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The habit starts when they're sharing a hotel room in Sumeru City for a night.
Durin often cries as he sleeps, and the Wanderer offers no judgment as he crawls into the same bed as him. Sometimes, he clings to the Wanderer's back and he does, wetting the back of his shirt with tears—but tonight, a different urge builds inside of his nascent human body, a frustration of his muscles, a hunter's urge to own and subjugate.
It begins at his hands: He traces the length of the Wanderer's sternum as he reaches around him, a newfound curiosity towards where the lines of his body leads. Durin's hands wander aimlessly, and he is inexperienced in what to look for.
It ends at his hips: In slow, cautious movements, hesitant with a permission he doesn't have, his body seeks friction against the man's. Durin quickly finds it best at his crotch as it presses against the Wanderer's ass.
Durin's hunger easily outpaces his concern for waking the man up, and after only a moment, he is grinding against him. The latter rouses to the soft, stifled moans of a boy who isn't quite sure where his own voice is coming from.
The Wanderer allows him this peace, too—it is among the things that he finds a necessary benchmark in his development, as he knows Durin to be a sensitive, yet unstable collection of emotions and stimuli.
After a while, Durin knows the puppet is awake, and is too engrossed in his animalistic rut to care.
Durin eventually finds that it feels better with his pants off, and the Wanderer is met with an interesting discovery: When Durin's cock presses against his ass, there's two. The man asserts that it is a niche effect of dragon biology, or perhaps the chalk prince's weird interest, though likely both.
Nevertheless, he offers Durin the consolation of pressing both penises tightly between his thighs. Durin takes to the pleasure readily, and his pace begins to increase into unrhythmic, desperate thrusts.
"Mr. Hat Guy…" Durin's whines escape his lips, only audible to the Wanderer because of the boy's proximity to his ear. They are pressed together so tightly that even if the boy's voice was only a tremble in his chest, the Wanderer could likely still hear it.
As Durin fucks himself into the Wanderer's thighs, the latter man busies himself with observing; Although he cannot see him beneath the sheets, he can easily feel how abnormally large both of Durin's cocks are, the combined size of which would easily be too much for the average human. Not only that, but they are uniquely shaped: each is lined with ridges, accompanied by a thick swell at the base. They, like the rest of his body, are the product of a loving designer.
Finally, and rather conveniently, they excrete a sort of precum that is more akin to common lubricants in volume and viscosity. The Wanderer's thighs are already slick with this, and it already begins to drip down his legs and soak into the sheets.
After a while of sweat and moans, the Wanderer finds himself increasingly wet. For the entire duration of Durin's rut thus far, his pussy had gone entirely untouched. The Wanderer justifies the act of sex with Durin as a kindness; the boy obviously doesn't know what he was doing, nor has he managed to climax yet, so perhaps it simply took a helping hand—another hole—to fix that.
Durin barely registers the fact the man takes off his pants, and it is only because of the newfound feeling of skin that he notices something has changed.
For a moment, Durin isn't aware of the possibility of penetration, and all he can do is drag his cocks through the folds of the Wanderer's cunt.
That is, until a curious thing happens: One of his cocks catches on the edge of the man's pussy, before quickly slipping out.
Durin's body, though perhaps not his mind, notices this fact. His hips quickly goes to recreate the action, then commits to memory the way he can insert himself into the puppet's holes.
At first, Durin is much too large, and the Wanderer much too little stretched out, for his cock to fit. Though, this is nothing that a little brute force—which Durin's unstable body has in abundance—can't solve.
The Wanderer curses under his breath as Durin forces himself inside. The boy grabs onto his hips, holding him in place as the head of his cock burrows into the opening of his pussy. The man has experienced worse at the hands of the Doctor, but it has been more than a year, and his body has long since grown used to a lack of use.
As soon as Durin is able to manage the tip of his cock to fit, the rest of his length soon follows after. The Wanderer strains against the mattress at the intrusion, and the sheer volume of mass that enters him is enough to knock the air out from his lungs. He feels as each ridge catches on the entrance of his pussy, and it is only the solace of the lubrication that saves him from passing out.
As Durin cautiously begins to move himself, he moans sweetly at the tightness around him. The pleasure is almost enough for him to come to his senses, but not before another pang of hunger quickly subsumes what brief clarity he has.
He slams his hips into the man's, desperately trying to wring from the Wanderer's body what friction he can. He begins to fuck him like an animal: holding him down, brutally thrusting with the short-sighted need to bury his seed as deeply as possible.
Amidst his long, rough thrusts, he often slips out. This is usually remedied quickly and efficiently as he plows himself back inside, but it is by a cruel coincidence of the universe that something different happens this time: He pushes into the wrong hole.
"Oh, fuck—" the Wanderer shouts against the sheets. Durin barely registers the difference, similarly immune to the way the man tenses violently in response, and he just as easily resumes his brutal pace.
The Wanderer gets stretched and pounded in one fell swoop, and his whole body begins to scream in pain as Durin fucks his ass loose.
"Durin—listen, you're—" the puppet attempts to say, though it falls on deaf ears. Instead, Durin pushes his head down, muffling his dissent. The Wanderer quickly resolves to enduring it, and winces as he waits for either the pain to subside or the dragon to finish.
At some point, Durin slows to a stop. The Wanderer thinks, for a moment, that he has realized this hole is different from the first—and he has, except he does not take this as a sign to stop, but as a fact that the puppet has two holes he could use.
It is only when the Wanderer feels Durin's second cock line up with his pussy that he understands how the rest of the night is going to play out.
After a moment, the puppet's body is stuffed full with two thick dragon cocks. His voice doesn't bother sounding, as the force of Durin's thrusts are enough to press out all the air from his lungs. At this point, the Wanderer is prone against the bed, with Durin mounted on top of him, hands braced against the man's shoulders both to stabilize himself and hold him down.
Durin breeds him with rough, uneven thrusts—they stab against the man's walls unsatisfyingly, aiming only for the maximization of friction as he drags himself out and slams himself back in.
"Please, Mr.," Durin whines, though the voice is barely his own anymore. "It feels so good…"
Durin's cries heighten, and the Wanderer can feel as the base of the dragon's cocks starts to swell. The puppet anticipates it before it happens, but Durin attempts to force even this inside—dragging his knot in and out of the Wanderer's body until it grows too large to do so. At that point, the man's loose vagina readily accepts the knot, but the rim of his asshole is hesitant to follow. It takes only the encouragement of Durin forcing it into his ass that the Wanderer, with a groan, stretches the widest he is to be stretched that night and accepts the second knot as well.
A thick warmth fills both his holes simultaneously. But even as Durin orgasms, his body does not stop. He continues to grind himself inside, hips pressing against the Wanderer's ass for as much depth as he is allowed, the tip of his cock straightening out his vaginal cavity and kissing the man's cervix with a ferocity that threatens to stretch it open as easily as he did his other holes—shaped like an arrowhead, it pries him open just enough for his cum to shoot into the puppet's womb.
The Wanderer feels how deep it travels, how the heat reaches a depth so invasive, such corners of his body haven't been touched since his days in the Fatui. He feels how his stomach bulges from the cum trapped in his womb, incapable of leaving out the way it came like the rest of Durin's semen that fights with his swollen cocks for territory, then oozes out of his holes and onto the sheets.
It is only after this point that Durin comes to a stop. His breath soon catches up with him, and he stares down at the Wanderer, his friend, and looks at what he's done.
He opens his mouth to speak, but the man can hear the lack of words to say in his hesitance.
"Don't say anything," he cuts the boy off. He doesn't look at the boy when he talks, saving them both the awkwardness of eye contact in a position like that. "When next possible, we are going to clean this up, go back to sleep, and talk about it in the morning. Understood?"
"… Yes, sir."