The little crow could still feel it sometimes, in the moments when he didn’t have something to distract him. Not just the pain as they’d one-by-one used his body. That would probably be easier for him. It was how they’d touched everything else too. They’d squeezed his body and stretched him out. They’d hurt and terrified him. They were just bullies.

	Except for the goat. His hands had caressed over bruises that were hidden by his feathers. He’d kissed the nipples the rat so ruthlessly tugged and pulled, gentle as his own mother might plant a peck on a scrape. He’d kissed everywhere else, too. He cooed words where the others had growled them. It made him feel weird, like he was lost in the woods somehow.

	When his mom rubbed his shoulders, he couldn’t help but feel the goats hands having done the same thing. She digs in a little firmer as he stiffens against it, drawing away from her. But it was too late.

	“I’m going to bed, okay?”

	“Alright. Have a good night, sweetie…” The words were hollow, weak, listless.

	Soon enough, the little crow was emulating his movements, curled up in the safety of his bed. His hand traced around the edge of his little hole. It was looser than when the goat had reached into him to pull out his flaccid thing. He could feel it still gape. Or was that in his head? There was a feeling under all of it... He didn’t know why but he needed it. That meant reaching into a cloaca that twinged with pain and ignoring how it clamped down on his scaly fingers and made the room darker while he winced.

	He starts his hand in the same way the goat had, the memory replaying in his head. Two fingers, at first, tug ever so slightly on a dick so much littler than the ones they’d put in it’s place, the small bits of pleasure mostly just wake it up. He can feel how it comes to life between tugs, every heartbeat felt in his fingers. His other hand comes up and starts to massage the still healing bruises on his chest. The goat had softly kissed both of his nipples, multiple times, before he’d started kissing other parts. With how the rat had nearly ripped them off, he was surprised with how nice those lips had felt. The crow has to split the difference, pulling on one, then the other, gently as he can manage. It sends a soft tingle through him that makes him shiver, just like the kisses from those softly suckling lips had.

	The goats bright white hand had rubbed over the crows stomach, calmed the sickening crunch it had been in since the night had turned on him. The words that followed were sharper in his mind than anything that had happened the rest of the night, something he tries to push further from his head but plays through regardless. 

	“Oh, I think someone loves you, Birdie,” the rat’s voice is fresh in his ear, the rasp in it amplified a thousand times. “Tell him you love him back.”

	“I-I love you,” he’d said. He didn’t know why it hurt him to say it. He was lying. He was lying?He didn’t know in that moment, where the goat was the only thing in the world that felt like anything other than horror. But he repeats it now under his breath, rubbing his stomach that was caught in a crunchy feeling.

	The goats lips travelled up to meet his beak, had planted a kiss on his neck, firmly, just above where his shoulders had been bruised by the dog holding him down. He runs his fingers along the same route and lets the pointed tips of his blunt little claws mark out the spots the goat’s lips could be felt through his feathers. The little kisses didn’t soothe anything, riling him up more as he let himself slip free of his body. The goats hands were all over his body, massaging and feeling him over. Whispers from him, the same things his mother would say, come unbidden in his voice.

	“You’re okay, sweetie.”

	“You’re so handsome. I just wanna give you a kiss. Here and here and here.”

	“I love you.”

	Those weird goat eyes had looked into his own with every little flinch in the same way his mom’s did now that he was flinching at her touch. And through it all, he feels the pleasure the man had brought to him. The way his hips had only ever gently prodded his stinging insides, how of the three the goat had been the one that nodded when he’d asked for it to stop.

	“In a minute sweetie, I just need to finish up here. You’re such a sweet boy.”

	And it had reached it’s end, not when the goat had stopped grinding their hips together like it had with the others, but after he’d pulled out. He’d oh-so-softly massaged his way down the bird’s body. He’d squeezed and kneaded the cub’s stinging behind while his tongue had dipped into the little cub’s cloaca. The tongue inside him was monstrous, swirling it’s way over his burning insides. He could hardly breathe when his strangely hard dick was between the goat’s lips. It had brought some sickening burst of pleasure better than anything he’d felt for awhile. It was terrible and intense, mixing with the pain of his beaten body. His vision had blurred even further as he felt himself almost drift into unconsciousness. 

	Once it’s done, there’s only the men, realizing that it was time to get away. They saunter, the rat not even bothering to put his pants until half a block away. And something in that kicks him awake. He swings wildly after them, body heavy. It collides with everything around him, bouncing off the walls and shattering glass. The crow struggles to give chase to them or to get away. He doesn’t know.

	The burst of light frames a shadow that he doesn’t care to track. “Honey? Stop it! What’s wrong!?”

	And hands are on him again, holding him down. She ignores how sticky his hand is when it slaps her shirt. His mothers hands keep him pinned, and for just a second, four other sets join in.