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Flippy couldn't trust himself, though he was loathe to admit it- the idea that he may not be completely in control of his own actions was an idea that he found to be uncomfortable at best and deeply painful at worst.
He did his best to keep you at a healthier distance once summer began to lay its muggy swell over Tree Town- he was a bear, after all, and couldn't fight the heat any more than he could rid himself of his claws or teeth. He also knew that you knew what the season did to him and why he'd become just a little rougher, just a little meaner, just enough to warn you that you needed to approach with caution and run sooner rather than later.
You weren't stupid, and Flippy knew it. Rut did ugly things to him, made him want in ways that was desperate to save you from.
Unluckily for him, however, your own desires seemed to only become stronger the harder he pushed, almost as though his heat was your own.
He would flash his teeth when you greeted him, he would harden his gaze and stiffen as though prepping to go for your throat...and you would only snarl playfully in return, breaking his resolve.
He would snap at you, speak to you in a gruff voice that was harsh and biting and so far removed from his usual bright cheer that he almost sounded like a different person. At that, your own sharp tongue would come forth and each time it took him by surprise, forcing him to frown deeper so that you wouldn't see him smile.
He would handle you far more roughly than usual, a silent reminder that despite his age he was still stronger than most and definitely stronger than you. It didn't matter; you merely wound yourself tighter against him and asked for more, and he would be forced to remove himself completely before he lost control in earnest.
Flippy couldn't trust himself, and with you inviting him so blatantly, he also couldn't help himself. He knew that all he had to really do to make you leave him alone was to tell you explicitly to do so...but he couldn't make himself do it, not when you seemed so eagerly receptive and smelled so alluringly good.
"I'm gonna hurt you," he rumbled low and tight one afternoon, all crass bluster until you called his bluff and told him to do it.
You'd seen him roll his eyes and you smiled knowingly, and the sight of it made his ears grow red and the snarl wither from his face. Your fingertips had come to his jaw, trailing along the shape of him in the way that he loved most, and he knew that you could feel the needy shudder that raced across his body- you'd won.
"Too fuckin' sweet to me," he warned, his words hushed and heated. "It's gonna come back to bite you, honey. You don't know what you're doing."
You'd laughed that laugh that never failed to make him ache, and then you'd offered to stop. His eyes met yours, his expression unimpressed.
"Ha. Like you'll actually do it."
You circled him silently, reaching up to drag your claws lightly across his nape and play them through the thicker fur of his ruff, and once he'd melted to your touch and began to whisper an apology you'd left his house and hadn't looked back.
He lay awake that night and wondered if you had hoped that he would follow you home nearly as badly as he'd wanted to, and burned with need at the idea of trailing you through the woods and claiming you for his own.
He couldn't trust himself.
And you kept coming back for more.
"Come over here," he ordered some nights later from his favorite chair, after he'd grown too restless from hungering over the shape and scent of you. You'd been watching fireflies light in the distant treeline, but when he spoke you turned from the window and came to perch in his lap, watching him as he wordlessly watched you.
Most people found Flippy's stare to be too intense, but you didn't look away and you didn't flinch when a claw came to your chin; he tilted your face to one side, examining you slowly. Had Flippy been feeling more like his usual self, he would have said something, but everything that he wanted to say was too raw and too honest and would have undoubtedly frightened you away, and he couldn't make himself do it.
Before he could say anything, though, you grabbed his wrist and moved it to your lips, kissing sweetly along his knuckles before finally dropping your gaze to his jacket sleeve.
Flippy was so pretty when he looked at you with that heated stare, and you felt him shiver hard when you told him so, and he kept shivering as you slowly pushed his sleeve up to kiss and rub your cheek along his forearm. Your claws ran a slow trail from his sensitive wrist to his inner elbow, gentle strokes up and down that made his skin twitch and his fur stand on end.
"You're playing with fire," he breathed, but he couldn't make himself try to stop you.
His free hand came to your leg, his grip too tight- he eased when you squirmed and growled at him, but his eyes still glittered with interest and his breath dragged out slow and deep.
"You know this ain't smart, honey," he drawled, but he didn't remove his hand from where it sat on your thigh, and you stopped nuzzling and touching and placed his other hand close to your throat and then asked if you could kiss him.
No one else in Tree Town would have called it a smart thing to do either- not with Flippy and not when he wasn't himself- but it didn't matter, not when his teeth caught your tongue and his chest rumbled against yours and the heat of him overtook you.
The hand at your throat squeezed and the hand at your thigh moved to the small of your back to press you even closer, and you bit him to listen to him groan.
"I'm gonna fuckin' hurt you," he hissed before you dragged him back in for more, tangling your claws in his headfur and tightening your knees around his hips.
When he finally ripped himself away to choke for air, you cupped his face and continued to bite a slow trail to his throat before demanding that he hurt you as he kept threatening to, and you felt him shift around, spreading his legs wider and angling his hips up for more contact.
"You ain't got a fuckin' clue, do you?" he asked.
Both hands were on your throat now, palms burning and fingers flexing tight around your pulse before he seemed to come back to himself. He gave a little shiver and moved them to stroke shakily down your chest, down your belly, and then back upwards again with touches that were almost religiously reverent.
"You think ol' Flippy's playing 'round with you."
Any threat of danger was well-worth any chance that you got to play around with him, and you told him as much as you rocked your hips slowly back and forth to watch his posture tighten and his head tip forwards so that he could hold your gaze through hooded eyes. His teeth caught his lower lip when you did it again, a deep rumble rising and falling on his breath as you kept moving.
"Nnh, darlin'," he growled, low and tight and heated. "You're- haah- you're gonna get what you're asking for if you ain't careful."
That suited you just fine, and when you began to tease and beg him to promise you that he was serious he laughed, dark and dirty, and made a sound like a knife scraping across rust.
He couldn't help himself, not any longer.
You found yourself with your back against his carpet, your legs ripped forcefully open, your throat at the mercy of his powerful jaw. He bit hard to make you choke before he slunk between your thighs and settled his mouth flush to your burning arousal, sucking and growling and licking with motions that were ungodly ravenous and beautifully brutal.
You cried his name, winding your fingers through his headfur to buck with need against his mouth and then he wrenched himself away to lunge at your inner thigh, sinking his teeth deep into the soft flesh- the pain ripped your voice from you in a harsh exhale, too intense to allow you to even properly scream. His claws raked down your backside, his tongue sweeping greedily over the bleeding punctures, and he laughed.
"You're the one who said 'hurt me,' lil' darlin'," Flippy reminded you. "And now papa bear's gonna hurt you good."
Through the tears, you flashed him one of your playful snarls just to watch his hackles lift and his pupils pin.
He couldn't believe that you trusted him when he was unable to trust himself.
Flippy's claws typically weren't so long and he typically would have handled you with more care- he dragged you onto your stomach with atypical roughness and ignored your gasping when he scraped the dull points hard across your shoulder blades in his haste. Ribbons of pain seared deep into the muscle and he moaned when you hissed through your teeth and squirmed under him.
"Downright sinful," he drawled breathlessly, trailing his finger-pads over the blackening welts he'd left. "The sight of you, right now." Your back arched under his touch, hips angling upwards as his hands moved slowly down the curve of your spine, his skin burning. "Can't you feel me, honey? I'm on fire."
His teeth at your nape, his arms tight around you, his solid weight on you from behind. Flippy was usually nice and gentle, thorough and focused on pleasing you...but you had asked him to hurt you.
And he couldn't help himself.
It wasn't as though he was too large to handle, but you were unprepared and he wasn't being careful; he ground hard against you twice before he found his mark and sank into you without mercy, and you yelped and tried to squirm away from the splitting pain.
"Mmmh..." He made a sound that was filthy, muffled against your ruff, and his grip on you locked to hold you in place. "You're burning up inside, sweetheart."
Deeper. You stopped moving and began to pant harshly, burying your face in your folded arms as you shook and choked for air, and Flippy held his hips flush against you and growled low against your spine.
"Tight..." He was sweating, panting with you. "Fuck me, you're so fuckin' tight-"
You pushed your hips back to try and encourage him to move, but Flippy only huffed heatedly and pressed you harder against the floor.
"Wait," he gasped. "Hold still for me, darlin'."
Pain had made you even tighter, and you gave a high-pitched keen as he slowly pulled back as though to drag the sensation out.
"Fuckin' hot enough to being a sinner to his knees," he chuckled breathlessly, his lust-drunken state causing his words to slur together. "You've already got me on the edge."
It was true; he pushed again to re-sheathe himself within you and you felt his core flex against your back, heard him give a low and rough groan. Your head came up to butt under his chin, and your whispered encouragements drew a deep shudder.
"Ffff-!" Without warning, he began to pump his hips against you in shallow, sloppy motions as he cried out sharply- you could feel him throbbing, filling you with his seed.
Poor Flippy, unable to help himself. The thought was achingly endearing, even more so as he lay against you, still growling and moaning while buried inside of you to the hilt.
"Holy fuckin' Christ," you heard him whisper as he trembled through the aftershocks. "God, nnh, fffuckk-kk-"
You expected him to apologize or switch to using his mouth instead. It seemed that the danger had been all in his mind, as was the usual case for Flippy, and you lifted a paw to reach behind you and comb through his sweat-dampened fur and soothe him.
He leaned into your touch, purring low and soft.
"Mmh, darlin'," he rumbled. "You're so good to me..." You made as though to wiggle out from under him, and then you found your wrist caught in a bruising grip and you felt him laugh. He released your wrist to wrap his arm around you again, drawing his hips back slowly to make you keen loudly. "Where do you think you're goin'? We ain't done...not by a mile."
Your scent. The feeling of you under him, helpless in his grasp. The burning heat of you as he pierced you over and over, the slick perfection of you from his previous orgasm.
"So good," he moaned, crushing you even tighter to him. He slowed his motions, but the sheer violence of the way that he drove into you left you breathless and blind. "God, you're so fuckin' good-!"
You writhed and clawed at the floor- you were a little unsure as to whether or not you were bleeding or if the slickness dripping down your inner thighs was from him. Flippy lay his head atop yours, panting and huffing across your ear and moaning praise; whether you were bleeding or not didn't matter, not when he had you exactly as he'd wanted you.
Despite him holding himself deep inside of you, you could feel yourself leaking as he released a second time. You could tell that you were swollen from the rough treatment, a beautiful ache blossoming from your groin to your core- Flippy kept you pinned, firmly rubbing his cheek along your shoulder blades and up the back of your head to grind his scent into your fur with motions that almost felt desperate.
"You're mine," he spat. "You're all mine, you're mine, you're MINE-!"
He couldn't help himself.
The contact only served to re-awaken his hunger- you felt him twitch inside of you as he began to harden again and you couldn't believe it.
"Thaaaat's it," he growled when you whimpered and instinctively clenched hard around him. "I'm gonna fuckin'-"
He thrust hard enough to send you scooting forwards, your cheek burning where it was shoved across the carpet.
"-BREED you-!"
Usually, your role was a little more active. You liked to ride him, to tease him, to whisper praise and degradation and watch him lose himself to the power that you held over him.
Rut had changed Flippy for sure, had turned your attentive and careful lover into a beast that couldn't be sated, and it was clear that all he wanted was to hold you down and use your body until he couldn't anymore.
"You're so fuckin' hot, honey," he rasped, and you felt him give a delighted shudder when you sobbed airlessly and pushed back against him with what little strength you had. "You want me to breed you, don't you?"
The edges of your vision had begun to darken and blur-between the weight of him and the way he had his arms wound around your chest you couldn't breathe at all, but he was too lost in satisfying his howling lust to notice.
"You want me bad, I can feel it-"
A thrill ran hard up your spine and gave you a little burst of energy, just enough to allow you to writhe fruitlessly under him, but once it had faded you realized that yes, you were going to pass out if he didn't let you go.
You dug your claws into Flippy's forearms to try and warn him, but he only laughed.
"No escape, darlin'. I warned you that I was gonna hurt you." He squeezed you and your lungs began to burn while pleasure arched up your core in white-hot bursts. "Haah, take it, take it, take it-!"
The noise that he made and the thrill of being helpless in the wake of his lust overtook you, and your orgasm hit hard enough to make you believe that you'd died. You couldn't make a sound, but through the haze of bliss you could hear Flippy grunting and growling as he came yet again.
"I can feel you throbbing," he panted, and you could tell he was grinning his wicked grin. "You love it, you know you fuckin' love it-!"
You couldn't answer, and as his hips began furiously pumping again you felt a sudden pop! and a sharp pain from your rib cage- his grip had broken one of your ribs, and he either hadn't noticed...or he didn't care. You began to shift to one side to try and tell him that you were hurting, but another pop followed the first, then another, then another.
Your instinct howled at you that you were dying, but there was nothing that you could do about it; Flippy showed no inclination of stopping or releasing you, and you were too weak to struggle any longer. Your muscles were screaming, twitching as they tried to move your body to safety and wild euphoria settled over you, your mind caught up in the sharp intoxication of adrenaline and post-orgasmic endorphins.
Before your vision failed, you saw him move to examine your face, watched as his eyes took you in. There was no mistaking it; he knew he'd killed you. You saw his expression shift from lecherous glee to mild confusion...but then he laughed, and his hand finally left your chest to grab a handful of your headfur and drag you limply upwards.
Even as you died, he couldn't help himself.
The last thing you were aware of was Flippy biting your throat, Flippy growling your name, Flippy filling you with his seed and Flippy holding you tight as you succumbed and died in his arms.
The next morning found you in Flippy's bed rather than on the floor, his arms still locked around you from behind and his heavy head laying in the crook of your neck. As soon as you began to move, he was awake, snuffling affectionately against your ear and huffing into you when you leaned back to pet him.
"Mmh, darlin'," he rumbled. "You okay?"
You felt fine, and that was the problem with dying- that sweet ache that usually overtook you after fulfilling sex was gone completely, as were the punctures from where he'd bitten you and the marks that his claws had left on your back.
You turned to face him and scruffed him with your teeth, giving him a gentle shake before releasing him to ask if he'd actually kept fucking your corpse when you'd died.
He flushed to the tips of his ears, but you saw him begin to smile.
"Shouldn't have been so fuckable," he hissed. "I warned you, didn't I?"
In all fairness, he had, but as he pressed a bruising kiss to your throat you couldn't help but tease him a little and remind him that killing you had rendered all attempts to breed with you pointless. Flippy growled deep and pressed his tongue to your pulse, dragging it slowly upwards and groaning in bliss at the taste of you.
"You say that like we ain't about to try again," he laughed. "You're mine until the end of June, and there's fuckall you can do about it, honey."
His hands came to your wrists to pin you and his mouth caught yours.
"All mine," he purred once the kiss broke. "Tell me. Tell me you're mine. Tell me you want me to breed you."
You repeated his words, giving a whimper as he clawed his way atop you to grind against you with burning need.
You didn't hold it against him.
Flippy just couldn't help himself.