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Steb doesn’t often let people touch him. He has three reasons for this: one, he doesn’t prefer it. He didn’t mature in a home or culture that prioritized affectionate touch, so it unnerves him when people touch him without forewarning. Two, much of his skin is wet. Physical contact stimulates his protective mucous membranes, and he’s found that humans don’t enjoy being slimed even after being warned. Three, he’s sensitive.
He wakes to a stranger slinging his arm around their corded shoulders. His temples throb, his stomach aching.
They lift him from the rubble.
Through his blurring vision, the tunnels seem as endless as before. Jinx’s blast has scrambled his bearings. He remembers noise; he remembers running but little else.
His inner eyelid blinks to dispel residual dust. He must hope that Maddie is unharmed, that Commander Kiramman, Vi, and Loris have made it back to safety. He curses his separation from them. What use is a medic cut off from his comrades?
Steb’s vision finally clears.
He startles at the sight of a chirean — large bat ears and a heavy nose — supporting his weight. His brow is drawn low, tension wired through his broad shoulders.
When Steb shifts against him, the stranger drops him. His arm cocks back, his spear slashing the air.
His heart leaping into his throat, Steb rolls out the way. He raises his hand in warning, scrabbling for his missing gun.
The stranger jabs him in the gut with his spear shaft.
A horrible pain rips through Steb’s stomach. He curls inwards, his cheek pressed against the ground, sediment lodged uncomfortably inside his gills. His ears ring.
“Was this really all for Jinx?” the stranger growls.
His eyes widening, Steb jerks back at his aggression.
“Do you know the fucking damage you’ve caused by releasing the Grey?” he asks.
Steb doesn’t know exactly what the Grey is. Commander Kiramman said certain measures were necessary to clear Zaun’s streets, that chemical irritants could be used to achieve specific ends. If they neutralized Jinx, peace would return to Piltover again. He shakes his head until agony slams through his belly. He draws his knees up, gasping in shock.
He sees the distension of his middle and smells the new milkiness in his scent. Numb recognition sinks through him. His spawning cycles are irregular, but he can’t call off work at any inkling of soreness. He can’t falter with war on the horizon and injuries among his fellow enforcers increasing daily. His last spawn was only three months ago, and he cleared his eggs out one-by-one to ensure his body didn’t deliver more prematurely. Yet the bump behind his vest is undeniable.
The stranger says, “The hell’s the matter with you? Are you bleeding?”
Steb presses his forehead to his knees and sucks in a slow breath. He needs to expel the eggs. But this is not the place or the company for such an intimate act.
The stranger pauses above him, his large ears swiveling back.
A low rumbling has begun — the tremor before a quake. Of course, the tunnel is unstable. Of course, the ground is still shaking.
The stranger swears, but before they can act, the tunnel caves in with a deafening crash.
The rock fall seals them in the dark, the dust settling in seconds.
The stranger kicks the ground, snarling in frustration. He lights up a lantern from his belt, and the room flares back to brightness.
Steb’s vision wavers. The pressure on his internal egg sac is becoming unbearable, his milky pre-fluid soaking through his uniform pants. His body must’ve begun producing eggs while he was unconscious. He must’ve missed his encroaching spawn’s signs past the adrenaline rush of combat.
He begins to shiver, his body temperature slipping into flux.
Sniffing the air, the stranger takes a knee beside him. He rolls Steb over.
Steb whimpers softly at the careless movement, cradling his knees against his front. He shakes his head. He looks down at himself and back up at the stranger, hoping against hope he’ll be understood. He doesn’t want the stranger to touch him. He needs to be unbound and left to suffer his shame alone.
“You don’t talk?” the stranger asks.
Steb nods desperately, his inner lids flickering over his eyes.
The stranger flattens Steb out and strips open his vest. Frowning in consideration, he presses his hand against the swell of his belly.
Whimpering, Steb’s head spins. He weakly pushes the stranger’s firm hand away. He cannot believe life has come to this. He’s alone with an unknown hostile, his egg sac full, unable to expel anything. He shakes his head, the pressure of the stranger’s wide hand causing his skin’s glands to slick. The scent of his fear — his need — permeates the closed-off tunnel.
“Okay. What’s wrong with you?” the stranger says. “You’re a medic, aren’t you?”
Steb’s skin weeps through his uniform. Trembling, he shakes off the vest. He has two choices: do nothing and risk internal damage from the pressure his egg sac exerts on his other organs or demonstrate his ailment to this stranger. Steb does not wish to die. Sick swelling through his throat, he begins undoing his pants.
The stranger freezes. His electric green eyes snap to Steb’s flushed face, the gears in his mind visibly working. He watches Steb kick off his pants.
Shame coursing through him, Steb curses his aberrant biology. Being a vastaya has driven a wedge between him and his fellow enforcers. He doesn’t resent them for it. It’s difficult for humans to accept his lack of speech, and he understands that they share the same commitment to Piltover’s safety regardless. Of his comrades, only Maddie looks past his strangeness, and her acceptance has been invaluable — and enough. She has her questions and misconceptions, of course, but she’s never permitted what he is to halt their camaraderie on or off the field.
Still, during his cadet days, he learned rapidly when to defend himself and when to slip away. Many of his peers and superiors took his silence as disrespect, and he returned more than once to his cot, bruised and aching, wondering if prejudice would supersede their oath to uphold justice and protect the people. His spawning cycle is another reminder of his difference, an unavoidable humiliation rendering him separate and vulnerable yet again.
He steels himself and pushes down his briefs, hoping the stranger will turn away.
The stranger says gruffly, “I don’t want you trying anything. Get it over with.”
Steb slides down his briefs and squats on the cement floor, humiliated, his skin sweating out slime. He hunches over his bent knees and reaches behind himself, his fingers pressing past his anal fins into his swollen pussy. Relief pouring through him, he releases a little moan and scoops out the first few eggs.
“What the hell?” The stranger charges forward. “Cut it out. I knew you pigs were sick, but this—”
Panting, Steb shakes his head. He holds out his slick palm, his fine orange eggs cupped inside it, and lowers his eyes. This is an exercise in humiliation. He cannot believe he must finger himself in front of a stranger and display his eggs in hand.
The stranger stills. His voice softens for the first time. “Oh. You’re spawning.” He turns around slowly, his tone gruff. “Do what you need to do.”
Steb muffles his sob of relief with his clean hand. He lies back against the rocks and spreads his legs, his knees bent and splayed apart. He begins stimulating the area around his cunt to encourage the eggs’ expulsion. Fingering them individually out will not work at their current volume. He bears down in his best attempt to release them.
But the eggs are stuck.
Horrified, Steb shuts his legs and tries to think through the haze of pain. He recalls nauseating stories of eggs stuck in spawning canals before, but the only remedy he can recall is… No, never. There is no one here to fuck him full of milt. He cannot be sure another type of fertilization will be effective, and in no world will he beg a complete stranger to bed him against a filthy tunnel floor. Sinking back against the rocks, he can feel his gills flaring in distress, his uniform dampening above his weeping skin. It hurts. It really hurts.
The stranger asks, “Are you already done?”
Steb makes a soft noise of distress. He hugs his knees in an attempt at modesty, breathing through his mouth.
“I’m turning around.” The stranger turns and stops at the sight of Steb, trembling and drenched in his own nervous slick. His brows pinch. “It’s not working?”
Steb shakes his head, rocking back and forth instinctively. He’s crying through his glands, and much to his distant embarrassment, the air stinks of him — wet and milky and sharp.
The stranger takes a knee before him. He touches Steb’s hand, his paw pads calloused and unexpectedly gentle. He looks hesitant, his brow still heavy. “Listen. The name’s Scar. I had a friend like you years ago, so uh, I know how to help. Is that okay?”
Steb nods, curled over his knees.
“Then you need to lay back,” Scar says. “I can’t use my fingers because of the claws, so I’ll use my mouth.”
Steb lays obediently against the rocks. He lets Scar spread his legs open and pull open his anal fins, folding them apart against his inner thighs. His hand clapped over his mouth, flushing, he watches Scar dip down between his legs.
Scar presses his tongue under his papilla — the flexible pink nub closing off his cunt. He pushes inside him, his tongue thick and hot and endless. His tongue’s texture feels like tiny rubber hairs dragging along his cunt walls.
Steb gasps, squeezing around Scar’s tongue. He grows humiliatingly wetter.
Scar’s tongue drags out the first mouthful of eggs.
Shuddering, Steb gushes milky pre-fluid down the dense, dusky fur of Scar’s chin.
Scar spits the eggs aside and licks his lips, his eyes hooded. “You’re so wet. Do you care if I eat them?” His hands rub along Steb’s inner thighs and press them further open.
Steb’s thoughts turn to mush at Scar’s words. His mind swirls with filthy, conflicting images of Scar lapping up his eggs from his cunt and biting into their soft, salty centers, their orange juices pouring down his chin. He cannot deny Scar’s request when he’s assisting him. His ears flushing a subtle magenta, he shakes his head.
Scar groans, burying his face back in his pussy, his broad nose pushing up against his newly engorged papilla. He plunges into his cunt and slurps up more eggs. They pop obscenely between his sharp teeth.
Steb moans. He slides his hands across Scar’s strong, tense shoulders.
Scar looks up, his pupils blown out. Steb’s eggs dribble down his chin. “Feel good? I fucking bet. Your egg sac felt like it was about to burst, and your waist is already so small to begin with.”
Blushing horribly, Steb’s gills flare. He’s always produced too many eggs for his body to hold. He remembers the first time his belly distended, and his mother pulled him aside and told him to go to the shower, squat on the floor, and push until everything was out. He remembers being damp and slick and miserable, his hand splayed against the shower tiles, crying as the first gush splattered onto the floor below. Expelling his eggs has never felt good like this, easy like this, and though he tries to suppress it, a throbbing fist heats inside his belly.
His papilla flares outward unconsciously.
Scar’s attention drops between his legs. He smirks, licking the broken eggs off his lips, his tone filthy. “Your cunt’s swelling up. Next stage of the spawn. I’m not sure if licking your eggs out is going to fix this. You need to be fucked now, huh?”
Steb’s fingers tighten against Scar’s shoulders, the velvet of his fur soothing. His eyes widen again.
“You never been fucked before during a spawn?” Scar asks.
Mortified, Steb shakes his head. He can feel his pussy leaking pre-fluid, his papilla flaring and revealing his needy pussy hole. Scar no longer needs to hold his anal fins open or work around his papilla. His body is opening up for him, preparing him to be fucked full of milt — or its equivalent.
“If I fuck your pussy, it’ll fix the bloat,” Scar says.
Steb pants under Scar’s firm grip, overwhelmed by his own arousal. He feels hot and hazy, his natural slick leaking anew from his skin. Their biology must be aligned enough for Scar’s sperm to approximate milt, and if Steb’s body believes his eggs have been fertilized, the release will be easy.
Scar slides his hand along the back of Steb’s damp neck. He surges up and kisses him.
Scar’s mouth is warm and wet against his. Steb whines breathlessly.
Kissing him, Scar strips him out of his jacket and shirt. He cups the side of his neck, the other holding his chin. Scar tastes like milk and salt; he tastes like Steb’s eggs. His long, spined tongue dips into Steb’s throat.
Steb blushes furiously as his throat is fucked.
His tongue sliding out, Scar kisses his gill slits and nips around their edges.
Scar’s mouth on his gills feels overpowering. Quivering, Steb wraps his legs around Scar’s thick thigh and humps up against it. The patchwork leather drags deliciously along his papilla. He drenches Scar’s pants in pre-fluid and eggs, desperately chasing his release.
Scar flexes his thigh between Steb’s legs, the muscle solidifying. He slides his tongue past his gill slits.
Steb whimpers, arching off the rock. The sensation of being gill-fucked fries out his thoughts. He rubs his cunt against Scar’s flexed thigh, but it isn’t enough. It isn’t nearly enough. He makes a breathless noise of frustration.
Rocking his thigh against Steb’s pussy, Scar runs his hands down his belly and traces his stretch marks from previous spawns. “Your little waist really is too small for all those fucking eggs. Do you usually wait this long to release? Let yourself get all bloated and shaky before?”
Steb moans helplessly. His stomach has begun to ache again.
Scar undoes his belt and pulls out his cock.
Steb’s eyes widen.
Scar’s cock head is heart-shaped and flushed an intense pink like his wide nose. The size of him will be impossible. He strokes his hand down the giant shaft, smirking. “Worried?”
Steb looks at himself and back at Scar, his brows lifted in alarm. Scar’s massive cock will not fit inside his hole. The largest thing he’s ever been fucked with is a slightly larger-than-average human cock, and that was even a struggle. Still, that human never got Steb’s papilla to flare; he never licked at his gills like he’d find the secrets of life within them.
“Think it won’t fit?” Scar rolls Steb onto his side. He folds one of his knees up and pins it against his front, leaving his intimate places exposed. “No, you can take it.”
Flushing, Steb bites his lip. He trusts Scar.
Scar pulls his fins back further open and soaks in the sight of his hole pulsing out fresh eggs, his papilla still raised.
He shuts his eyes, flustered by his pussy on blatant display.
Scar presses his finger against his papilla’s underside, rubbing the nerve-filled tip.
Steb rolls his hips up and forward, whimpering softly. He needs Scar’s cock inside him. His anal fins flutter, his skin slicking with a sweet, milky scent, his body attempting to seduce Scar into fucking him. He looks up at Scar and pleads silently for relief.
“Does it hurt? Need my cock inside you?” Scar presses his cock against Steb’s messy pussy, but he does not fuck him.
Steb blushes and nods slowly, his legs trembling in anticipation.
Scar pulls back and slaps his cock against Steb’s cunt.
The filthy, wet blows vibrate up Steb’s groin, his papilla throbbing under the crude stimulation. He bucks his hips and whimpers.
Scar growls, guttural. He pushes into Steb’s eager, dripping pussy.
Steb cries out at the burn. Scar is far too big. It feels like he’ll break him.
Scar keeps pressing into him. He says, “Shit , your pussy is tight. No wonder you can’t get all your little eggs out of here.”
Steb’s hole stretches painfully around Scar’s fat cock tip. He heaves in air, his ear fins flaring outwards. He whines and squirms under Scar’s hands.
Scar’s tip pops inside him.
Steb whimpers, shuddering beneath Scar’s grip on his soft, inner thigh. His pussy pulses wickedly around his giant cock. He’s never taken anything so huge before. He’s never been stuffed full of eggs and penetrated by anything besides his own fingers before.
Scar fucks slowly deeper into his cunt.
Steb arches into the mind-numbing sensation. His pussy’s internal ribbing swells and clenches around Scar’s huge cock.
Scar groans, collapsing onto his elbow above him. “Fuck. I forgot about the ribbing.”
Instinctively, Steb rolls his hips onto Scar’s dick. Scar’s giant cock forces his eggs back up into his internal sac. The sensation is both intensely overstimulating and wonderful. Every inch forward punches out another breathless, little noise from his throat.
Scar pulls out again. He begins to fuck his pussy hard.
Steb’s mind blanks.
Scar reaches for his papilla and rubs it between his fingers.
He mewls, his body held open by Scar’s large, rough hands, and squeezes submissively around his cock. He cannot escape the feverish pleasure. Need condenses inside his cunt like a tidal wave.
Scar hooks Steb’s knees over his shoulders. He drives back into him.
Steb gasps, his ass lifted off the ground, his shoulders and upper back pressed against the rock below. Scar’s huge cock drags against his pussy’s ribbing. Each flexible ring squeezes Scar’s cock, only for his massive tip to force them all back open.
Scar fucks him tirelessly.
Steb clings to the rock above his head, Scar’s cock stimulating his papilla with every thrust. His eyes rolling back, he teeters on the edge of his climax.
Scar’s large hands close around his waist, his thumbs framing his distended stomach. “Gonna fuck you so full. Leave marks on your little waist. What a pretty, desperate thing for me.”
Steb comes hard, his orgasm wracking through him, his gills fluttering open. He gushes pre-fluid around Scar’s cock, but Scar’s giant tip plugs him up and prevents any eggs from escaping. The pressure increases in his taut belly. He feels fuller than before.
Scar doesn’t stop fucking him.
His pussy’s ribbing fattening further, he whimpers. His post-orgasmic sensitivity only increases. Scar’s rough fingers on his papilla, his cock in his cunt, are so much — too much. His jaw slacks.
Scar curls over him, jackhammering his hips erratically forward.
Steb’s vision whites out. Need mounts inside him.
Scar presses his bent knees against his stomach. He slams deep into his canal, his tip toying with the entrance to his egg sac.
Every tug on the tender rim has Steb clenching and whining.
Scar spills inside Steb with a low, animalistic noise.
Steb shudders through his second orgasm. His pussy undulates along Scar’s cock and milks him with a renewed passion. He slides his legs around Scar’s waist, locks his ankles behind him, and drags him closer.
Scar slides his arms underneath Steb’s arms and holds his shoulders. Murmuring something unintelligible, he buries his face in the crook of Steb’s neck.
Exhausted, Steb hugs Scar’s wide, furry neck and relaxes in his arms.
Scar kitten-licks down Steb’s neck, a satisfied noise rumbling through his wide chest. He doesn’t pull out quite yet. His cock head plugs his cunt, locking his load inside him.
Steb relaxes into the sensation of being fertilized and filled. His body has already begun secreting relaxing hormones, responding to Scar’s seed within his sac. He can feel his canal widen and relax, preparing to flush the eggs out. He shifts under Scar and pats his shoulders lightly. It’s time to expel them.
As if remembering himself, Scar stops licking Steb’s neck. After a moment of hesitation, he bites down lightly on Steb’s neck while he pulls his cock out.
Steb blinks, his legs twitching at the sudden bite. It feels affectionate. The neck-biting must be related to Scar’s cultural mating rituals. He’s heard of chireans favoring biting during or after sex, so he does not fight it. He exhales softly when Scar’s cock slides out of him, the exiting pop of his cock head wet.
Scar shifts back onto his knees before him, watching.
Steb draws his knees up and shuts his eyes. He begins pushing eggs out.
The first gush is instantaneous relief.
Steb pants from the exertion. His body is giving out, but it knows it must do this. He knows he must do this. He reaches up and clings to the rock chunk beneath him, pushing with all his might, his anal fins fluttering with the effort.
Scar takes his hand.
Latching onto him, Steb moans and squeezes out another flood of eggs. They slap against the floor. He braces himself for another hard push.
Scar rubs his wide thumb over Steb’s slender knuckles. He holds his hand through the entire process. He smells different now — a warm cinnamon musk underscoring the fissure scent of chemical oil and ash. He still smells like the Grey.
Guilt blooms through Steb’s stomach at the thought that they have gassed and inevitably hurt kind people like Scar. Even if Zaun claims to be a separate entity, they weren’t for so many years. They were Piltover’s people, too, but as Steb recalls how they’ve spoken of them — bestial, disposable, and always guilty, he wonders if they’ve ever treated them like their people at all.
His skin slick with tears, his exhaustion bone-deep, he slumps against the rocks. He’s finally empty.
Scar circles his stomach with his free hand, saying nothing yet.
Steb pauses at the sound of scraping rocks. His ear fins flicking, he sits up.
Scar lets go of his hand and rises onto his knees. His ears swivel towards the noise. He shouts, “Who’s there?”
“Damn, it is him! He’s in there!” Someone shouts.
“Really?”
“Get him out then!”
A flurry of voices follow.
Steb scrambles for his shirt, panicked. He still doesn’t know why Scar is here, who he’s with, or what he intends to do with him. He stares up at him, wide-eyed.
Scar’s face passes through a mix of emotions. He tosses Steb his pants.
Steb doesn’t have time to dress.
The first block of stone falls away.
“Hey, he’s there!” A woman with spiky red hair appears in the fresh square of light. She’s masked, and Steb recognizes the design — the Firelights.
Scar lifts his hand, his smile slight.
The Firelight absorbs the situation. Her eyes lock on Steb.
Steb flushes hot, covering himself as best he can with his shirt. His ear fins twitch in agitation. He cannot imagine what she must be thinking of him — naked and wet, his eggs strewn across the floor. He cannot imagine what she must think occurred between him and Scar. Thankfully, Scar has long since tucked himself away and redressed.
Scar stands up, blocking Steb from her view. “Got one of the blue bastards. Long story. Thanks for finding me.”
“Aye,” she says.
Steb dresses as fast as he can. He struggles to rise to his feet, his limbs like jelly.
The Firelights work on excavating them from the rubble.
Scar directs them from within, his voice taking on an easy authority.
After Steb stumbles twice, Scar turns around. He scoops Steb up and tosses him over his shoulder.
Steb stiffens in alarm.
Unbothered, Scar steps through the exit his comrades have created.
The woman hands Scar a mask, silently questioning.
Scar ignores her unspoken inquiry. He fits his mask back over his face, his arms barred over Steb’s rear. “Alright, bag him. Let’s head back.”
Outnumbered and exhausted, Steb doesn’t fight as they pull a bag over his eyes. He goes limp against Scar’s shoulder and hopes that he escapes this, that wherever she is, Maddie doesn’t worry too much over his absence.
The world disappears behind the bag’s opaque fabric.