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Bells jingling draw Doc out of where he's working on his tablet. Cub at least has the decency to shed his outer layers of armor before falling face first into the nest next to him.
"Hello to you too. Are you injured?" Doc greets his boyfriend, who evidently just got back from another evening out trying out the villaining thing. His ridiculous idea of how to get close to his hero crush.
"'s fine. Saw Skizz on the way in. He patched me up." Cub barely lifts his head far enough out of the bedding to speak. Doc's instincts may demand a moss nest, but he has grown very used to pillows and blankets in it.
"Was there much to patch up?" Setting his tablet aside for now, Doc pats Cub's messy black curls with one hand.
"No." In the face of Doc's unrelenting conversation attempts, Cub flops over on his back instead of his belly. "A few scrapes. The armor held up well. As did the mask."
"Good. What has you in this sour mood, then? If your equipment worked? Or did your scheme fail?" With Cub not protesting the touch, Doc pulls him over so he can rest Cub's upper body on his front paws. Gently kneading into Cub's tense shoulders. Good relaxation for both of them.
"It didn't fail, exactly. It worked as intended. Hotguy was very professional too. It's..." Trailing off, Cub sighs. "It's Cuteguy. He was rather aggressive. Again. Are we sure the bells on my cap are not a trigger for avians?"
"No, I'm quite sure." Doc confirms. "Nothing about your outfit should be an instinct trigger for an known hero's or villain's species. Personal triggers though, you know I could not say even if I knew."
"Yes, I'm aware, doctor-patient-confidentiality and all that." Cub grumbles, leaning back into Doc's touch.
"Exactly." Doc nods. "Is Cuteguy's aggressive behavior why you're so tense?"
"I don't know. I don't want to talk about it." Cub grumbles.
"Alright then. We won't talk about it." Doc keeps working on Cub's shoulders, letting the silence stretch.
"It's just- I don't think the Jingler is the right villain for me. I think I need a different mask. This isn't working." It takes almost five minutes for Cub to speak up.
"How so?" Doc prompts, sitting Cub up to better reach more of his back.
"Too clunky. I want to be able to talk. And not have to look at Hotguy though shaded glass. And the bells are killing me man." Cub's words come out jumbled.
"The shaded glass in the mask was your idea. Like sunglasses." Doc mildly remarks.
"Fuck sunglasses. I need to see him, Doc. I need to see him without anything between us." Cub nearly whines, twisting around to look at Doc.
"If you want to retire the Jingler, we can do that. No one is forcing you to continue this." Doc reminds Cub. Not how Doc thought Cub would retire, but then again by the sound of it he isn't giving up villainy all together. Just his current mask.
"I think I do." Cub flops back into Doc.
"Then that is what we do, little horror." Doc assures him. And really, who is going to make either of them do something they don't want? "Do you already have ideas for your new mask?" Doc shakes himself out of his musing.
"Something with open eyes. Something that lets me talk." Cub answers right away. "We'll have to find a way to change my eyes and my voice, and maybe my skin, but that can be done."
"Sounds like it'll be a tough puzzle." Doc grins. They both love those. When they have to put their heads together and think hard.
"Mhmm." Is all the acknowledgment Cub gives that.
With a sigh of his own, Doc rolls onto his side, Cub tucked close. He's pretty sure that talk isn't all Cub's here for.
Sometimes, Cub just needs his brain to be forced to shut up. Preferably, with Doc's big dick and a large number of eggs filling him up until the buzzing between his ears stops.
He is also incredibly bad at asking for it. Doc knows this. Knows it, and still makes Cub ask every time, the bastard.
"Something you want, little horror?" Doc at least prompts. This time. With the nickname he gave Cub back when they were in college and sharing a dorm.
"You know what I want." Cub grumbles, from under one of Doc's front pasw, thrown over Cub in an attempt to stop his wriggling and fidgeting.
"The same thing you always want, yes. And as always, I'm going to make you ask for it. Use your words, Cub." Doc reminds him, paw still heavy across Cub's middle.
"Of course you are." Cub sighs. And sighs again, just to be extra sure he's made his point. Is it really too much to ask for Doc to just grab him, and impale Cub on his dick? Use him like that until Cub's brain stops metaphorically stabbing him without Cub needing to ask for it? "Fuck me. Fill me. Please." Is the best asking he has in him. Fortunately, he knows it's enough.
"Gladly, little horror. All you had to do was ask. Now let's get that big brain of yours quieted down." With fingers way too clever for their size, Doc works to peel Cub out of the under-layers he's still wearing. Not that he's been planning to sleep in them, but there are worse pajamas. Significantly worse ones. The under-layers of his villain getup are at least made to be close fitting and comfortable to wear on the skin. Unlike some other clothes he's had the displeasure of encountering before. Really, do they have to make care tags out of the scratchiest fabric known to man? And what even are seams that they sometimes feel like knives stabbing into him?
Those and other questions mull through Cub's head as Doc undresses him. Doc himself does not need any undressing, with his lower half being a taur that does not wear clothing outside of winter and Doc preferring to go shirtless in private. Though technically, he does wear a set of bags around his hips most of the time. Which is probably, knowing Doc, slung over some holder or chair over by the closet. Stupid convenient taur hips and their great load-bearing capabilities.
Now that he's naked, Cub helps out by flopping forward onto a pillow, hips up so Doc can take his typical forever opening Cub up. Because of course he also refuses to do minimal prep. Not that it doesn't feel good and all, but Cub would like to get Doc's dick in him, preferably yesterday. Or at least, as soon as possible today, given that he did indeed have Doc's dick in him yesterday. No eggs for him yesterday though. Hadn't been in the mood for them. Now though, now Cub wants to be stuffed until he's bursting at his non-existent yet still irritating seams.
"You want to stay like this, or you want to ride me?" Doc asks. How stupidly considerate of him. Usually, a question Cub appreciates. Not everyday he feels like having his everything flattened by the force that is Doc mounting him.
"Like this." Cub mumbles into the pillows. Right now, he welcomes getting his everything flattened and blown away.
"Alright. If that's what you want." Movement behind Cub as Doc rises up, then large, fluffy paws sink into the bedding on either side of Cub's head, and a heavy, warm weight settles over his back. "I assume I do not have to tell you to prepare." Doc chuckles, then the prehensile tentacle of his dick worms its way into Cub's well stretched hole. Dick seated, Doc begins to thrust.
Cub hangs on for dear life. The force Doc can put behind each thrust is immense, and he can go surprisingly fast for his size. Between those two factors, it's not a question of if Cub will come untouched, but of how soon. No matter when that will be though, the eggs will force a few more orgasms from him, when Doc gets around to laying them in Cub. NThey can't actually grow or incubate, they have long since determined that Doc's eggs outside his bloom are decidedly sterile, and even in his bloom they'd need someone else's cum to fertilize them, or they self-terminate. Thoughts Cub finally has the room to muse on again, now that he has Doc blasting everything out of his brain.
Feels like Doc may not be waiting as long as usual with the eggs, one of them already bumping into Cub's rim, only for Doc to fuck it into him without ceremony on the next thrust. Not quite yet forcing Cub's first orgasm from him, but a close thing. Egg two or three should get him, and from there, it's anyone's bet for how often he will come before Doc is done with him. Sure, Cub could call it off early, but why would he do that. He loves taking whatever Doc will give him, for as long as Doc sees fit to give it to him. Doc knows what Cub's body can take.
The second egg does indeed push Cub over, hard.