Wildlife

Wildlife

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Notes:
This is an old fic I wrote about which I\'m quite proud, really. ^_^ It\'s the first lemon I wrote that forced me to go beyond my usual 3x4 fare and have a helluva lot of fun in the bargain. And, no, none of the boys or girls is involved in this.

Disclaimer:
The Gundam Wing series and characters are copyrighted to Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency. The characters of these works are used WITHOUT permission strictly for entertainment and not for sale or profit.

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I take a ragged breath through clenched teeth—one of several since the evening began, as a matter of fact. My jaw muscles ache from taking him in for a good—oh—ten seconds, my tongue slathering gobs of saliva on his towering manhood.

His manhood, my manhood. What’s his is mine.

And what’s mine I always give pet names to. With Rashid, I can’t help it.

I’ve given his manhood a nickname—my Super Beef Burrito. Yes, super. It’s got the works, baby.

And those ten seconds of blowing him were ten seconds of utter heaven—with me listening to tissue tear around my jaws (I’ve even heard my jaw crack a couple of times), feeling the saliva ooze out of my glands, coating my Maguanac meal with oral slime that just adds to the sexiness of the whole thing.

Sexy.

Yes, that’s Rashid.

Sexy.

My God, I’m about to come just thinking about how sexy my love titan is. I force myself to calm down, frantically racking my brain for real turn-offs just to keep myself from coming too prematurely (like the lithe, sinewy body of Trowa Barton—poor boy—God, Quatre Winner can have him for all I care). And these thoughts work. I feel my lust-o-meter fall to more bearable levels, and I’m once again in control of myself.

Of him.

I’ve been pumping him for thirty minutes now, after all—without pause. I’m the freight train of lust. I’m the Great Wall of desire. I’ve got the endurance of the Energizer Bunny (it keeps fucking fuc fucking and fucking…) and a Timex watch (takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’).

I’m every bottom’s goddamn nightmare.

With Rashid, I blow him after my strained jaw muscles heal. That’s why oral sex has always been limited to just ten seconds. Oh, but those ten seconds…

Other leather tops ask me why I do it. We congregate around the bar in the Top Hotties Leather Lounge, comparing notes, bragging about conquests. There I’m always subjected to incredulous questions about why I settled for Rashid as my bottom.

Idiots. All of them.

As it’s always been, I simply take a lazy drag of my cigarette and blow smoke in their faces in a show of contempt for their thick-headedness. They’re such fools. I respond to their idiotic ramblings with a sneer and a condescending shake of my head before I replace the leather cap and swagger out of the bar, laughing.

If they only knew.

I look down at my lover and grin, my breath still hissing irregularly through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, baby,” I mutter, feeling the sweat pour down my face and my chest and back in torrents. “God, you’re so hot.”

My arms are still hooked around his legs, and my body strains against them as I continually push myself in, again and again, my hips thrusting in and out of that sweet hole in a frenzied pace. Just like a well-lubed piston.

Grunting and cursing and filling the air of our motel room with breathless “oohs” and “aahs,” I plunge my red-hot poker in him, leaning down on occasion to take savage little bites of his chest, enjoying the sight of his body twitching a little from the pain.

One bite was particularly savage, in fact, that my teeth caught a piece of chest hair and tore it out when I pulled back, sending Rashid’s massive, sexy hand flying out and smacking the side of my head with a hollow splat. It was reflexive, of course, and I did feel some guilt as I finally got myself back upright.

Poor Rashid—poor baby—I was too rough with him. I tend to forget that bottoms do have their limits.

My temple and my cheek throbbing and slightly swollen, I endure the pain—embrace it as part of the evils of being a leather top with a soft, sensitive bottom.

Grinding my teeth together some more, I tighten my hold around Rashid’s muscular, furry legs and throw my entire weight against them, using them as leverage while I continue my hungry, forceful, savage thrusting.

“Yeah, baby,” I grunt. “You want more? Huh?”

Rashid doesn’t answer.

My prowess tends to hold him in awe, speechless for the entire lovemaking session, and I dominate with words as well. My hips step up the pace, and I pound him with a force that borders on madness. I listen to skin slap painfully against skin. I listen to the wet, sloshing sound of my devastating love prong inside him.

God, he’s so hot.

I turn my head to glance at a nearby mirror, momentarily appraising myself and feeling all the more turned on. My hair slicked back with about half a gallon of gel, my leather cap resting on my head in a very Marlon Brando-esque feel, the leather jacket adding considerable bulk to my frame (I insist on keeping it on when I screw Rashid’s brains out—keeps the delineation between dominant and submissive partners clearly marked), the leather g-string that’s now pushed off to one side to accommodate my love machine…

All these combine to get my temperature to rise, the narcissistic quality of the moment providing that extra oomph to keep the temperature in the room sky-high.

God, I’m hot.

God, I feel hot.

And I’m banging the sexiest ass ever created in the universe.

“Come on, baby,” I hiss through my teeth, the sweat now coming out of my pores like Niagara. “Come on. Come for me. I wanna hear you scream your gorgeous head off. Come on.”

I pound him some more, my frisky two-by-four filling his insides, hitting that spot again and again. Savagely scraping against it, enlivening every sensitive nerve ending that made up Rashid’s magic button of desire.

“Oh, God—oh, God—oh, baby, you’re going to make me see stars.”

My eyes stray one final time to Rashid, taking in that massive, enticing, delicious form under me, and my fevered brain collapses under the sight. Lying there, in all his naked, hairy splendor, his ass wrapped around my lethal pecker—he looked like a damned sexy, primal, wolverine condom.

My body convulses as though being bombarded with a zillion watts of electricity, and I hear myself work up to a fevered pitch, in the midst of which I also catch Rashid’s words.

“Goddamnit, Howard, are you in me yet?” he cries from behind his book.

My God, that voice.

I immediately pull myself out and aim at his stomach, grunting and screaming as I continue the frantic stimulation on my dick, my hand a mere blur as I wank myself blind.

“Ungh! Uuuunnngghh! Oh, fuck!”

I feel my release burn its way out of my groin and listen to it hit Rashid’s skin. It takes a few seconds for me to sufficiently recover from the shock of being so violently emptied that way, and when I finally catch a breath, I open my eyes, dazedly surveying the damage.

Two dime-sized spots on that hairy, gorgeous stomach.

I sigh contentedly, feeling sated by the moment. My eyes roam up to watch Rashid flip through another page of his well-worn copy of “The Hobbit,” and I smile.

Christ, he’s sexy.

And best of all, he’s mine. My bottom.

I’ll make him suck my toes in a few minutes once I’ve recovered my strength. Right now I need to go to the can.

(end)