Ashton’s hands came up to frame Orym’s hips, fingers curling around and almost spanning his waist. Orym cupped the crystalline hair at the back of Ashton’s head, panting into ther mouth, his heart already pounding. He sank from standing to straddling Ashton’s lap, having to crane his neck up to keep kissing. His hips hitched once, and then again and again as he felt a bulge growing under his ass. Ashton’s breath shuddered. His hands gripped at Orym’s hips, pulling him closer, not controlling the roll, but intesifying it. Orym clutched at his shoulders, his neck, whatever skin was exposed. Ashton kept bordering on too much, his tongue filling Orym’s mouth when their control slipped, lips not quite fitting together right. The two of them kept coming apart, Orym biting at Ashton’s lips and Ashton returning the favor, teeth not quite hurting but the drag of them setting off fireworks along Orym’s nerves. His lips and chin and even part of his neck were spit-slick. It was sloppy, and Orym loved it.
Orym’s head swam. He’d been with an elf shortly before leaving the Air Ashari, a man considered small and slender by most standards, although he was solidly larger than Orym. Ashton’s solid bulk, the weight rubbing against Orym’s ass were both so much more. Maybe too much.
No, not too much. A challenge. Mastery over his own body was one of the few things Orym new he was very good at. He had honed it into a weapon, and when it needed to be something else … he could do this. He was desperate to do this.
He broke off, breath ragged, voice gone gravelly. “You’re going to fuck me,” he said. When he realized that sounded very presumptuous, he added, “If you want to.”
“Fuck yes I do, but …”
Ashton’s one good eye darted downward, taking in the look of Orym perched atop him, legs splayed on either side of their thick thighs. Orym frowned. “What did I say?” he growled.
“Not delicate, got it.” Ashton considered a moment and then said, “You know what? I’m going to stop asking questions. You’re in charge. Boss me around; tell me what you want. I’m into it.”
“Take off your clothes,” Orym whispered, shivering.
“Sir, yes, sir.”
Orym fumbled with the fastenings of his own armor and the hem of his shirt, dragging them off as quickly as possible so he didn’t have to take his eyes off Ashton. He stripped the jacket off, baring an expanse of green skin that looked like it had been shattered like a mirror on the left side, patched back together with a spiderweb of gold. Orym pulled his shirt off over his head as Aston wriggled out of his pants and boots. Orym had to stand to get his own pants off, kicking himself free, glad he didn’t tend to wear shoes.
“Your tattoos are fucking hot,” Ashton whispered, cocky grin faded as his eye tracked up and down Orym. “You’re fucking hot.”
Ashton did as he was asked. He was toned, not as bulky as he looked with the leather on. His cock was thick and long and lay heavy against his stomach, smearing pearly precum across his skin.
“Oh,” Orym managed, “oh, you’re gorgeous.”
Before Ashton could do much beyond widen their eyes, Orym dropped down to wrap his hands around Ashton’ cock. It was thick enough he couldn’t quite get his fingers all the way around its girth. Orym’s head swam as he realized it was probably as thick as his own wrist.
This was doable. This was a challenge, and a challenge was met one step at a time. He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around Ashton’s cock. It was heavy and smooth against his tongue, almost the texture of a toy instead of skin, but hot and musky and tasting of salt. Just the head filled his mouth and stretched his jaw. Orym pressed forward, trying to relax as he took Aston in deeper, the head bumping against the back of his throat. He swallowed on instinct, and Ashton started swearing in a half-dozen languages, the words barely intelligible over the buzzing in Orym’s head.
He reached out, unerring, grabbing Ashton’s hand and dragging it to the back of his head. Ashton tightened their fingers, spanning most of the back of Orym’s head, digging into his hair and brushing against his ears.
“Tap my leg if you want me to let go,” Ashton said.
Orym hummed in response, and Ashton’s grip tightened, first a bit and then harder, riding the line between pain and the hot sizzle of pleasure against Orym’s scalp. Ashton’s guidance was also hesitant at first, and then more assertive, guiding Orym’s head up and down as Orym swallowed again and again, managing to take just a little more of Ashton’s cock each time. He only managed half of it when he had to tap out, Ashton’s hand leaving his head immediately. Orym held himself still, almost choking, shivering from head to toe, feeling too full and too empty all at once. He held himself still until white sparks lit the backs of his eyelids and he was desperate for a breath.
He drew off with a gasp, coughing as his throat protested the rough treatment even as his cock dripped between his thighs. He looked up to see Ashton staring at him, grin wiped away in their shock. Ashton reached out to run a gentle finger across Orym’s cheek and his lower lip, which Orym could only imagine was puffy and red from use.
Orym’s voice was wrecked when he asked, “Do you still want this?”
“Yeah, of course. If you do.”
“So, so much.”
Ashton’s chuckle was a weak imitation of its former self. “I can tell. Gods, Orym, look at you. You’re fucking ruined.”
“Not yet, I’m not.”
Orym climbed to his feet and was grateful for well-trained muscles that could keep pushing on even when they felt like jam on a hot day. He got to his pack successfully and pulled out the bottle of oil he used for his leather armor.
He got back to the bed without incident, and found that Ashton hadn’t moved, staying where Orym had left him, sprawled out and breathing deep. When he noticed Orym watching him he said, “Had to calm down a little, or this’ll be over too soon.”
Re: Fill: Made to Fit (Rated E) (3/?)
Orym’s head swam. He’d been with an elf shortly before leaving the Air Ashari, a man considered small and slender by most standards, although he was solidly larger than Orym. Ashton’s solid bulk, the weight rubbing against Orym’s ass were both so much more. Maybe too much.
No, not too much. A challenge. Mastery over his own body was one of the few things Orym new he was very good at. He had honed it into a weapon, and when it needed to be something else … he could do this. He was desperate to do this.
He broke off, breath ragged, voice gone gravelly. “You’re going to fuck me,” he said. When he realized that sounded very presumptuous, he added, “If you want to.”
“Fuck yes I do, but …”
Ashton’s one good eye darted downward, taking in the look of Orym perched atop him, legs splayed on either side of their thick thighs. Orym frowned. “What did I say?” he growled.
“Not delicate, got it.” Ashton considered a moment and then said, “You know what? I’m going to stop asking questions. You’re in charge. Boss me around; tell me what you want. I’m into it.”
“Take off your clothes,” Orym whispered, shivering.
“Sir, yes, sir.”
Orym fumbled with the fastenings of his own armor and the hem of his shirt, dragging them off as quickly as possible so he didn’t have to take his eyes off Ashton. He stripped the jacket off, baring an expanse of green skin that looked like it had been shattered like a mirror on the left side, patched back together with a spiderweb of gold. Orym pulled his shirt off over his head as Aston wriggled out of his pants and boots. Orym had to stand to get his own pants off, kicking himself free, glad he didn’t tend to wear shoes.
“Your tattoos are fucking hot,” Ashton whispered, cocky grin faded as his eye tracked up and down Orym. “You’re fucking hot.”
“Lay back,” Orym said, half-question, half-command.
Ashton did as he was asked. He was toned, not as bulky as he looked with the leather on. His cock was thick and long and lay heavy against his stomach, smearing pearly precum across his skin.
“Oh,” Orym managed, “oh, you’re gorgeous.”
Before Ashton could do much beyond widen their eyes, Orym dropped down to wrap his hands around Ashton’ cock. It was thick enough he couldn’t quite get his fingers all the way around its girth. Orym’s head swam as he realized it was probably as thick as his own wrist.
This was doable. This was a challenge, and a challenge was met one step at a time. He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around Ashton’s cock. It was heavy and smooth against his tongue, almost the texture of a toy instead of skin, but hot and musky and tasting of salt. Just the head filled his mouth and stretched his jaw. Orym pressed forward, trying to relax as he took Aston in deeper, the head bumping against the back of his throat. He swallowed on instinct, and Ashton started swearing in a half-dozen languages, the words barely intelligible over the buzzing in Orym’s head.
He reached out, unerring, grabbing Ashton’s hand and dragging it to the back of his head. Ashton tightened their fingers, spanning most of the back of Orym’s head, digging into his hair and brushing against his ears.
“Tap my leg if you want me to let go,” Ashton said.
Orym hummed in response, and Ashton’s grip tightened, first a bit and then harder, riding the line between pain and the hot sizzle of pleasure against Orym’s scalp. Ashton’s guidance was also hesitant at first, and then more assertive, guiding Orym’s head up and down as Orym swallowed again and again, managing to take just a little more of Ashton’s cock each time. He only managed half of it when he had to tap out, Ashton’s hand leaving his head immediately. Orym held himself still, almost choking, shivering from head to toe, feeling too full and too empty all at once. He held himself still until white sparks lit the backs of his eyelids and he was desperate for a breath.
He drew off with a gasp, coughing as his throat protested the rough treatment even as his cock dripped between his thighs. He looked up to see Ashton staring at him, grin wiped away in their shock. Ashton reached out to run a gentle finger across Orym’s cheek and his lower lip, which Orym could only imagine was puffy and red from use.
Orym’s voice was wrecked when he asked, “Do you still want this?”
“Yeah, of course. If you do.”
“So, so much.”
Ashton’s chuckle was a weak imitation of its former self. “I can tell. Gods, Orym, look at you. You’re fucking ruined.”
“Not yet, I’m not.”
Orym climbed to his feet and was grateful for well-trained muscles that could keep pushing on even when they felt like jam on a hot day. He got to his pack successfully and pulled out the bottle of oil he used for his leather armor.
He got back to the bed without incident, and found that Ashton hadn’t moved, staying where Orym had left him, sprawled out and breathing deep. When he noticed Orym watching him he said, “Had to calm down a little, or this’ll be over too soon.”