Title: Swamp Babymaking Status: Complete Characters: Nick [GVH], Curtis [GVH], Trent [GVH] Rating: NSFW Classification: One-Shot Author: DexterBby Summary: Nick, lead singer of Swamp Babies, is an open transman. Unfortunately, due to his biological sex, he winds up going into heat in the middle of recording sessions for their next album. While trying to wait out the storm, the baby blue Baryonyx receives an unexpected, but not unwelcome visitor... June 6th, 201M2028 BC Somewhere outside Los Angeles, California The recording sessions for the next Swamp Babies album had been going great. They’d been doing so well, in fact, that the lead singer, Nick J. Walker, had completely forgotten about the one thing that could possibly ruin it for him. Estrus season. Nick had been an out and open transgender man from the very beginning of Swamp Babies. He was, however, not as dysphoric as others like him; in addition to that, taking testosterone could potentially ruin both his good looks and his voice. As a result, he was comfortable as a biological female, and social male. This came with every possible drawback one could imagine. Menstruation was, of course, the most common one, but something Humans often forget is Dinosaur heat cycles. Two weeks of unbearable horniness, and with the very high risk of pregnancy involved, actually having sex wasn’t an option. Especially not for someone in the midst of their career, such as Nick. So there the baby blue Baryonyx was, laid across the white couch, alone in his mansion in the outskirts of Hollywood. He was dressed in a simplistic white sweatshirt and black sweatpants, although the outfit itself probably cost more than most people made in a month. He had called out sick from recording that day, and given he was the singer, that meant absolutely no progress would be made. It wasn’t like they were on a deadline; their last album was still selling like crazy. Nevertheless, Nick still felt like shit for flaking out on his bandmates. Unfortunately, if he had gone, he’d have been risking everything. Humans had a lot more self control than Dinosaurs did, particularly when it came to the instinctual need to procreate. The scent alone would’ve driven Curtis or Trent or, Raptor Jesus forbid, Billie crazy. Nick didn’t need his bandmates getting into some stupid fight over this shit, and he certainly didn’t need to think about the very real possibility one of them could knock him up. …yet now he was. Nick rolled onto his side, growling at nothing and punching the couch cushion. Curtis and Trent were like brothers to him; dopey, stupid, a little bit annoying, but they were family. He couldn’t possibly imagine himself in a serious relationship with either one. Billie, on the other hand… Swamp Babies picked up their fourth member in Nashville, Tennessee about six months ago. At that time, he was an indie solo artist, performing as the opening act at a prolific bar known for two things: hot wings and live music. The name of his act was “Billie Six-Fingers.” At first, Nick, Curtis, Trent, and their manager yucked it up, thinking it must be some kind of joke. Trent specifically had made some crack about the guy possibly just being the owner’s son or something. From the moment Billie Six-Fingers actually walked on stage, Nick knew there was something different about him. First of all, the guy was eye-catching: he was huge, with blood red scales and horns like the Devil. He had a long, thick tail ending with crimson feathers, and he was dressed in light blue overalls decorated with paint splotches of all colors. That was all they could see of him from their perch on the second floor of the bar. He covered three songs, all by Lynyrd Skynyrd, and while “Simple Man” is beautiful and his playing of the “Free Bird” solo was absolutely spot on, it was what he did with “Mr. Banker” that caught the band’s attention. He went freestyle for the solos in the last song, and it quickly became clear just why “Six-Fingers” was his moniker. His hands moved in ways that seemed almost incomprehensible, playing melodies and countermelodies all on the same instrument, at the same time no less. He made it seem as though there were two guitar players on the stage, as opposed to one. As the main act for that night was setting up, Swamp Babies and their manager came to the conclusion that they had to have him. Trent agreed he’d be better off playing bass, with someone like that in the band. Their manager got them backstage after the show, and to no one’s surprise, they all found the owner of the place and the main band chewing Billie out for showing them up. Apparently, they’d gone through several main bands since his arrival, with nearly all of them quitting after the hybrid Carnotaurus-Utahraptor outshined them. He didn’t even seem to be listening to them, looking completely done with the situation as a whole. Eventually, the disgruntled, indignant performers left for the night, and Swamp Babies’ manager finally got to talk with Six-Fingers’ boss. Nick could vividly remember the first time he saw Billie up close. The main detail that stuck out was his eye – and the fact he was missing one of them, with a patch to cover up his left socket. Their gazes crossed while their respective managers were hashing things out, and Nick immediately had to look away for the sheer intensity behind that nearly solid yellow optic. It was like Billie saw right through him. When they finally got around to asking the man himself, Billie didn’t answer verbally. All he gave them was a nod. The next day, they met up with him in the same bar, before they opened for the night, and he signed the contract, officially making him a member of Swamp Babies. Billie was quiet, honest, and very, very intense. His absolute nonchalance in everything he did made for some rather funny memories. Such as one time when, over a very minor disagreement, Billie told Curtis he would, quote, “rip your fucking jaw off.” It was such an over-the-top threat that everyone couldn’t help but laugh. Six-Fingers, however, never did laugh along with them. It was nearly impossible to tell what he was thinking most of the time. He would always voice his opinion if he felt it was important, but his facial expression never seemed to change. If Nick had to describe it, all he could really say was that Billie usually looked “vaguely angry.” Other than all of that, no one really… knew anything about Billie. Nick knew one thing though. He was frustratingly hot, especially in his mind’s eye at that very moment. About midway through remembering how they met, as his brain produced the sensation he felt when crossing eyes with the hybrid, Nick’s hand went down into his pants as he rolled onto his back. He’d been holding off on actually masturbating, given he’d just ordered food, but at the moment, he couldn’t really help himself. It wasn’t like he needed to answer the door. He had selected the option to just have it dropped off. Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock. It was the very moment Nick began touching himself that the knock came. Six raps against the doors of the singer’s mansion, echoing throughout the building and causing the Baryonyx to nearly jump out of his skin in surprise. He sat up, pulling his hand from his sweatpants and peering over the back of the couch, towards the hallway leading to the entrance. Maybe he could just ignore it. Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock. It was more insistent this time, louder. Maybe the delivery driver figured out who he was and wanted an autograph? Nick slowly got up from the couch, pulling his baggy t-shirt down over his body. Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock. His steps were slow and purposefully quiet as he approached the door. A strange sense of dread washed over him. What if it was a stalker? Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock. Nick paused, and moved to the table by the front door. He dug through the bowl of fake fruits and wrapped his fingers around just what he was looking for – the highest power stun gun he could legally get his hands on. Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock. He stood just behind the door, unsure what he was waiting on, gripping the taser so tightly his knuckles were starting to turn a lighter shade of blue. He held his breath. Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock. After this final round of knocks, a deep, gruff voice came from beyond the wooden entrance to Nick’s home. “I know you’re here, Nick. I can smell you.” …Well, Nick recognized the voice, but why the fuck did he have to say something so creepy? The blue Baryonyx unlocked the door and pulled it open, looking up to find none other than Billie Six-Fingers standing before him. As though, like some kind of Demon, Nick’s thoughts had conjured him up. The one-eyed Carnotaurus-Utahraptor hybrid was dressed in the same exact clothes he was in at the recording the day before. A lightweight, olive green hoodie, unzipped to reveal an Iron Maiden t-shirt beneath, and below, worn out jeans and boots that had seen better days. Nick stared up at his bandmate for a long moment, suddenly reminded of the terrible difference in scale between them. The singer was barely five feet, four inches in height, and quite scrawny; the guitarist, on the other hand, stood an even eight feet tall, and was just as brawny, if not more so than Curtis. Billie looked to be out of breath. Glancing past him, Nick could see no vehicle in the driveway that could’ve possibly belonged to the cyclopean Dino before him. His eyes returned to the horned man, meeting his gaze, which immediately sent a shiver down the Baryonyx’s spine. He’d been looking at him the same way the day before. “Did y–” Nick’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain eye contact with Billie as best he could. “Did you fucking run here? What the fuck are you even doing here, Billie?” The hybrid placed his hand on the door. His head was already past the threshold. “Yesterday… the other’s couldn’t tell, but… I could…” He regarded Nick with his only eye, leaning closer. “You ain’t sick…” With Billie this close, Nick could smell him. His scent was that of hickory smoke and bourbon, but more prominently to the blue one’s nose at that moment, sweat and musk. …Oh God. Nick backed away from the entrance, subconsciously inviting the crimson-scaled giant into his home. It was an invitation Billie took immediately, and a second later, the door closed behind him, sealing their conjoined fate. Instincts were starting to take over for the both of them. Nick wasn’t normally this affected by his heats, but there was something about Billie’s scent, his stance, his sheer presence that was driving the Baryonyx crazy. He was an alpha, an apex predator, and every urge in Nick’s body was telling him to submit. Billie’s breathing was ragged; his posture hunched as he approached Nick. The hybrid lunged forward, wrapping his left hand around the Baryonyx’s throat – not forcefully enough to truly strangle him. It was merely a show of strength. He drove the smaller dino backwards until his back hit the wall, sending a web of cracks out from the point of impact and causing a few framed photos nearby to fall. Nick gasped. “Billie… w-wait…” he choked out, one eye closed as the other stared up at the snarling, devilish face of his bandmate. The apex predator paused for just a moment, to hear out his claim. “...B-bedroom… please…” the blue dino pleaded. Billie complied, suddenly leaning down and casually lifting Nick onto one of his shoulders. The vocalist took the opportunity to catch his breath, though with each inhale, he was only sucking in more of those pheromones the guitarist was putting off. Well, at least this way his house wouldn’t get torn up so bad. Dinosaur mating could be so savage, especially where estrus was involved. On the bright side, Billie knew the way to Nick’s room. For the first couple weeks he was in LA, the guitarist stayed with the lead singer, until they could get him set up with his own apartment. Even having lived with him for a bit, Nick still couldn’t get a proper read on Billie. As the scarlet-scaled hybrid ascended the stairs to the second floor of the blue Baryonyx’s home, Nick tried to get a look at his face. It was a futile effort; there was no proper angle he could get, from his spot on Billie’s shoulder. He wished he could just read the man’s mind. Maybe after this he could ask Billie some questions. Pillow talk is a good way to get to know someone, right? He’d find out soon enough. The hybrid kicked the doors to the purebred’s bedroom open, and quite literally tossed Nick from his shoulder to the bed. The Baryonyx landed with a soft grunt, glad that his mattress was memory foam. He sat up, looking towards Billie, who loomed at the foot of the bed. “If ya don’t want me to rip ‘em, you better get your damn clothes off ‘fore I get mine off,” the Carnotaurus-Utahraptor growled, already peeling off his jacket. Briefly, Nick considered how hot it might be to have someone tearing the clothes from his body. This idea was quickly abandoned when he realized just how expensive even this simple sweatshirt and sweatpants happened to be. Designer clothing was such a drag some times. He pulled off his top and tossed it aside, revealing his slender form and less than impressive chest. Far more notable than his breasts were the many tribal-style tattoos all over his body; they curled and wove all around his scales, and while he was proud of them, he’d never really shown them off. Billie was the first person who was going to see Nick in all of his glory. Speaking of the hybrid, Nick looked up just in time to see him throwing his shirt aside. Similar to his own situation, this was the first time in several years anyone had seen Billie in a state of true undress. The muscles were honestly something the lead singer was expecting – however, no one in the band had ever seen the new guitarist wearing anything but pants and long sleeves. As such, Nick found himself distracted taking in every last detail. While they weren’t as defined as a bodybuilder’s, from his chest, abs, and the thickness of his arms, it was clear that Billie was either blessed with an incredible natural strength, or that he spent a good bit of time working out when no one was looking. The black stripes lining his arms reminded Nick of the tattoos marking his own scales. Neither of these things were what truly caught his attention. All along Billie’s body, marring his crimson scales, were patches of white that seemed utterly out of place. They were especially prevalent on his joints, but there were a few on his sides and chest and, as Nick would soon find out, dotting his lower body as well. More concerning than a potential skin discoloration condition were the scars. The Baryonyx could only count about a half-dozen of them before the hybrid’s pants were suddenly coming off, and his eyes were immediately drawn straight to the instrument of his undoing. “...Oh my God…” Nick whispered in disbelief, though he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Billie was a pretty big guy, even by Carnotaurus standards. Proportionately speaking, of course he’d be packing heat. And by the looks of things, it was only about halfway erect. With his clothes off, and Nick still in his sweatpants, gawking at his dick, Billie suddenly reached out and grabbed the singer’s ankle, causing him to yelp. He yanked the Baryonyx towards the edge of the bed, leaning down and putting the two of them face to face in the process. Despite everything, Nick’s cheeks flushed right away from the sheer proximity. He assumed Billie was going in for a kiss, and as a result, was caught completely off-guard when the hybrid leaned in even further, and began gently biting his neck. At first, he squeaked in surprise – a terribly feminine noise he hated making, and an involuntary one at that – but those squeaks quickly became soft coos of approval. Billie seemed to know exactly what he was doing; those soft, tender nips sent shocks of dull pain through Nick’s body. He was starting to tremble, now, and he could feel his arousal staining his inner thighs as the anticipation grew. The Carnotaurus-Utahraptor hooked his fingers into the waist of the singer’s pants, and pulled them off in one smooth motion. It was easy to forget just how long Billie’s arms were. The hybrid started pulling away from Nick’s neck, having left a rather significant hickey behind in the process. He trailed kisses down the Baryonyx’s exposed body, stopping to give special attention to both of his dark blue nipples. His forked tongue circled each one, and if they could’ve gotten any more erect, they would’ve. He dragged his teeth along those cerulean scales, and as he approached Nick’s lower half, the singer squirmed, placing his hands on Billie’s shoulders. He didn’t vocally protest, but he was still embarrassed to have someone moving so close to his nethers. By now, the Devil-like dinosaur was down on his knees, and could see that the Baryonyx was holding his legs together. Was it out of embarrassment, fear, or something else? It didn’t truly matter. Billie slipped his fingers between Nick’s clenched thighs, and parted them as his head moved in between. His eye moved first to the singer’s face – which Nick was currently covering with his hands – before settling on the immaculate pink slit that was his cunt. The arousal steadily dripping from it was slowly starting to stain the sheets below; it glistened in the midday sunlight pouring in from the bedroom windows. He had every intent to eat Nick out, initially. However, with his face so close to the singer’s pussy, right in the middle of estrus season – his nose practically pressed directly into it – he couldn’t think straight long enough to do that. Billie’s pupil dilated, and then– THUNK. Something had just hit the mattress stand pretty hard. Billie grunted. “Fuckin’... ow…” Nick’s eyes followed the guitarist as he stood up, but were then immediately drawn to the thunderous, throbbing erection that had only been at a half-chub a few seconds earlier. He couldn’t exactly measure it by sight, but if he had to guess, at full mast, Billie’s cock must’ve been longer and thicker than his forearm. Despite this, there wasn’t a shred of doubt in the Baryonyx’s mind – he wanted, no, needed that massive red thing inside of him. He needed Billie to breed him. Nick met Billie’s gaze once more. A quiet moment passed, with the two of them taking slow, steady breaths as they communicated without a word. They both wanted this; nothing and no one short of the apocalypse was going to stop them. Billie wrapped a hand around his shaft, his fingers fitting perfectly between the black stripes along the upper side of his length. He dropped the hefty thing on Nick’s abdomen, letting it twitch as his hands moved to the singer’s dainty legs. He grabbed hold of the Baryonyx’s calves, slowly lifting them as he moved one knee onto the bed. Nick took the hint, and wrapped his hands around the backs of his knees, holding them in place as Billie got in position on top of him. The hybrid’s right hand supported his body against the bed, while his left wrapped around his shaft once again. Nick allowed his legs to rest against Billie’s shoulders as the other guided the tip of his length to the entrance of the Baryonyx’s cunt. No matter how wet Nick was, insertion, at least the first time, was going to be difficult sheerly due to Billie’s size. It certainly helped that his pussy was desperate to be filled, and as it slowly began to sink into him, that was the only word Nick could think of to describe it – filling. For all his life, it felt as though he had been empty, but now, connected with Billie, he felt strangely whole. The two of them were going to have to ignore those feelings for now. Billie groaned as the hot, wet walls of Nick’s cunt squeezed down on him. He had to go against every instinct in his body just to prevent himself from shoving it in. He didn’t want this to be painful for either of them. They were going to be sore after the fact, undoubtedly, but the act itself was about mutual pleasure, among other things. He felt a pair of hands move around his shoulders, fingers locking behind his neck. He opened his eye – he hadn’t realized he had even closed it – and met Nick’s gaze, who was looking up at him with a mixture of emotions his estrus-addled brain couldn’t identify in the moment. He leaned down, and as his manhood sank deeper into Nick’s sex, the two of them opened their mouths in unison, and engaged in a deep, passionate kiss. Their forked tongues twisted around one another, and as he kissed the Baryonyx, Billie could feel his length being squeezed even tighter than before. Lost in the kiss, it wasn’t long before the two of them realized Billie was as deep as he could go. They parted, and both of them looked down to see their bodies connected, with a handful of inches to spare. The hybrid looked back up at Nick once more, who took a deep breath, and exhaled, steam rising from his nostrils despite the summer heat. He whispered, “Fuck me, big boy. I can take it. Breed this bitch.” God, if he ever said anything like that outside this extremely specific context, he’d probably be so embarrassed as to suck-start a shotgun and miss out on joining the 27 Club. Of course, Billie didn’t mind the cheesiness of it one bit. It flipped a switch in the apex predator’s brain, and in a matter of seconds, the two of them had turned into wild animals. It was a primal, vicious form of sex that couldn’t rightly be described as “fucking” or “lovemaking.” The proper term for this was “mating.” Billie drilled into Nick relentlessly. The mattress squealed continuously in protest of the raucous, obscene act taking place on top of it. That sound was merely another instrument added to the lascivious cacophony of wet slapping, moans, screams, groans, and grunts coming from the two dinosaurs getting it on. Blood was drawn; teeth sank in, claws were dragged along scales. The two of them lost count of how many times they came together. The only time Billie even dared to think of pulling out was to change positions – from starting in a mating press, to pressing the Baryonyx’s face into the mattress while going at it from behind, to, at one point, holding him down in a piledriver. There were others, of course, but no matter the position, one thing was certain: Nick was on bottom, utterly and completely dominated. And he loved every second of it. The sun had set. Nick sat on the bed, alone, covered in sweat, blood, and leaking cum from his sore, still gaping pussy. He was trying and failing to smoke a cigarette; his hands were – his whole body was – still trembling a bit, and as a result, he was struggling with the lighter. It was right when he was starting to get fed up with it that Billie returned to the bedroom, carrying three bags of takeout in one hand and an entire case of bottled water on the other shoulder. He set them on either bedside table – the mattress itself was way too dirty for that – before looking down at Nick. The Baryonyx raised a brow, cigarette still between his lips. “What?” he asked, perplexed by the strange look in Billie’s eye. “Ya shouldn’t be smokin’.” “Oh, now you’re concerned about my well-being? I thought you were gonna eat me earlier, dude,” Nick said, smirking up at him. Billie growled softly, and continued to stare for a moment, before extending a hand. “Gimme the lighter.” Nick was confused – was he going to light it for him? – but handed over the gold-plated flip lighter regardless. As suspected, Billie did plan on lighting it. First, however, he plucked it from between the lead singer’s lips, which earned him a whine of protest. The hybrid ignored this, raising the cigarette to his own lips, and holding it there as his more steady hands easily lit the carcinogenic stick. He bit the nicotine pod very gently, and took a deep inhale– Only to be sent into a concerningly intense coughing fit as he handed the cigarette back over. Nick’s eyes went wide as his guitarist doubled over, gently patting his back. He had to be careful not to hit the claw marks he’d left up and down Billie’s scales, though they were rather difficult to avoid. Well, he was covered in just as many bite marks, so… it was only fair. Eventually, Billie managed to calm down, though he kept coughing every few seconds. “Holy shit, dude, are you, like, okay?” Nick asked, ignoring the urge to tease the Carnotaurus-Utahraptor in favor of the actual concern that overruled such a thing. “Yeah,” the hybrid grunted, standing up straight. “...Had a deflated lung back in high school. Doctors told me I should never smoke. Guess they weren’t lyin’,” he said, chuckling, which only caused him to hack violently once more. “You had a deflated what now?” the lead singer asked, shocked at this. Billie’s eye went wide, and he looked at Nick like a deer caught in the headlights. He quickly turned his gaze elsewhere, landing on the acoustic guitar, on its stand in the corner. “...I said too much,” he muttered as he walked over and grabbed the instrument, finally catching his breath. Nick’s brows furrowed, and he pursed his lips. Even after having this guy balls deep inside of him, he still couldn’t get a read on Billie. Sighing, he took a drag on the cigarette, exhaling a ring of smoke before turning his attention to the food and water. He tore into the case and chugged nearly half a bottle before even thinking about eating anything. They had ordered two-and-a-half dozen full price burgers, and thankfully, they were still warm as Nick began wolfing them down. He finished the bottle, and was on his third burger when he finally looked to Billie once again. The hybrid sat, cross-legged on the bed, with his back to the Baryonyx. He was silent; the only sound coming from his direction was the guitar being tuned. Nick snorted to himself, grabbing his phone off the bedside table and snapping a photo of this. Without considering the consequences, he uploaded the image to social media with the caption: “He literally just nutted in me and started playing MY acoustic.” He tossed the phone back onto the table, and moved on his knees towards the scarlet dino. Wrapping his arms around Billie’s shoulders, he held the half-unwrapped burger in front of the hybrid’s snout. The Carnotaurus-Utahraptor stared at it for a split second, before snapping the entire thing out of Nick’s hand, somehow leaving the tinfoil behind. The Baryonyx snickered. “Guess you are hungry, huh?” Billie gave his usual answer to any and all inquiries; a dismissive grunt. Nick’s face turned sour, but he sighed, keeping his arms around the much larger dino’s broad, muscular shoulders. …Now was as good a time as any. “What’s your story, huh?” the vocalist asked, resting his chin against the guitarist’s shoulder. Billie took a moment to finish chewing the burger, swallowed, and gave Nick a sidelong stare – luckily, the lead singer had picked the correct shoulder for this to be possible, considering his impairment. “Ain’t sure whatcha mean,” he said, trying to dance around the subject. “Oh, c’mon, don’t give me that bullshit,” Nick countered, sounding just a little bit frustrated. “We just fucked for like eight hours. I think you owe me a few answers.” “Answers like what?” Billie said, still tuning the guitar in his hands all the while. “Well, for starters,” the Baryonyx began, moving one hand down to pluck at one of the strings, which made a discordant twang. “How’d you get so damn good at the guitar, huh? Mr. ‘Six-Fingers’,” he said, teasing. Billie thought on this for a moment, twisting the knob connected to the string Nick had just played, getting it perfectly in tune. “...Deal with the Devil.” Nick’s jaw dropped, feigning shock. “Oh, haha, very funny.” He grabbed Billie’s chin, turning the hybrid’s head so they were face to face, and he could look him straight in the eyes. “...I’m seriously curious about you. We find you in some fucking bar in Nashville, like you were some secret treasure waiting to be uncovered, and you’ve barely said a hundred words to us since you signed on. You’re part of Swamp Babies, Billie. If you’re gonna be part of our story, we should at least know who you are.” Billie seemed unconvinced. Nick batted his eyelashes and, in the most effeminate voice he could muster, begged, “Please?” The hybrid growled, but it was more out of embarrassment and frustration than any sort of defensive response. He wrenched his chin out of Nick’s grasp, looking back to the guitar in his hands. “...Alright. I’ll tell ya everythin’... on one condition.” The lead singer’s face lit up momentarily, but he quickly tried to put on a mask of disappointment. “Alright,” he said, giving a dramatic sigh, “What is it?” Billie gave him that sidelong look once again. “Help me write it into a song. Music… keeps me focused. Ain’t gotta be on an album or anythin’, just… I think it might be the only way I can tell my story. Y’know?” Nick’s brows furrowed, and he stared at Billie for a long time. The hybrid slowly strummed at the now in-tune strings, as the Baryonyx mulled over the idea in his head. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, of course; he was hoping Billie would just spill the beans right away. It was, however, an intriguing thought. “...Okay. But this stays between us. Got it?” Billie nodded. “Got a name for your life story?” Nick asked, smirking. Hopefully, this would be some kind of hint to unraveling the mystery that was the enormous, scar-covered man who had just been plowing him minutes earlier. “Mm…” Billie hummed in thought. “It’s a workin’ title, but… I call it The Ballad of Billie Klein.” “Ooh,” the lead singer cooed, immediately enamored. “How’s it star–” Before he could finish the question, however, Nick’s phone started to vibrate rather intensely. He scrambled to grab it before it could shake itself off the bedside table, and unlocked it to see what was going on. Hundreds of notifications were coming in at once. Thousands of comments and quotes and DM requests, and more than a dozen texts from both Curtis and Trent. Then came the first call from their manager, which caused Nick’s face to go pale. He ignored the call, and put the phone on silent, setting it facedown on the edge of the table. This time, it was Billie who approached Nick from behind. He gently placed a hand on the Baryonyx’s shoulder, which caused him to jump and squeak, clearly spooked. “...Is somethin’ wrong?” he asked, tilting his head. Nick turned to face him, staring up at the hybrid. It was only just starting to dawn on him what they’d done. The line they’d crossed; the risk they’d taken. The lead singer of Swamp Babies desperately tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He had a distant, horrified look on his face. As the reality of the situation became more and more apparent to him, Billie gently grabbed either of his shoulders, squeezing them in an attempt to ground the Baryonyx. “C’mon, Nick, talk to me. What’s wrong?” Billie’s deep, gruff voice seemed to pull him back to the present. Nick cleared his throat. “I– uh, we–” He paused, taking a deep breath, and slowly exhaling in an effort to calm his nerves. “...We may have… fucked up… in a major way.” The Carnotaurus-Utahraptor hybrid tilted his head a bit further, before wrapping his arms around Nick. The singer felt compelled to hug him back, burying his snout against Billie’s broad, warm chest. “Whatever happens…” Billie began, causing Nick to peer up at him. “I ain’t the type to run off on ya. We made this bed, now we gotta lie in it.” The vocalist looked down at the mattress, covered in sweat, blood, and other bodily fluids. He couldn’t help but laugh, wiping a tear away as it started to form in his eye. “...Well, let’s start by changing these sheets.” [NOTES] I hope you enjoyed reading this. It's the first -- but absolutely not the last -- piece of fanfiction I've ever seriously written. I'd love to hear feedback, though I will note that this was also, partially, me testing AO3's system for uploading.