The first time you'd made love, you'd taken one look at his cock and pressed lube into his tiny paws. You like pain - of course you do, you're dating the guy who punches your face in on a regular basis - but not enough to want those spikes scratching you up inside.
Then he'd bent you over and taken you, hard - again, you're into pain, it's not a problem - and left you exhausted in the best way, dripping slickness from your ass while he dozes against your side.
You hadn't realised until after he'd left that none of it was cum.
He doesn't come the second or third times either, and you try not to take it as a reflection on your own abilities. After all, he still snuggles with you afterwards, his little furred chest rumbling with a purr, nuzzling you with a platypus kiss.
By the fourth time, you'd figured it's just a quirk. He seems happy enough when he leaves, tail perked and freshly showered - you can't let him leave with cum dried into his fur, you're not a monster - and looking quite satisfied with himself, so obviously it's not an issue. If it was, he'd tell you.
The eighth time, you'd laid on your back while you'd made love, knees up around your ears, watching his face. He's so attractive when he takes charge, claws digging into your hips, hard enough to bruise.
Then he'd hesitated, face twisting.
"Perry the Platypus?"
He'd met your eyes with a smile that couldn't quite distract you from how his tail'd been lashing in frustration.
Still, you'd dropped it. Mostly because that was when he'd thrust into you again and he knows full well you can't string words together when his cock's that deep inside you. Probably why he did it.
Tonight, you're getting answers.
"Can I talk to you, Perry the Platypus?" you begin, when he arrives for your as-of-recently regular movie night. And by movie night you mean 'movie and sex' night.
It'd all started around two months ago. You'd been watching a movie, something Vanessa had left lying around, you don't remember. Then he'd walked in - without even knocking - taken one look at the screen, and sat himself down in your lap. You'd complained, he'd shut you up with a kiss, one thing led to another...
Anywho. He's glaring. "It's... um, this is awkward... when we make love...?"
He raises an eyebrow at you, all accusing, and you gulp.
"No, no, I'm fine, don't worry about me. The real problem is you-" Wait, no, that came out wrong. "I mean, you're not the problem, but you're always, well, you've never... You don't come," you say plaintively. "And I don't know if it's because I'm doing something wrong or if this is normal for you or what. What kind of boyfriend-"
The other eyebrow lifts.
You scowl, folding your arms. "Fine, what sort of nemesis with benefits would I be if I didn't make sure you're okay with it?"
Meeting his eyes, you stare him down until finally he slumps forward with a sad little chirr, tail drooping. Defeated.
"I knew it, something is bothering you!" you gloat - you'll take your victories where you find them - only stopping at the low growl that rumbles in his chest.
If looks could kill, you'd be a dead man thrice over. So it's a good thing they can't. You'd hate to die before getting him off at least once.
He pinches the bridge of his bill, gesturing with the other paw. So he's...
"What do you mean, scared? You're Perry the Platypus!"
There are many words you could use to describe your nemesis - like suave semiaquatic personification of unstoppable dynamic fury - and scared is not one of them. "Seriously, what do you have to be scared of?"
His gaze drops to his fist, curled tight and shaking, like he'd rather be punching your face in right about now. Really, you don't know why he's not, he's got that particular twitch in his tail.
You don't understand how he can be so closed off.
Exhaling, he closes his eyes, paw unfurling like he can't make up his mind. Or to gesture again.
"Let me get this straight. You're scared of being closed off? But how-"
He cuts you off with a glare, then twirls his index fingers around each other in a gesture clearly laden with meaning, not that you understand-
Oh. Oh. "You're closed off because you're scared, I get it now." How did you miss that? "And yet you can't pull a punch." Complaining might not be the most mature of actions, but you've never been one for restraint. Unlike him, apparently. "Aaaanyway," you say, before he really does hit you. "Is that why you can't, you know, get off?"
There's that frustrated expression again. Not aimed at you, for once. Then again, the last time wasn't aimed at you either, but at, you realise, himself.
"Not that I'm complaining- I mean I guess I am, but it's not your fault- Well it is but I'm not blaming you- uh, that came out wrong. What I meant to say was, it's a relief to know it's not that I'm doing something wrong, because I'd hate to be a bad boyf-" And he's glaring at you again. "-rienemesis with benefits," you finish, with a sheepish grin.
That gets you an eyeroll.
Clasping your hands together, you exhale. "I wouldn't even bring it up, but you," you say, pointing at him with both index fingers, "seem frustrated. And not because of me. That's the real issue here. So, as your-" He doesn't even have to glare this time. "-'nemesis with benefits', I think it's time to take matters into my own hands. And by 'matters' I mean, well..."
His cute little cock.
"...You," you say, again, with a glance down at his groin so he knows exactly what you mean. "How about it?"
He shrugs, which might as well be a 'yes'.
Pressing a nearby bell into his paw - you'd planned to use it for an inator but it hadn't fit and then it was just spare parts - you lean in to whisper against his bill. "If you need me to stop, drop that and I will. Sound good?"
He nods, so you kiss him, tilting his head up for a better angle, tongue snaking into his mouth-
The bell clatters on the floor.
"Perry the Platypus?" you start, pulling away to check him over. He's not distressed at all - more smug than anything, really - which means... "You were testing."
You pick the bell up off the ground and tuck it back into his palm, folding his tiny fingers around it. Folding yours over top. "Are you sure you want this?" you ask, pressing your forehead to his.
Rolling his eyes again, he chirrs, gesticulating with his free paw like he thinks you can understand him. Which you can.
But you get the gist. Impatience, a you worry too much, that particular growl he makes when he's exasperated with you again... and a nuzzle to your jaw, right where he'd usually punch you. He's sure.
Scooping him into your arms, you press a kiss to his bill, holding his small body to yours as you stand. It's always a surprise how light he is, with how easily he can throw you around.
He lets out a sigh, tucking his head in against your neck as you carry him to your bedroom.
You're going to make love to him properly. With lube and handcuffs.
The couch may be fine for you - you think back to the sixth time you'd made love with a smile - but he deserves the very best you can give him:
Laying him down, you admire how good he looks against your sheets. The orange - you'd agonised for weeks over buying it - really brings out the colour in his soft fur.
You can't help yourself, running your fingers through it, over his firm chest and down between his strong legs to the tip of his broad tail and straight back up again, gentle touches that leave his fur standing in their wake.
He'd've usually taken charge by now - had you stripped naked, held down, his paw between your legs - but where's the romance in that?
No, you're taking your time here.
First things first: he's way too tense. No wonder he's so angry all the time.
You roll him over, digging your fingertips into the tight muscle of his back, ignoring his quiet grumping. He'll be fine no matter how hard you go, you've fought him enough to know his limits.
And if not, he has the bell.
"When was the last time you relaxed?" you ask, working at a particularly stubborn knot in his shoulder. "Because seriously, it's like you've never heard of taking the day off."
He growls, rubbing his paw over his eyes like he's about to-
Your nemesis is crying and you can't escape the feeling that it's your fault. He'd been fine until you'd opened your big mouth, and now he's not, and you're to blame. Hurting him the wrong way, same as always. "Sorry, Perry the Platypus-"
Squirming out from under you, he waves his paw in your face like he's showing you-
The bell. He's still holding it.
"You don't need to yell," you mutter, no force behind the words, and his eyes narrow. "Okay, maybe you did, buuuut-"
He doesn't let you finish, tugging you down by the collar for a kiss.
Tongue twisting together with his, you explore his warm mouth, the ridges and bumps that have become oh so familiar over the last couple of months. You can never get enough of this.
Neither can he, if his enthusiasm's anything to go by. And the way he's pulling at your hair, which, ow.
So, you take his wrists, pinning them above his head, just firmly enough for him to really feel it. And struggle, he's definitely struggling, but he hasn't dropped the bell so he's fine. Crying, but fine. Apparently.
Still, you feel kind of bad about the whole thing.
You kiss away his tears after that.
It doesn't stop them, but he closes his eyes and chirrs softly anyway. An invitation to continue.
Burying your face in his thick fur, you breathe in his scent, dirt and fur and safety. Trust. He trusts you. That has to mean something, right?
His paws don't move when you release him. Barely even a twitch. Exhaling, you reach into the drawer beside the bed and retrieve the platypus-sized handcuffs you'd bought off the internet, looping them around the bed frame. Then, in one swift movement, you clamp them over his wrists.
Twisting under you, he chirrs again, pulling at the handcuffs. They don't budge, but you know that's because he doesn't mind, not because he's actually for-realsies trapped. If he'd wanted to escape, there'd be nothing you could do to stop him.
But he doesn't, so you can do whatever you want. He trusts you.
You run your fingers through his fur again - it's so soft and fluffy over the hard muscle - relishing the show of flexibility as he arches into you. He makes the most adorable noises too, you swear.
What else can you do but kiss his gorgeous face?
He shivers, fur pricking up at the touch of your lips on his bill, cool and smooth and wonderfully sensitive. You barely have to touch him and he's gasping, hips rolling, already hard.
Exactly where you want him.
Your mouth follows the meandering path you'd taken with your fingers, lingering over his strong neck and his broad chest and his unmarred belly until, finally, you can press a kiss to the base of his firm cock. Which you do.
The sound he makes - a deep and breathless growl as his control slips - is the most arousing thing you've ever heard.
Patting at his thigh, you lean in again, letting your breath and your lips brush over the heads. "You like that, huh?"
He's shaking under you, eyes closed, still holding himself back, still scared. It's obvious, now that you know what you're looking for: Clenched fists, curled toes, tight muscles. Closed off.
"Did I do something wroooooong?"
Tears slide down his cheeks again as he shakes his head firmly, throat bobbing.
You cup his jaw, thumb brushing the tears away. "Want me to keep going?" you ask softly, just in case-
"Good," you say, and swallow his cock.
With a shudder, he pulls at the handcuffs, a quiet whimper forcing its way out of his throat when they hold. His tiny feet scrabble for purchase on your lab coat, sharp claws digging through and into your shoulders, losing his careful restraint. Even his tail's trembling where it's wrapped tight around your neck.
Did you mention you're into pain? Because you are.
Your tongue dances lightly along his length. Over and between the rough heads, down to find the stuttering pulse at his base, back up to taste his precum, lavishing his gorgeous cock with the attention he deserves.
The taste of him is to die for, dark and earthy, like the food back in Drusselstein except less squirmy. Well. He's squirming but it's good squirming, the kind where he's bucking his hips and moaning and crying, and you're pulling your clothes off as best you can with your eyes closed and face between his legs - you're not going to stop now, not when he's so close - and he's gasping for air, and your hands are curled around his shaking thighs, and he's still crying, and your tongue slides up his firm length again, and-
And the bell falls.
His cock slides out of your mouth with a wet pop when you pull away.
Leaning over him, you take in the pained expression on his face - fear, you realise, stomach twisting, because it's your fault, of course it is - and his frantic pulling at the handcuffs, and his ragged breathing. "How about I let you go, huh?" you say, resting your hand on the release catch.
He nods, eyes closed, springing up as soon as you free him to crash his bill against your lips. Holding your face in his tiny paws. Shaking. Kissing you with everything he has.
"Yes, Perry the Platypus, I love you too," you murmur into his mouth when he comes up for air, scritching the thick fur on his shoulders. How else can you interpret the muffled growls coming from the back of his throat, the fingers clutching at your jaw, the tail holding you close?
And he slumps into you, fingers slipping down to tangle in your shirt, forehead pressed to yours while his breathing steadies. In, and out, and in...
One last exhale and he smiles, tension sliding off him like water. Then he picks the bell back up, raising an eyebrow.
You're surprised. Why wouldn't you be? He'd panicked, and you know you're not capable of much after one of your panic attacks, but apparently he's fine. You hope he's fine. He looks fine. "You're sure?" you ask anyway, in case he's not fine at all.
Touching his bill to your nose, he strokes your jaw, then flops back onto the bed. His furred chest rises and falls with his breaths, calm and even, arms outstretched in a show of vulnerability.
The message is clear. You don't need to be an expert in Perry the Platypus to understand this:
And yet, you hesitate.
It's not that you don't trust him to know what he can handle - of course you do - but he's already freaked out once tonight, you don't want another. There's nothing scarier than seeing Perry the Platypus, your rock, crumbling.
Sure, he may look confident now, but you know him too well. Below the stoic agent mask, he's a sensitive platypus with feelings, with still-shaking paws and a shaky smile.
"Look at me, Perry the Platypus," you whisper. "Look." You slide a hand around his strong jaw, guiding his eyes to yours. "I'm here. I've got you."
His throat bobs under your palm and he nods, pushing your other hand down to his softened cock. Demanding, that's what he is. Then again, tonight's all about him, he deserves to be.
You take him in hand, the comfortable weight of him, brushing a thumb over his shaft until it twitches with interest. It's oddly small, now that you're actually looking at it, but he puts every inch of it - all two of them - to good use. The number of times you've come from his cock alone...
All the more reason to get him off tonight. It's only fair.
Those deep brown eyes you love so much narrow, and you swallow down your nervousness. "Are you suuuuuuure?" you try, wincing when your voice cracks.
He sets a paw on your knuckles, bell still clutched in the other, and smiles. I trust you, his eyes say.
Burying your face in the thick fur of his neck, fingers curled loosely around his cock, you let him set the pace this time. You've already screwed up by going too far once tonight, no need to add another to the mix.
On the plus side, he will tell you where his limits are.
"Wow, you're..." You swallow. "You're really into this, aren't you, Perry the Platypus?"
Sure, he may roll his eyes - which he does, you can tell, even without looking - but he is. Between his quiet gasps in your ear and his bucking into your hand, you have a very happy nemesis. With benefits.
No, wait, boyfriend. He's your boyfriend and he's too busy enjoying himself to object when you say it.
He shoves you back, gorgeous brown eyes narrowed. What was that?
"What was what?" you ask, like you have no idea what he's on about, fluttering your eyelashes.
He doesn't buy it. Of course he doesn't, he knows you far too well.
'Boyfriend'? his glare says, with pinpoint accuracy. You sound like a teenage girl. I sound like a teenage girl.
You huff. "What's so bad about teenage girls?"
All he does is roll his eyes. We are not teenage girls, Heinz, as much as you act like one sometimes.
"I mean," you begin, "there was that time you-"
He slaps his adorably tiny paw over your mouth, face twisting. Don't remind me.
Fine. You know when not to pry. But there's a backstory there, you know it.
Who knew Perry the Platypus would have a backstory? Not you, that's for sure. Making a mental note to ask about it later, you turn your attention back to his cock.
It stands tall and proud, a nice pink against his teal fur, practically begging for you to touch it. Again. Touch it again, after he pulled away. And here you'd thought he liked it when you-
Why is he looking at you like-
Oh. "Ohhhhhh," you say. "Did I say that out loud?"
He nods, giving you that look, the one he always wears when you do, well, anything.
You've never let a little thing like Perry the Platypus's eternal weariness stop you before and you don't plan to start now, not when he's still clutching the bell tight. That, and his still-erect cock twitching against his fur.
A bead of precum rolls down its side, disappearing into his fur. Wetting your lips, you reach out with trembling fingers, tracing the path it left.
He chirps at your touch, grasping at the sheet with his cute little fingers while his hips roll, eyes squeezed shut. One thing's for sure: as much as he pretends otherwise, he definitely likes it.
"That feels good, doesn't it, Perry the Platypus?" you whisper, taking him firmly in hand again. "My hand on your..." You swallow, stroking him slowly. "You," you finish. This close, you can hear his breath hitch when you tilt his head up, fingertips brushing over the underside of his bill. Following them with your lips, you kiss down the line of his neck to feel his throat bob.
He's gorgeous like this, sweat-matted teal fur against your orange sheets, dazed and panting and oh so hard against your palm. Almost makes you wish he could be like this forever.
Reaching over to the still-open drawer, you pull out the lube you keep there for, well, obvious reasons in hindsight, you don't know why you wouldn't keep it there-
The point is. You pull your hand from his perfect little cock, your own twitching at his plaintive whine, and pour a generous amount of lube into your palm. "I'm getting there, Perry the Platypus, don't worry," you mumble, reaching back to slick yourself up.
It's still hard to believe he lets you kneel over him like this, both naked and vulnerable - well, he still has his hat - but he does.
He quirks a finger and growls, deep in the back of his throat, and you have to swallow back a moan. So demanding. You're into it, of course you are, this is the nemesis who's given you everything you've ever needed, so when he slides a paw into your hair and kisses you, biting at your lip, claiming your mouth, you submit willingly. Like thwarting, only better.
Fumbling with the bottle still in your hand, you go to pour out another palmful, feeling it drip through your fingers instead-
And he yelps, his cute little foot connecting with your-
Air escapes through your teeth as you double over in agony. He kicked you. Sure, he looks apologetic, but that doesn't change the facts.
"You're lucky you're cute."
He rolls his eyes. Serves you right. That was cold.
Like he's one to talk. Glare. Whatever. "You're cold," you mutter, not caring how childish you sound. "And it's not my fault I couldn't see what I was doing, Perry the Kissapus."
You're lucky you're cute.
Closing the bottle, you toss it to the side, leaning in to brush your lips along his sensitive bill. "You think I'm cute, huh?" you breathe.
All you get is a huff and a prod at your still-aching dick.
"I'll be fine, Perry the Platypus," you say, waving his paw away. "It's not like I need it right now-"
And he's glaring, again, so you do your best to kiss it off him, with lips and teeth and tongue. It's not until you wrap a hand around his cock that you succeed, but hey, you can work with this.
The lube's cool under your fingers at first but then you get into a good rhythm, working him back up until it's nice and warm for him.
You slide your other hand into his cute little paw - the one without the bell - and smile. He really is gorgeous like this, splayed out under you with his fur mussed and hat askew. "Ready?"
Squeezing your hand tight, he nods, more relaxed than you've ever seen him. Ready.
One last kiss and you lean back, lining yourself up. Your thighs tremble at the strain. Between them, your cock stirs to life again, aroused by the thought of him inside you.
Exhaling a breath you hadn't known you were holding, you drop down and take his cock to the hilt.
The cry that tears from his throat is raw, primal, like nothing you've ever heard from him before. Even all the other times he's made love to you, he's never sounded like this. You're used to his quiet stoicism, perfectly in control, taking what he wants without a sound.
This is different.
His eyes are shut tight, but that doesn't stop the tears flowing down his cheeks as he shudders under you, the paw still clutching the bell - a sight you're glad to see - swinging up over his eyes.
Gorgeous. That's what he is. Perry the Platypus, your gorgeous boyfriend.
You stroke his jaw, clenching around his perfect little cock until he's moaning for you with the beautiful voice you don't hear anywhere near often enough.
"It's a shame, that's what it is," you mumble, taking his other wrist and pressing it to the mattress. "You have a really nice voice, so good, the best. But you're so quiet, I mean not right now obviously, you're actually pretty loud, keep doing that, it's nice, but the rest of the time you are and- Don't you roll your eyes at me, Perry the Platypus, I'm perfectly capable of shutting up. See?"
Grinning at him in newfound silence, you wiggle your hips, delighting in how that wipes the usual flat stare right off his handsome face. You're so good at this.
And he loves it, you can tell. Between his shaky breathing and the way he's baring his throat for you, head tipped back to moan with that amazing voice of his, he's practically swooning under you.
You'd kiss him if you could bend down that far.
But you can't, so you ride his cock instead, sliding up and dropping back down to see what other sounds you can pull from him.
Pressure builds until you can't take it any more, gasping for air. "Man, this silence thing really takes it out of you, huh?" Why is he looking at you like that? "What? What did I say?"
Fresh tears flow down his face as his shoulders shake, following the well-worn tracks through his fur, and you sneak another glance at the bell. Is he-
Did you seriously think being quiet worked by holding your breath? They're not synonymous, Heinz.
He's laughing at you.
"How was I supposed to know?" you protest, unable to help your grin. "I mean, look at me!"
And he does. With a look, he takes you apart, strips you of all your defences, lays you bare before him. Those warm brown eyes you adore so much roam over your face and body, taking in the sheen of sweat on your skin, the too-visible scars, the still-healing bruises he'd left, and down to where your bodies are joined.
He looks at you, all of you, without judgement or pity or disgust.
Shoulders shifting, he strains to close the distance between you, so you take a breath and lean in so he can touch his bill to your heart.
You shudder, breath catching in your throat, wanting more than anything to believe him.
Instead, you squeeze his paw tighter and force a shaky smile. "I love you too, Perry the Platypus." The words spring to your lips unbidden and you mean every single one. "I love you so much, you're so good, the best thing to ever happen to me," you whisper, rocking back onto him to the rhythm of your words. "So strong, too, and handsome, you're so handsome, Perry the Platypus, and so talented with those perfect little hands of yours, I love them, I love you."
"I want to kiss you," you continue, tears pricking at your eyes, "kiss all over your gorgeous face, but I can't and it hurts because you're so good and deserve all the kisses, not like me, but I guess you disagree because you're here with me instead of anyone better, and I've seen you smiling when you think I'm not looking, but I am because how can I not look at someone so wonderful and perfect and gorgeous and I love your smile, it's so nice. You should smile more often, Perry the Platypus, it's a good look for you."
Curling his tail around your leg, he chirrs, the corner of his kissable mouth tugging up into a smile.
It's all you can do to not swoon. "Like that," you say, breathlessly, "that's what I mean, that smile right there. You're so gorgeous. So good. I want you to feel good, Perry the Platypus, because you're so good and you deserve it and you're worth it and I love you so much, I love you I love you I love you..."
You're crying now too, heart overflowing with how much you adore him, Perry the Platypus, your boyfriend, your everything.
"And your cock." You slide back onto it, unable to - not wanting to - stop the gasp that hisses through your teeth. "Your perfect cock, I love how it feels inside me. It's so strong, like you, strong and firm and gorgeous."
Another growl rips from his throat and he bucks up into you, eyes and fingers clenched tight. Nearly there.
Squeezing tight around his wonderful perfect gorgeous cock, you breathe your love for him, a quiet whisper only he can hear. This is for him, this love, this night. Just him.
"Come for me," you beg soundlessly, and he does.
Heat blossoms inside you, a new, unfamiliar, welcome heat as he shakes under you, cock pulsing and twitching, crying out for you. How much does he trust you to let go of his tight grip on control like this? To let himself be vulnerable?
Enough that you're reeling from it.
You don't let that slow you down, not while the bell's still firmly in his tiny paw. Even if it never happens again, if he decides once is enough, you at least want this time to feel good for him.
What kind of boyfriend would you be if you didn't?
He groans, a low, attractive, sound, as his paw unfurls, the bell jangling onto the sheets.
Oh. "You're done?"
At his nod, you take your hands from his and plant them on the mattress beside him, pushing yourself up off his softening cock. Your own's still hard as you drop onto an empty patch of sheets with a sigh.
Catching his breath - even the way he breathes is attractive - he rolls to face you, gorgeous cock already tucked away.
His tail presses between your legs.
"I thought you were done!" you protest, not pushing him off.
He smirks. You're not.
A push and you're flat on your back, him straddling your, well, your ribs really, as he wraps his broad tail securely around your cock. His gentle paws slide over your bare chest and up your neck to the jutting jaw you've always been a little self-conscious of, and then he's kissing you like it doesn't matter. It probably doesn't.
Threading your hands through the fur on his shoulders - the steadiest thing in the room - you submit to his probing tongue and firm tail, gasping almost-words into his mouth.
He twists his fingers into your hair and swallows them all.
I love you, his mouth says, with tugging teeth and muffled gasps. I need you.
The feeling's mutual.
You cling to him, your gorgeous boyfriend, as he - not for the first time - takes you apart with his expert paws and tail. Like thwarting, except you've already won. And the kissing thing. Not that you're complaining, when his tongue's twisting with yours, and his tail's sliding up and down your cock, and your world's shrunk down to him and him alone.
Stars burst behind your eyes as you arch into him, a moan escaping your throat, shaking, coming. All for him.
He pins you down, not letting go until he's wrung you dry, until you're weak and helpless under him. Until he's smirking at you like he won. Which, you suppose, he did. In a way.
Then again, you did too.
Releasing your grip on his fur, you bring your hands up to cup his jaw, a soft smile on your face. You love him so much. Pulling him close, you bury your face in the crook of his neck. "Thank you, Perry the Platypus," you breathe, basking in the heady scent of his fur. "For... for sharing that with me."
How did you end up with someone as gorgeous as him, anyway? Not like you're much of a catch, between your looks and your baggage, not to mention the whole evil thing, but he-
He's looking at you like he can hear your thoughts. Rolling his eyes, he taps the tip of your too-long nose. You're cute.
"Am not," you mumble, heat flaring in your cheeks.
Are too. He touches his bill to your nose, lingering there. I love you.
Forcing back a whimper, you close your eyes, sliding your nose along his bill so your mouth can find his.
The kiss is slow this time, unhurried, full of the love you still can't find the words for. Which is odd. You normally have lots of words, but Perry the Platypus has always been good at leaving you speechless.
It's only fair, because you're good at making him talk, by which you mean chirp and growl and purr. And roll his eyes at you, that probably counts. The point is. Anyone who thinks he's as stoic as he pretends to be isn't paying attention. He can say a lot without words, your perfect, gorgeous, expressive, boyfriend.
Nemesis with benefits.
"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," you murmur into him, pressing kisses along his bill. With one hand you reach into the bedside table, pulling out the wet wipes you've taken to keeping there.
He chirrs softly, lying boneless across your chest, a soft smile gracing his handsome face.
Rolling him onto the mattress beside you, you wipe him down, focusing on the cum slowly drying into his tail. "Feeling any better?" you ask, to no response.
When you look, he's already asleep, softly snoring.
"Goodnight, Perry the Platypus," you murmur with a smile, kissing his forehead. "Sleep well."