now that i have this blog, i can finally scream about this;
tangpulse but impulse is in heat...
this is a long one, the ramble is under the cut folks
both of them have heats, but tango is more regular and mellow than impulse's is, since he's outside of the end it doesn't come as often. instead of maybe 12 times a year it only comes 1 or 2 times a year. and when it does, its so much more intense than how it would be normally.
impulse's kind reproduces for quality, not quantity, so when his heat comes around, he has a massive breeding kink. i mean, go figure for most species, but for impulse, its different.
he originally didn't tell tango about it when they first got together, but when impulse starts acting more cagey with tango, growling at hermits whenever they get too close and hoarding more things than he usually does, he figures it's time to open up. it takes tango nearly 20 minutes to fish whatever it is out from impulse, but when he does, he's left stunned when impulse just blurts it out.
but tango, oh sweet boyfriend tango, he's receptive to it. he lets impulse just braindump on him and then asks clarifying questions about it all and they come to an agreement he'll help impulse, so they sleep on it and wait until it hits.
and boy, does it hit.
because whenever impulse sees tango around, his brain genuinely just wont shut up about him. how small he is compared to impulse, how his hips are just the right shape, how good he smells, how nice he acts, everything about him just screams perfect breeding ground. and embarrassment burns through him.
he tries to ignore it, honest! he does! old habits die hard, ok? he's pulling his shirt over the obscene tent in his pants, rubbing his legs together to relieve some of the tension, and whining under his breath. though, nothing works. its not until tango is standing in the storage room of decked out that he starts to cave. impulse told him he was fine, but wanted to be around him for a bit so he decided to keep the other company while he builds...a rookie mistake.
tango has his back turned, just reading off a spreadsheet he made until he feels impulse hug him from behind. he's so cold. tango turns his head to ask if hes ok until he feels something poking his backside, and soon enough, grinding into his backside.
and impulse, oh he's a wreck. he's nearly crying, whimpering so softly as he keeps apologizing to tango with tears in his eyes, saying that he feels so warm, and he smells just so good, he cant help himself. he says he's so so sorry but his hips just wont stop moving against him cuz it just feels so good. his mind is so loud, just begging for relief, begging to breed. his head nestles into his back and nearly topples tango over into his crafting table, still grinding into his ass. impulse is whining tangos name all the while.
tango struggles to pick himself up and push back against impulse (much to his utter dismay) to look at him. oh, hes ruined. face flushed and the tent in his shorts somehow much bigger with a wet patch steadily growing. his tail whipping behind him and tears now free flowing as he bites his lip and looks at the man with puppy dog eyes.
"im sorry... i cant--its just... fuck-- i need you tango. please-- hhm- im sorry..."
he's never seen impulse like this. when he bottoms, maybe its close to this, but right now?
𐂯 ⸝⸝ The beauty, grace, and depth of objectophilia is not often explored enough and I wish to talk about this more with Rеn as my muse to convey these thoughts . . .
🦴 Halt weary depth dweller! You are about to read smut or suggestive material, which is not suitable for a young audience, please proceed with caution! 🦴
I believe Ren has grown a deep love and devotion to plush toys he receives and or buys himself. It started off fairly young, fond memories of the days where he comes home from school; to sit down on his bed and use his stuffed animals as a diary. Hours were spent retelling stories inflated by his imagination, details sugarcoated until your teeth would rot and scenes mimicked with peak precision.
This, of course, was played off as childlike wonder, a staple in all boys and girls his age. Now? The same sentiment cannot be applied.
He dare not face his childhood friends when he stuffs them away in the depth of his family home's attic, left to just decay with his secrets. Ren has grown into a rather fine man, distinguished even. He need not use for silly toys as he now is able to find companionship in the form of someone warmer, more animated, alive. Try as he may, the outlook is rather bleak. Dates come and go. Many women not able to handle him and who he really is inside. The end is never bitter though. Both parties go their own ways as they realize it won't work. Some don't leave marks; others leave scars rooted in his dermis.
He's lonely. Deeply and truthfully, Ren is very lonely.
And the loneliness outweighs his shame when he leaves the shop with a bag in hand and his legs moving fast down the paved streets. He's a grown man, a man who has free will, a man who is simply human. Humans thrive on connection. He is doing what his nature begs him to.
So, when he reaches into the plastic bag with shaky hands, he tries to will his mind into swallowing its pride and to give in to temptation.
The first stuffed animal he's owned in 30 years is unveiled to him.
A tan coloured bear adorned in royal blue and gold wizards' robes was now in his possession.
It was found on the shelf of an old thrift store nestled in the shopping district near his home, a new building to offer up its goods to the public. Ren was on his way home when he saw this shop. He was taking the day off from streaming, deciding to not just hole up in his home any further. When he saw the toy, it struck something within him. Not just excitement, no, something far greater. Something far more intimate. It felt wrong when his hands grazed the fur. It felt new, someone had taken care of it before him, very well, he may admit. The unease increased tenfold when he got the courage to pick the toy up and inspect it with consideration.
"Cute, isn't he?" Ren jumps, swiveling his body around to face the shopkeep. Heat flushes his body, the words he means to say dying on his tongue. "We just got him last week, been sitting on that shelf untouched." The keeper doesn't seem to notice his upset.
"I— It's... I'm just looking." He settles on, quickly putting him— it back.
"Of course, dear. Let me know if you find anything you like!" She pats Ren on the arm before shuffling past him to the next group of people.
Ren was a terrible liar, And even worse at self-discipline.
"Make yourself at home, little one." He jests dryly, setting the plushie down on his desk propped up against the wall. It's been a while since he's owned one of these, and even longer since he's let his urge to personify run free, he doesn't know how to just let himself be. So, it just sits. It'll stare at him while he streams, while he works, while he sleeps. It goes unmoved for months, just collecting dust.
But old habits get slaughtered.
He was cleaning his desk when his eyes lay upon the bear. Its once bright colours now washed out with a layer of time lightly dusted upon it. Ren grimaces at the scene. A simple wash wouldn't hurt, since he's already wiping down everything else. He carries the stuffed toy down to his washer and dryer, ready to just chuck it in, until he notices the tag sewn to the bottom.
"Hand wash, not machine suitable"
And he pauses. His body stutters. Well... he doesn't wanna ruin the thing. He spent good money for it, plus, it was pretty cute. He has time, why not do it right?
Which is where Ren finds himself start to slip. He fills his sink up with warm soapy water, testing it to make sure it's not too hot, just for him of course. The process of taking the accessories off was slow and deliberate, just can never be too careful, he doesn't notice his bottom lip getting stuck under his canines. The actual act of washing the toy made him feel strange. With a rag secured in hand, he wipes off every part of the wizard; over his ears, the cheeks, the front of his body, down below to his stubby legs and rounded behind, between his arms, and special care to his nubby tail. This should've been quick and straightforward. But by the time he's done, it's nearly dinner time.
And his jeans feel a little tighter than form fitting.
That day cemented itself in Ren's mind, for after that single event, he found himself crumbling under the weight of impish temptations. He's let his sins run his life, he's started to love again, just not a conventional type of love.
Mr Magnas (a name suitable for a bear wizard according to Ren) was now a crucial part of his life. From the dawn bleeding into the twilight, Magnas was there for it all. Ren would lay in bed cuddling with Magnas as he rambles on and on about his nerdy endeavors and prop the beloved item in a chair while he streams to an audience none the wiser. His lonely dinners now are filled with joviality with Ren having set a plate for him at his table. It's empty, sometimes he'd fill it with food on days where he really needed companionship.
Ren, truly, has never been happier.
Even on days where the rain soaks through his bones and past devoir weighs heavily on his mind, he knows he's coming home to the one he loved the most.
"I'm so sorry I'm late, Mags." He all but sighed, the exhaustion leaking from his being. He shrugs his coat off and throws it off in a random direction to where he thinks is his living room and pads his way to his bedroom. "The train was late, and the outing went on longer than I expected it to. I hope you're not upset with me."
Magnas sat static on his bed, round acrylic eyes staring at him. The air is devoid from a response, but the vibe carries the labour when words can't.
"I appreciate you being so so patient, truly remarkable. You must teach me your ways." Ren giggles. He toes his shoes off and flops down onto his mattress, pulling his lover close to his chest, smelling the floral savour bonded to the fibers. All stress from his body is melted away like the snow in spring.
"I have to go shower, but after, I'll come tell you all about it. I have a joke Grian told me I think you'd absolutely adore." The man plants a kiss onto the stuffies forehead before he wills himself out of bed and into his bathroom. The whole time he's thinking about Magnas. Magnas truly never leaves his brain, but usually these thoughts are pushed to the background of his mind while the more pressing thoughts play out in the foreground. But now, Ren is free to let the thoughts of his partner come out to play. Even when he's laid up with Magnas, his brain cannot get enough.
The time flows through fingers like hand, 9 pm quickly becomes 2 am as Ren has the stuffed animal laid out on his chest as if the toy would start to hug him back. His stories start to devolve into random tangents and tales of his past like they always do. These are his favourite nights.
"It was my favourite play by far," His fingers run through Mangas' fur. "I'll take you to it sometime, need to get you out of this house. It can get kinda stuffy in here, no pun intended..." He looks down to Magnas, who stays inert. Though, Ren can read the bear like a book.
"You're so kind to me, you know that?" Admiration drips from his words. "You always just... listen. No one knows me, or gets me, like you do. My thoughts are tangled like string and you're here to unravel them with aid." Ren's fingers brush away fur that blocks Magnas' eye, having it caress down to the fluffy cheeks. "I think I'm so lucky to have you."
Silence fills the space between them and Ren gazes at Magnas.
A pang of heat surges through Ren as his thoughts take over once more. He bites at his lip, sizing the toy up. His hand that was secured on Mangas' back slowly inches down, over the soft curve of the back and under the swell of it's behind. "I'm...really lucky to have you."
Him and Magnas haven't talked about this. Magnas, well, couldn't do much talking, but Ren knew Magnas' spirit well. They've danced around it like a waltz, there were nights that housed heated kisses and heavy petting, but nothing more. Though, their 1 year anniversary was upon them a week from now. It seemed like just yesterday Ren found Magnas on that shelf, not too long ago Ren made it official. They were in their right to do this. Or maybe Ren is greedy. Both could be true.
"Can I— May I kiss you?" Ren poses the question hushed, a secret only him and Magnas share. Their own little bubble against the world. Magnas replies, but not with words, through the atmosphere shifting in his favour. He doesn't hesitate, even for a second.
Chewed lips meet snitching. It's rushed, sloppy, and not at all what Ren wants for his first time, but you can't blame the hungry for feasting, for he does not know when his next meal will be. Strong and slender hands grip Magnas' face until Ren is forced to pull back for air, a string of saliva connecting the two before it snaps under the weight of fervency. Ren is panting with ragged inhales and trembling exhales. His need for air is satiated when he dives back in for more, flipping Magnas over until the toy's back is pressed up against his sheets. In the low light of his room, Magnas looks divine, a piece of treasure worth Ren's worship.
"Fuck— you're so beautiful," Ren whined, arching down to lay a messy kiss to Magnas' maw. "So pretty. I need you— please— I need to make you feel good..." His pleads are punctuated with breathy whimpers as he looks on in desperation for an answer. The air was polluted with concupiscence; it was nearly suffocating. In between glimpses of light through the fog, Ren feels Magnas gives a blessing to his devoted partner. The man above keens sharply and goes in for a series of different kisses, they trail down the chin and down to his tummy to where the navel would be.
Magnas can't feel this. Magnas can't feel anything. In the end, it's not about that. It's not about what Magnas can or cannot feel, it's about what this means for their relationship. The work Ren has put in to this relationship, the trust, the tears, all vulnerability now laid out on the table. It's to show Magnas that Ren has his heart for now until forever.
(And maybe it is for pleasure as well, but Ren doesn't want to admit that.)
Ren teases the seam that holds all Magnas' stuffing in. It juts out from it's starting stitch from under all the faux fur to create a simulated endogenous zone. Truth be told, Ren hasn't given much thought into the gender of Magnas, even if the shopkeep saw the toy as a boy. Magnas is Magnas as far as Ren is concerned.
His tongue circles the bump with calculated intent. His ministrations switched from tracing around the mound to licking a flat strip from bottom to top, hands caressing Magnas' hips up to the chest, his thumbs rubbing where he would assume nipples to be. All the while, Ren is softly moaning into it, sucking down hard while his hips twitch against the bed to alleviate the inferno starting to rage on in his gut. Heat engulfs his body, particularly making home on his face and down to his chest with rosy pigment.
Ren pulls away, gasping for air. His whole body shakes, even as he takes time to catch his breath, his greed only grows and lecher gnaws at his resolve. His movements are no longer caring, but neither are they barbaric, it's a middle ground still full of wonton. He flips Magnas over onto the front, and he smooths his hand over Magnas' backside. Ren is heaving, completely debauched, he looks down at Magnas through with a perverted regard.
"Don't move." Ren doesn't even recognize his own voice. It's deep. Much deeper than he means for it to be. The smoothness was roughened up with desire, almost as if he growled the command. "Just—" His hands fumble for his waistband to tug down his boxers. "Just lay there, I've got you, yeah? I've got you. Your king— ffuck— your king's gonna take care of you."
Maybe Ren is taking things a little fast, he can admit that. He can also admit that it's truly the first time anyone has ever expressed how much they wanted him just as much as he would them. His love the deep kind, the kind that suffocates you until you drown in it. It truly is not for everyone. Except Magnas, Magnas could swim in it. Magnas would swim for miles if it meant being just a few inches closer to Ren, and Ren would do the same.
His cock springs free from cotton confines, leaking and kicking with anticipation. From the angle, his dick takes up most, if not the full length, of Magnas' torso. Ren thinks he might pass out from how hard he is at this revelation, with his dick sharing the same sentiment as precum beads out from the tip and slowly drips down onto Magnas' fur. He's thought about actually penetrating the toy once before. Ren has spent a fortnight looking at forum posts about this subject, with a pretty even split between them. Some say for their significant other, it's rather painless and even feels good, others wouldn't dream of even touching the stitching in such a way.
Ren doesn't wanna do anything to hurt Magnas. He'd much rather leave himself to die than to ever dream of doing that. But this was just as good for him.
He adjusts Magnas so his thighs hugged around Ren's shaft and arms positioned just right to make way for his cock, having to be held up with both hands to create a space for maximum coverage and friction. Ren was pretty tall in general, but to hold Magnas like this felt overwhelming. It was a rush of power to his head. He started off with a jittery thrust that punched out a weak moan from his lips. His movements were uncoordinated at first but soon they caught on to the appropriate rhythm.
A heated score of Ren's bed creaking and slick noises filled the tiny space. Ren's blood was running white, his body chasing the end, in need of salvation to put him out. He pictured himself much better than he is now. A much more calm, cool, and collected version of himself lost within his psyche while the much more pathetic version gets to experience this. Tears sting his lashline, threatening to spill over his ruddy cheeks, but he holds them back. That is the least he can do for Magnas. Everytime he goes to speak, his hips move and completely wipe out whatever train of thought he had going, the pleasure zipping up his spine like a lightning strike.
"Mmph— Being so... ssso good for me liefling—" Ren grunts, his eyebrows knitted together. "Maybe— I want to loosen up— oh shit— I could loosen your stitching a little bit if you'd let me. We can work up to it, yeah?" Ren leans down to hunch over Magnas, speaking directly into the stuffed bear's ear. "I'll teach you how to take me properly. Inch by inch." Each word was accentuated with a pointed slam of his hips.
He'd never hurt Magnas.
But a man has needs.
Ren was a needy man. A disgustingly needy man.
His avarice would soon weaken him physically, his whole body collapsing onto the pile of sheets that accumulated through his vigorous movements. He lifted his hips up off the bed as best he could as to not completely crush Magnas, but his in thrusts squished his lover into the bed regardless. His noises devolved into something more animalistic, like a needy puppy begging for something.
"Close— oh baby, please—!" Ren chokes out, his cock weeping and slick with his own lust now being used as lube. His head rubs deliciously up against Magnas' snout, sending sparks flying. "Gonna—" Ren swallows hard with a warbled whimper coming after. "Gonna breed you so you're mine— nngh— gonna take my knot like a good liege should. Yeah? You want the king's knot in you?" His arms hugged around Magnas for a tighter grip around his aching dick. His face turns into his pillow, feeling tears now free flowing, spilling like crystal clear rivers carved into the Earth's soil. "Wanna be— hhng— wanna— I—oh god—pleasepleaseee fuckkK—!"
His hips jump and jerk violently as he cums, openly sobbing between stuttery whines and wet moans. His eyes are drawn shut tight as he grips Magnas so tight he fears his fingers may rip the fabric holding him together. Cum pulses from his cock, each twitch earning a weak cry from Ren. It goes on for what feels like a lifetime, his muddled brain wanting more but his nerves trying to shock sense into him to stop. When the overstimulation starts to bleed into unpleasant, he slows his thrust to a stop and manages to flop to his side and not directly on top of his partner.
Which speaking of, is completely drenched. It looks worse than it does, but it doesn't help that Magnas' face was the part that got the most of it, with the rest dripping onto the belly. The space that was under the two of them is also soaked in what Ren can only think to be sweat and precum. The older man sits there and weakly tries to calm his body as it comes down from the extreme high and the impending afterglow.
Slowly, he lifts Magnas from his dick, wincing at the firing of nerves, and cuddles the stuffed wizard close to his chest, trying his best to wipe off any cum left behind.
"I'm— Oh geez— Mags I'm so sorry I made a mess of you." Deep down he's not entirely sorry, but it doesn't cost much to be nice. Magnas looks up at him with a poker face to rival the gods, and Ren just giggles. "It was kind of hot, hm? Maybe we'll have to do it another way... if you wanna do it again."
еthduьs rpf brainrot ... ьdubs travels to canada to see еtho for christmas. its been in the works for ages, many long nights spent talking logistics and fears, but now its a reality. ьdubs is practically buzzing with excitement as he boards the plane, and he can barely contain himself when he's walking through the airport. they agreed to meet at еthos home to limit the chance of anyon recognizing ьdubs.
when he gets there and sees еtho, he's breathless.
he remembers a conversation both of them had. how insecure еtho was about how he looked, how he couldn't reveal himself to anyone out of fear of disappointing millions of people, the detrimental anxiety at people knowing who he is in public and just being able to snap a picture of him.
but when ьdubs sees him, he just doesn't get it. because еtho is drop dead gorgeous.
the hair, glasses, and overall frame was about how he expected, but the face was a different story. a beautifully strong nose was the center of his face, his dark eyes squished as he smiled, and his beard looking properly trimmed, no doubt just for ьdubs. he was nervously fidgeting with his hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"hey...you."
and ьdubs has never ran so fast in his entire life. he nearly knocks the poor man over as they spin in ьdubs embrace. he's cackling hard and soon еtho starts to giggle too, hugging him back and leaning all his weight onto him.
they stay like that for longer than they mean to until еtho invites him inside.
that night is spent talking and reminiscing on old times, maybe teasing the other hermits on an impromptu discord call as well, having ьdubs sit at еthos setup and talk as him through his account, which sparked some very funny reactions from everyone.
over the next few days, they're out enjoying whatever canada and еtho has to offer them. and over the next few days, ьdubs finds himself feeling a little ... different, about еtho.
he likes еtho. he likes him platonically, and maybe once a few years ago, he had some romantic feelings come and go. but maybe they never left, because how else can he explain the fuzzy feeling in his chest when he stares at the man he's known for 10 years and hasn't ever seen in person.
"you're— stop staring at me, you weirdo." еtho hides his face behind his jacket, giggling to himself. "i know im ugly but seesh!"
"you're hot, dude." he says it without really thinking about it, but he doesn't backtrack. not even when his eyes widen behind the barrier of cloth, of when the tips of his ears flush impossibly deep and he resorts to hiding behind his hands, giggling all the while.
how else could he explain the lingering touches whenever their hands brush together in the streets. the way their hugs last seconds too long, arms wrapping around themselves in places that could be misconstrued as anything but friendly. their teasing arguments lasting for hours, something a married couple would do.
he tries to deny it at all. he's married, for fuck sake, he can't be doing this. it shouldn't be happening. so he pushes it deep down, ignoring that heat brewing in his chest as he waits for his flight back home, time could not pass any quicker.
💭 . . . imagining imp trying anal play for the first time. he did a lot of crazy shit in college but experimentation was just that one thing he never went near. though, after a late-night call between him, tek, gri, and a few drinks, he's fully convinced to try it.
he only does his fingers at first, nothing crazy, and it doesn't really feel good at first. it's hard to get a good angle on his back and his legs start to hurt, so he switches to his stomach with a pillow under him to support himself.
he adds more spit to his fingers (he doesn't have lube, he chickened out on buying some) and tries again and this time it feels a little better, now his cock is rubbing against the pillow under him and there's a light pleasurable buzz breaking out under his skin.
he thinks back to what gri had mentioned, how to make a "come hither" motion with his finger and bend it towards his belly button. so he does that and the pleasure is instant.
his knees nearly give out as pleasure shoots up his spine and through his legs. he chokes on his spit as he stops, startled but intrigued as he goes back in for more.
he vaguely remembers gri also saying to go slow, and he does try! he really does, but the pleasure overrides all rational thinking as he massages it underneath his fingers, unable to stop the heated noise stuttering from his lips and how his legs finally give way so he's pressed up against the pillow under him and grinding into the soiled pillowcase under him, his dick trapped between his furry stomach and the fluffed up surface.
he wasn't expecting much, but now he can't stop. his face is pressed into the bunched up sheets as he tries to push back into his own fingers and also escape the overstimulation setting in fast, but he cums before it teeters onto painful.
and fuck, he doesn't stay fully conscious for it at all. his vision whites out completely and after a few moments, he comes to with a puddle of cum now sticking to his happy trail, his ass still trying to suck his fingers in and legs nonoperational whatsoever.
he's dizzy, sweaty, and floating just above the clouds.
damn, he should've done this way sooner.
i never personally subbed to the tfem еtho headcanon but i can admit it's so heartwarming when paired with etнdubs so ... decided to write smth nice for those this holiday season
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Etho has been doing HRT for months at this point, and has gone through the normal bodily changes. She's always felt pretty neutral about her body, so it wasn't particularly exciting but the changed were welcomed, and fairly intriguing to her. Especially her chest.
She wasn't used to having mass in that area, so when her boobs grew to a B cup, it was such a learning curve.
What she didn't love was the pain. Her boobs were sore 9/10 times, all day, everyday. She's done what she could to alleviate the pain, but nothing seemed to even touch it, leaving her tossing and turning at night or having to take frequent breaks from her projects on the server.
That is...until Bdubs catches wind of it.
"I'm an excellent masseuse, I'll have you know. Let me take care of it."
And Etho is... understandably skeptical. Bdubs is a lot of things, a liar being one of those things. This could really be a ruse to have him just have free access to grope and fondle Etho to his hearts content, and not that Etho would really mind, it's moreso the fact she needs the pain gone. So reluctantly, she agrees in the end.
Bdubs does massage her at first He stuck to his promise. Oiled and calloused hands push and pull at Etho's boobs, releasing the tension being held. It feels good, great even, as she leans against Bdubs with her back against a stocky torso to let him work his magic. It's suggestive at best.
But Bdubs is still nothing but a man.
A perverted man for his girlfriend.
A romantic massage turns into heated foreplay as he nips at her neck and kisses the space between her shoulderblades as his hands start to shy away from massaging movements and more into fondling with his fingers now pinching at her nipples.
She squirms against him, scolding him with no real malice behind it, because deep down, this was a fantasy of hers.
"You're getting wet, aren't you sweetheart?" Bdubs all but whispers in her ear, biting the shell and licking over it apologetically "Can't believe you're getting off to this. My strong hands groping your tits, playing with these pretty brown nipples, bet you'd love for my mouth to be on them, huh?" One hand would start to wander down her torso, playing with the sparse white hairs only serving as a path to gratification. "Or better yet, having my dick between them. You'd look so freaking sexy sucking me off like that."
Etho would sob as his hand cups over her cock, merely just applying pressure, not moving even when her hips pathetically twitch up into his touch. "That's not— you're so—"
"So what, hm?" He digs his nails into her nipple, grinning sadistically when she cries out in pleasurable pain. "So handsome? Kind? Maybe even generous? Awh baby, you're too sweet to me. Truly, how did I end up with someone like you?" His words are so sickenly sweet, worming their way into Etho's brain and overwhelming her love for praise while Bdubs fingertips slip under her waistband, ready to tease her relentlessly, and to make sure she cums so hard she forgets everything but him.
Got some motivation to repost this fic i had did a while ago but alas the general public wasn't happy with it, so you basement dwellers get to have it :3c Ik there's not many QSMP related ppl here but for the few that are here, enjoy!
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"There you are! Where the fuck have you been!?" Fit doesn't bother looking up from his plate of food while AlphaComputer pushes himself up off the ground. He swallows another gulp of soup from his wooden bowl, trying to remain in the shadows, away from the flickering light.
"Relax, will you? I said I'd be quick." XCC2 rolls his eyes, shoulder checking the monkey hybrid out of the way as he makes his way farther into the camp. "In and out, just like that."
"Oh I'm sure you were in then out." Neda snickers.
"Bold of you to assume he was the one getting in and out." Alpha elbows the astronaut, which earns him another shove. They go back and forth between shoving and smacking before it devolves into wrestling. Alpha grunts as XCC locks him in a headlock, trying his best to break free.
Fit rolls his eyes from under his skull mask, but opts to not intervene.
"That's enough, you two." Neda spoke up instead, getting up to physically get between them both, who tried swatting and batting at eachother like cats. It was comical as it was stupid. "We're glad you're just back in once piece, XCC. Go sit down, the foods ready."
"Good, I'm starving."
The small trio dispersed back to their spots as they gathered around the pot bubbling above the campfire. It was rare to have moments like these, moments were you didn't need to keep moving, moments where you could stop and smell the singed roses. The group had been moving for days at that point. Fit lead them across mountains, rivers and forests; through the sandy deserts and snowy plains. After the Rusher War, his army dissolved within weeks. Most were killed, others were scared of being killed, so, they left while they had the chance. It was only him and 4 other people that decided to stay by his side.
He wasn't upset, he was grateful, infact. Smaller numbers prosper.
"So, how did it go?" The auburn haired woman questions, a twinge of mockery in her tone. "Did you have fun with your boyfriend?"
"Shut the fuck up," XCC frowns. "At least I have someone to fuck, unlike you two."
"Who's to say we don't?" Alpha butts in, crossing his arms.
"Look at you guys." The spaceman deadpans. "I don't think anyone wants any of that."
"Oh please! As if I'd willingly touch any man that roamed this god-forsaken dump." Neda scoffs, nose scrunching in digusts, as if she smelled something rotten. "All the guys I've seen are good for nothing losers who think women are nothing more than an object, a prize to be won, hung up on a shelf."
"Wow, I'm hurt." XCC pouts, throwing his head back as his hand comes up to rest softly against his forehead, sniffling dramatically. "I'm such a good guy, you know!"
Alpha makes a face at him. "Sure man, whatever you say…"
"Yeah, I hate to agree with ape-brain over there," She juts her thumb out. "But you aren't even close to one. Hell, Fit is more of a nice guy than you are. And that says something!"
Fit perks up at the mention of his name. His bowl was halfway to his mouth as everyone turns to stare at him.
"Yeah, come to think of it," XCC eyes narrow. "Fit, what about you? You must be fucking on the regular."
Fit just blinks at them.
"You three are childish." He gruffs, choosing the non-confrontational answer, which is surprising given the nature of this land. He hasn't always been this passive, but as the years age him, and time washes over his brain and soul, he learns that there's more to life than blinding rage and egotistical fights. Sure, he can still wipe out a faction with his bare hands, but where's the time to do that when he's documenting history? It takes a lot of work to run a talk-show like that.
"Oh come on!" Neda groans, loud enough to scare the surrounding wildlife away. "You can't put on a prude act, we're friends! You can be honest, ya know. It won't kill you to open up a little."
"Maybe he really hasn't gotten with anyone." Alpha considers. Something inside Fit itches. The way his words landed, as if he was astonished, like how you would talk about a monument.
"Even if I have, why is that any of your business?" Fit tosses his bowl into the fire, the flames shooting up momentarily before returning to a softer flicker. "I don't see a reason in talking about that, nor do I see a reason to engage with it. It's a waste of time and energy." He doesn't ignore the way their faces change, it's unreadable, but he doesn't care in admitting he's still a "virgin". Even the concept of virginity and purity was just idiotic as a whole. Why did it matter that someone had slept with another person? It doesn't change a person any more or less.
That, and coupled with the fact that he wasn't exactly eyeing any women. His mere existence would warrant a bounty on his head. He'd rather not make it worse by getting tangled up with others who couldn't keep a secret.
"Honestly, it's the opposite. It's real beneficial." XCC argues, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees. "It gets rid of all that unwanted stress, plus, you get some pretty sweet things in return if you're lucky. I think you'd like it, considered your shoulders are held at your ears all the damn time."
"I work out, that's all I need."
"Yet you struggle to sleep."
"That's unrelated."
"I think it's related, just a bit." Fit's jaw tightens, pressing his tongue against his metal canine, threatening to puncture the muscle and let the blood flood his mouth. XCC holds his gaze, unphased by the others obvious anger brewing. "Look, all I'm saying is," XCC thrusts himself upwards, clicking his tongue. "Try it some time. Maybe you'll dislodge that stick up your ass."
XCC walks off giggling to himself while Neda and Alpha opt to silently get out while they still could, while they're not the target of Fit's brewing rage and annoyance. Fit is soon left alone, watching the fire that's now just a simmering pile of ash, dimly lighting the area around it. His fists ball up on his thighs, gripping tattered jeans before smoothening out the fabric in an effort of self soothing.
Fit wasn't focused on shit like this. He had never put too much thought into it. He knew what sex was, he knew how it worked. It just didn't interest him, never has, never will. The idea of being naked in front of someone just sounded like trouble. Plus, he wasn't exactly the most attractive man to look at. Over the clothes he's a buff man, sure. Conventionally attractive, great body, well endowed, he's sure that's good for him, but under his clothes, it was a grotesque mess of scars littering his body. The mere shape of him disfigured from years of non-stop abuse from the poor souls that dared tried to get rid of him. Fit looks down to his hands, one flesh, one metal.
Could anyone ever begin to find something like this attractive?
He doesn't know, letting out a heavy sigh.
He doesn't think he ever will.
But, while he was here, that really wasn't his concern. He was here to survive, not to form meaningful connections. That was just a byproduct of luck.
-----------------------------
"What a stupid mentality…" Fit scoffs to himself.
"What's up?"
Fit looks down at his chest to see his own reflection staring back at him within the round glassy eyes that belonged to his boyfriend. His head was cocked to the side like a curious puppy, with his antennas oscillating back and forth. The historian just smiles at him, letting a soft hand smooth over the small of his back.
"Nothing, just thinkin' about something I said. 's not important." He leans in to plant a chaste kiss on the others forehead, rubbing his fingers over the fabric of his sweater.
"Yeah? What it is?" Pac snuggles up close to Fit's face, their nose bumping together. Pac has always had a lack of spacial awareness when it came to Fit, and he didn't really mind. Fit also couldn't grasp the concept of personal space. They were the perfect touchy feely couple that tangled their limbs together in the dead of night, who linked their pinkies while basking in the summer sun when their hands are too slick with sweat, who hover close together in crowds threatening to break them up.
"Eh. Just some self deprecation. It was around the time I was still getting used to my arm." He shrugs his shoulder that his prosthetic was attached to. Pac's eyes flick over to it and his hand touches over the cool metal. "I was thinkin' I wouldn't find anyone that would find me attractive. Let alone a guy. But I think we can see that was proven false, huh?"
Pac smiles at him, the middle of his lips dipped down to create a deep V, and his eyes creasing up, somehow his pupils looking even bigger. He looks unsettling up close, but Fit finds that to be the best part.
What does that say about him?
"I don't know how you could think that, ever." Pac's gaze trails off to his arm, running his finger along the screws holding the prosthetic together. A claw comes up to scrape against the scratched up iron, falling down to his forearm. Fit couldn't feel it, but somehow, it still sends shivers up his spine. It's slow, deliberate, he takes his time to feel every junction and crevasse, every panel edge and the ball joints holding each part of his upper and lower arm together. "You're a good man, Fitch. Cute, too. I think anyone would be the luckiest in the world to end up with you."
"Well, I don't know about luckiest. I think you're cursed with me." Fit jests, his attention fixated on how Pac feathers his touch over his hand. He notes how his clawed fingers match his lovers, steel gray meeting caramel fingers ending in a glossy black. Pac takes a turn to scoff at him, bringing his hand up to kiss the cool palm. Fit feels heat starting to claw at his cheeks and wind up his face and wash down his neck, starting to tint his chest.
"Maybe I liked being cursed."
"Not many people like being cursed."
"Well, I'm not like other people."
Fit lets out a slow breath, feeling his sternum shake with exertion. "You're crazy, you know that?"
"Actually, I've been meaning to ask something of you, Fit." Pac lets the hand fall from his face, but still held in his own. His upper body rose to come up into a upright position, sitting back on Fit's thighs. "It's nothing bad! It's— we're okay. It's okay. It's just— um—"
"Pac." Fit's free hand comes to hold his thigh, letting the warmth radiating from his hand seep deep into the cool metal just under the pajama pants, rubbing his thumb into the glass pane fixed into it. "It's okay, we can talk. What's on your mind?" He ignores how his brain is left lagging behind from the whiplash.
"Well. It's …" He trails off, his hand clutching the metal claw tightens around it. He bites his lip and avoids eye contact with the man under him. Fit is a patient man, he dare not push, so he sits and waits like he always does. For Pac? He'd wait several millennia. "It's about us."
Fit is silent, just rubbing a pattern into the creatures leg.
"I— we— Its's been a year since you confessed. 2 years since we met. It's been incredible being here with you, you know?"
"I do." The other supplied. A fondness leaking from his lips, letting his lips curl into a smile.
"And— I just feel like… now would be the perfect time for like, for us, to take another step in our relationship. Together."
Fit feels something dark start to claw at his throat. "What… kind of step?"
Pac hesitates, rubbing his thumb over the back of Fits hand, while his other is held over the hand secured over his thigh. His mouth opens before it shuts, uselessly flapping, like a fish out of water. Fit isn't nervous, but he can't deny the doubt creeping into his psyche.
"Like… um. Ugh!— I don't know the word for it but— it's with us. Like, our bodies. That kind of step."
A beat.
Then another.
"Oh."
Oh? Really? Was that all he could say?
Pac backpedals almost instantly. "It's— We don't have to!" His hands let go of Fit (much to his dismay) as he tries to explain himself. As if he ever needed to. "I just thought since— you know! It's been a while and, like, we're already comfortable touching and I've seen you naked and you've seen me naked and so it just feels fair! Not— I mean—! Not fair! Not like you owe me anything because like, you don't, of course! But—"
Fit can't keep up with the word vomit Pac is just spewing at him. It makes him upset. Makes him upset that Pac felt the need to immediately defend his offer and just take it back all together because he felt the smallest hint of rejection. It's not fair, mainly to Pac. He shouldn't feel like this, he has a right to talk to Fit. Does Fit make him feel like he needed to do this? No, does he really? Maybe he needed to work on that. He tries his best, truly.
It's only now that he notices that Pac has stopped talking.
Shit, he wasn't listening.
Pac looks…sad? Almost scared. It was that look he wore when he was preparing for something to hit him, wether physically or verbally. His ears were pinned back and his antennas hung low, mouth pinched and eyes downturnt. His body was also physically bracing itself.
"I'm… I'm sorry— just forget I said anything. It's— we don't have to. It was stupid."
Fit's eyes flutter a bit, not quite a blink, but as if they were slotting his consciousness back into place. He feels his face soften, eyebrows letting go and mouth turning back to it's normal position. He had a face, he's not sure what face, but he now realizes he was giving off the completely wrong impression.
"Pac," Pac met his gaze, hesitantly. "You don't have to feel like that, you know."
"Like what?"
"Like you owe me an explanation for anything." Fit took his hands back and brought it up to his face, mirroring the same sentiment as earlier. He kisses the lines running across his palm. "I didn't say anything because I was just… processing it all. And you didn't exactly let me talk."
"I'm s—" Pac cuts himself off. "Right." Fit wasn't being harsh, it was teasing at best. "So… how do you— is it okay? Would you want that? With me?"
Fit thinks about it for a long moment.
The question soaks deep into his bones and settling heavy in his brain.
"Well. When you say physically, you do mean sex, right?"
"Well—" Pac giggles. It was a nervous reaction. "Yeah. I just, I'm normally better at talking about it but… you just, you make me shy." He explains. Fit pushes his lips in a thin line, but let's it go. Old habits die hard. He hums in acknowledgement.
"Are you feeling stressed?" He questions, looking up at Pac. He looks strangely beautiful with the light from his lamps illuminating the space behind him. How the moonlight leaks in from the wide open windows. "Is the federation giving you shit?"
"No?" Pac quirks up an eyebrow. "I'm fine. Well, overall fine. I'm kinda stressed now but— but good stressed! It's just a lot to talk about this with you."
Fit rationalizes in his brain. That does make sense.
"Why do you ask?"
"I mean, you did just ask me if you wanted to have sex, so, why else would I ask?"
Both of Pac's eyebrows shot up, his mouth hung open just a bit. Big pupils flick around his face, searching for something, trying to pick up on a silent que.
"What—? Fit, that… what you mean by that?"
"You want me to fuck you. I just thought you've been stressed lately, which is fine! I can, I mean. I don't mind doing that for you it's just," Fit chuckles to himself. "I haven't really done something like that before but, how hard could it be? Just let me know and we can do that."
Pac doesn't say anything.
Fit's chuckles die down, dying out like a lit match.
They're staring at each other. The silence was stretching on far too long.
"Fit…" Pac finally starts, slow, careful. "I'm… not asking you because I'm stressed."
"Oh." Fit finds himself repeating. "Then, why are you asking?"
"I'm—" Pac sputters. "Fitchi." His tone was exasperated. "You…wait. Hold on. What you think having sex means?"
Fit realizes he should shut up.
"Well…"
He really needs to shut up.
"I mean. Where I come from at least— it's just a way to relieve stress. Maybe to barter for items but, mainly just to prevent you from going completely insane. I never really, done anything. On the account of me being, you know, a homosexual." He laughs, more to himself, and shook his head. "But— I mean, I just assumed that was a universal thing."
Pac's face says it all.
"…I'm guessing I assumed wrong—"
"You assumed wrong." Pac spoke over him, nodding along.
Fit feels embarrassed.
He hates feeling embarrassed.
His ego starts to nip at his heels, the hardheaded side of his soul eager to jump in and defend his stance tooth and nail, that Pac should've clarified, that he wasn't wrong. But the new him, the better him, swallows his pride and lets the heat of shame wash over him, knowing that deep down, Pac isn't upset, nor will he look at him any differently. At least he hopes.
Pac just smiles at him, the kind that looks like he's frowning, very obviously trying not to laugh. "I'm not upset!" His hand wriggles loose from Fit's grasp to hold his face, feeling over his beard, admiring the twin colored hair. "I'm just— wow, you know? And you've never done anything? Ever?"
"Maybe…" Fit trails off, shrugging, unsure of what to say. "It just never interested me. I never really saw any reason to do it. And, if I'm being honest… I still don't. I don't understand why you want to do it with me."
"Because I trust you."
It always leads back to that, doesn't it?
In the mercenary's mind, it makes sense. To reveal yourself like that is a good sign of trust, but they've been naked around one another before. They've showered together, cuddled, the works, so why was this any different? Pac knew Fit wouldn't hurt him, so why now was he asking for this?
"It's…" Pac started up, his eyes casted down onto Fit's torso, his hand sliding from his jaw to rest on the uphill valley of his chest. "I've had bad experiences in the past." He's being vague, but Fit can put two and two together.
Unfortunately.
"It was only just recently, a year or so before I came to the island, that I got better with stuff like this. I told myself that I'd never be around anyone that could hurt me like that again but— but when I saw you, it just… it was like, different, you know?" His voice was quiet, secretive. A hushed tale just meant for the two of them. "From the moment you came looking for me and Mike in that prison, I… I knew that you actually care. Like, you'd never hurt me, not on purpose. Maybe it was just my obsessive brain at first," He chuckles. "But, something just— just changed in me. I knew you'd be the one."
"Oh, Pac…"
"So, I don't want this to like— I don't want you to feel obligated." His expression hardened, his eyebrows furrowing and his eyes dead-set on Fit. "That's the reason I felt comfortable asking you. It's a lot of pressure, I know, so it's ok if you don't want to."
"I haven't gotten the chance to respond." Fit teases, resting his hands on Pac's hips. Pac blinks at him before giggling and shying away from the others gaze, muttering a small apology. "I'm glad you're trusting me with this, Pac. It's an honor, truly. I would be delighted to do this with you." His hand comes up to hold the scientists face, running the tips of his sharp fingers over the scar imprinted into his cheekbone. "I just have to reiterate that you're not dealin' with a professional here. So, I think you'll have to do some of the heavy lifting."
"I know, that's also another thing I wanted to tell you."
"Hm?"
"I plan to— if you allow me to— I wanna be on top. Like, I'd be treating you."
"On top." Fit parrots.
"I'd be fucking you. That's what— that's what I mean. If we ever do penetration."
Fit feels his mouth dry up. It was blunt, but, he supposed it got the point across. He doesn't… exactly know how feel about that. It's on him to assume that Pac would want him to be the one in charge, he guessed. It was the most logical course of action in his mind, most people on this island would kill to have Fit in that position. He's tall, strong, and his voice could shake mountains. But part of him doesn't mind being on the opposing side of this. The other part of him? He's nervous. Not scared, but definitely not calm.
"I see." His acknowledged, trying to remain cool and collected, ignoring the edge in his voice.
"Is that okay?"
Fit wants to say yes. Fit wanted to feel okay with it right now.
"I… don't know. But—" He jumps in, knowing Pac would backtrack. The others lips snap shut. "Let me think about it? And I'll get back to you, but I promise, Pac. It's okay, I don't feel obligated to say anything, and you didn't do anything wrong, just let me sort my thoughts, alright?"
Pac pursed his lips, seemingly unconvinced, but he holds the others cold hand against his face, nuzzling into it. "Okay. Yeah— okay. Thank you, Fitchi." He's left to just trust him, because what else can he do?
"Now, come here, I wanna keep cuddlin'" He grins, his replacement teeth glimmering in the light. Pac mirrors him as he flops back down and nuzzling his neck. Strong arms come to secure themselves around Pac, keeping him secured on his front side, and feeling his wirey tail wagging. The domestic warmth sinks deep within his skin and weaving its way around his nerves.
The silence provides a backing track for him to think.
------------------------------------
Fit thinks.
Fit thinks a lot.
It takes almost a week for him to come to a conclusion, and even longer to tell Pac anything. He decided that he was okay with letting Pac be in control, but it was clear that he had a lot to learn, so, he insisted that he and Pac talk about what would happen and what could happen. The talks weren't exactly scheduled, it was more so, whenever Fit had a question, Pac would answer, and soon a conversation snowballs from there. It reduced the information overload on both parties. They decided that when the moment was right, they'd fool around together. One could initiate, and the other would decide if they consented or not.
Consented.
That word was, decidedly, new to Fit. In this context anyway. Hell, it was one of the first conversations they had regarding this whole thing. It was very important to Pac, and in turn, was very important to Fit as well. The Brazilian made it a point that he wants to ask permission to do most everything, and wants Fit to do the same when asking things of him. It seemed simple enough, but it certainly opened his eyes a bit. Coming from a world where you shoot first and ask questions later, the concept of allowance is a little foreign to his brain, but if this simple fail-safe was the difference between pleasure and pain, he'd be willing to become accustomed to it.
"How will I know when the time is right?"
"You'll just… know, I guess."
The thing is, Fit thinks, truly and deeply within his heart, that he'd let Pac do anything to him. Where does the line draw for him? When would he know? He's been through a lot in life, he's learned to be cool with it all, even if it hurt. So how does he know the difference between "whatever" and "want"? What does he want? He likes whatever, he wants whatever Pac wants, he thinks, that's ok by him. He's lived a selfish life, he can bare living by someone elses rules. That's what trust boils down to, isnt it? To peel back the skin and reveal the vulnerable flesh underneath. To let him mold him into anything he needed, to be raw and unfiltered. That's what it meant to trust. And if he ever shattered that trust, Fit would turn to himself and apologize for making him feel the need to do so.
That sends a pang of something hot through the American.
Maybe he would like Pac to hurt him.
He hopes that's more of a psychological defect rather than a weird sexual thing.
Thankfully, a different sensation shoots through his nervous system. It's like an arrow piercing through his pec and out through his shoulder blade. He hisses, flinching and clutching his trap. He wants to think he's gotten used to this.
"Fitch? Are you okay?" Pac perks up from across the room, cup still in hand pouring water meticulously over a small plant perched up on his shelf. Fit tries to regain a poker face, hiding away gritted teeth while his free hand waves off the others concern.
"Yeah, yeah I'm good. It's just my arm it's—" He takes a breath, shutting his eyes to satiate the burning. "I'll be fine. It happens."
Pac, to the suprise of no one, is not convinced in the slightest. Pointed lips frown as he makes his way over, brisk and determined. Fit wants to push him away, but he can't move when worried hands dot over him. He'll be babied by Pac any other day of the week, but his ego still sinks teeth and refuses to let go when it came to nerve pain from his arm. Just a cruel reminder of how careless he was. It's deserved, for everything he's done and then some.
"Lie down."
"Huh?"
"Lie. Down. On your front, lay. Go. And take your shirt off." The other is pushing him before he has the chance to do any of those things. He tries to protest but it seems this isn't negotiable.
"Well— at least let me do the shirt part." Fit tuts, not exactly annoyed, but certainly inconvenienced. His hands go to over his head, but it sends another jab of blinding pain through his lateral. He tries to fight it, really, he does! But Pac is already beating him to it, sliding the tank top over his body and off in a random direction he doesn't get to see before he's pushed (carefully) into the bed below.
He would complain, but when he gets a waft of just Pac, it almost starts to slip his mind as to why he was so upset in the first place. Almost.
"Just man-handling me today, huh?" Fit jests dryly, trying to make himself comfortable, it was the least he was entitled to.
"You annoy me when you do that. Act like you're unbreakable." Pac huffs in return, sliding off the bed. Fit goes to follow him, but is stopped when Pac presses his palm between his shoulder blades and shoves him down. "Permanecer."
Fit stops.
He stays.
Pac doesn't seem to notice how Fit's body follows his command without back talk. Maybe it was because it was spoken in his native language through gritted teeth, the way that Fit loved, or maybe it was the physical strength it took to pin him down—
Stop.
Fit shut his eyes again and let out a heavy sigh, trying to relax into soft blankets and goose-feather pillows. He hears Pac shuffling around before he feels the bed dip down beside him, and soon come back up as the weight shifts to the back of his thighs. Fit made a noise questioning the sensation before the hand returns to his back, softer this time, as it smooths over the grouping of scars scratched over it.
"I'm gonna give you a massage. It helps with your pain, and you carry so much in your shoulders." It wasn't a question, it was a promise. Fit just scoffs.
He's getting dejavu.
"Maybe my shoulders have just gotten that big." He shifts his arm to grab a pillow to lay on top of and secure his arms over, ignoring how it hurts to move his prosthetic in any way.
Pac says nothing, but he knows he's looking at him with that "really?" expression.
"Okay, okay." Fit surrenders, letting his head turn to the side, rolling his eyes. He takes his glasses off and sets them aside. "Fine, do what you must. Just don't paralyze me, okay?"
"I make no promises." Pac's voice is deep, but he doesn't have it in him to keep that pseudo-menacing act up as he giggles. It drags a chuckle from Fit. In the end of it all, he's not seriously annoyed, but he fails to get it through Pac's mind that this isn't necessary, that he isn't made to be cared for this much. He tries, but it's not easy.
"Breathe for me, okay?"
That's all the warning he gets before the pads of his thumbs dig in and press harshly between the junction of his metal plate and whatever muscle remained under the material. Fit doesn't scream, he doesn't. It was more of a yelp that simmers into a grunt twisted through gritted teeth and metal molars. Pac lets out a quick apology as he continues his onslaught of pressure. It made the apology ultimately obsolete. The feeling is radiating throughout his whole body, a white ball of concentrated and real pain not dampened by any opioid or psychosomatic self-therapy. Through it all, however, he breathes. How Pac said to. It's a shaky in breath followed by a equally as uneven out-breath. He repeats that technique. In, out, repeat.
It's only then that the pain starts to fade that he really starts to rethink bucking his boyfriend off his backside. It's slow, and almost unnoticeable at first, but soon that ball starts to shrink. and soon, dissipate like smoke. His body starts to ease and his mind starts to calm, once a roaring ocean was now just a mere lake lapping at the docks legs, softly splashing up every so often.
"Tudo bem?" Pac spoke, still massaging his fingers into the area, albeit much softer this time.
Fit hums. "Yup. Now I am."
"Good." Pac slows his movements to a hault before switching to the other side, mirroring his past action. The way his fingers moved, he could tell he was trying his best to keep his claws retracted, away from his already sliced skin. It didn't make a whole lot of sense, he's felt his claws on his back before. Hell, he's nagged Pac for him to scracth it for him, spurs and all. He appreciates the sentiment all the same though, he just wants Fit to feel good. He's selfless, he concludes as his fingers roll over a particularly pesky knot. As he groans, shivers wracking through his body, he thinks Pac could be a bit more greedy.
He feels his hands ride over the expansive skin on his back, sometimes dipping into the area around his neck, but soon sliding back down to the main area. He feels kind of stupid for not wanting to do this much earlier, because it feels good. Really good. The noises are now a steady streamline from his larynx to his lips, each sigh trails off into a growl and his praises are airy, light on his tongue. And Pac, besides small check ins, hasn't said much of anything since he started. It's common, so he's not worried. Pac is one track minded when he's focused on a task, which is why it's good to keep him busy, because otherwise, it's a complete mess in his brain.
Speaking of brains, Fit's brain is nowhere to be seen. It's been replaced by fluff and cotton candy. A fuzzy warmth secures itself around him like a moss carpet, sprouting over his arms and engulfing his shoulders. It's something he hasn't felt before, and it did unnerve him, somewhere, under all the downy heat. He doesn't notice the heat on his face, nor how it started to spread downwards. All he knew was, he felt good. No— amazing.
On a sharp downstroke where Pac's hands came together to use his bottom thumb-joints to dig between his blades, it sends a surge of sensitivity through his spine in each direction. The one shooting upwards makes him jump, and the one surging downwards does the same to his hips. He bucks them backwards and back down onto the comforter where his crotch rubs up against the bundle of sheets—
"Hhn— fuck."
Pac stops his ministrations in favor of gasping. It was quiet, almost inaudible over the sound of his blood rushing through his ears. His jaw contracts so fast he feels his teeth clank together and his eyes snap open, fixated on the wall near Pac's bed, he not dare move them anywhere else. It was a flush of shame then a wash of mortification that run over him as he becomes painfully aware of the fact that for one, he just moaned, and for two, the most terrifying, he was hard. His dick was realistically half mast, but he could feel it twitch with interest at the friction. Shit. Shit shit shit.
"Did—"
Fit coughs, very hard and very loud. Probably a bit too hard that he ends up coughing for real.
"Jeez— uh! Wow! Sorry it just— you hit a nerve is all!" Smooth… "Hah— sorry, Pac. I'm okay, well this has been fun and all but—"
"You can make noises, Fit."
"I—… wh— huh?"
Pac's hand smooths across his back, down to the small of it. "It's okay. I know it feels nice. You don't have to, what that is you always to me? You don't have to defend yourself that much."
It's hot in here. A sweat breaks out on his neck. He needed to get up, he needed an out. This was… it's too much. But, his hand, the warmth secured on the curve of his back just before the swell of his ass. It's enticing. Pure temptation, the devils finger beckoning him forward. His hands tremble just ever so slightly. His body lays back flush with the mattress, his head back on the pillow and his arms secured around it, digging into the fabric. Is he seriously…?
"Right." He licks his lips, letting his teeth drag along them. He goes to tack on something else, but his vocal chords fail him, as he's a fish out of water, he's out of his league, the land is unfamiliar.
"I just want you to feel good. Will you let me do that? Will you allow me to make you feel good?"
The question hits him like a ton of bricks.
"Okay, if you're asking me like— say for example, you wanna touch me. Is it just like 'can I touch you'?" Fit's hand move around as he speaks for emphasis.
"Well, yeah! Pretty much. Sometimes, if you wanna be more sexy, it's like," He pauses to think. "Will you let me make you feel good?"
"Yeah." He manages to squeak out, cringing at his voice. "I… do. I allow it."
There's a pause of undetermined length. Has it been seconds, minutes, hours? It's anyone's guess as to how long they've been sitting here.
"You can push me off, you know."
That fact is true.
"Maybe I don't want to."
That fact, too, is true.
"Maybe doesn't do for me." Pac murmurs, leaning in closer. "I need you a solid yes from you, Fit." The hairs on his neck stand on their ends, his breath fanning out behind him. "I need you to not hesitate."
Holy shit.
"Yes." It was immediate. "I do—" He pants. "I want it."
"Want what? Fit, I know you can use those words." Pac grins. He can hear the smugness tainting his voice, the way his hands slide down to hold his hips in place, toying with the hem of his sweatpants. The sensation makes his body twitch, which makes his pelvis thrust back down to the bed below him, sending a lick of heat through his groin and up to his navel. He dare not whimper out loud again, but it gets caught behind his teeth, wheedling out to a pathetic trill. "You are a writer, no? A poet? Show me what you know, what you can say." Sharp teeth come to nip at the shell of his ear, minding the device nestled inside. "What do you want Fitchi?"
What do you want?
"You." His resolve starts to slip, he tries to hold on. He digs his heels in to the dock built in his mind and trying to reel in the rod secured in his hand. It tugs and pulls, clearly wanting him to fall in. He can't just give up, he needed to play it stragetically. He's a grown man, he can use his words. "I want you, want you to—" Pac's hips shift, and through the thin fabric of his briefs, he can feel him. He can feel that bludge pressed against its confines as it rubs against his ass. He slips, his feet sliding across the wood. He's losing it. "I want to feel good, Pac." He can't let go.
Pac huffs, amused, and presses a kiss to the underside of his earlobe. "Good boy. Obrigado, Fitchi."
It's cruel. The whole damn dock crumbles under him as he's flung into the deep-end. He can't stop the heated whine punched from his chest, nor how his hips move on their own volition, eager to hump into the blankets under him, his dick rock solid at this point. He can't stop himself, even as humiliation runs hot through his veins and degradation makes him shake, he can't stop the way his waist moves between rubbing against the bed and thrusting back against Pac. Every attempt to stop is met with a stuttering hault before they twitch, eager to continue.
'What is wrong with me?' Pac's hands come to secure themselves around his lower half, fingers digging into his hip bones and pinning him against the mattress the way his legs couldn't. 'Why am I doing this? Control yourself, you're not this weak.'
"What this is? Eager already? We didn't get to finish our massage, huh?"
Fit couldn't give a fuck about the massage. His wet pants dampen the pillowcase under him (or was it drool?) as he struggles to look back. He catches a glimpse of his boyfriend, just barely.
"I feel better already." He insists. "You don't wanna—" He swallows. "wanna overdo it, you know?"
"No, you're still tense." His words are laced with a sickly sweet sense of faux sympathy, his hands resuming their efforts. "Please, allow me. You can wait, hm? You can be patient?"
Fit felt a light buzzing break out under his skin, his head resiting back to the crook of his arm, defeated. "Yes, Pac. I can."
"Good."
He doesn't mourn the loss of the rest of his praise. He's not waiting for more.
(Maybe he is, just a bit. But is that so bad?)
Careful hands rub circles into individual muscle group, taking time to work out every knot stuck between the fibers, washing away the stress with skilled technique. The tension that was bubbling over starts to die down to a light simmer. His erection doesn't fully flag, but the blood rushing around his lower body disperses elsewhere. The pleasure sparks like a lighter whenever Pac's fingers dig into a particular spot, or when his crotch presses up against his behind. He's back to that soft headspace that started this whole mess, but this time, he lets the moans slip without needing to reel back, even if embarrassment still threatens to creep back in, it's quickly squashed when the man above him leans in to kiss his shoulders and the nape of his neck, delivering hushed praise.
"I like seeing you like this." Pac whispers into his back, pressing the flat of his palm into his lower back. "Soft in my hands. You're cute when you're enjoying yourself."
Fit makes a muffled noise, every active braincell split between soft lips pressed into his back and calloused hands roaming near the base of his spine. Pac peppers his kisses across the top of his back, letting his lips drag over to the junction between his shoulder and neck.
"You're even cuter when you lose your composure." Fit inhales sharp when he feels teeth ghost over his skin. "I wanna see how far I can make you lose it. Take you apart in my hands." His words have an animalistic edge to them as his teeth slowly clamp down onto his neck, and his hands grip at his hips again. They leave no real marks, but the edges poking into the sensitive flesh is enough to make him moan. It's soft, barely there, but enough to make Pac grin. He presses kisses into the spot and starts to, finally, move down his body.
"You've waited long enough, haven't you?"
"Shit— yes!" He all but cries out, gripping at the sheets and arching his back just enough to push the plush of his ass into his hands. "I've been patient, I've tried. Aren't I the best?" It's meant to be a joke, maybe it's meant to be more.
Kiss. "You're more than the best, big boy." Kiss. "You're my good boy." Kiss. "Meu garotinho obediente." Bite.
Fit bites down on his lip as Pac bites down on the fat encasing his sides, which is licked clean as an apology. His head was spinning, he felt dizzy. He felt high. Pac settles a little farther back on Fit's legs, sitting on his calves, letting his hands grope his thick thighs and kneading his ass. It's nothing short of appalling at how much he's actually enjoying this.
"Do you want to be on your back? Or do you want to stay like this?"
"Uh—" Fit's voice cracks, he coughs to adjust it. "My back? I wanna— mm— look at you."
It's a lame reason, all things considered, but that's just love. Their love anyways. Pac gives one last squeeze to his glutes before shuffling off his legs to help Fit turn over. He didn't need the help but it felt nice nevertheless, enjoying the feeling it gives when he's being controlled.
Physically, that is.
Yeah. Physically.
For the first time in the hour or two they've been in bed, he gets to actually see Pac. The lights blind him for a moment as eyes rapidly blink to adjust, his blue side taking longer than his hazel. Once it clears up, he finally sees the culprit.
And fuck, is it horrifying.
Pac has always had larger eyes than most, kind of similar to a bug. Right now though? He can barely tell where the pupil ends and where the yellows begin. They're blown up to the size of dinner-plates, trained directly onto Fit. His face was unmoved, expression blank, but his eyebrows were crooked in a way it made it just that bit more human, if you can even call this look human. His loose shirt hung off his collar to reveal the bones that protruded from the top of his chest, being exaggerated by the light, his toned arms gripping the tops of Fit's knees, and his tail swinging like a metronome. His whole body was eerily still, not rigid, but as if he was frozen in time. Hell, he couldn't even see if he was breathing. Was he breathing?
Fit felt like prey being stalked.
"Oi." The creature smiles at him. "You okay?"
Fit blinks.
Then starts to giggle.
Then laugh.
It bubbles from his chest until it's splashing over the edges. He can't stop, his head is thrown back against pillows as his belly jumps and his chest jiggle. Nothing he said was funny, but the circumstances it happened made him lose it. How could someone so ominous sound so genuine? His boisterous laughter soon calms down to a wispy snicker as Pac seemed to come back to life, his body starting to move naturally (for him) again.
"What? Why you laughing, huh?! Did I say something?" Pac leans over him, his lip jutting out in a pout. Fit just shook his head, trying to wave him off, but he couldn't catch his breath. "You ruined the moment, Fit." He whines, not holding an ounce of malice behind his words.
"Sorry— oh shit— I'm sorry. It's just, if you saw what I saw you'd be laughing too!" He argues, holding onto the others forearms. "You looked like you were about to fuckin' eat me, then you spoke and I just, I couldn't hold it in."
"What?! I'm not gonna eat you, what you think I am? A bear?"
"Ugh, please don't mention bears while you're about to fuck me." Fit sighed dramatically. "All I can think about is Cucurucho, and I'd rather not have my boss on the brain while we do this."
"Well, if it helps," Pac shifts his body to rest his hand on Fit's pecs, sitting back on his haunches, running his hands through the white and dark-brown hair. "You're the only bear I see right now."
Fit sputters, his face flushing for what feels like the millionth time, and they haven't even gotten started. "Shut the fuck up." He managed to get out, flustered. Pac wasn't phased by this as he continued to feel around his chest. One half of his chest was sunken in, reinforced with the metal panel attached to his arm to reinforce whatever bone could be salvaged. Still, it don't stop Pac from groping and squeezing the muscle, passing over his nipple, making his resolve crumble.
"Still think I'm going to eat you?" He teased, letting his thumb toy with the hardening bud before pinching down. Fit grunts, letting his upper set of teeth drag on his bottom lip.
"Maybe you will, maybe you're just playing with me."
"Oh yeah?" Pac leans in close. "Maybe you're right. What if I'm making you tender."
"Is that why you wanted to massage me?" Fit's eyes flick down to his lips, then back up to his eyes.
"What if it was?" Pac kisses him for a brief second. "Do you plan to stop me?"
"No. God, no."
The man above him grins maliciously, gold teeth reflecting the overhead lights. He dips down to kiss him again, then again, until their lips connect for real.
Kissing Pac came easy. It was a valley that brought familiarity to him. He pushed when Pac would pull, fighting for dominance that ended in Fit surrendering himself to his lover. On a hard pinch to his chest, he moans into Pac's mouth, which allows him to shove his tongue in. His face is set ablaze as he feels the muscle, for lack of a better word, lap up whatever he can reach. Smoothening over his teeth and the top of his own tongue.
His hands grip up at the sheets under him, letting the other kiss him stupid.
"MmH—!"
Pleasure blooms in his lower gut, feeling Pac's palm press against the bulge in his pants. He goes to speak, but Pac presses himself further into Fit, doubling down his motions. He crowds himself into the hitmans space, and Fit just lets him. His body really didn't belong to him, it was acting on Pac's time as they fell open wider to accommodate the new size.
Fit let his head dip down and Pac let's him go. He pants and moans into the open air, screwing his eyes shut. Pac seizes the opportunity to attack his neck, licking, sucking, and his adams apple and everything around it. His body writhes under his efforts, unable to stabilize himself in the face of the never ending dopamine.
"Pac—" He whimpers. "The marks…"
"Do you not want any?"
"No— I mean—" He growls to himself, annoyed at how he can't collect his thoughts. "Below— mph— the collar line."
"Oh, well," Pac huffs. "A bit too late for that." He can't imagine how his neck looks right now, but he can't seem to bring himself to care about that too much right now. "Desculpe, I can make it up to you."
"How do you plan th— ah!" Wet heat surrounds his nipple and the hand palming his cock slides up his belly, petting the twin colored hair before teasing his waistband, dipping just centimeters into the depths below. He grits teeth and tries to push up into his mouth, feeling his toes curl. A steady streamline of rasped curses and strained whines seep from his teeth. It was this where he really felt Pac's tongue, how rough the surface was, like sandpaper.
The aggressor pulls off his chest with a slick pop.
"I think I should stop teasing you, huh? Get these things off you?" He hooks his fingers under the elastic band of his sweatpants, toying with the bunched fabric.
He's nodding his head before Pac has time to finish his question, which draws a quick giggle from him. He manages to pull off his pants slowly, methodically, making sure his claws scrape the sides of his hairy thighs as they come all the way off, being discarded somewhere else.
"Meu deus…" Pac marvels. A single finger comes to run along his shaft all the way to the tip. "You're so wet."
"Pac!" The older screeches, throwing an arm over his face to defend himself from the vulgarity. "You can't— fuck sake— you can't just say that!"
In the scientist's defense…he wasn't wrong. A wet patch, that was steadily growing, soaked through the gray fabric, making it black. The tent was obscene, tightening whenever it twitched up, which Pac took a morbid interest in.
"You're big too," Pac ignores him, rubbing the pad of his finger back and forth the length. "I see why you're so dumb."
Fit peeks out from his barrier. "What do you mean by that?" He heaved.
"Made to look pretty, and made to be pushed around like a doll." His wide eyes don't leave his hand. "You need someone telling you what to do."
Fit's ears burned red and hot, his diaphragm betraying him as it stutters. Slowly, he was finding out new stuff about himself during this. He was already at mercy to whatever Pac wanted, willing to do whatever he asked, but this was different. It felt like a whole other world he's starting to explore. In all forms, all mediums, Pac ultimately was the one holding the rope. He was the one able to control whatever happens.
"Am I wrong?"
"No."
He said it quicker than he meant it to be. "No, you aren't. I like when you tell me what to do." He hides behind the crook of his elbow once more. "I like—" The air felt thick. "I like behind under you."
"You trust me?"
"Yes."
He feels a clawed hand come to grip his wrist, loose enough to pull free, but firm enough to maneuver his limb. The arm showed no resistance as it's pulled from his face. "Then look, Fitch. Look at me."
He hesitates.
"Fit."
His eyes crack open, and gasps.
Pac was now settled comfortably on his stomach, his face nestled on his clothed dick. Large solid colored eyes were fixed onto him, and his back arched just enough to see his tail swiping back and forth, like a curious cat. Thighs instinctively try to close, only to be stopped when Pac's hands grip the thickest part of them, keeping them open. "Stop, Fitch. Just look, okay?"
"Pac—"
"You're beautiful. Your body—" He giggled, ducking his head down before he nuzzled further. "It drives me crazy. So reactive. That's a good thing, you should enjoy it, embrace it." His soft lips press against the base of his shaft, leaving behind another wet spot of it's own.
"That's—" Fit groans, squirming under Pac's weight. "Thank you, Pac, that's nice and all, but I swear if you don't touch me right now, I might combust. And that wouldn't exactly be sexy."
Pac tuts, scowling at him. "That was not what I meant when I said embrace it."
"Oh, I apologize. How uncouth of me, sir." He teased, dawning a shit eating grin as he chuckled at himself. Pac just frowns at him, furrowing his eyebrows and his tail whipping with offense. The other had been too occupied with his own amusement at his crudeness to notice Pac snake his hand around to pinch Fit's leg. Fit jumps, hissing at talons digging into his flesh.
"Você tem sorte que esta é sua primeira vez…" The creature mumbled, pouting, but sitting up back onto his legs to slide Fit's underwear off.
"Oh come on, I'm sorry." He drags out, using one hand to pat at Pac's forearm. "I'm just giving you shit, you know me."
Pac did know him, and truthfully, he was grateful for this. He knew this was a sign that Fit was comfortable, he wasn't just enjoying himself sexually, but emotionally as well. So, Pac wasn't annoyed, but he liked pretending to be. Has to keep Fit on his toes, he wouldn't have done it if he knew he couldn't handle it.
"I wouldn't be doing that to someone who is this close to your groin." Pac threatened with fluffled intentions, settling back between his legs and petting the sparse hairs on his thighs down to his shins.
"You're threatening me with my own dick for my first time? How could you? Don't be so cruel!" He sniffles, sobbing softly behind his hands, but his eyes remained dry. Pac just rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss his forehead.
"You're so stupid, you know?"
Fit peeks from behind his hands. "Yeah, I know. But I'm stupid for you, that goes for something doesn't it?"
"Shut up."
"Make me."
Pac just stares at Fit for a brief moment, his lip quivering as he tried to keep a straight face. "Wow. You really— that must've been your best line, huh?"
"Hey, less talking, more kissing will ya?"
The tension, ever fluctuating, simmers down to something lighter, more romantically comedic. Pac caves as he laughs against Fit's lips, trying his best to keep them connected. It's sweet, not as passionate, but it holds another weight entirely its own. There were no efforts to take over, but rather, work together in their movements. Pac's hands rested on Fit's jaw while the other had his non-metal hand tangled in dyed locks and his clawed hand resting on his shoulder.
It wasn't until Pac pats at his chest that Fit even considered breaking off, but begrudgingly, he let's him go, ignoring the urge to follow his lips.
"Ok, hold on. I have to ask something." Fit frowns, but adjusts his posture against the pillows. "Don't give me that! Don't— I will be quick I promise!"
"Better be." He huffs, his patience, while strong, is slowly dwindling. His hands come to rest under his head along with the pillows. "What's up?"
"Ok. I know I said that you can be like this," He motions to the way he's laying down. "But I think I might have you flip back over, if you want that, you know? It just— it could be a bit easier for what I want to do."
"And what do you plan to do?"
"Well, you do want to, uh…go all the way, right?"
Fit had sort of forgotten about that, admittedly. He feels his dick take interest at the prospect of something more than what they've been doing already. "Oh— yeah. Yeah— yah we can, I'd be down with that. To do that, I mean."
Pac gives him a look. Fit wiggles his hand out from under his head to reach it out to him with a reasuring smile.
"I promise, Pac. I mean it."
His eyes narrow, but ultimately take the offering, wrapping his fingers in between scarred hands. He wasn't crazy about holding hands, but he knew it was a silent que between them both that things were okay.
"Ok. So, if we are doing that, I'll need to finger you."
"Right." He had questions, but he assumes those will be answered…hopefully.
"And, usually, it's easier if you get on your knees while on your belly. But— you don't, like, have to. I just think it might feel better for you, you know?" Pac explains, obviously trying to keep his infodump short and sweet to not overwhelm Fit with copious amounts of information at once.
"And, if I don't get fingered? What if we skip that?"
"It's gonna hurt, Fitch. No way, this is— I'm putting my leg down? No— it's— we're doing it, Fit. If you wanna go far, we have to do that."
Fit, this time, does groan. He lays his head back and sighs dramatically, closing his eyes.
"It'll feel good, I promise! Just— calma, calma. It's not too much longer, I promise." Pac chuckles, prssing a quick kiss to the back of Fit's palm before sliding out from between his legs. "Flip over while I get the lube, please?"
Fit just huffs at him, sounding like a big creature chuffing, but complies. He tries not to think too hard about the position he's been asked to get into. It's different from when they started, and a little harder to hold. He crosses his arms and smushes his cheek against strong forearms and widens his kneeled stance to get comfortable. At least from this angle, he can see Pac shuffling through his bedside drawers and scurry around the room. He dims the lightsm and discards his own oversized T-Shirt to reveal a toned, almost untouched, torso. He rarely ever gets to see the other dressed down like this, so his eyes greedily soak in the sight. His little tuft of fur between his pecs and the same style of hair just under his navel were a dusty grey color, and his v-line was a deep crease.
Ever since the first time they came back from Purgatory, Pac had worked hard to keep up his physique. Him and Pac worked out together and he's seen his progress. It warmed his heart because he knew just how much it meant to him. Not just for his self-esteem, but for his healing too. He feels strong in more ways than one. Fit has seen it, witnessed it for himself, and he would be a filthy liar if he didn't admit it strengthened his attraction to him. It was no secret Fit was head over heels for this man, but when he sees Pac doing what little calisthenics he picked up from Fit, it just adds onto the growing list of things he loves about him.
"What you staring at, big boy?" Pac questions, smirking as he sits down on the bed's edge.
"You."
Why would he lie?
Pac, for the first time tonight, is taken aback. His eyes widen before they crease with a bashful smile. "Well stop. You're weird." Fit doesn't listen, the fond gaze increasing tenfold. He doesn't say much else as he watches the other stare back at him as the yellows of his eyes glow softly, trying to hide his smile. It makes him forget the lewd position he's in for a moment.
The younger man shuffles over to kiss the top of Fit's head before going back behind him. "You don't need to have your knees too high if it's hard." He notes how his legs shake to hold himself upright. He takes a pillow not in use to place it under his hips, and guides the others hips down to rest against it. A straggled noise bubbles up from his lips as his cock slides against the pillowcase after being neglected all this time. He decided to indulge a little bit as he drags his hips against the cushioned material, sighing heavy.
He gets a good few strokes in before Pac grips his pelvis and lift him up just enough to deny his dick anymore friction. Fit balls up his fists in frustration, clenching his jaw.
"Ser paciente. Almost there, you can wait." Pac scolds, running the flat of his hand from his lower back up to the broad of it, mimicking his movements from earlier that night.
"Only for so long." Fit grits, trying to relax into the touch.
"You'll be okay. Just breathe deeply, ok? Be good for me, Fitchi." It's unfair, honestly. It takes such simple words for his body to be pavloved into any state Pac needed him to be in. The fire fueling his fight is extinguished just like that, his upper body sinking down further to be flushed with the comfy pile beneath him, bunched up from his movements. Distantly, he can hear the pop of a cork opening up. "It might be a little bit cold, and you might feel just a little uncomfortable."
"I trust you" Fit whispers, loud enough to hear but quiet enough to keep this between them. "I'll be okay as long as you're here."
Pac doesn't say anything in response, but he feels the hand steady on his back trace over a scar, and his lips plant a kiss near it.
There was a brief between that moment and now until cautious fingers come to rub up against his rim. Yeah, Pac was right, it was cold. His muscles jump as Pac hushes out a small apology before the finger breaches the tight ring. It's slow at first, just past the first notch, then the second, until his whole middle finger was inside.
It didn't feel bad, nor did it feel good. It felt like, well, a finger in his ass. Nothing of note just yet.
Like instructed, he breathes through it. A deep breath in, and another breath out. The finger doesn't move until Pac felt like it was ok to continue. He pistons his hand back and forth, focused on actually stretching the muscle out. Soon, the discomfort fades into a dull sense of pleasure, just simmering below the surface. One finger turned into two after a while, and it had become clear he was, at least in Fit's mind, stretched enough.
"You okay?" Pac had suddenly come close to his ear in the time it took to stretch him out. He would've been startled, but his brain was surrounded by a thick layer of stuffing. Fit doesn't answer verbally, but nods, small whimpers being forced from his throat. "Verbal, Fitch."
"'M fine." His eyes open to turn back and face him. "I think I'm ready."
"Hm, maybe." Pac ponders absently, shifting. "But where's the fun in that? Why rush?" He curls both fingers in a beckoning motion, searching for something until—
Fit sputters when a sharp current of euphoria shocks through him.
"Pronto," Pac grins against his back. "eu encontrei." Pac doubles down on his movements, honing in on the smooth bundle tucked away behind his walls. Fit's stomach jumps as all his breathing rendered useless against the onslaught. All the air escaped his lungs as he struggled to stay upright, whining and moaning into the pillows below him. His dick, pitifully untouched, steadily leaks a stream of pre-cum to the sheets below. Pac's movements constracted drastically. One hand was jack-hammering inside him while the other rubs soothing patterns into his back along with peppering kisses and light suction to leave blooming purple marks in their wake.
The knot just below his navel was being pulled taut and fraying at the edges as his orgasm was tumbling in fast. His cock bobbed angrily, flushed red, and in a desperate attempt to relieve himself, a hand comes to wedge under him to touch, if only just once.
Unfortunately for him, "Ah ah— Não." Pac was faster than he was. His hand becomes pinned to the bed and pinned above his head. "Não seja um pirralho, Fitchi." He all but growls against his ear, pressing himself against Fit's back and somehow speeding up his hand. The language switch sends tingles down his spin and straight to his dick. He was using things against Fit, as if he wanted him to cum before they even got started. He doesn't have time to debate that train of thought before another hard surge of pleasure almost knocks him off his knees.
He was going to cum, he tries to speak but it's garbled, illegible, his tongue sitting heavy in his mouth as he tries to speak around it. "Pac—" He managed to squeak out, his deep voice now shrill. "I— hhfuck— cclose— Pac please— pleasepleaseplease—!"
And as quick as the pleasure given to him, it was ripped away. The fingers are almost ripped out of him and all touch vanishes besides the one holding his hand down. His cock gives one last hard throb before it's left to hang heavy between his legs, pathetically making a mess under him.
Devastation wouldn't even be 1/100th of the way to start and begin to describe how Fit feels right now. He lets out a wet sob and collapses into the bedding, pure vexation and anticipation roaring through his veins. And Pac, oh, loving and caring as ever, just hugs him from behind, shushing him quietly. His movements are sugary like molasses and gentle like feathers over his tacky skin, tracing up muscly biceps and squeezing the fat en-composing his mid-section.
"Calma, calma. You're okay. I know I know, it's a lot, hm?" He kisses the nape of his neck, Fit is left to sniffle and blink away tears. He's never cried, he doesn't like to cry, but his raw emotional state isn't on the forefront of his mind right now, because Pac is gonna take care of him. Watery eyes peer back to look at him. He looks absolutely miserable, which Pac coos at, coming to wipe the water away. It's a slice of heaven just for him, warm hands coming to hold him close. "Oh, Fitchi. I'm being cruel, huh?"
In the end, he shook his head.
"How about I make it to you? For real."
"Yes please—" His voice was edging on horse, the bass being replace by groveling stones. "Please, Pac. Fuck— I need it. I need you. Needed you yesterday, needed you all my life. Just please touch me, anything." He feels small like this. A man his size feeling so fragile under the care of someone half his size. It's scary to really think about, but before the darkness can even consider creeping in, Pac plants a kiss to his lips, licking up some of the drool from the corners of his lips. A reminder to him that he's safe here, in the bunker of Chume Labs.
"Needed me yesterday, huh? That's a new one," He snickers, rising up above Fit. "I like that, I have to add that one to my speech." Pac peels off his boxer briefs and grabs the potion bottle of lube previously discarded. It's not the first time he's seen his body, but seeing him like this sparks something bright in his chest.
He condemns Pac for his self control, because his dick looks in worse shape than his, equally as hard and unattended to. The engineers body was a biological wonder to Fit. He's seen many hybrids in his day, but Pac was something new. Something unique. His dick was weirdly smooth with a soft bump near the base. He faintly recalls the other mentioning something about it being a knot.
"Pac?"
"Hm? Yes Fitch?"
Part of him didn't expect Pac to acually look his way. Irrational shyness floods him as he quickly looks away as to not face him when he asks this. "You… your knot." He started, trying to steady his breathing and clear an opening through the fog occupying is brain. "That's… is it— Are you gonna knot me?"
He didn't exactly know how else to ask, but somehow, that felt like the worst possible way. Pac goes silent for a while, stretching on for what felt like ages. This made Fit worry, but he tries his best to be rational in the face of it all.
"I was gonna pull out before I did." He answers truthfully, rubbing a hand over one cheek up to his waist. "So you won't have to worry about it, okay?"
"What if— Could you? Could you knot me?"
Pac goes quiet again.
"Fuck, Fit," His claws unsheathe just ever so slightly to dig into him. "You're gonna make me do so much I don't wanna do yet."
"I'm assuming that's a yes, then?"
"Turn back."
Fit's never moved so fast in his life. He nearly bounces Pac off the bed when he moves, which thrusts a humorous giggle from him as Fit eagerly gets into position. Fit watches with baited breath as Pac moves between his legs and pushes one up over his shoulder and leaves the other around his waist.
"Are you ready?" Pac gives his length a few tight jerks, lining himself up, but just waiting.
"Pac—"
"Words, Fitchi. I know you can do it."
He's so close, he can fucking taste it.
"Yes!" He cries out, throwing himself back and gripping the sheets so hard he might rip them. "Fuckin'— please! Just fuck me, Pac, I can't— I've been so good, so good, please pleasepleasec'mon!"
"Good boy."
And finally, fucking finally, he pushes inside. It's definitely different than his fingers, his rim stretches around his shaft as lube drips down from his ass to in-between his crack. It's painfully slow, Fit holds his breath, feeling that heat start to ignite deep in his gut until he bottoms out, and the air trapped in his lungs comes out in a quivering breath. Pac lets out a soft moan of his own, letting his body slowly fall over Fit and coming face to face with him.
"Hi."
Fit opens his eyes.
"Oi."
"How you feeling?"
Fit swallows. "Good. Great even, fuckin' fantastic. Some could even say superb—"
Fit doesn't get the chance to continue before Pac locks their lips to shut him up. Fit can't complain, he thinks, as he wraps his arms around Pac's neck, feeling him pull out until the tip dares to leave him, and thrusts back in.
Of course, Pac is going at a snails pace, like he's been doing, but Fit dare not complain when it's the most he's gotten all night. Fit mewls into Pac's mouth as his lover thrusts his dick back and forth, taking his time to breach every inch of his insides. They break off and his lover is immediately on his neck again. Fit goes to remind him about where and how his marks should be done, but it's like a switch just flicks off in his brain when pointy teeth come to pinch his skin. His own length isn't fairing any better, being trapped between his and Pac's torso, spreading his liquid arousal across both their stomachs, sticking the hairs flush against their skin.
It was dirty.
It was so fucking good.
"I wanted to do this," Pac grunts, licking over a fresh new bruise. "for so long. I knew you would be like this. I known you would make such pretty noises."
"Hah— Oh yeah?" Fit pants, blunt fingernails digging into his shoulders. "What— what did you, mm, think about?"
"Pulling you apart." His speed picks up. "Making you cry, and— and kissing away your tears, because you'd let me. You let me do anything to you, won't you?" He cants his hips to get just that much closer to where Fit needs him to be.
Fit's nails scratch his shoulders as the shockwaves ripple through him, the motion from Pac just inches away from his prostate, every so often getting brushed and sparking pure rapture in his nerves. He wonders for a split second why he would imagine him like this instead of the other-way around, but when Pac pistions his hips hard, jabbing straight into that bundle of nerves, his pitiful keen is exactly why.
"You're made for this, Fitch." Claws dig into his hip bones, stopping his inertia to sit up and throw his other leg up over him. "Feito para ser meu. Feito para adorar e agradar. You," Fit's world shifts as his body is bent in half and his hips flushed harsh against Pac. "Are mine. No one elses. And I'm gonna make you understand that."
Fit has no time to truly react before Pac spears up into his ass, hitting his g-spot dead on. He chokes and sputters out a jolted moan, stars bursting and dancing in his vision and his walls clamping down onto him. He can't breathe. Every intake of air stutters and quakes only to be inturrupted by heated whimpers and high pitched cries. All attempts to quiet himself out of habit prove to be futile, and eventually, he feels long fingers get shoved into his mouth.
"Não cubra esses ruídos." His voice held something dark, nearly snarling at Fit. "Deixa eu te ouvir. Deixa eu ouvir como eu te faço sentir, como meu pau é gostoso fodendo sua bunda."
Fit might die here. His brain is melting through his ears. Everything from his bust up is flushed red, which only deepens at his vulgar words. The pads of his fingers press down on his tongue, sliding back just a few inches, almost choking him.
Fit's legs start to shake, drool steadily dripping from his lips, and his eyes tugging back into his skull, but trying his best to keep them trained on Pac. His own eyes seemed to be nonexistent. They're blown so wide the yellow slits are not visible, only pure darkness swirled in his eyes. A trembling hand comes to hold Pac's wrist that's housing the hand in his mouth, and the other scratching deep lines into his back.
"Diga-me, Fitch." The fingers slide out from his mouth to hold his jaw, squishing his cheeks. "Diga-me o quão bom isso é."
"S— hhN—! So good," Back hands scramble to cling to his back. "You're— sso deep I— uh! I can't think— please, Pac I need, fuck I need more—"
"I don't—!" Tears sting at his lashline. "I don't know— hha— anything! Everything just please!" His voice doesn't reach his ears, not sounding like him in the slightest. A vision flashes behind his eyelids, imagining if someone were to hear him. How he'd never hear the end of it. Fit, historian, warrior, brutal killer, here in bed with his boyfriends dick so far up his ass he can't form a coherent though, begging and pleading for him to do anything to him, drooling for his knot. Humiliation washes over him, followed by a heated chaser.
He would be mortified if that happened.
He wants more than anything for that to happen.
"Você quer que eu toque em você?" The hand holding his jaw slumps down to rest on his neck, then to his chest, a slow descent in the search for nirvana. "É só dizer, Fitchi. É só me avisar e eu farei isso por você. Faço qualquer coisa por você, é só pedir."
He thanks whatever fucking voyeur god is watching them right now for taking the time to actually learn Portuguese. It's not the best, but he can understand basic things, which only adds onto his enjoyment as Pac speaks to him this way. It's hot, and it doesn't fail to make him squirm. Pac doesn't speak it too often unless he's around the Favela or by himself in an effort to improve his English, so it feels like christmas day right now with the amount he's speaking to him. His brain is already commiting this to memory.
"Touch me," Fit blurts out. "Please fuck— shit— touch me. Touch me please please I'm so close—! I wanna cum I—" He throws his caution to the wind, figuring he's not above begging to reach enlightenment. He bares down and looks at Pac with wide eyes. "I need it, I need it needneedneedthis— need your knot—"
He's manhandled once more, one thigh thrown back down as one leg is still hooked over him. He moves to straddle the other leg and essentially holding his legs in an L shape as he picks back up to his jack-rabbit speed, bending down to take ahold Fit's cock to jerk him off, the slick noises throwing gasoline on the already raging inferno. If Fit couldn't speak then, he's done for now. It's nothing but babbling and a jumbled mess of praise and "thank you"s, the tension in his pelvic zone increidbly tight, just teetering on the edge but not enough to fall over.
"P— hhac—!" Fat tears are rolling down his face now, leaving behind streaks. "I— m— im soclose— I need— I— more more moremaismais!" He'll say it 100 different ways, several different languages, signal it if he has to, he feels delusional, his cock weeping furiously between Pac's fingers.
"Eu também estou perto—" Pac whines, his body bowing to Fit, head resting on his chest. "I know you can do it, goze para mim— be my good boy, Fitch—"
"No—" He shakes his head rapidly, clawing at Pac's shoulderblades once more in a last ditch effort to get him impossibly closer. This isn't enough, he just needs to be closer. "I ccant! pl—ease!"
Pac attacks his neck with sloppy kisses and jittery bites, making his way down to his collarbone.
"Please—"
Pain explodes in his neck as he feels a knife like edge pierce skin, and that finally pushes— no, shoves him off the edge. His synapse goes off like a double barrelled shotgun, a bright flash of gun-powder and ecstasy sends him arching his back off the bed like cupids bow as cum, for lack of a better word, spurts out in thick ropes, coating his stomach, Pac's hand, and bits of his chest in white. He has no control over his body, his muscles locking up and seizing while his consciousness fights to stay awake.
Faintly, he can hear Pac make a punched out noise of his own, and the bulbous shape of what he can assume is his knot slamming into him and catching on his rim, feeling Pac's cock pulse and jump as he finishes inside him, coating his wall in pure lust.
Soon, his body falls limp, lying exhausted against sheets as he feels his boyfriends body follow suit.
Fit isn't on earth right now, he's off in space with the whole world on top of him as far as he's concerned. Tingles encase his whole nervous system, every extremity coated in this staticky cloud of afterglow. It takes several moments for him to even begin his descent, and even then, he fights tooth and nail to stay as far as he can up in the cosmos.
"Fit?"
But of course, the only way he'd come back down is if Pac brought him there.
His eye cracks open to see an angel staring down at him, a soft yellow glow illuminating frizzed locks around a chiseled face and moving antennas. Maybe he did die. What a way to go…
"I'm awake." He reassures, watching the other smile with domestic peace, feeling his hand come to cup the side of his face, which was still wet.
"How— are you— Is everything okay?"
Fit blinks, sluggish.
"You just fucked the shit out of me." He deadpans. "I feel like a god."
"That's just the afterglow talking." Pac tries to shuffle his postion, but hisses in pain, arching back, which only gets another pained sound from him. Fit only then realized his hands were still cupped around his back, which he jerks away. In the low light, he can see the faint stain of red on his hands, and under his fingernails. In his prosthetics case, bloody was coated between the cuts between mechanical fingers.
"Oh fuck— shit Pac, are you okay? Oh I probably fucked up your back I'm so sorry—"
"No! Well—" He takes his hand to feel back there himself, grimacing. "A little, but it's okay! I— heh, I liked it, you know? So it's fine, plus, it'll look cool when it heals."
"I probably haven't washed my claw in ages, that's gonna get infected—"
"Eh. Nothing Mike or I can't fix. Just means you enjoyed yourself, and I think— that goes for something, huh?" He grins, but soon falters to look at Fit's chest. "Now that, that's like— I feel bad about that."
He tries his best to look down, but he only sees a smearing of blood leading from his neck. He can only assume Pac had bit him there. His eyes travel back up to see, indeed, that same crimson smearing across his lips.
He… there's feelings about that. But he'd rather not dwell on that now, feeling sparks of overstimulation when his dick brushes up against his hairy stomach, now sticky with cum, which was beginning to dry.
"I ruined your back and you're worried about a bite?"
"It's close to your head!" Pac defended. "You could like— you can die like that. Who knows what I have!"
"Pac, I think you'd know if you had something."
"What if I don't? I could have rabies. I haven't drank water in a while…"
"Pac…"
"Yeah?
"Just kiss me."
"But—!" Fit grips the nape of his neck to bring him down to his level, and Pac doesn't put up a fight, if at all, as he succumbs to his kiss. Unfiltered love and clarity flows through them both as they lay here, connected to one another. There's something to be said about how he feels while he kisses Pac. It wasn't like fireworks exploding or anything sudden, but rather, it's slow, it's calm, it's right. He could compare it to sunbathing on jagged cobblestone and obsidian formations, watching the sun rise as another day arrives, another day survived, another dawn conquered. Or the feeling of floating down a river with nothing but a boat and your thoughts, the waves accompanying you in your journey for new sights. Or that feeling of opening your door after an adventure, the smell of your home filling your lungs and the feeling of your own floorboards under tired feet. He could compare it to a lot of things, but they couldn't, or wouldn't, even compare to how he feels when him and Pac are close like this. It's something of his own.
It's kissing Pac. That's what it feels like.
"Are you okay, though?" Pac breathes when he pulls away, pressing a hand to his pec to avoid him following. "Seriously."
"I'm great, Pac, seriously." He mocks lightheartedly, brushing a strand of stray hair away from his face. "A bit sore but, I think that's to be expected. Also, kind of gross. Physically at least, who knew being covered in cum wasn't meant to be a long-lasting commodity?"
"Ah!" Pac hovered his hands before bracing himself. "Right— I have rags. Stay here—"
"Wait." Fit shoots out to hold Pac's upper arm, stopping him from going off to the bathroom. "Can we just… stay here? A little longer?"
"Are you sure? You're not gonna be super comfortable, plus, my knot doesn't last long so, it won't—"
"Please?" He barely catches himself before it slips out. Even if he was begging so much earlier, throwing around the word like candy, it feels different in this setting. The lust has died down, adrenaline melting away like winter bleeding into spring, and it's replaced with the normalcy of his insecurity. Pac sits above him, eyebrows high and eyes unmoving. His tight grip begins to loosen, now unsure about everything.
"5 minutes."
"Huh?"
"5 minutes we lay here. Then we have to clean up, got it?"
Fit stares at him, but feels his heart strings being tugged, tightening his grip to pull Pac down. They do a little maneuvering, which dislodged the other from inside Fit (much to Pac's dismay to keep his bedsheets somewhat clean) to get the perfect configuration. Fit was hugging around Pac's midsection and his head lay on the hybrids chest, legs tangled and arms secured around one another. Claws come to trace patterns and constellations into Fit's back, mapping out his own cluster of stars. Conversation comes and goes, hushed whispers of sweet nothings in the sanctity of their own world, time moves outside it, but the moment doesn't move an inch while they sit together. While Pac is talking, Fit finds himself looking up at the other as he explains something foreign to Fit, he catches glimpses of what he says.
Rotator, brass casing, cogwheel, it all blends together into gibberish.
Most of the time, he doesn't really catch what Pac says, not because he's careless, but because he's enraptured with a whole other thing.
He studies his face, studies every imperfection and sunspot, trailing over his eyebrow ridge down to his chin. His eyes become his favorite scenery and his lips are a runner-up. His nose tends to twitch when he talks and his hands never sit still. He notices the way his tail swishes when content and how fast it wags when he gets onto a particular topic he loves. He sees the way he walks, skipping with every step, walking on his toes. He doesn't point it out like most others do, because then he stops. He doesn't want him to hide that. He hates when he hides who he is, the real him. Part of him knows truly, maybe he won't see the real him, the Pac that's clean-cut, but he's okay with that. He takes what Pac gives him, and he'll wait for more.
Because they have a whole lifetime, and the time after that, and the thing after that.
Fit smiles to himself, nuzzling his face into the patch of fur on his chest.
