head for a final glance was a complex one. It was a strange mix of emotions. Incredulity, understandable. Hope and relief, he was not sure why, maybe her soft heart found comfort in knowing that his curse was not insurmountable. But, shame? Shame that knitted her eyebrows, tugged at the corners of her mouth and pervaded the blue of her eyes? Incomprehensible.