Notte
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Harder Than the Music
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 08:02:26 +0000 UTCIt was chaos: bass pounding, bodies grinding, drinks spilling. Some local frat house had thrown the kind of party that blurred the line between reckless fun and total anarchy. Notte stood out even in that haze: a towering, tan kangaroo with a cocky smirk and shirt stretched tight across his chest. He was halfway through a stolen bottle of Jägermeister when he locked eyes with the wolf, a mischievous glint in his eye and a swagger that dared trouble to come closer.
They didn’t talk much. Words got lost somewhere between the kitchen and the upstairs hallway. Hands wandered. Tongues clashing. By the time they crashed into wolf’ bedroom, the door slammed behind them like a starter pistol, and everything that followed was pure instinct. Clothes hit the floor in seconds. Notte shoved the wolf against the bed, mouth hot on his throat, fingers gripping tight enough to leave bruises. The wolf arched into him, hungry, daring him to take.
And he did.
With a growl low in his throat, Notte pinned the wolf down and pushed into him with raw, unapologetic need. The wolf gasped, half a moan, half a curse, and dug his claws into the kangaroo’s shoulders as his body gave in to the pressure. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t gentle. Notte moved like he owned him, hips snapping, sweat dripping, and the wolf met him with every thrust, breath ragged. A thick tail flexing behind him as the kangaroo rutted deep and hard.
When the haze finally settled and their panting slowed, silence took the room, thick, satisfied, broken only by their breath and the distant sound of the ongoing party. The wolf shifted beneath the weight of it all, the sheets clinging to his back, damp and reeking of sweat and sex. His thighs ached, stretched and used, and as he slowly adjusted his position, he felt it: warm, thick and messy, the steady drip of Notte’s load leaking out of him, sliding down to pool beneath him on the ruined sheets. It was filthy. It was perfect. He let his head fall back with a lazy, sated grin, the heavy musk still clinging to his fur like a brand.
Commission for Anon on Twitter.
