Content warning: this is a piece of gay male erotica between a human and a gryphon.
* * *
Dearest,
My apologies for this messy scrawl. A gryphon's beak is a wonderful tool for so many things, but holding a quill isn't one of them.
This is Dusk writing, from the third heavy wing squadron. You've probably already found the feather I tucked inside this letter. It's one of mine, freshly plucked this morning, in case your memory needs a little push in the right direction. Remember me yet? I'm sure you do. You saw me yesterday, at the ceremony, and I know I made an impression. How could I not, kitted out in my finest formal armour, with every plate and buckle gleaming, and my beak polished to a fine shine? I saw you looking at me and my fellow gryphons - but mostly at me - as you and your fellow men marched past. And then I saw you look away and blush.
Let me tell you a thing about gryphons. We can read human emotions as clearly as you can read these very words. So I know exactly how much you liked what you saw. And I know exactly the direction your imagination wandered. There's really not the slightest point in trying to deny it.
Don't worry, I'm not offended. Not in the least. We're not prudish creatures; me least of all. And I liked what I saw too. Here's another thing about gryphons: in some ways, we're uncomplicated creatures. When we see something we like, we take it.
So when would you like me to take you?
It can't be here in the camp. There are too many eyes and ears about. You know as well as I that physical entanglements are forbidden in the service, let alone one between two males... and that's before we even consider that I'm gryphon and you're human. A triply forbidden tryst. And doesn't that just make it triply delicious?
But don't worry, we won't be caught. I know a place where our privacy will be absolute. A small green copse so little known it doesn't even have a name. Nothing we did there could possibly be overseen, from the ground or from the air. And it's so remote that no-one would overhear us, even if we screamed out in rapture as loud as our lungs could bear. Which is fortunate, considering.
We should go there separately, to avoid suspicion. I'm sure a resourceful warrior like yourself will have no trouble slipping past the guards. A mile beyond the palisade, where the Painted River wheels sharply to the left, a small brook joins it on the right hand side. Follow that brook and you'll come eventually to our copse. In the very centre of the copse is a clearing. It's a most beautiful place in daylight and even more beautiful in moonlight, with the only sounds the rustling of leaves, the hoots of night birds and the gentle whisper of the brook. The mossy ground is soft but dry at this time of year, almost inviting you to roll about on it and play. And the brook is sweet and fresh, to refresh any thirst and clean up any mess from skin or feather.
It'll be the first time you see me out of my armour. I'm quite a sight in moonlight. My feathers are as black as the night sky, but mottled with a grey as fine as woven starlight. And my eyes reflect the slightest illuminance to shine like unearthly beacons.
It'll be the first time I see you out of your uniform as well. In my imagination you appear in the clearing as perfectly naked as a wave-washed pebble, and with a body every bit as rounded, firm and smooth. And if my imagination is wrong, and you arrive fully clothed... well, we can soon fix that.
If you're concerned I'll leap upon you and ravish you in some animalistic frenzy, don't be. I won't do that. At least, not on our first meeting. I'm a considerate gryphon, and you'll be tired from your journey. The night is a long one, and there'll be time enough for ravishing later. Besides, I'm an old romantic at heart, and I enjoy a good snuggle before a good rut.
I am of course a little bigger than you. But I think, if I lie down on my flank then you could snuggle up very nicely with your back pressed against my feathery chest and your buttocks against my underbelly. Then I can drape a talon around your shoulders and slide a paw between your thighs, and blanket a wing over your naked body to keep away the cold. Most comfortable for us both, I'm sure.
I doubt that you can understand the tongue of gryphons, and you'll know that I can't vocalise the tongue of man. So I won't be able to talk to you as we lie entwined under the stars. But you can talk to me, and I'll listen. And I can bend my beak to your ear and tell you how sweet your voice is, and how perfect your body, and how heady your scent, even if you can't understand a word. As for how you make the blood run hot through my loins, you won't need me to tell you that. The feel of my rough tongue lapping at your cheek and my throbbing cock nudging against your lower back will tell you everything you need to know.
When you tire of just snuggling, know that this gryphon likes to be touched. If you've never felt a gryphon's plumage before, prepare to be pleasantly surprised: it's thick, and warm, and sensuously soft. Choose a patch of feathers - any at all - comb your fingers, dig them in deep, stroke back and forth and listen to me croon in pleasure. A firm stroke is best. Whatever you do, don't be shy; know that no part of me is off limits to you. My neck is a good places to start if you're unsure. My plumage there is luxuriously thick, and I'm so delightfully ticklish around my throat that if you stroke me there I'll arch back my neck, open my beak and warble like a songbird. Or, if you prefer, you can take a paw in your hands and tickle my toes, and I'll purr like a pussycat. But of course, the one place I dream of feeling your cunning human fingers wander more than anywhere else is between my hind legs. Stroke me down there and I promise you I'll roar like a gryphon.
I think you'll like my balls. They're full and round, and covered in a soft grey down that - in moonlight - makes them stand out against my dark plumage like two fuzzy full moons. Please, be my guest. Touch them. Stroke them. Cup them in your palms. Squeeze them. Push your nose between them and inhale their odour, if that's what takes your fancy. And when you've explored my balls to your satisfaction, go ahead and let your attention drift forwards to my sheath.
