How many bottles had it been now? 4? 5? He couldn't even remember drinking the last one, but another was in his hand, already half empty. A lurch of nausea rushed through him as his head swam, but...fuck it, what's one more, right?

With a grunt, a swig, and a stumble towards the window, Sketch stared out to the streets of the Domestic Quarter, his eyes blurry from alcohol and his mind hazy. The last month had been something of a daze. He'd watched his son take a lover in front of his eyes, tell him how he didn't want to live with him anymore, and he'd been unceremoniously thrown out of a fancy mansion back to the streets. The stares he'd cared very little about, but it was the haunting visage of his son's angry expression, his agape muzzle, his lidded eyes and the squelching of sex that harrowed him, plaguing his days and nights. He wanted nothing more than for it to stop, but it didn't matter how much he drank; one way or another, it came back.

From his window he saw them. Part of him thought it was a hallucination, some kind of haunting image of his own guilt, his shame-- from across the cobblestone path, in a small alleyway nestled between two buildings, he could make out the telltale purple clothes of the merchant Komori Iruden, or just 'Den' as he'd known them. It wasn't hard to make out what they were doing from that distance; though they were squashed in between the buildings and were deeper in to keep out of sight, the rhythmic rotating of the kitsune's hips, and the tiny figure in front of him, made it clear that Den was pounding away into his son's ass. If he were sober, Sketch would have gone out there and shouted at them, rushed to get his son back, at least even questioned how they were right in front of him, almost goading him with their presence, their 'love'...but he was too drunk to realise there was more at play than just hallucinations...that the two individuals were in fact real, and their placement before him was very much planned.

"Good little...!" Den grunted as he bucked and pushed against the young, tender Ysoki beneath him, who gasped and gripped to him, clinging, desperate to hold on as his innards flexed and gripped around the kitsune's invading knotted cock. In the past month that Komori had made Rush his, he had educated him, not just through tutelage but also in the bedroom. It had taken maybe one or two weeks, but the young Ysoki boy, barely 8 years of age, had become almost entirely receptive to his advances, going so far as to even initiate himself, and quite frequently too. These forays into the domestic quarter for sex in public weren't of his own making, however; Den had orchestrated them himself, with the intention of goading his father, to send him deeper into the depths of despair.

"M-Mr. Den..." Rush huffed under his breath, grasping at the kitsune's front, fingers curling around his purple suit as his innards spasmed wildly with each thrust. "Master..."

Den groaned his approval of the words as he looked out the corner of his eye, licking his lips when he saw Sketch standing in the window, watching them. It was hard to make out any details through the glass pane, but he could faintly see the Ysoki's right arm moving up and down. Though he couldn't entirely confirm or deny, he was sure the Ysoki was masturbating to the sight-- was he ashamed and just too drunk to recognise one emotion from the other, or was he well and truly that far gone? The reasons didn't particularly matter, but the act of it turned the kitsune on. The thought of the man, so wracked with despair that he might simply jerk off to the sight of his son getting fucked, so desperate for his attention that he'd drop himself to such lows was an exhilarating feeling to the kitsune, who relished the sadism of it. Yet, much as he relished it, and enjoyed the warm feeling of that stretched and accustomed hole around his cock, something was missing. The spark.

With a grunt and a push, Den felt his knot press and smear against that hole-- much as he longed to tie, it wasn't a good idea, for they still had to go back to his home after this. He'd only really come out here just to toy with Rush's father a little more, but frankly, he was growing bored. He liked the sex, enjoyed the way Rush clung to him and begged for his attention at every waking hour like a well-trained whore, and yet...he was wistfully longing for his forays to the slums of the city, longing to bury his cock into unsullied holes. Part of the fun was paying off the parents to let him fuck the cubs, and it added to it in one way or another. This was something entirely different and at first had been exciting, but it simply didn't scratch the right kind of itch anymore. Tension grew within his loins as he pumped his hips back and forth, checking to the side just to be sure that Sketch was still watching and masturbating by the window, before he tugged back and withdrew from Rush completely. The young Ysoki squeaked a mixture of protest and surprise, and Den's hands flexed and withdrew from those spread-eagled legs that had tried their best to cling to his hips to keep Rush from falling to the floor. As he relinquished his grip, the cub did the same in kind, instinctively moving to his knees.

"Good boy. Take it all." Den murmured, watching as Rush, without a second thought or even a tingle of hesitation, brought his mouth to that cock and took it, letting it slide all the way to the back of his throat. He unabashedly buried his muzzle on that member and his face scrunched up from the exertion of trying to fit it all in, but Den put a hand on his head to nudge him backwards when the Ysoki attempted to stretch his lips around that bulbous knot-- he knew all too well what might happen if the 8-year-old got stuck on it. His little roaming tongue and the bulging of his throat were more than enough, however, and with a sucked-in breath and a final groan, Den pushed forwards and swung his head back as he blasted down the boy's throat. His member swelled, stretching that tiny little hole and making Rush strain to accept it as he pumped spurt after spurt of his seed straight down into the boy's stomach. Rush brought a hand to his half-naked body, fingers delving down to the cloth covering his stomach to feel the surge of warmth from Den's orgasm, before his hand moved to his own cock, furiously stroking his tiny member as he swallowed every last drop of his new father's load.

Den straightened his head after a moment and looked down, tilting his head slightly to watch out the corner of his eye as Sketch stared at the sight. The adult rat eventually looked down at himself, raised his head to stare at it, then turned away from the window and disappeared further into the house, where Den couldn't see-- the kitsune had no doubt he was likely to drown himself in another bottle of booze for the rest of the night and then some, and the thought elicited a tingle of satisfaction, followed by a numbing sense of boredom. He looked back down to Rush, who slowly slid back on his spent member, huffing harshly through his little nose to take in what breaths he could, recuperating what he had lost by holding his breath mere moments ago. Den's hand snaked down to the cub's cheek and Rush leant into it slightly, enjoying the affectionate touch. Den, however, abruptly pulled away and withdrew not only his hand, but his cock, tugging both back at once and leaving Rush wanting.

"Master...?" Rush murmured, slowly getting to his feet and watching as Den bent down to pull up his pants from around his knees, adjusting himself and covering up his extremities. With a quick pat he smoothed out the wrinkles of his purple trousers and dusted off whatever specs had accumulated, before he pinned Rush with a stare that made the Ysoki feel uneasy. Den was normally teasing, perhaps even a little tender in moments post-sex, but Den was remarkably cold in that moment, looking down at Rush like he were lesser, something to merely observe from a distance. A chill ran up Rush's spine, before the kitsune sighed, turning his head away.

"Come, Rush," He began. "It's time we go home; your tutoring time is nearing."

"Y-Yes, sir..." Rush mumbled, feeling peculiar, his eyes glancing over towards his old family home before he turned and followed Den down the alley out the other side, heading out of the domestic quarter.

Within the confines of that shabby little house, Sketch slumped against the table, looking down at his bottle, at the strands of cum clinging between his fingers. Those same strands soaked into the hardwood by the window, and his cock hung limply from outside of his pants, a single glob swinging freely from the tip of his prick. His mind can't even comprehend what he'd just done, what he'd masturbated to the sight to-- instead, all his mind could do was swim with the thoughts of his son, the guilt sinking further and further into him as the haunting sight of Rush's angry face, and conversely his pleasured one, filled his mind.



---------- x x x ----------



Den had done his best to attempt to shake the feeling of boredom in the couple of weeks since that day, but he eventually succumbed to it-- after all, why should a man like him not follow his whims, when he had the freedom to do so? He felt no guilt or sadness from detaching from Rush, nor did he dislike the enjoyment he felt from finally making his way back to the slums to find something new. For a time, he just walked and breathed in the sights; he'd been so busy the past month that he'd forgotten the stench, and his mind wandered with the memories of past times, of the cubs he'd fucked, those that had now moved to the Domestic Quarter.

He eventually found himself a delightful young reptile boy to partake in, one that had been easily pliable with a few tender words and one that had been easy to buy, thanks to a single mother of 4 children struggling to make ends meet without a father to work manual labour. Den had honeyed her with words, and had promised sacks of coin to allow her to open up her own bakery in the Domestic Quarter-- the likelihood of her business actually doing well mattered little and was likely slim, for the temptation was enough to get her to concede. She, and her remaining 3 children-- much to Den's chagrin-- withdrew themselves from their home for a time so Den could partake in the boy's flesh. He was 10 years of age, a little intelligent, and readily receptive to Den's advances; he knew what Den wanted, or at least had some kind of inkling, and was willing to concede to a point when he understood what the 'prize' of relinquishing some freedom could be. Den barely even had to convince him; the boy did it all on his own.

He buttered the boy up first with a little fleeting kiss, an exploration of his body and a touch of his chest and stomach. Thoughts of Rush swam to the back of his mind and he cared more about what happened in the moment-- the Ysoki was in tutoring at the time anyway, and though his behaviour had become erratic, perhaps even problematic in the past handful of days, it was nothing that Den couldn't handle. The reptile had enjoyed his touch when his mouth and hands delved lower, but the 10-year-old hadn't been expecting Den to want more. After he stoked the fire of the cub's arousal, he flipped him over and took what he wanted. The reptile was apprehensive at first, and his uneasy murmurs became vocal protests. All it took was a hand to the back of the head and a slow but easy entry to shut him up-- his complaints muted into grunts of discomfort and quiet whimpers.

For the past week or so, Den had been denying Rush sex. The Ysoki hadn't seemed too bothered by it at first-- he was uneasy, like a deer staring down the barrel of a musket, but he brushed it off when Den often ushered him to his room, or simply laid there with him, or told him to begin his tutoring with the many individuals Den had hired to teach him...but eventually, Rush seemed to twig to the fact that Den kept denying him. He had started to try and initiate things without asking for consent, which Den ultimately didn't mind, but he had enough willpower to react very little and reject his advances. He could tell it was beginning to bother the boy, for his tutors had voiced their concerns over his lack of attention-- one in particular had to be paid a sum of gold to be silenced when Rush had tried to force himself upon one of them. Naturally, the tutor rejected him also, and ended the session early. All of this, surprisingly enough, was part of Den's plan; he wanted to break Rush like he'd broken Sketch. When the time was right, he planned to put it all together, one way or another.

The reptile was spent, or rather he'd stopped putting up a fight. He had initially tried to push himself up against Den's hand, to ease his body onto all fours in an attempt to find purchase and wriggle out of the kitsune's grip, but Den had more or less pressed his body to the floor and ploughed into him, knot and balls slapping against that smooth scaled ass over and over until he reached his peak. When he orgasmed into him, he was met with a similar display as before; a taut hole, a clenching of muscles, and a little half-sobbing whimper as Den climaxed, unable to tie-- such was the way. He often never tied with them on the first try.

The satisfaction he felt in that moment was more than what he'd experienced with Rush over the handful of weeks he'd kept him. His mind was already whirring with plans, and as he wiped himself on the reptile's behind, patted his ass and got to his feet, he already had a plan brewing in his mind. The cub beneath him rolled onto his front, revealing his stiff, unsatisfied member, and the temptation to stay rose within him...yet he relented, surprisingly. He pulled up his pants and smirked down at the cub's defiant, angry expression before the kitsune turned on the spot, looking towards the door. As he strode out into the murky afternoon atmosphere of the slums, he performed his speech of 'reparations' to the mother of the recently-deflowered child and then went on his way. Singe would drop off the payment as needed, and for handful of moments Den hovered nearby, standing in a nearby alley. Singe appeared beside him after a few minutes and Den relayed his plan in hushed whispers for his right-hand man to listen to. It was a simple plan, but one that would require Singe to do his part...and the Ysoki knew exactly what to do.

The merchant kitsune returned home shortly thereafter to start setting his plan in motion, but Rush did most of it for him. As he walked through the vast double doors of his large mansion and into the lobby of his home, he heard the patter of footsteps on the floor above, heading towards the marble staircase.

"M-Master, you're home," Rush stood on the little balcony above, inches away from the staircase, and Den glanced up at him before striding towards the steps, ascending. "I, um, was hoping we could..."

"I'm busy, Rush." Den made his tone clipped and curt, and he didn't have to look to know Rush was squirming on the spot with frustration; he could tell by the Ysoki's little defiant grunt. Den met with the halfway landing of the lobby steps before heading to the right, where he ascended on the opposite side of the balcony towards his usual wing of the mansion. Rush pattered after him, having to go down and back up the stairs to follow.

"B-But..." Rush continued as they walked, meekly following along behind Den who strode down the carpeted hall towards his bedroom. "We haven't...I haven't...did I do something wrong?"

"No. How did your tutoring go?" Den deliberately tried to change to subject to rile the Ysoki up more, and it worked. He could practically feel the desperation in Rush's tone as he continued.

"It was fine, but," Rush quickly swept across the topic as they reached Den's bedroom doors, the kitsune stepping through without a second thought. "I must have done something, Master. We haven't...done things, and..."

"I'm not sure what you mean. I've been busy, Rush. I am a busy man. You understand?" Den turned on the spot once he faced the middle of the room to see Rush's teary expression and fidgeting figure; the boy was on edge, that much was clear.

"Do you not love me anymore?" Rush closed the distance between them, reaching up to grab at the kitsune's clothes. "I'll do better, I promise! I can be really good, please..."

Rush's hands slid down towards the waistline of Komori's pants and he plucked at the button, trying to get access to what lay beneath. However, before he could so much as loosen the pants, Den put a hand on the boy's forearm and pushed him back, taking a step back at the same time. He would have enjoyed ploughing the cub in his desperate state, but he was instead bemused, eager to see how much further he might fall.

"No." He kept his voice cold and quiet and Rush whined his protest, hand curling into a fist as he stared up at the kitsune, his eyes moistening with tears.

"I-I'll be good, please, I...what did I do? Why don't you want me?" He begged, and his knees abruptly buckled as Den relinquished his grip and withdrew, taking a large step back so he could both observe Rush from a distance as well as cement that same emotional bridge even more. Rush stares at him and holds his hands out in a pleading motion, but Den doesn't even acknowledge his question, and merely remains silent. Without an answer, Rush doesn't know what to do, nor does he know what to think. At that moment, his repressed feelings, the dark memories of his attack and his father, come flooding back. He keeled over and stared down at the floor as he quietly sobs, entering what Den was sure was some kind of breakdown.

It was then that Den's plan could finally begin, now that everything was in place. The door to Den's room suddenly clicked open, and as the kitsune turned towards his bed and the chair nearby, he heard the complaints and grunts of a man, combined with the scuffle of feet and boots against carpeted floor, intermingled with Rush's whimpers. Den turned to sit on the edge of the bed and was greeted by the sight of that which he'd orchestrated: Singe, dragging Sketch into the room. The Ysoki was evidently drunk, and must have been chugging a few bottles before Singe acquired him on Den's command. For a moment the rat didn't seem to know where he was, before his gaze flicked around the room, first to Rush and then to Den. He made an assumption, an incorrect one, and started shambling forwards towards the kitsune. Den didn't blame him; from his perspective, it probably looked like he'd hurt Rush...which wasn't entirely untrue.

However, Sketch didn't get even remotely far before Singe acted. He kicked the Ysoki in the back of his leg and forced him to buckle, the rat falling face-first to the floor and startling his son nearby, who raised his head and widened his eyes upon seeing his father. Rush reacted typically, crawling across the floor towards Den and trying to huddle up by his feet, but Den deliberately and pointedly ignored him, causing him to whine. Sketch tried to scramble to his feet, but once he was on all fours, Singe swung his foot outwards and kicked him straight in the stomach, taking the wind out of him. The adult Ysoki was forced to roll around the floor, sucking in deep breaths to try and recuperate. Satisfied, Den waved his hand and Singe bowed, retreating from the room so that they were left in peace.

"Listen to me, Sketch," Den began with an authoritative voice, his eyes lidded slightly with amusement. "I'm going to offer you a deal. Listen closely, won't you?"

Sketch grunted and raised his head, eyes darting between the two of them, his lip wobbling with distress. Despite his anger, he stayed still, gritting his teeth and watching. A smirk crossed Den's features before he continued.

"Prove to me that you love your son as much as I love him, and I'll let you take him home." The deal was simple enough, but elicited negative reactions, at least from one of them. Rush's fingers curled around the leg of Den's pants and he looked up at him with pleading eyes, shaking his head frantically.

"No, please, I'll be good. I want to stay with you, Master! P-Please!" Rush begged, but Den merely offered him a glance and nothing more, instead looking towards Sketch. Already, the Ysoki was starting to move, despite being out of breath from the kick moments ago. With each gasping breath his movements became stronger as he sluggishly pushed himself onto all fours, clawing his way over on the carpet with a crazed, drunken look in his eye that even Den was a little unsure about. A smirk crossed his features, however, when Sketch grabbed at his son's ankle and pulled-- his strength, despite being intoxicated, could not be combatted by such a young boy, and Rush desperately tried to cling to Den's leg before he was yanked away, dragged across the carpet until he was a short distance away from the kitsune's seated position.

Rush struggled at first, thrashing and kicking out his legs, trying to drag his way back to the person he wanted, to his 'master', but Sketch's hands held firm-- or rather, just one of his hands. The other delved down, and Den's eyes widened with surprise as Sketch started to yank and tug his cock free from within the confines of his shabby pants, pushing the waistline of the linen over his hips and roughly reaching inside to yank free his member, which was already semi-hard. He slapped it against Rush's behind, but didn't try to penetrate; instead, he clambered forwards, shuffling his adult legs on either side of the young Ysoki's squirming form until he was roughly around his chest area, loosely positioned above him. He stretched to the fullness of his height, knees quivering on either side of his son's body, and with a strong hand he grabbed the 8-year-old's shoulder and pulled, forcing him to roll. At that moment, Rush realised what his father planned to do-- his small eyes widened, fear brimming with them, before all whimpers of protest and all begging pretences were snuffed out.

With a thrust, an adjustment and a strong grip on Rush's head, Sketch forced his steadily growing, near-full-mast cock into his son's mouth. Rush seemed to instinctively know not to bite down and resisted the urge, but his face scrunched up and he let out a weak, pleading sob as the Ysoki buried his member deep, sliding his cock along the length of his son's tongue until the head of his member slammed roughly with the back of his throat, causing a spark of discomfort and pain to shoot down Rush's body. His stomach quivered and his throat instinctively closed up as Sketch tried to force his way down, and the thick, turgid intrusion easily spread the flesh apart as Sketch leaned over, one hand holding to the back of the boy's head as the other planted on the floor of Den's room. The kitsune, delighted by the turn of events, couldn't help but to pluck the button of his trousers free to openly grope himself to the sight, watching as Sketch angled down and started to tug and thrust down into Rush's mouth.

The young Ysoki's hands, with nowhere to go, awkwardly planted and tried to push against his father's bare hips as the adult man molested him over and over, slamming down into his young muzzle and pressing his balls up to that quivering chin with each and every thrust, his grunts heavy, his breathing laboured and panting. He muttered something under his breath, akin to words of love and lust, but no one except Rush could hear them; Den was too far away and too enamoured by the lewd sight to even be paying attention. He tugged his growing sheath free from his pants and openly stroked the stiffening tip of his tapering member as Sketch's thrusts rapidly picked up speed over time, his grunts becoming deep, carnal snarls as his tail coiled and swished, his fingers curling tightly against the floor and digging into the carpet.

Rush pushed back despite all his father's efforts, his throat noisily making sloppy sounds-- he would have had something of a gag reflex, had Den not been 'training' him the past few weeks to be used to taking a cock into his throat, but that didn't mean the boy didn't need to breath; he desperately tried to suck in breaths between the humps, but barely got more than a few wispy gasps before his throat was clogging with his father's violating cock again. Nausea rolled around in his stomach as the man pumped over and over, until his spit-covered throat and mouth were slick with the sticky substance of pre-cum. Sketch's pleasure was rising, and in those rough, non-consensual moments he could feel himself about the bust...or he should have, were he not so delirious with pleasure, his head so hazy with desire to hold his son tight and the alcohol lowering his inhibitions, forming a messy cocktail of 'I need to fuck my son, so he knows how much I love him'. Den had done well to orchestrate everything perfectly, but this was not how he'd expected things to go...at least, not so spontaneously.

Sketch's thrusts reached a peak from what Den could see from his movements, and vaguely from what he could remember of their very first encounter, when he pointed so forcefully, so strongly. He pounded and pumped, sucking in shallow breaths as Den watched, loosely stroking his already fully hard prick, fingers gliding from tip to base. Suddenly, Sketch let out a hiss, plunged deep, and growled from between his lips as he pressed down and climaxed, abruptly and and violently slamming his hips down to milk every last drop of his sudden nut down into the young Ysoki's stomach. His son gulped and gagged, whimpering and dragging his nails against his father's body, trying to claw at and push him away. There was nothing that he could do, nothing that stopped his father from using him the way his alcohol-addled brain wanted. Sketch pressed a few more times all too forcefully before, with a grunt, he yanked back and withdrew himself completely, leaving Rush gasping for air beneath him. The cub rolled and clawed at the ground, violently coughing as little strings of seed dripped from his muzzle onto the floor beneath him, soaking into the carpet.

Den mused that it might be over, that all he needed was to have his fill with the boy and he'd wave a hand to take him home...but to the kitsune's surprise, the Ysoki still had more fight in him, more desire to prove how much he loves his son. He slid back from the cub's body, his hands raking down and clawing at his son's back until his fingers met with his pants. His digits curled and gripped, grabbing and yanking them down to expose the young rump beneath, and Rush quickly understood what his father's intentions where; he desperately tried to pull himself away in some fashion, reaching for Den to help him as he whimpered, but the kitsune merely watched with a growing grin as Sketch yanked and tugged, slipping those pants free from the boy's legs and tossing them violently to the side, where the spun and billowed in the air before landing in a heap somewhere nearby, off to their right.

"S-Stop, pl--" Rush tried to speak, but Sketch put a hand on his hand as he attempted to find purchase somewhere atop him, forcing his son's face against the floor and by extension the specs drying on the carpet. With his other hand he grabbed and manhandled his own loins, fingers slickly smearing across the mixture of spit and cum before his digits dipped to the base of his cock, grasping the still-hard member and angling it down as he forced himself between his son's cheeks. Rush wailed, an aching, heart-wrenching cry that should have snapped Sketch out of whatever trance he was in, but it fell on deaf ears as the man pushed, forcing the tip of his member against that young hole. Den's practice of keeping the boy stretched helped Sketch in his fight to penetrate the squirming Ysoki, with a guttural growl and a single push, he slipped inside.

Rush arched his back, face scrunched up as his cheeks became moist with tears, but Sketch's gripping hand and plunging hips forced his head back down as he choked back a sob. His inners flexed and spasmed around his drunken father's awaiting member and with a shudder and a mumble, the adult Ysoki delighted in the feeling-- to his drunken brain, this was how he proved to Rush that he loved him since, after all, this is what Den did to the boy for many weeks...and Rush loved it then, didn't he? He shoved down and pressed his pelvis to that young behind, the cub's whimpers practically mute in his ears as he kneaded his hips and massaged the length of his short, 3-and-a-half-inch member. Sketch shuddered, his eyes lidded over, his mouth hanging agape, and Den admired the sight of him completely overcome with a mixture of pleasure and desperation to the point where he didn't even recognise what was truly going on in front of him, what he was doing to his own son. Just the sight alone had pre-cum oozing from the end of the Kitsune's cock, delicate and tiny spurts and dribbles slickening up his steadily quickening strokes.

It didn't take long for Sketch to start easing back and thrusting once more, lifting his hips and pumping them down as he quickened his pace in that hole. The fluids on his dick helped to make his thrusts quick and plentiful and it was easy for him to move into a moderately-paced rhythm, his balls swinging up and meeting with that young, plump backside over and over and his breath sucked in and exhaled in shallow, heavy pants. Beneath him, Rush's hole spasmed and clenched, trying its base to push out every invading inch of his father's member, and despite the pain and the discomfort, he could do nothing more than quietly sob and whimper-- his mind was hazy with the memories of what had happened before, which had been altogether more brutal, more nauseating...but not nearly as betraying as what his father was doing to him in that moment. His mind blankly disassociated most of what was happening, save for how his body reacted to such violent stimuli.

Sketch quietly mumbled sweet nothings under his breath, though they were more akin to slurred mumbles doting on his son, on how tight he felt, and how much he loved him. Rush didn't hear any of it, and Den was too far away for his ears to easily pick them up, leaving those words hanging in the air for no-one but Sketch himself as his hips quickened and his breathing became shallower. It was clear he was going to cum just as fast as he had when violating his son's mouth, and even Den's breath began to hitch as he felt the tickle of his own growing orgasm to the sight, his knot started to swell as he pumped his hand faster and faster. With each forceful nudge of Sketch's hips, he just barely rubbed against the delicate prostate, though not nearly enough to entice his son; between the three of them, he was the one who likely wasn't going to cum, no matter what Sketch did to satisfy himself using that young body. Their noises of brutal sex became wetter as Sketch's pre-cum intermingled with his laboured humps, coating his member in a third fluid and allowing his member to glide and swiftly slam up and down, nudging his son further and further into the carpet as his hand curled fiercely against the back of the young head, claws raking against flesh.

Then, in a single gasp and an all-encapsulating sight, it was over. Sketch pressed down and groaned his approval as he shoved his way as deep as he could, hilting inside entirely as he pushed down harder with his hand, forcing Rush's head further into the carpet and squishing his nose and muzzle against the floor. Den tilted his head to the side and watched for a moment, unsure for a moment if Rush could even breathe in that position, before he felt the telltale shudder of his orgasm rushing over his body; it had snuck up on him without him realising it. His pace quickened at the sight of Sketch emptying his balls into his son's behind and, with his own final grunt and a quick jerk of his fingers, he spread his legs and leant forwards, shooting thick and ample ropes of cum straight onto the floor in front of him. The occasional strand oozed down his member only to be inevitably scooped up by his fingers, smearing it messily across the length of his wildly twitching dick. Nice as it was, he was missing a certain sense of satisfaction, largely in part due to the lack of a warm hole to tie.

A quiet silence fell amongst them as Rush's whimpers and protests dwindled down into nothing at all, and for a moment Sketch hung there, his hand on his son's head propping himself up as he wavered and wobbled, buried deep in that young ass. Den's stroking hand started to slow and he tilted his head to the side with curiosity as Sketch started to move, easing up and withdrawing both his hand and his body. He pulled out of his son unceremoniously, his cock still madly twitching with pleasure, but his face was different; he was bug-eyed, too stunned to speak and could only take in rasping breaths. The kitsune wondered if he were perhaps overcome with shame for what he just did, but when Sketch quickly grabbed his son's shoulder and flipped him over onto his back, he understood that the adult Ysoki's panic was at his son's wellbeing, despite being so drunk. It came as no surprise to Den to see the boy's eyes shut and his little dick flaccid, and he could tell from a distance that there was nothing to be concerned over-- when Sketch dropped his head and patted at his son's chest, he didn't seem to calm down, even though he surely felt a heartbeat.

"He's fine." Den announced as he stood, pulling his pants up with him as he stuffed his twitching, spent member away into his pants with a slight grimacing expression, the sensitivity hard to manage. To be sure, he approached the two of them, and Sketch hissed, wanting him to back off. Den, however, remained; though no one could see it, Singe was hiding away in the corner, using what little magic he had as a form of stealth; if Sketch lashed out, he'd be reprimanded. The kitsune brought his fingers to the side of Rush's neck and, sure enough, he heard the boy's heartbeat, slowly subsiding from the heavy hammering it had been under. If Den had to surmise anything, it was that he likely passed out from the shock.

"Take him home. I'm a man of my word." Den rose with a smirk and Sketch blinked up at him, wavering slightly in his knelt position. It was almost like he couldn't believe what he was hearing; he was expecting some other trick, some ploy...but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He started to scramble for his boy as Den returned to the edge of his bed, glancing towards the corner of the room out the corner of his eye.

"Singe, see them out." He commanded, and in a flash his right-hand man came out from the shadows, blending out of his environment of Den's room so that he could assist-- though it was more appropriate for him to say he was manhandling them-- out the door. Den didn't hear even a peep of an argument as they left; Sketch was no doubt immeasurably grateful, even if angry...perhaps he may never see him again. Meeting Rush in the first place and hearing of his troubles was a very happenstance encounter.

Sketch shambled, dragging his feet as Singe pulled him along, his arms wrapped tightly around the boy that he held in his arms bridal style, unsure of how else to cover and bundle his unconscious body. He hadn't even the time to grab his son's pants as they left-- that fine silk would have fetched a high price-- but it mattered little. When he stepped out the front doors and staggered to the steps leading down the path, he felt the other Ysoki's hand on his back, effectively pushing him down. He somehow managed to not stumble too badly, acquiring a thin modicum of clarity for just a moment, before his mind became dizzy once he reached the bottom. Singe didn't follow him as he retreated down the path.

For a time it was quiet; the sun was starting to set, though it wasn't entirely there yet, and people still mingled the streets but kept their distance from the shambling man and his son; who were they to question why a drunken man would be carrying a boy around, especially when they're of the same species? Sketch said nothing as he walked, and as quick as he could blink he found himself standing in front of their tiny home in the Domestic Quarter. He couldn't remember the journey there, nor did he care; he shouldered the door open with ease and stepped inside, roughly kicking it shut. Rush didn't stir in his arms as he carried the boy to his room, his drunken state filled with a sense of joy and longing at the relief of the cub being home, safe, with him.

He set him down on the bed and draped his limp, young form over the blankets. He should have pulled them up to cover the boy, but he hadn't thought about it, and his fingers clumsily pulled at the boy's clothes in an effort to undress him...though ultimately, only his shirt remained. His gaze raked over his son's young body, from his parted lips and closed eyes down the linen top to his spread legs, floppy little dick and limp tail. He should have been looking, shouldn't have been staring either, yet he was unable to find himself pulling his eyes away. Within him, something stirred...something he couldn't control.

He found himself moving up onto the bed before his mind caught up, and even as awareness of his actions filled him, his hands moved regardless. His fingers trailed across the unconscious boy's front, down his chest towards his crotch, and he found his eyes trailing along the wake of his digits as he started squeezing against the flesh of his thigh, gripping and flexing. The flesh was soft, willing, and succumbed under his touch with just a single few squeezes. The boy didn't stir, didn't move in his unconscious position; he was, effectively, helpless...and for the Ysoki, it was just what he wanted. His hands moved, grasping at the boy's knees, and with a single swing of his arms he moved the boy onto his side.

His body moved, his drunken stupor, his hazy mind doing all the work for him as he yanked down his pants and scooted forwards, wriggling and pushing with a hand until his pants met with his ankles, and his short, fat member was revealed again. He spread his legs apart and kicked an ankle to free them from the confines of his pants, and with one hand he lifted Rush's leg, dragging himself over the other so he could settle loosely between them. His member slid perfectly between those young cheeks and with a sharp angle he plunged down, forcing his way into the unconscious boy's hole in one fell swoop, his thrust accentuated by a vivid wet squelch. All that rushed through him with a tickle of desire and a growing lust, a desperation for his son's attention, despite the fact he didn't even register the entry; the boy's muscles didn't even flex.

He started his thrust sloppily, driven by a crazy frenzy, his skin prickling hot as he felt that hole barely even squeeze around him. He hilted with ease, the cum from not that long ago helping to slicken his movements easily, even though his cock had long since dried. His hand curled and squeezed around Rush's thigh as he brought his leg back down, letting it meet with the other. He slid back, 3 and a half inches of dick, sticky with fluids, before he pushed forwards again and started in on a messy irregular rhythm, his body halfway between giving out and wanting more. With each thrust he muttered something under his breath, a mantra that became louder and louder as time went on, as he continued to thrust and grunt, body spiking with pleasure.

For a long time, Rush barely moved an inch, so out of it and so unconscious that his body didn't react to the force of his father's thrusts, didn't stir as his hole was invaded again...but over time, he started to move, twisting his body this way and that as his senses returned to him. He felt spasming, aching pain, nausea, and then tickles of pleasure. Long before his ears started to listen, he knew he was being violated-- when he was asleep it had happened a few times with Den, and he'd wake up to join in at those times...but he knew this was different. Memories came flooding in, and with it despair; a deep, longing ache for companionship and love. His ears twisted as he listened to the sounds of grunting, and given what had recently transpired, he knew who they belonged to. He turned his head just in time for his father's body to press down upon him, keeping him still as he started to rock his hips faster and faster, spurred on by Rush's inevitable squeezing innards, acting instinctively to the intrusion.

"I love you, I love you, I..." His father muttered the words over and over as he pumped and thrust, occasionally pausing to grunt or take in a deep breath before he started repeating the words again. Rush, still in a bit of a daze, cast his eyes off into the darkness of his room and wondered what he should do, how he should feel...part of him was numb, the other desperately reaching out, wanting his father back. Slowly, he started to turn, twisting his upper body and weakly lifting a hand up towards his father's face. Sketch froze when fingers touched his cheek and he withdrew, albeit only slightly, to lift his gaze up and stare down at his son.

Rush could do nothing but awkwardly smile at him, the void in him desperate to be filled. He lifted his head, closing his eyes as he strained to press his lips to his father's own, and as they brushed together, he smelt the alcohol on Sketch's breath. The adult Ysoki closed the short distance between them, piercing his son's muzzle with a kiss, before he started his thrusts once more, matching the rapid harsh and rapid rhythm he had been doing mere moments ago. All the while, his lips connected with Rush's own, his words silenced by a single kiss; with his love reciprocated, with Rush's desire for love briefly validated, the two were locked in a peculiar eternal bliss that sought to only give each other what needed to be filled, for a time.

They kissed and fucked deep into the night...for how long, only they would know. As for how things would play out by the morning, and in the future...their fate was in their own hands.