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Such as pretending he was a ravenous beast for the past two hundred years. Even if he had genuinely lost his mind at the beginning, when he went on a murderous rampage after our losing our brother, why did he not tell me when he came back to his senses? I am still furious at him over this. Sure, I locked him in a dungeon for multiple centuries, but that doesn’t mean I’m unreasonable.
After day one of fighting over the table’s construction, I was happy to leave them to it and get back to fucking my consort since she is back to being happy to fuck.
But we’re finally out of the bedroom, and Hannah-consort nudges me forward.
“Help them before Remus makes good on that promise, and Thing only has five arms left.”
I give her a look. First, a do-you-think-adding-a-match-to-a-lit-flame-is-a-good-idea? look, followed one more time by the wanna-drop-everything-and-go-upstairs-and-fuck look.
But again she just rolls her eyes, and I allow her to shove me forward, if only because it’s an excuse to have her hands on my lower back. I flare out my wings so she’ll have better access.
But she notices me lingering and finally pulls back with the most adorable little laugh that hits me somewhere between my chest and my nether regions.
I sigh and head into the fray with Thing and Remus.
For once, though, my brothers and I manage to do the impossible. We work together… well.
Last night, Romulus drew out the design plans in his head. With numbers and arrows and everything. Thing’s able to both hold the boards, the nails, and hammer them in, as long as I take the other end of the long boards them for counterbalance.
We manage to get on well enough that somewhere along the way, Hannah-consort disappears, and I don’t even notice. As soon as I do realize she is no longer watching on, my stomach drops out in alarm.
But Romulus grabs my arm before I can lose my shit and just says, “Smell.”
Even as I prepare to yank away from him and launch off in search of my consort, I do unwittingly sniff the air, which is when I scent a complex delight of meaty smells wafting up from the kitchen below. Which immediately makes my alarm transform to warmth.
She has been cooking for us all week. Each time, she tells us not to get used to it. Yet every time I offer to char a slab of meat for her, she turns me down and stomps down to the kitchen herself.
Thing finishes pounding in a nail then Romulus declares, “It is finished!” with far more delight than is warranted by mere slabs of wood being stuck together and not falling apart when we all back away and hold up our hands.
But he is right. The table looks finished and seems as solid as the original. The fresh wood smells clean, as if the forest is right here in our dining room.
“Tomorrow, I’ll stain it,” Romulus says, “but we can still eat on it tonight. It smells like your consort is almost done with—”
“Dinner’s ready,” Hannah sing-songs as she enters the room carrying a stewpot that is far too large for her.
I rush over to her side, flying the last few feet across the expansive room. Quickly but carefully, I snatch the hot pot from her hands.
“Careful!” she says, “Don’t burn your hands. It’s hot!”
She needs to stop saying such things to me, or she will not get to eat, for I will have to take her upstairs and fuck her immediately.
No one has ever cared for me as she does. She feeds me and cares if my fingertips become a tad too warm?
Only knowing she needs the food for our shared kit growing in her belly overcomes my need to have my cock buried to the root inside her tight little cunt. I am glad I am carrying the large pot to cover my erection as I walk at her side back to the newly constructed table where my brothers sit. I have taken to wearing the cloth over my loins, as have my brothers, since we are all now together, but it is still often tented in her presence. She is also constantly covered now, either with aprons or furs, and I grudgingly acquiesce to it, because otherwise I would have to pluck out my brothers’ eyes. Which would not likely add to our new-found tolerance for one another.
Along with the table, we have constructed two long benches to replace the ones Romulus smashed to bits, along with the original table. After setting down the pot, I double check the seat is sanded smooth before allowing my consort to sit.
Thing has loped off to the kitchen to return with tableware and utensils.
How domesticated we have all become by her presence.
But I do not mind it.
