bakerstreet | Mid-Fuck Thursday

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Mid-Fuck Thursday

Are you tired of building up to the act? Do you sometimes wish for a chance to skip the conversation and go straight for the scenario you've always wanted to experience?

In that case, rejoice! This meme was made for you.

THE RULES:

Post with your character in the middle of having sex.
Any scenario and level of description is allowed!
Other characters reply as your character's partner in that fuck!
Keep going and finish the act.
Go for another round or have fun with cuddling and afterplay.
Have fun!

Also, check out the ( Risky Meme ) @

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[OOC: Kinks on profile.]

[OOC: Kinks on profile.]

Edited 2017-01-12 18:43 (UTC)

[ooc: Shall we?]

[OOC: Lets! Let me know if this needs tweaking.]

Months had passed since she had vanished from King's Landing, and although every now and again travelers would reach Mole Town with stories of Margaery Tyrell being spotted everywhere from Dorne to Pentos, usually doing something thrillingly scandalous, most people simply assumed she was dead. It was a logical enough assumption these days, given all the fighting surrounding the iron throne.

The truth was far more mundane. More often than not, Margaery could now most often be found leaning over her modest stove. While it was true that cooking was not one of the woman's natural gifts, the truth was that she was learning and improving, at least as far as Jon's taste was concerned. Of course, he supposed, she could make more progress if he wasn't so constantly distracting her as he was now, having pulled up her skirts from behind while she was stirring a pot and slipping his cock into her.

Jon leaned in, running his lips along the side of Margaery's neck until he reached her ear. "You would be less tempting, my love, if I didn't know how you're always so ready for me..."

[ooc: Looks good!]

He told her the rumors each visit, as did the young girl that Margaery had hired to act as a maid and companion. The lady had been blinded after raiders had come to her village, attacking all they found. Always having a soft spot for the downtrodden, Margaery had taken her in and set her to work in helping keep the cottage. However, whenever Jon visited, Margaery sent the girl to Mole's Town for the evenings, giving her the time off. It was better that she not be here and see the Lord Commander, especially in the position he now had Margaery.

She held tightly to the stove, the pots she had assembled to cook with forgotten and tossed to the ground. She had not even had time to light the fire before Jon was upon her, inciting both her lust and hunger for him. They seemed near insatiable whenever he visited.

"That is because your visits are a sweet occurrence." He wasn't able to pull away from the Wall as often as she would like, making their reunions all the more passionate. "The house is always so messy when you come home." She whispered, pressing back against his hips in encouragement.

Jon had been hungry when he'd arrived, but the growl of his stomach had no chance competing against the gnawing need in his belly that only grew when he saw Margaery again. There were only so many hours during every visit that they had, and even without discussing the matter, she and Jon seemed in agreement to fill them with all the passion and love they could in order to tide each other over until the next time.

Margaery was hot and tight around him as his hips collided with her rear, and Jon groaned with every thrust.

He did, though, look at the scattered cooking vessels and chuckled. "And I suppose I'm not helping such matters at the moment. I just couldn't help myself, my love, I saw my most favorite treat and had to have it immediately."

She pushed back against his hips, forgetting the cold of the room as the fire died away, smoldering beneath the ashes. She forgot even that she had left meat out that would soon spoil. The only thoughts in her head were the ones brought on by his desperate thrusting and how warm he felt inside her.

She gasped, clutching the stove tightly as he drove deeper and further within. Barely a foot in the door and they were already rutting wildly.

"You are greedy," she teased him, leaning her head back against his shoulder. Her face upturned and inviting a kiss. "You have more wolf than man in you. At least I know that you make no secret visits to Mole's Town." She knew he didn't, but she teased him about it all the same.

As far as Jon was concerned, food could wait, and the fire could wait, and so could everything else in the world that wasn't Margaery and himself. His hunger was vast, but very specific when it came to the woman he considered his wife in all aspects that mattered, and he enjoyed demonstrating such.

He laughed at her teasing, and leaned in to kiss her hard on that full, pouting mouth, making sure to bite gently at her lower lip and growl before he released it. "You made me an animal with wanting you," Jon replied. "I can never get enough, and only you can satisfy me." His hips rolled against her rear, driving him deep.

Regardless of how long it was until his next visit, it always seemed that the reunion made up for those absences. The last time, they had coupled on nearly every surface in the cottage. They had barely eaten, preferring to sate the hunger that had grown while they were apart. It seemed that this visit would be much the same.

They wouldn't be able to go to the hot springs, as she had hoped. The snow was falling heavily outside, trapping them in their cottage. But given how the night was to go, she couldn't complain.

She chased his kiss as he started to pull back. One of her hands released her hold on the stove, pulling back so that she could grasp hold on Jon's cheek, guiding him back to her. She moaned against his lips, feeling heat build up inside her as he continued to thrust deeper inside her. "I made you? You cannot deny that this was naturally lying in wait."

A visit to the springs would indeed have been pleasant, if for no other reason than to wash themselves of their days spent rutting and pleasuring one another, but the snow had seen an end to that. Not that the cottage would be cold with their lovemaking.

He chuckled as Margaery pulled him back to her mouth and gave her a rough, hungry kiss in return for it. His body ground and smacked against hers as Jon held her close to thrust into her deeply.

"I would never have guessed so until I met you," Jon replied with a knowing smile. "And I would never have guessed you would have just as hungry a beast within you."

The heaviness of the snowfall meant that they would be unable to leave their cottage for the day and night. They would be trapped together with nothing to do but chase their pleasure and keep each other warm as the cold set in. It was almost as though the snow had waited for them, providing them with the romantic background they deserved.

She was growing closer, losing any semblance of rhythm, only pressing back against him as he ground into her roughly. Her breath was ragged in her lungs, sharp and harsh, matching the air around them.

"It was waiting for you," she whispered, her grip tightening. "All I needed was to find my mate, then my beast would finally come to the surface." Her next words were nothing more than a choked moan, "Close."

The snow-capped and nearly buried cottage surely did make for a romantic setting for their brief, is passionate reunion. And there was every likelihood that at some point, the two of them would be in bed, making love with all the sweetness and adoration that bound them together as mates, even without rings or ceremony.

But for now, their coupling was of their other nature, of the raw hunger and need that built up between them during their separations. First, they fed the beasts, and then their own hearts.

Jon was huffing too, now, almost grunting with every thrust of his cock deep inside of Margaery. He could feel his own finish building up as well. "Then come for me, my love... come for me."

The wind battered against the shutters, causing the cottage to groan, matching Margaery's rising cries of pleasure. The last of the fire died away, snuffing out quickly and disappearing back into the ashes. She couldn't feel the cold or the chill, her body heated by Jon's powerful thrusts and the excitement building in her body. She could warm the entire cottage with the fire in her blood.

She had no time to answer him. Just as he urged her, her walls were clenching around him, holding him in a vice grip. She howled wildly, feeling more like a wolf in heat. The world disappeared around her, blurred and hazy as everything faded but the feeling inside her.

"Jon." She whimpered his name, her hands loosening their grip on the stove.

It seemed as though the Winter itself was challenging them, doing everything it could to chill them to the bone, to turn their house into a place of chill and stillness, but Jon and Margaery would have none of it. Even if the warmth was confined to just the space around their feverishly coupling bodies, that space would be burning hot.

Jon's arms wrapped around Margaery's body, holding her close against him so he could feel her entire body as she came for him, shaking and tightening around his cock and trembling for him.

At the sound of his name, he began to kiss her fiercely. "I love you I love you I love you," he chanted against Margaery's mouth.

She gasped, as though the words and kisses had breathed new life into her. The entire room seemed to be bathed in color and light, driving away the gray gloom of the snow. In his arms, the world was not cold and isolated, it was alive and vibrant in her mind. She felt as though her body was humming in his grasp, singing with all the pleasure he could bring her.

She chased his lips each time he pulled back to whisper sweet words at her, not satisfied with just proclamations of love. "Mine," she whispered harshly, her voice hoarse and strained from the power of her cries. "You're mine."

Releasing her hold of the stove, she straightened and pressed back against him as much as she could, guiding his hands to her breasts. Her heart was racing beneath his palm, fluttering like a butterfly in spring. "I love you."

In a way, Margaery's body was indeed humming, the aftershocks of her climax still echoing through her in small shivers that Jon felt and savored as continuing proof of the pleasure he'd been able to bring to her. Jon smiled at the claiming words, at the calm sureness of them. "Yes I am," he told her. "Forever."

She brought his hands to her breasts and squeezed, a sure sign to Jon that she'd recovered from the tremors of her orgasm. With that, he flexed his knees slightly to change the angle at which he was still lodged inside of Margaery and began to grind his hips fast and hard against her rear. After riding her through the climax, it would not take long for Jon to find his first of the night.

Her body still sensitive to his earlier efforts, it didn't take much for her to go from orgasm towards building to another one. The speed of his hip and the eagerness of his thrusts overwhelmed the already powerful afterglow. All she could do was hold on to him and let his body drive into her repeatedly.

Her voice cried out, unrestrained and breathless, lost beneath the howling of the wind. Whatever fears she once had of the North and what might lurk within the frost was gone in his arms. Here she was safe and protected. All that existed was the passion and lust he inspired in her and the hunger with which she pursued it.

"Come for me." She whispered to him.

And in the safe, secure world that he and Margaery drew around them, Jon was allowed to sink into and lose himself in the passions he so often kept bound tightly inside of himself, behind the dour expression and the determination that had kept him alive and made him a fine leader of men.

In her arms, inside of her body, he could be the wolf, passionate and hungry. And when his mate called for him to finish within her, he responded without hesitation.

Jon heaved his hips against her rear a few more times before driving his cock deep within Margaery and leaving it lodged there. With a howl of his own, he swelled and flooded her with his release.

Her life before Jon had been one of restraint and calculation. In the north, she was a different woman than how she imagined her life would be. She was a wife in all but name, keeping a house for her husband while he was away at the Wall. During the long, cold nights, she knew that once he returned, there would be passion and lust to help keep her warm.

The desperation of his thrusts were enough to send her spiraling over the edge of her second climax. Just after she had urged him to release inside of her, she was howling in release, as though summoned by her own prompting.

He stilled and the intensity of the moment passed over them, Margaery placed one last delicate kiss to his lips, her breath ragged and quick. "You worked up an appetite." Both for food and for her.

Jon found few things as thoroughly satisfying as making Margaery climax along with him. In those few moments, it truly was as though they were of a single body, joined both physically and in the throes of their shared pleasures. The two of them ground and writhed against one another until both of their orgasms were spent.

He smiled and returned her kiss. "You have always been delicious. And your cooking is improving. So you're simply making me all the more insatiable."

When both of their breathing grew more still, Jon slipped free of Margaery, then used a nearby cloth to tidy them both up a bit before helping her rearrange her clothing. "What's for dinner, by the way?"

"Oh now you are interested in supper?" She teased him, lighting the fire once more and stirring it back to a blaze. A few of the pots and pans were scattered on the floor, she could only feel grateful that this lust had overcome them while she was actually in the middle of cooking. As soon as he entered the cottage, she had begun to ready their supper. Before she would actually set it on the stove, Jon had her bent over and her skirts raised high, taking her roughly and without shame. She wondered if the presence of her maid would have even stopped him.

"I managed to catch a rabbit in the traps you set for me during your last visit." It spared her from having to go to Mole's Town and endure the wandering hands of merchants and idle Night's Watchmen. None of them seemed to recognize her, but imagined that she was for sale as any whore might be. She hadn't told Jon this, preferring to say instead that she wanted her meat fresh. Mole's Town seemed to only receive stale fish and near putrid meat. "I thought we might have stew and bread that I baked."

She turned back to look at him, flushed and smiling. Whatever her teasing, she had enjoyed herself and was already picturing their next coupling. "Do me the favor of chopping the mushrooms. I might as well put you to work as it seems when you are left to your own devices, you must interrupt me and take me in the manner of beasts."

"What c'n I say, woman?" Jon rumbled in response, affecting a lower and much more pronounced Northron accent. "You do a damn fine job of helpin' me work up me hunger."

Chuckling, he went about helping Margaery tidy up the kitchen area and generally picking up the cottage while she started to bustle at the stove. She was likely wise to not mention her travails in Mole's Town to Jon, who would have had to struggle to not do something rash and risk her being discovered.

His eyes widened as the former Queen described and set about preparing supper. "You really have become quite the accomplished wife," Jon said with no shortage of pride. After that, he laughed at the jab she took at his libido and found a space to do as he was bidden.

"We've always known you bring out the animal in me."

"I think you do well enough yourself, Lord Commander." She affected the same accent, slightly improved from when they escaped. No one seemed to notice that she was a southron lady, which at least assured her that she was capable of passing herself off as a northern peasant. Even her maid was left clueless.

There were some things that she wouldn't tell Jon. Not the fear that she had during the night, when it seemed there was something lurking outside, the sounds similar to an animal. Not when the men of Mole's Town made lewd comments towards her. Not even when she worried that Jon might never return and she would never hear what happened to him.

In these brief moments, she didn't want any unpleasantness and uncertainty to interrupt their reunions. Their life was one of obstacles and difficulty, but it had always been worth it to her.

"Mmm, this makes me wonder how you manage alone at night at the Wall. Or do you save your urges for when you are home?"

Jon smiled. Margaery's accent had indeed improved, and he doubted anyone gave it a passing thought so long as she spoke sparingly while in town. He chopped at the vegetables with a knife, doing a rough but serviceable job of it, if he said so himself, while imaginging Margaery strolling through Mole's Town in order to buy or barter for the ingredients.

He shook his head, chuckling quietly at the question.

"No, no, I save it all up for you. I certainly need to considering how.... energetic things can get."

Jon presented his work to Margaery like a young man waiting for the approval of his teacher.

She nodded with approval at his work. Her maid was the better cook between them, even being blind, but for this night, it would suit well enough. Their bellies would be full and their appetite sated, save for the one that seemed to push them to near madness.

"So you don't reflect on these nights together?" Margaery grinned wickedly, inching closer as she chopped the last of the rabbit meat. Dumping it into the pot, she was able to pause to meet his eyes. "I cannot say the same. At night, all I have are the thoughts of you to keep me warm."

Jon returned that smile, even as Margaery's sent a shiver through his body that very nearly restored his resting ardor. "Reflect on them, I most definitely do," he answered. "You are all I think of when I shut my eyes, and I can almost feel your body against mine during the night." He moved just a bit closer.

"But what I meant was that I don't... act... on those thoughts. I prefer saving all that up for you. You can see the result."

She chuckled, lowering her face as a blush spread over her features. "I am grateful for that, even if it means you will interrupt me in my chores to satisfy your hunger." And hers, but that went without saying. "I do enjoy when you simply take me."

She set the stew to boil and placed the bread dough in the oven. It was a small meal, but at least it would be filling. She still needed to learn something greater than simple stew. "How long will you be able to stay?"

Jon's smile widened at that blossoming of color on Margaery's cheeks. "I see it's not only my hunger being satisfied when I do that. I'm very happy to know it." Indeed, Margaery's heated need often fed his own and vice versa.

He took a seat, watching her bustle about for another few moments until she could turn away from the preparations. Jon's smile faded a few degrees. "Only until first light. Then I have to be on my way back to the Wall."

"Could you ever doubt it?" She asked, sucking the grease from her fingers. "You know how deep my hunger rungs for you." Her blue eyes darkened, already contemplating how she would take him the next time.

But the looming prospect of his departure dimmed her smile. "So soon?" She asked, pained at the prospect. "You only just arrived."

"I don't doubt it in the least," Jon replied, gesturing for Margaery to join him where he sat, patting a hand on his knee. The expression that passed behind her eyes promised more lovemaking soon enough, but that moment seemed to pass quickly.

"It's all I can spare this time," he said through teeth nearly clenched with frustration. "We finally have some new men arriving tomorrow and the Lord Commander must be there to see to them." Jon's tone made it clear he would rather be anywhere but.

She sat gently on his knee, wrapping an arm about his shoulder as she pressed close. The cold of the north had started to seep back inside, the last of the heat from their lovemaking having disappeared. "You have yet to doubt me. I think you know all I am capable of."

She frowned in frustration, wishing that it didn't hurt as badly as it did whenever he left. He had an obligation to the Night's Watch, but his visits were so small and so few. "You have a duty." She said, acknowledging his reason with a resigned sigh.

He could feel the chill setting in as well, creeping in around the edges of the cottage, so Jon curled his arm around Margaery and held her to him. Jon shook his head, but gave her a smile. "I thought I did," he told her, "but then you keep surprising me with everything new you learn and show me."

Jon joined her in the sigh. There was no pain greater than what he felt parting from Margery, stepping out of the door of this cottage and not knowing exactly how long it would be before he returned. They had chosen this life, of course, but not because the wanted it. What they wanted was one another, and for now, this was the price. "You know if there were any other way..."

She didn't wish to complain. He was taking a great risk keeping her here and sneaking away to meet with her. As much as she wished he could stay with her forever, she knew that he could be killed if found out. Still, it didn't curb the painful thoughts and bitter feeling that swept over her whenever Jon left.

"What if a day comes that something happens and I never know of it?" She whispered, afraid to meet his eyes. "How will I know why you don't return to me?" She didn't want to think such dark thoughts, but that fear was real in her. She could be waiting for him for the rest of her life and be unaware what happened at the Wall.

He took a deep breath. It was nothing he hadn't considered himself before, of course. With the war coming, and with Castle Black at the very front line of defense against the Enemy, there was every chance that exactly such a thing could befall Jon and the Night's Watch, and with it, humanity's last hopes, would be snuffed out with no word at all.

But he did have an answer. "Ghost would know," Jon said in all certainty. "And if he were with me, I would send him to you. Ghost would know."

Jon cleared his throat and curled a finger under Margaery's chin, tilting her face back towards his. "Enough of this talk, though. Or do I need to do something else to distract your mind?"

It was a dark thought, one that she hated to contemplate. Jon had to live, he had to return to her. Her life now centered around their cottage and the precious moments they had together. If she lost him, there would be nothing but the cold to comfort her.

She nodded, saying nothing at that. Ghost, her silent protector.

As though she had been released from a vice, Margaery began to breathe more easily. The feel of his finger against her skin warmed her, shifting her thoughts away from the darkness. "I should like a distraction, my love."

"That much, I can happily oblige," Jon answered, then drew her face closer to his. Gently, his lips closed over hers, kissing Margaery with a feather-soft touch. His kisses ghosted against her mouth, slowly growing in intensity with each passing moment.

With his other arm, he held Margery to him. Their layers kept him from feeling the true warmth of her body, but the weight of her in his embrace was just as welcome. The more he could hold her, the better, whether it was for a single moment or all through a night.

She allowed him to guide her in touch and desire, stirring the embers of her heart and alighting her once more. The darkness was forgotten, only the sense of warmth and love that he inspired in her. Her fears were forgotten, there was nothing but his arms around her and what they shared during his brief visits. She could sleep in his arms and enjoy more than a fleeting embrace.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning close to him as her lips followed the intensity of their kiss. Her fingers caressed his skin along his neck, shivering under his grip.

Jon's mouth worked against hers, soft and easy to begin with, determined to enjoy the simple, but wonderful sensation of her full lips and quick tongue and the taste of her mouth. His hands held Margaery close, drifting a bit, but not pressing much further. There was much to be said for kissing, something Margaery had taught him, especially in those times when they'd not had the time for more.

"You still take my breath away," he sighed, stroking her cheek with his own.

The gentleness pulled her away from the frightening fears and the possibilities of what could happen. Jon was here, he was holding her in his arms and stirring her back to life. The feel of his lips and taste of his tongue quickened her heart. Her hands roamed over him, caressing and feeling each contour of his body.

"You have stolen all of my heart," she murmured, pressing her lips to his ear.

"Fair enough," Jon replied with an amused lilt to his tone. "As you have mine in return."

He continued to kiss her, to hold her, to lend Margaery his strength and warmth and resolve. No pressure this time, no consuming hunger to have her this time. They were simply there, together, and alone. It was the best Jon could give her until he was called away.

It wasn't something that she wanted to consider, when Jon would be called away. This was all they had, these brief moments that were interrupted far too soon. It hurt, but when he was with her, those painful moments were eradicated and there was nothing but the sweetness that he brought.

She kissed him in return, accepting his warmth and tenderness. Her hunger had been sated, now she only wished to bask in his love for her.

Long, lovely minutes passed as they engaged in nothing else but kissing, their mouths and lips working against each other without rush and without pressure, just simply enjoying the act for itself, and for one another's closeness. It was only the sound of the pot boiling on the stove that broke Jon's concentration.

With a smile, he leaned back from Margaery and smiled. "It sounds like dinner is ready. Shall we rest and eat? Restore ourselves for another strenuous night?"

She gave a sigh of disappointment, her heart beating quickly in her chest, still longing for his lips and arms. However, he was right. Their supper was ready and they should eat. Food was precious here and it couldn't be wasted as it was in King's Landing, even for lovemaking.

"I think we should. Only so long as you promise not to make fun of my cooking." She had gotten better, but there was no guarantee it was a vast, vast improvement.

She got to her feet and prepared a plate and bowl for him, placing it before him before serving herself.

Jon contemplated refusing to promise such a thing, as he knew that even with the practice that Margaery had been getting, she still needed some time to become a competent cook. However, the thought of her being sufficiently offended to withhold anything from him later gave him pause.

"I promise," he replied, sitting down at the table and waiting for her to join him before breaking a hunk from a loaf of bread, dipping it into his bowl, and taking his first taste.

He raised his head with a contemplative expression. "Definite progress," Jon said, hoping that was both honest and kind a comment.

It was better than false flattery, which she knew how to detect. So long as it didn't make him sick, she viewed that as definite progress. Given what he ate at Castle Black, if this could be marked as somewhat appetizing, she knew she had not fallen below the muck he was used to.

The meat had at least not turned. "My maid has been instructing me, but I think that she will always be better at it than I am. So far, she hasn't asked any questions about why I cannot cook."

She made a very poor country wife. "And no one as questioned you at the Wall about my disappearance?"

Jon nodded. "You did well in finding her. I'm glad to know you have at least one other face to visit you here, and that it's someone helpful." His heart ached, of course, that he couldn't simply stay with Margaery and be the husband she deserved and that they both wanted him to be. But she had never tried to keep him from his important duties, and that was but one more reason Jon adored her.

At her question, he shook his head. "The ravens came for a few weeks, and were answered that the wayward Queen had not been foolish enough to venture so far North. They've stopped. Every now and then, I hear the men bring back rumors from Mole's Town that you've been spotted here and there. I like the more colorful ones the best."

She knew the pull of duty and understood Jon's obligation. They were much more serious than hers had been, which had consisted more than a power grab. He fought to protect the realm, elected to his position as Lord Commander because the men believed in him. She couldn't ask him to give that up. Nor could she ask him to risk his life in desertion.

Margaery smirked, remembering a few of the tales. "I think I prefer the story of my life in Essos the best. Where I am a lady of the pleasure houses and am raising an army of loyal men to rule the islands across the sea. It's rather ambitious of me, don't you think?"

[OOC: So sorry this took so long. Been having one of those weeks.]

Jon laughed. "I certainly wouldn't put it past your abilities to carve a little empire out for yourself," he told Margaery, giving her a squeeze. He'd always made it clear just how much he admired her strength and wisdom, apart from the way he felt about her.

"Although I'm not as fond of the part of that story where you keep a harem of men at your beck and call to satisfy your urges." It had to be love, Jon thought, to be jealous of preposterous and imaginary rivals.

[ooc: I hope things are better! I was worried.]

"I certainly wouldn't mind being somewhere warm, even if it was across the Narrow Sea." As much as she was glad to be near Jon, the North was too cold for her and she was not impressed with the snow. The reward, however, was worth the price.

She grinned at his jealousy, remembering how he had teased her about how he intended to visit the Reach and appreciate the fashions there. She had been jealous then, but not as sharply as she would be now, if Jon spoke of Mole's Town. It didn't stop her from teasing him. "I hear that the men of Lys are well skilled."

[OOC: Aww, thanks. Just mundane stuff, but busy.]

He chuckled at the mention of warmer climes. Jon might have been born a Northener and lived all his life here, not even his blood was cool enough to consider anywhere so close to the Wall to be truly fit for living. But it was the price paid to defend this part of the world from what lay beyond, and for Margaery, it was the price to remain close to him.

His eyes narrowed. "I think I prefer you surrounded by that sellsword army, the un-something. You know, the one made up of nothing but eunuchs."

She accepted the price, as it meant that she could live her life freely with Jon. It was better than remaining in King's Landing, fighting against Cersei and resigning herself to a life where there was only the memory of love. Without him, there would be a dark emptiness that left everything around her dull and faded.

She leaned her chin on her hand, grinning as she continued to tease him. "The Unsullied? Ah, but I will need loyal advisers. Seasoned men of the world."

Jon would have agreed with all his heart. Even the most difficult of lives together was preferable to the easiest existence apart. Margaery was the center of his world, and if he was fighting to protect anything, it would be her.

He laughed as they continued to volley the idea between them. "Oh, yes. Very seasoned. Many, many decades of experience."

"I understand that well seasoned men are also experienced lovers." The look she gave him was knowing, well aware of his jealousy and interest in keeping her to himself. How could she resist needling him further? It was rather endearing to see how much he wanted her.

She had felt something similar in King's Landing. "Unless you have an objection?"

"Oh, I suppose there are a few gray-hairs out there whose hearts might not give out while trying to satisfy you. Remember, my love you are most... enthusiastic." Jon found himself rather enjoying the exchange, secure in Margaery's devotion-- especially when speaking in pure conjecture.

"There are always the examples of the virgin queens in the old stories, who saved themselves in order to preserve their power."

"Ah, but you should know that I am no virgin." They had proven that to each other a dozen times over. Her appetite for him was nearly as insatiable as his for her. There was little doubt in her mind that by the time they slept, they would have made love twice more.

"Do your brothers not have theories where you go when you leave the Wall? I imagine they must say you are in Mole's Town."

"No," Jon said with a knowing smile, "you are not. But as far as I am concerned, other than me, you are as pure as the driven snow." He leaned in to kiss her gently. He had no care for who Margaery might have been with before him, only that they would always be true to one another now.

He shook his head. "Most figure I've gone to Mole's Town, yes. Others that I keep a secret home among the Wildlings. The most amusing is the new one, though-- that I turn into a wolf to go hunting alongside Ghost in the wilderness."

"How fanciful you are, Jon Snow." But he was right. She was no one's but his. Since the moment they met, she was his entirely, even without being aware of it. The stories were nothing compared to reality. The north might be cold, but she had a good man to warm her bed and a great deal more happiness than she would find with a harem.

She grinned, a gleam in her eyes. "I enjoy that story." Moving from the table to circle around him, her fingers toyed gently with his hair. "There is a great deal of wolf in you. A wildness that I love."

Sometimes, he did wonder if there was another world where a simple man named Jon met a simple woman named Margaery, and the two fell in love, married, and lived quiet, simple lives. When Castle Black was tomb silent and cold as ice, he was sorely tempted to trade places with those two.

At her words, he returned the smile and gave a low, rumbling noise that served as his approximation of a growl. "And it loves you back." Jon reached up and kissed her hand. "Now sit back down and let's finish this fine meal before it goes cold. A little wine in front of the fire afterwards and then perhaps you can coax the wolf out to play."

She did as he asked without complaint, offering the usual sort of chatter they shared during their evenings together. She would ask him briefly about the Wall, but such talk wasn't heavily discussed in the cottage. That other world didn't exist for them, only the one they made for themselves.

At the end of their meal, she collected the dishes and plates to clean later. He had requested wine and she had found a passable vintage, though nothing could ever compare to Dornish. "Was supper to your liking?"

"Supper was fine, but the company was what I truly enjoyed," Jon answered, moving closer to the hearth where the two of them could sit together in front of the fire. He took his wine and made sure there was more than enough room for her beside him.

"Come, my love. We'll warm up with some wine, and then when supper has settled, we shall warm each other up some more in bed."

She followed him with glimmering eyes. Once she settled beside him, she rested her head on his shoulder, staring into the fire with a contented expression on her face.

"I only wish that I could do more for your visits, offer you more than paltry meals and a cold room at night."

"You do so much," Jon replied, shaking his head. "And I don't just mean the obvious, love. Just seeing you, hearing your voice, spending time with you... it's like it fills me back up with what I need to face another stretch at the Wall."

He curled his arm around Margaery, holding her even closer. "Now let's talk no more about leaving until it has to happen. Let us just enjoy what we have." Jon tilted his head and placed a kiss on her temple, breathing her in. The world could wait.

[OOC: Seem like an okay place to fade out?]

[ooc: Looks good!]

[OOC: Thanks for another great thread :D ]

[OOC: Standard tentacle and magic wielding hentai baddie.]

Edited 2017-01-12 19:49 (UTC)

Edited 2017-01-12 20:17 (UTC)

[So so bad of me but... May I?]

[ if you didn't I'd weep. 100% yes. ]

There was literally nothing sexy about grunting and sweating over a small body pressed down to the mattress of a very sad and lonely twin bed. Of course, Tony Stark was just as sad and lonely as this mattress, filled to the brim with scotch, and obviously deciding to check out of all that was still good and decent about him. Now, most people would say that there was not much good nor decent left anywhere around him, that he tended to leach the goodness and the decency out of people by some sort of crazy mad-genius aura he possessed, and that was true because the only thing his mad-genius was good for, ever, was to make consistently poor decisions.

First-- Well, it was better to start more recently, if they started at the beginning of his depravity, he'd have to go back to when he was five years old and no one had time for that. Certainly not Tony. And not Peter Parker either. So, back on track, first he'd killed a few tens of thousands of people by proxy when he made and sold weaponry. Then, he decided to make it better by building a murderbot with one of his best friends and soulmates who decided to leave him because a woman was shitty to him. Story of his life. Oh, then his obsessiveness made a different, slightly less red headed woman by shitty to him (he deserved it, no doubt) and go on this 'break' thing.

He didn't need a break-- No, not true. He needed to be given a break. Without Pepper Potts in his life, he evidently made increasingly poor decisions. Case in point being the person he was balls deep in, whose hips he held in sweaty hands, who just so happened to have the same initials as his former girlfriend (If one, like Tony, forgot her given name was actually Virginia and not Pepper).

Not that it made this right. Nothing could really make the tie and the expensive silk shirt on the floor of a tiny bedroom in Queens right at all.

Edited 2017-01-15 20:51 (UTC)

Peter was in heaven.

Not at first, no. At first it hurt. Good God, did it fucking hurt, but with enough of the makeshift lube he'd found (baby oil, really) and the strength that had been more or less blessed upon him when he got bitten by that spider, they'd made it work. Tony Stark was fucking him. As the words played across the front of his brain he could hardly believe they were true. He'd idolized this man for as long as he could remember - the billionaire with a heart of gold. At least that's how he saw Tony, anyways. He was the guy who saved him from looking like nothing more than an amateur and brought him into the big leagues - into the place he was meant for.

Peter hoped, at least.

He found Tony in his bedroom, not that that was an uncommon happening, but this time something was different. The man was off, handsy, and Peter could tell he was drunk. Possibly the most put together drunk he'd ever seen, but drunk nonetheless. He could taste the alcohol on Tony's lips when they kissed and could see it in his messily tossed shirt and tie. Still, Peter didn't move to stop him as they got into the position they were in. That position being Peter face down in his childhood bed, looking to his own mask crumpled up next to him and the rest of his costume down around his ankles.

"M-Mr. Stark!" He called out with a moan as he felt the man's weight behind him, all of him sheathed inside of Peter's tight entrance. This was amazing. He raised his hips, arched his back and pushed back on the man, another moan escaping his throat.

"Jesus. Don't stop."

Ah. There was something else that wasn't sexy. Talking. So much talking. The kid never shut up. Not ever. Was that normal? Who had whole conversations at every single life event? Well, Peter Parker did. Continuously. "Shut up," the much older man grumbled, though he didn't follow that by a 'get off my lawn, you damned kids' or anything else quite so miserly. He thought that was pretty generous of him.

The constant reminder that he hadn't just hired someone discreet to take care of this itch and instead was rocking his way to completion inside of a minor really ought to have clued him in on the new level of low he was currently hovering at. How old was Peter anyway? Thirteen? Seventeen? Well, seventeen was almost legal. The numbers could be fudged. Thirteen was bad, bad territory.

But so was Peter's actual age, which was both higher than thirteen and lower than seventeen and absolutely, without a doubt, still in the very real world of statutory rape. Tony didn't care. He'd care later, after he disposed of some DNA evidence in a condom that he absolutely wore because one, he was not an animal (well, that was debatable now) and two, he had a small issue with fluids and bodily contact and... Other things.

He let his head fall back, his watch cold against warm skin as he moved his hand from one hip up the small (very small) of Peter's back to grip his har and increase the angle of his thrust. The bed was not pleased and the springs did what springs do best and made way too much noise. Thankfully, Peter's very attractive aunt (the person he'd actually come over to see) seemed to be out. There had been a note on the fridge. Casserole in the oven. Probably inedible. Why was he thinking of that now anyway?

A few minutes ago, Peter had made this sort of howling noise. If he kept howling, he would stop talking. Tony would stop thinking. Win-win situation right there.

Being quiet wasn't the easiest thing for someone like Peter. The boy was blessed with an inquisitive mind that always was bogged down with questions and a wit that was beyond his years. In a situation such as this, with Tony Stark taking his virginity, he wanted to echo only what he knew - of porn where the only way to show appreciation for what was being done was to be loud. Then Tony told him to shut up and, yeah, this wasn't a porno. Though the situation in which it happened was actually quite a lot like some that he'd seen. Teen has sex with father figure was a whole selection on whatever site he visited on the regular.

Except this wasn't some cheap adult video, despite his and Tony's placement in each other's lives and the cheap looking set they were in (Peter's bedroom, but still). The fact that this was wrong wasn't foreign to Peter's mind. At the first taste of alcohol on Tony's lips he knew that what they were doing was fucked up, but he didn't stop it. Didn't even try. If anything, he pulled Tony in and he felt as little shame about it as he could feel at the moment.

It helped that the only thing he could really feel was pleasure once Tony adjusted his thrusts again. The older man slid against a spot inside Peter the boy didn't even know existed and pulled out noises from him that he couldn't form into coherent words, just slurs and moans of pleasure. He should care that if Aunt May was home there would be no way in hell that this would be cool. He should care, but he doesn't.

All he cares about right now is keeping that indescribable pleasure coming and Mr. Stark thrusting inside of him. His own cock bounces against his stomach and he goes to grab it, stroking feverishly as though he'd just discovered how good it felt.

He'd never been so happy Aunt May had to work the night shift.

"Don't. Know," and Peter's biting his lip, really. He's trying to be quiet. "How anyon- ffffu- stays quiet."

There was no correction this time. He had his own sins to worry about for the moment -- or ignore, or enjoy -- and he was bound and determined to enjoy himself and to erase the little pieces of his inner workings that ate away at his soul and left him a shell. The hand in Peter's hair relented just a little, nails scratching at his scalp as if he was a dog, before Tony got back to deep, precise thrusts that continued to make Peter's thighs tremble before he came.

Had this been dear Aunt May of the various nut loafs and casseroles, he would have reached around and fondled her nipples while he collapsed against her back for the approximately ten seconds it took to fill the condom inside of her and find the feel of semen cradling his junk to become uncomfortable.

But this was not Aunt May and Spinderling (or whatever) was trying to yank his own junk off attempting to leave a wet spot on the bed. Yeah. Tony didn't help there. He did lean forward, hands on either side of Peter's head, belly cradled against his back, and breathed heavy, alcohol laden final moans against his ear while he waited for the stickiness to ruin the pleasantness inside of the kid to pull out.

He shouldn't be finding this sexy. Peter shouldn't like the fact that he has a drunk billionaire that he knows, he just knows didn't come here to see him finishing off inside of him, but he does like it. He likes the weight of Tony when he's pushed up against him, rutting out the last bits of his orgasm. He doesn't even mind the smell of liquor that still lingers on the man's breath when he hears those last few moans right in his ear. In fact, Tony slumping on top of him helps.

When Peter cums shortly after he's all limbs, hips shaking and thighs trembling as he thrusts into the sheets beneath him. It won't be sexy in about thirty seconds, but right now? As he rides out his orgasm with Tony more or less trapping him between the weight of his body and the mattress? It's the hottest thing Peter's ever experienced and without a doubt the most pleasureable.

He's breathing heavy as he comes to, hips still rolling slightly in the mess he'd made beneath him. Then he starts actually laughing. Just a small, short chuckle, but a laugh nonetheless.

"Never feels like that when I'm by myself." His words are breathy, stuck between sounding like disbelief and bewilderment that, yeah, sex was that good.

"Uh huh, yeah," Tony found himself saying once the chattered started up again. He squeezed his eyes shut and did his best not to really focus on anything right now. Of course, for a genius, when he wasn't focused, everything just sort of decompartmentizaled and rushed back in to say hello in the daylight. Shit.

So he'd just raped a kid that was definitely too young to give consent. It didn't matter if he liked it. Or if thirteen to seventeen year olds frequently slept around. They did that with each other, not with forty-nine to fifty year old men who didn't generally go for men (boys) and didn't generally do this where there was a questionable level of cleanliness.

Tony pushed his forehead against Peter's shoulder before he got up, vacating the pulsing, tight little cavity he had spent the last fifteen minutes (okay, that was generous) violating.

He looked at his mess and pulled the used condom off before headed to the bedroom door to listen for anything moving or making noise out there.

Nothing.

"Stay put."

He did not need his guilt speckled with a naked kid regailing him about how awesome and amazing that had been.

Tony got up and suddenly Peter was empty. So, so empty. That was the only way to describe it - as the loss that it was. It's not like Peter was some insatiable sex fiend who wanted to be filled up, but after the initial pain of having a dick up his ass, it felt kind of nice. That was something he'd honestly never considered doing, but then Tony was there and inside of him and then it was over. Just like that.

The loss of his virginity always seemed like a huge deal; like something that would feel monumental. In the moment he felt something for it - a new feeling he couldn't quite place until he was feeling fantastic and all just from Tony. Now that it was over though, he didn't feel like he lost anything. Just that it was done. He immediately blamed Hollywood for his unrealistic expectations.

Getting up was more difficult than he thought it'd be. He was over being in the wetness of his own spunk though and pushed himself up, grunting as he moved his legs for the first time. It didn't hurt, but it ached for sure. His eyes darted to where Tony was at the door as he swung his legs over, sitting with them hanging off the edge of his bed now.

"She won't be home until morning, dude. Night shift." Peter brings a hand to point to his skull. "You coulda just asked. No one's in the apartment. Spidey-sense, remember?" He hoped Tony remembered the term he coined to refer to his extra abilities.

More words.

Did he cut a fine figure, standing in expensive socks that he slouched down over the last however long it had been? He didn't have pants around his ankles unlike some other people in the room, though, so that was a plus. It was foiled up with his Iron Man brand underwear somewhere with his shoes. He didn't immediately think to look for them, not that it mattered. His back, bare and covered in small scars that spanned a distance between Afghanistan to Loki to Ultron to Siberia. They were small but there. It was easier to feel them than to see them.

"You make enough noise that if there was anyone here, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he snapped back. "Or maybe we would. Maybe you'd come all the way down to the station with me to remind me about your tingling." It was harsh. Tony didn't mean to be harsh--

Okay. Yes he did. He was a harsh man with harsh lines. The people that made it in didn't make it too far in. He didn't let himself get vulnerable. Just sloppy.

"I'll be back."

The bathroom was small. There was rust around the drain in the sink. Tony wadded up the condom in toilet paper and flushed it. The pipes could hold one little unflushable. It disappeared a moment later and he ran the water to clean himself up. A second flush down the toilet went all of the evidence.

Tony returned to Peter with hard eyes and a towel, both of which were thrown in his direction. He was still half hard, still impressive, as he folded his arms over his chest and stood by the kid's hamper.

"Thst shouldn't have happened." But it did. How cliche of him to say that.

Peter stared at Tony when the words about following him to the station left his lips. He knew Tony could be crude, he'd been blunt with Peter before on more than on occasion, but now? Seriously? With words like that? Talking about the legal severity of the situation only brought it to the forefront of the room making it so the tension could be cut with a knife. He knew what they'd done was questionable, but it only brought the questions such as - did laws of humans apply to those of the Avengers? Did they apply to superheroes? It was a fight they'd fought before and one that Peter wasn't going to start again now, especially considering the side that he was on when the question of whether it was okay for him to get fucked by Tony Stark wasn't on the table.

He's mostly still when Tony stalks off to the bathroom, only moving to kick and pull the rest of his costume off of his lower half, throwing it into the hamper shortly before Tony returns. He'll wash it tonight along with his sheets, erase all evidence of him being Spider-Man or anything that had happened in his bedroom before Aunt May returns from work.

Peter catches the towel that Tony throws, his enhanced reflexes helping him not to be hit in the face. He stands and begins to clean off, his eyes not leaving the other's body as he does so, specifically Tony's still slightly hard dick. Now he knows why the other acts the way he does.

"Uh, ya think, Mr. Stark?" Peter questions, brow raised. "You mean you didn't come all the way to Queens to have sex with someone you could've just called to Avengers Tower who'd be there in five minutes?"

He was under no assumption that he was Tony's first choice, but it didn't matter any more.

"No regrets here," he followed up with, tossing the towel into the hamper next to Tony. His eyes trailed down again to the man's length, eyeing it.

"Looks like part of you doesn't have any either."

Opening and shutting his mouth, Tony looked up at a weird stain in the ceiling (all apartments in Queens had weird stairs on the ceiling), and then huffed, side stepping the hamper. "Really?" Sex jokes? If he was going to be a jerk about it, Peter got to be a jerk about it too. He did, in fact, drive all the way to Queens from the compound, not the Tower, thank you, to have sex with someone that couldn't just been there in five minutes. Peter was good at what he did, but getting to upstate New York took a little bit of time and effort... And people would know. FRIDAY would have catalogued it. And Tony hadn't wanted to be that guy who made booty calls to pretty aunts of the kids they recruited to back up the team when half of them went missing.

He was not thrilled with Peter Parker right now. Especially when the kid was eyeballing him like that.

"My list of regrets is too long that I had to close it to new entries," he said, less bitterness to it than mirth. He didn't find any of this to be particularly funny, but it was just another event in a long line of them that made up a grand total of failures equal to the dollar value in his bank account.

So, sizable.

"Don't you have a math or English test tomorrow to study for? Or a bank robbery to stop?" He had to admit. It felt better when he was a dick. He was less vulnerable. "Because I have about five other stops to make." He glanced at his watch. "You probably should do your laundry at some point. And eat some of that casserole. Or here. Order a pizza."

Tony Stark bent to grab the pants he finally saw by the desk to fish out his wallet.

Yeah, he was about to sink even lower right now and leave cash behind. It was a good thing Banner went missing. He was not equipped at all for hearing about tonight and the massive amounts of self loathing Tony was going to wash down with some scotch.

Yeah, sex jokes.

Peter's eyes follow Tony's to the stain the other always looked at whenever the billionaire found himself in his bedroom. Peter had no explanation for it, it was there when he moved in. He too wondered what the hell it was, but some questions were better left unanswered. What he did know is that Tony made the move to make him feel small. Whether it was intentional or not, he wasn't letting it work this time. He wasn't going to feel small in the eyes of Tony Stark just because the other wanted him to. Not after what just happened. He could be called Spider-Boy, Spider-Kid, Spiderling, or whatever the hell else Tony wanted to throw at him to stomp down his importance before, but for less than fifteen minutes they were equals. They had done something together other than punch Captain America in the face. They were joined.

"Don't," he spoke, voice equal parts hard and shaky. In a moment he was on Tony, hand reaching for his wrist and squeezing with just the slightest bit of his enhanced strength. It was surreal to be here, like this, with someone he'd done nothing but idolize.

"First, it's summer, so...no," he looked Tony straight in the eye, a flame behind them he only got in his fight to save others, duller and almost diminished in this situation, but there nonetheless.

"Second, if you had anywhere else to be you and I both know this would be the last place you'd visit." And then Peter went quiet and pulled back his hand, letting that sink in.

"Uh, just who are you trying to make feel bad here? Because you're being a little hard on yourself." Tony had painfully large eyes for a man his eyes, lashes much too long, but the skin around them lined harshly from what life did to people. Even the rich and the famous. He hadn't expected to be standing here in a kid's bedroom in nothing but socks and the smell of sex in his nostrils, but there it was. An act had been started and finished and nothing could take it back.

He wouldn't have agreed with Peter on their equal footing. They hadn't been joined. They hadn't been on common ground. It had been fucking. The very essence of the act, other than for procreation or pleasure, was all a power play. Tony had sat on that bed and had kept an arm around Peter and had spoken about things that hadn't mattered in the long run until either he or the kid (he didn't know) made some sort or ridiculous move to kiss the other.

Maybe for that moment there had been an equality there. Tony had wanted the comfort of it. He hadn't shied away from any of it.

But of course, the moment he'd shoved Peter onto his knees and shoved his cock into him, equality went out the window. It had just been about fucking then. It had been about a welcoming, warm embrace. And now it was over. Well, it was suppose to be over. But the press of a supple body against his own which just happened to smell animalisticly like him did make him twitch.

"For real, man?"

Peter's brow raised then and, no, he didn't miss the way that Tony twitched. Mainly because Peter's own length hadn't softened completely and was threatening to get fully hard again as he pressed their bodies together, his cock sliding against the man's leg. It wasn't a position he'd ever thought he'd be in with Tony, but really no position they'd been in tonight was anything Peter had ever dreamed of.

"You're telling me out of everyone you know, even of people who live in this apartment, I was your first choice?" There was really nothing Tony could say to make Peter think that, yeah, he chose to get drunk and then come over to the Parker residence and fuck him of all people. Maybe Tony didn't have anyone left to mess around with. Maybe he was looking for Peter's aunt. Maybe nobody else would put up with him the way he knew Peter would, or maybe Peter was just an easy target. Maybe Tony knew what would happen if he came here, but how could he? Even Peter didn't know it was something he wanted until it was already happening.

A hand trails down Tony's chest, landing on his waist and sliding down to grasp at his length in the way he'd done so earlier. Maybe Tony would push him away now that he'd sobered up some or maybe not, but he couldn't ignore that the man's interest was still there.

With a sharp and regretful inhale of breath, Tony gave Peter a shove backwards. Yes, the kid was capable of lifting trucks and he had his hand around his cock but it was a choice Tony had to make here. And he probably deserved to be castrated too. He could probably get a staring role as Hedwig now.

He was much harder now than he had been, and if he was standing in front of anyone else in the world (over eighteen), he would have laughed and said they he wasn't even on Viagra. At his age, getting another erection so quickly was pretty well exciting. He just couldn't use it again.

He didn't have another condom.

And the only person here was severely underage.

"I didn't come here to fuck anyone," Tony said. Shouted. Okay. There went his volume control. He was just feeling a little emotional and a little confused and he was pretty sure that good old Jailbait here was going to ruin him. "Fine, yes, you win. I wanted some company. Preferably female. Preferably no one that knows or cares about the mess I made in Germany. Or about what happened to Cap-- or any of it. Sometimes it sucks to be me, Pete. I know it doesn't look like it, but it does. I did not mean to come over here and--"

Tony wasn't sure if Peter had crept closer while he was talking or if he, in his wild need to make long and lofty speeches that gave away too much but he would deny later anyway, had closed the gap, but Peter was close and watching him with adoring eyes that didn't take any of his bullshit and--

He was sunk. He was needy. He was lonely. Peter smelled like him. He grabbed him by the arm and pressed his lips to his mouth. It was sloppier than he liked but what did a thirteen to seventeen year old kid know about kissing anyway?

Tony pushed him back.

It's not like Peter wasn't prepared for such an outcome, but it still stung. What didn't sting was that Tony was clearly harder than before he started touching him again. He could see it with his own two eyes, clear as day. That didn't change the fact that Tony was rejecting him and that, yeah, he probably had it coming. Seeing this from Tony's eyes was difficult since, well, he wasn't him. All Peter could see was that they had sex once and now the other was trying to either shame him for it, deny it, or stop it from happening again - perhaps all of them.

Tony shouted, actually shouted at him. Peter's brows raised, taken back that he'd seen the man lose control. He pictured Stark like someone he aspired to be - together, rich, and someone who helped people. Whenever he'd see him in the papers or on television his heart would soar with hope and now here was his hero in front of him - naked, shouting, and quite possibly breaking down in front of him. He was a man much older than him and all Peter could feel was sorry for him. He wanted to help him, wanted to be there for him as he navigated through whatever the hell was going on with him.

They were closer than before. Peter himself wasn't sure if he'd moved closer or Tony had, but there they were. In one swift motion they were kissing again and Peter could feel his heart soar not unlike it did when he was younger.

He kissed back with as much fervor as he could muster, all lips and tongue and doing the best that he could. His hands reached for Tony, pulling him in by the hips and grasping both of their hard lengths together. One hand held Tony close to him and the other stroked the two of them sloppily, skin sliding against sensitive skin.

Though Tony might take a moment and try to decide how he felt about being with someone, age regardless, that could throw him out of the window (he did not have any passing fantasies concerning Loki minus one or two wet dreams that did not at all count so shut up), but instead, he took the moment to put some distance between him and somehow that was so bad for him it was probably worse than licking palladium. He broke the kiss and, regretfully, removed his cock from the equation.

Sloppy wasn't cute. Okay, it was pretty cute. It was also obvious that it was a move from a kid that watched a whole lot of gay porn on the off chance that some billionaire that made him a rad new suit and took him to Germany would show up drunk in his room one night and not push him away the first time one of them had initiated a kiss.

"Get dressed."

He was sober enough to drive now if he had been sober enough to drive an hour ago. If not, well, that's what FRIDAY was for. Either way they were not staying here.

"Write your aunt a note about staying at...what's his name's house..." Actually, Tony had no idea if there even was a 'what's his name' but he assumed that Peter had some friends and at least one was a male. "And meet me downstairs in ten minutes."

They were not staying here. That bed was gross. Tony dressed quickly, not giving Peter much time to sort of gawk at or think about the implications of what Tony Stark, THE Tony Stark, was asking of him. He wasn't even thinking too clearly himself. They couldn't just drive back to the compound. Vision never knocked. Rhodey was constantly falling over and needing help up despite claiming he did not, in fact, need help up, and there were too many cameras all over the place.

Tony was responsible for the last one but he'd blame someone else.

He wasted almost no time getting back to his car. He started it up. The engine ran just fine. A minute later, he moved two feet forward. And then he backed up again. Shit. So he was really doing this.

Everything happened so fast that Peter barely had a moment to get a word in and if he did he said nothing. He didn't speak when he wanted to call out Tony's age showing when he told Peter to write a note to his aunt. It was endearing that Tony thought that him leaving May a note wouldn't make her immediately thing that he was kidnapped. He had a cell phone (as shitty as it was). He would text. He didn't often stay at Ned's house (okay, never) but it was something that was believable, especially after Aunt May got home from a night shift. Try as she might, she could never stay up. It would give Peter a few hours...to go fuck Tony Stark.

Reality of what was happening hit Peter when Tony exited the room. His heart raced with excitement, but it took a full ten seconds to realize what the hell he needed to actually do. He couldn't walk out of his apartment naked. He couldn't get down to Tony's car naked. So, he got dressed. He did it swiftly and without much thought as he did most mornings, but he got it done. That took all of two minutes so he went to sit on his bed to eat up the other eight until his eyes found that still mildly wet spot from before.

Gross.

So, he pulled off the sheets in a haste, throwing them into the hamper and putting some more clothes on top of it. There's no way Aunt May would do his laundry before he returned, but he couldn't be too careful - not with what was at stake.

He half expects Tony to not be waiting for him, but when he exits the building, backpack with his costume inside in tow, there's the car. Peter pauses as the door closes behind him, but only for a second before he's scurrying into Tony's vehicle. He tosses his backpack to the bottom of the passenger's side and slips inside, shutting the door behind him.

Peter rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans a few times after he buckles the seatbelt, letting out a huff. "Didn't think you'd stay," he lets out an obvious fake laugh, eyes darting over to Tony for approval in his tension breaker.

It certainly would have gone over really well if Peter had brought up the age gap. Yep. The car would absolutely have not been there (all right, maybe that wouldn't have been true). It was bad enough that he was having an existential crisis while Peter was having a good old time waiting exactly ten minutes to come down. He would need to stop being literal.

He really needed to stop thinking that this was going to continue, that's what he really needed to do. No plans for the future would ever make this all right. Having a kid get into his car expressly for-- Tony had his head on the steering wheel until he heard Peter clambor to figure out how to open the door. With the darkness and the extreme tint on the windows, it wasn't like the boy could really see him anyway from the street but it made his head shoot up. FRIDAY was kind enough to help Peter with the door as Tony eyed whatever gadgets he had on the dashboard. There was a full eleven inch screen on the consol between them, detailing a map to Long Island.

Tony never stayed at the mansion in Long Island. He grew up there. He was there until the morning he heard about his parents' acc-- Murder. White sheets covered everything, though he did have a cleaning service in weekly because the thought of dust on anything he owned bothered him.

Once Perer had buckled in, big, sad eyes narrowed slightly. "Hadn't planned on staying," he admitted, putting the car into gear before pulling out onto the road. The traffic was lighter than usual during rush hour but it was still a borough of New York.

There was no such thing as light traffic.

"I'm glad you did."

Peter wanted to lament for the other five stops Tony had made up that he needed to get to, but he didn't want to push his luck. He could only push being cocky so much before it wasn't cute anymore, he was pretty sure. If Tony's words were true then at any given point he could kick Peter out of the car and this whole thing would be finished before it even started. Which, what the hell were they even doing? Was this Tony's silent way of giving into this whole situation? Of them being fuck buddies? Or fuck...whatever the hell they were?

Peter had questions, but he kept quiet. This situation felt very of the moment. Unplanned, as Tony would say. Right now he needed to just enjoy the ride. His fingers drummed on his thighs for a moment until his eyes found the screen on the console that separated him and Tony. It took less than a second for his New York mind to recognize where the map lead to.

"Long Island? Who can afford to live on Long Island?" Well, lots of people, just not Peter Parker.

"Wait, you live on Long Island, don't you? Or, like, have a house?" He slumps in his seat dramatically, bringing a hand to run over his face. He knew Tony Stark was a billionaire, but what even was a billion dollars? Peter had no reference in his head for anything over a couple thousand dollars. It just wasn't conceivable in his little life.

"Jesus, Mr. Stark. What don't you have?"

"A sense of decency," Tony remarked immediately, as they headed onto the highway. The road for the next twenty minutes woul be even and quick. The lights along the side of the road and half a dozen or so cars ahead of and behind them would be the only lights flashing over them as they moved. Tony knew that Peter was looking at him. Studying him. Maybe it was only for a second, maybe it was only to gauge his reaction, but Tony had to admit that he liked the spotlight.

Being one of Earth's Mightiest was becoming less and less special. The Avengers had split up. He was still more or less retired anyway and there were more and more super humans coming into the spotlight every day. He didn't need to be the one any only. He didn't need to have all eyes on him. But he liked it.

He liked the way, however childish, Peter idolized him.

He even kind of liked how the kid still called him 'Mr. Stark' even after he'd had his dick inside of him.

"Okay. We have to have some ground rules." It felt like he was planning out future conquests. He ignored that feeling. "You're about seven thousand times stronger than I am. So the minute you come to your idiot senses, you get out of my house. Got it?"

Well, it seemed as though Peter's questions were being answered. Not directly, no, but in a roundabout way, perhaps. Tony wasn't saying that this was going to be a regular thing. He wasn't saying that it would be any more than wherever they were going to let out whatever sexual tension was left between them. However, it did sound like Tony was giving into this. Like he'd thrown in the towel on having any sort of lawful decency and was leaving it up to Peter to say when it was done. For a moment he looked away from Tony, smiling into a hand he'd brought up to his face. Did he win? Not that he was really fighting for much, but was this happening? Whatever this was?

"Okay, that's like..fair. I might be stronger, but you sure had a hold on me back at my place, Mr. Stark." Was Peter grinning like an idiot as he referenced the way Tony held him down while they fucked? Maybe. It's not like he was hiding it as he turned his face again to look at Tony.

"And do you mean when I come to my senses or just...when I cum? Because those are different and only one is gonna happen." Now Peter was back in a comfortable place where he could joke just a bit. He wasn't walking on egg shells as they drove to wherever the hell they were going. This wasn't something fragile that was going to break and slip out of his hands at any second. It was tangible, something with real foundation.

He was fucking Tony Stark. Like, for real.

"Do you kiss your aunt with that mouth?" Tony shot back. He was not feeling more comfortable about this, he was just more resigned to it. He was a grown man, he knew how to put his dick away and ignore urges when he got them, but for Tony, it was a lot less about the sex and a lot more about feeling something. It was messed up that he had to take it out on a kid, whom he knew adored him, instead of anyone else at all of consenting age, but that was the way Tony Stark did things. When he fell, he fell hard. He didn't just sip the Kool-Aid, he made cocktails with it. "Actually, you know what? Don't answer that. I really don't want to make this weirder than it is."

He took a sharp right down the ramp and sped through beautiful little towns that dotted Long Island, neighborhoods of people with too much money and shopping centers with high end stores. By the time the had gotten close to the mansion with itt's high stone and ivy walls and literal wrought iron gate across the driveway, Peter had gone from annoying to endearing to cute to annoying and twice, stupidly sexy, all before starting back again at the beginning.

The gate slid open when Tony told FRIDAY to do it and he pulled the sports car up the twisting driveway to the massive front doors.

"Try not to touch too much will you," Tony warned as he parked the dark and got out of it. There was no one at home but a few years back he'd installed automatic lights that would go on when the front gate was accessed. This was not Tony's idea of a beautiful building. It was old, full of dark wood and dark furniture. There were paintings and portraits all over the place, a grand piano... And many, many rooms for Peter to pick from.

Peter hadn't been to Long Island in years. There was nothing out here for someone who didn't live in the immediate area. All of Peter's friend(s) lived around him in the neighborhood and crime rarely happened out in Long Island. Besides, the majority of the skyscrapers were downtown Manhattan and that was his stomping ground. Along with a variety of other local heroes who decided to jump out of the woodwork shortly after The Avengers made themselves known, but Peter wasn't worried about them. He'd already fought with (one half of) The Avengers. Nobody was coming for his spot on the waiting list.

He guessed he shouldn't have been surprised when they rolled up into one of the nicest residences he'd ever seen, but he still was. Why some got to live like kings and someone like Aunt May got to live in a shoddy apartment in Queens with questionable stains on their ceilings was something he still couldn't wrap his head around. But questioning and dismantling the hierarchy of money and power was something saved for another day.

"What's too much?" Peter questioned as he stepped inside after Tony, eyes scanning the same white, dull sheets thrown over pretty much any and everything that could've made the place feel like a home, save for a few select paintings and pieces of furniture. "Because it looks like you've already protected everything from...well, anything." He remarked, taking a few more steps into the entryway.

Peter turned on his heel and looked to Tony, hands a little unsteady from nerves. He was riding high from the endorphins before, but now he was here. In what was apparently Tony's (other) secret mansion and they were alone. He moves in closer, as close as they were back in his apartment and he looks up, locking eyes.

"So...are we doing this here or...?"

Yeah, Peter. Right here, on the floor of the living room with the ghosts of his childhood for company literally represented by sheets on furniture.

Tony hadn't responded to the first question and he wasn't going to respond to this one either. He moved away, far away enough that Peter might think he had said or done something to make Tony change his mind. Tony didn't really change his mind, not once it was made up. It had been awhile since he had done this...taken someone to bed like this. The last person he had slept with had been a girlfriend he had been unable to commit to despite the fact that she loved him and cared for his needs and overlooked all of his craziness to a point where he kept almost getting her killed.

A smart man would have just gone out to a club, found a tall strawberry blonde to make him forget absolutely every piece of trouble in his life for a few hours, and sent her home in the morning.

Tony Stark was a genius but not a smart man.

He started up the stairs, pulling off his jacket and then his tie, both of which landed on the runner, before he disappeared around the landing. That would be Peter's cue to follow. The master bedroom was not the way his parents had left it. Tony lived for a few years here after they had passed and while most of the house had been left as it was, the bedroom and his dad's garage and workshop had gotten upgrades. By the time Peter made it up to him, following a trail of clothing, Tony was standing in dim light from the hall, waiting to pull a sorce of torturous comfort into his arms.

It was a kinder kiss this time. Gentle. Sweet almost. Deep. So deep. Tony would take Peter's breath away with just his tongue carefully moving against his lips.

Peter fucked up.

That was the only thing he could think of when Tony pulled away. He pushed too quickly and presented himself too easily. He should've played hard to get or fell into a game of cat and mouse or just...something. He should've done anything different and now he was all the way in fucking Long Island and he was pretty sure he could try to swing home, but there weren't enough tall buildings to make that easy and then his mind just stopped. It shut the hell up and his eyes trailed Tony's frame as he made his way up the stairs and, wait. Was that a jacket just laid on the stairs? Peter started to follow him and, yeah, that was Tony's tie that had just fallen to the floor.

Peter didn't fuck up. He picked a wrong location, sure, but he didn't fuck up.

It took him all of a millisecond to kick off his shoes and pull off his socks. He gets undressed eagerly and a lot less seductively than Tony does, but the man isn't in sight, so who cared? His clothing leaves a trail up the stairs as well, but it ends about a third of the way that Tony's does. He clearly doesn't have as much restraint as the older man, but it'd come with age. Maybe.

Soon enough he's standing just as naked as the other is, staring at him from not too far across the hallway. They were here. Again. Not in Peter's small apartment, but in Tony's domain. In a place that (hopefully) he was comfortable with and that would be better than an apartment Peter shared with his aunt. It didn't make the situation okay by any means, but it did help. This wasn't terrible in Peter's eyes at all and hopefully it wasn't looking too bad in Tony's either.

Peter thinks he gets the answer to that question when Tony starts kissing him. His body tenses at first, but within a moment he's putty in Tony's arms. This was all still new to him despite the change of status in his virginity merely an hour before. He tries his best, mimicking the other's movements for now. Tongue meets tongue and lips meet lips and soon Peter's hands find the man's waist. He pulls back for a second just to catch his breath, but then his mouth is meeting Tony's again and he's putting pressure and passion behind his own kiss now. He pulls Tony in, their naked bodies against one another and he rolls his hips, his own length already nearly hard and excited just from seeing Tony in the flesh.

Ah, young blood.

Though Peter was ever eager, which was not wholly bad, Tony wanted to retain as much control of the situation as possible. It was his own sin that caused this and sure, he didn't believe in sin or in God but that wouldn't stop the law from dragging him down. Not even his billions could do that if he got himself caught. He took Peter by the cheeks, slipped his hands down his back and then guided him into bed.

The kid wouldn't be regulated to his knees this time and Tony wasn't going to rush the grand finale. That said, he had no interest in using his mouth at the moment, not with dried fluids clinging to his skin. He still had his idiosyncrasies but he also was too impatient to throw Peter into the shower either and he didn't trust him to scrub up well enough anyway.

There were other things to do with his mouth besides and he took his good old time riling Peter up with caresses and warm lips trailing a tender throat and moving over his ears.

This was not about romance. Tony had given up on romance halfway through his relationship with Pepper because it was unrealistic. That didn't mean that he couldn't take his time, however.

Why he finally reached to open the well stocked nightstand drawer, he was fully hard and no longer willing to tease. Gold foil hit the ground, the cap on actual lube snapped shut and before too long, he was once more seated inside of Peter. The only difference was that he could see his face now.

Everything was different this time. Not just the setting, but the way that Tony was handling this. For starters he wasn't drunk, Peter didn't have his costume around his ankles, and it wasn't needy. Well, not as needy as before, anyway. Even in the air there wasn't an unrecognized tension. Though Tony wouldn't classify this as romance it's definitely the closest Peter Parker had ever come to it. He appreciates the gentle erotica of it all. He was already riled up before Tony began to work him with his mouth and by the end of it he was all but begging for the man to be back inside of him.

He's still stretched a little from their first time, though nearly not as much as he should be. He's thankful for his superpowers that made him that much more able to handle pretty much anything; including Tony's dick inside of him. Peter's hands find Tony's biceps when he's all the way in, squeezing gently as he adjusts to the feeling again. His eyes close and he winces for a moment, but as soon as he relaxes it all becomes more bearable. Besides, he knows how it'll feel as soon as Tony starts fucking him - indescribable.

"Ffff- Mr. Stark," he breathes out, eyes finally opening to look up to the man balls deep inside of him.

It's so much different this time. So different and so much better. Before there was pleasure, there was no doubt, but now he feels a connection. Try as Tony might to deny it, Peter at least feels something. Maybe it's the fact that he's staring at his idol as raw as he can be. Maybe it's the fact that Peter has never been more vulnerable and he can look Tony in the eye now.

Whatever it is, it has his heart racing and his cock throbbing. He backs his hips up, trying to urge Tony to move.

"Do I gotta be quiet this time?"

It wasn't romance. It didn't matter if Peter wrongly thought it might be because it wasn't. "Knock yourself out," he breathed, before returning to the thoughts in his own head. There was no wining and dining (he didn't need to add providing drugs to minors to his rap sheet), no presents (the new suit was more like charity than anything else), this wasn't the start of a relationship.

Not even when Peter came across his belly or Tony filled another condom up, he had little intention of making this anything but a really badly thought out night.

Or short weekend.

What day even was it?

Tony ignored the thought as he eased himself into Peter one more time and leaned in to catch annoyingly talkative lips. It was sweet only because Tony was tired and because he was getting a shower. Immediately.

He paused at the doorway, letting the boy stretch out in a bed bigger than any he likely had ever slept in before, and, condom in one hand, leaned against the door jam with the light from the hall haloing his shoulders and hair.

"Coming?" Yeah, what the hell was going on? Did he just invite Peter Parker to the shower with him too?

For not being a superhuman Tony could sure knock the wind out of Peter. He was a disheveled mess by the time it was all over; hair going every which way but the way it was when they'd started, cheeks red from exertion, and he didn't even want to think about the mix of fluids on his crotch.

All throughout Peter couldn't stop thinking about how much better this was. Hell, it was incredible the first time, but now his lips were raw and red from kissing and he felt overstimulated from pleasure. He though that this must be why people smoked cigarettes after having sex in movies. Tony could deny it all he wanted, but their closeness was something that couldn't go without notice. The way that Peter clung to the older male like his life depended on it while he came; the hot moans of the other man in his ear as he did so - all of it meant something. At least it did to Peter.

"Gimme a sec," he breathed out, lifting his hips experimentally to see if the ache inside of him was manageable. Like most things, it was. "Let a guy recover, will ya?"

Then within moments Peter was on Tony, hugging him close from behind and burying his head in his shoulders for a moment before herding them both into the bathroom.

"We showering together? Or are ya gonna make me watch?"

"Pete--" Jesus, this kid! Tony tried to turn around or dig his feet in but that was mostly impossible with the momentum of the boy pressed against him. Tony ended up catching the edge of the door with one hand, the bathroom lights flickering in at the presence of another person, and he caught Peter around the waist with one arm. "Chill out. Relax a little."

He was not as young as he use to be, and he certainly was never going to keep up to a whatever age Peter happened to be year old. He could try but-- Not tonight. He'd had a little taste of both worlds and now he was going to shower with Tony Stark (and just shower) and then they were going to bed.

No wet spot. No smell of sex making the morning awkward. No more Peter Parker playing grab ass. What had he done? Created a monster?

Tony told FRIDAY to start the water and she heated it to his precise specifications before he pried himself out of teenage arms and held open the door for the boy to slip through.

If the house was warm and cozy and blanketed and the bedroom was insanely comfortable, then the shower was ultra luxurious. Tony had nice smelling bath products too, which he lathered up liberally with as if he was alone and there wasn't a highly excitable kid grinning from ear to ear in afterglow.

"Err, sorry. Sorry."

The words came out through gritted teeth, Peter feeling genuinely bad about the unfortunate side effects that came with his superpowers. While, yes, in size he was the smaller of the two, that didn't mean he wasn't the most powerful. He could lift cars and take punches straight to the face without flinching. Tony, try as he might, could not. Remembering that when the other was supposed to be stronger was difficult. Tony was older, he was bigger, and his muscles were...well, more there than Peter thought they would be. He just couldn't match up with Peter's strength, which not many could.

The shower was something that Peter never dreamed of actually seeing. Hell, the whole bathroom looked like something out of his more rational sci-fi fantasies. It was difficult for him not to freak out or point out anything as being beyond luxurious, he wasn't necessarily a simple guy, but his life wasn't anything like Tony's. Which is why he let out a low whistle as he stepped into the shower, eyes roaming around every inch. The scientist inside of him wanted to take apart the entire system in the house and figure out how exactly it worked, but he held back. Obviously.

"Is there anything you have that isn't over the top? I mean, even your underwear is branded, Mr. Stark." Yeah, he looked at Tony's underwear. How couldn't he when he saw the man taking them off in his apartment? That wasn't a sight he was going to forget anytime soon.

Peter followed suit with Tony's cleaning rituals, scrubbing himself all over with the luxurious products and yes, he got everywhere. Having lube all over wasn't exactly a feeling he wanted to get used to anytime soon. He, too, was grateful for the shower.

"Here," and then Peter was rubbing Tony's back with the excess soap he had, fingers trailing lower and lower until he was rubbing over hips and cheeks.

Peter was going to have to get use to a lot of pulled faces for answers. The multiple shower heads in the spa shower allowed plenty of room for the two of them, plenty of places to wash and rinse, and Peter didn't have to get all up in his business, but of course he did. "You're barking up the wrong tree," Tony said into the spray, rubbing water from his face along with with suds and shampoo. He didn't even glance over his shoulder at the boy and he left the exact reason for the words open to interpretation.

He had a feeling that Peter was going to just ask after it anyway, always curious, always wanting the right answers, and Tony stopped him after one more pull of clear water through his hair by turning to half pin Peter against a cold wall. Their bodies didn't touch and Tony was naked and at a disadvantage but he could at least pull a little bit of awe still from the boy. Hopefully.

"I get it. First time, right?" Well. Times. "I remember how it was for me too. You get-- attached. And I know that is pretty much your whole thing, but don't. Not to me. Not to this. Is it going to be a problem?"

Ow, that hurt.

Not being pinned against a wall, no. It's not like he'd never been pinned down before and it'd take a hell of a lot more than being manhandled by Stark to do some real damage to him. The words, however? Those stung. At first they did and then they just grew into being annoying. He knew people who just had a casual hookup and then...that was it. That he understood. He wasn't foreign to hookup culture. What he was foreign to was having sex, being driven to the childhood home of that person, having sex again, and then being told not to get attached. That didn't make sense.

"Is what gonna be a problem?" Peter's brow raised and he looked Tony up and down for a moment. "I'm not the one who came looking to, like, do it." He wasn't, to be fair. He may or may not have been the one to initiate it, but Tony knew what he was doing. Right?

"I didn't drive you all the way out to Long Island to do it again. I didn't, y'know, act the way I did for nothing." Peter was referring to the intimacy of it all. They were there, together. Present. At least Tony was more present than the first time, that was for sure.

"You can't do it both ways. Be interested and then not when it's over. That's not cool, dude."

What Tony wanted to do was inform Peter that he could drive anyone anywhere he wanted for sex and have it mean nothing every single day of the week. This was no different from anything else. He felt cornered, though. This wasn't just s teammate. This was a kid. A little boy-- Tony didn't even know how old Peter actually was but it was way too young for him no matter what particular number came after thst first one.

"That's called life," he growled. "That's all life is ever going to be. You take what you can and you try not to have too many strings attached. What did you think was going to happen?"

He was definitely sober now. He shouldn't be allowed to speak. He should go to bed with Peter and drive him home tomorrow and have FRIDAY never let any of his calls go through. He needed distance but that didn't mean he had to have Peter hate him first.

Still, if Tony learned anything from the last few years, it was that pushing everyone away was the best way to be. And if Peter hated him, he wouldn't stay hung up for too long. This wouldn't happen again. And Tony might be able to forget it.

"Did you think we'd start a relationship? That I'd come by during study hall and sneak you out to my car to make out until the bell? Or we'd go to the mall?"

That's what kids did. Right?

All Peter wanted to do was ask Tony what in the hell happened to him that made him so jaded. Yeah, life was hard. Peter's parents were gone too. His uncle Ben wasn't around either. All he had left was his aunt who couldn't cook a thing to save her life. It wasn't fair, but it was what it was. That didn't mean Peter had to go through life not feeling everything he could just because it could be taken away. His own life could be taken away at any moment. He fought crime. Hell, he fought insane people. Insane people who would kill someone as young as he was for their ideals.

"Uh, why not?"

Peter asked it as though he believed the rebuttal. Which, he did. Why couldn't they be in a relationship? What was stopping them? They were quasi-teammates. Peter was one of the only people in the world who could begin to understand what it was like for him when he stepped into his Iron Man suit. They shared a bond, whether Tony wanted to admit it or not, that few others in the world could claim. That was something. It had to be.

Suddenly, Peter made a face. He looked left, then right, then straight at Tony, his brow dropping as low as it could and creasing in the middle.

"Mr. Stark, how old am I?"

Had to be. That was a phrase for children and religious zealots. Tony knew very well that nothing was ever set in stone. You lose people for all sorts of reasons. They never stayed. It was impossible, utterly impossible, to try to do anything more than remain as friendly with your potential teammates as possible. He really should try to stick to retirement but with Rhodey the way he was and half of the Avengers hanging out who knew where, he was at an operating loss here. Peter was not good enough to fill all of their boots.

Whatever bond Peter thought that they shared, Tony was sure that they didn't. And he had already royally screwed up with all of this. He was going to have FRIDAY put a ban on the liquor again. A man his age could not just feel lonely, get drunk, and go fuck some kid who happened to have a hot aunt because that hot aunt wasn't at home.

He was bleeding guilt here and Peter just kept throwing him right off.

Tony pulled back, frowning. "Not old enough," he said because...well. It was true. And also he had no idea.

Tony had no idea.

That much Peter was sure of. At first it was almost unbelievable that Tony actually had not a clue as to how old Peter was, but then it sort of made sense. It's not like the two of them had spoken much before today. Hell, it wasn't like they'd spoken much today either. It was mainly animalistic noises and silence.

Needless to say, it was believable that Tony Stark had no idea how old someone he brought to Germany was. It wasn't his responsibility to know, technically. He wasn't his dad. Ew. Peter wasn't going to go there. There were no dad thoughts connected to Tony. That was not allowed.

"You know I graduated in June, right? I almost invited you to it, but Aunt May told me you had bigger things going on. Which, y'know, was probably true."

It was so hard not to follow Tony as he pulled back, but Peter resisted. He kept himself leaned back against the shower wall, arms crossed now.

"I'm eighteen, dude. We're not that far apart."

That was a complete and total inaccurate statement, but whatever. Peter was trying to smooth things over here.

Tony was speechless for roughly fifteen seconds before he pulled a face and narrowed his eyes. "What? Really? You know I can find out if you're lying." Peter looked twelve. But he was eighteen. And legal.

Tony pulled open the door and grabbed one of his pre warmed towels to rub over his hair and chest. The guilt was gone, completely, and his muscles even seemed to relax, tension draining from his back and shoulders.

"You know you look like you're a Freshman, right?" He wasn't going to question anything else. He didn't want to know. This would be a cleaner break now. No need to inform legal that he and potentially done something that would get him more than a settlement of a fine.

No need to coddle Peter either. Or, honestly, stay in the bathroom.

Wasn't it funny the things that could could do to a person... And didn't have any effect on? Tony Stark had thought he'd brought a minor home, fucked him, found out he was legal and... Well that seemed to be that.

He was going to get a drink. Right now. He was going to drain the entire bottle. Because finding out Peter was eighteen didn't make him any less of a pervert. It just made him feel better from a legal standpoint.

Sorry, Peter. No one said this wouldn't be horribly frustrating. Not even Pepper could stick with him.

"Uhh...why would I lie about that?"

Yeah, Peter knew he looked young. Hell, he was young. He was clean-shaven...though was it technically clean-shaven when there wasn't anything to shave yet? Probably not. He was hairless all over, really. Save for the usual areas. No chest hair yet, no beard, not even stubble. He looked more or less like a new baby seal, that was fair.

Peter followed Tony out of the bathroom, not even minding that either of them had put on clothes yet, right down to the liquor cabinet. Was it a liquor cabinet when it looked big enough to be Peter's bathroom? Liquor closet seemed more appropriate.

"So...you're just gonna drink now? That's it?"

They were discussing something semi-important to Peter before the whole age thing happened. It's not like Peter was considering a relationship with Mr. Stark. Hell no. That would be troublesome, to put it lightly. Peter was already second pick when it came to people Tony wanted to be with in his own damn household. He didn't need that kind of drama.

"We don't have to, like, be boyfriends or whatever," and even saying it made Peter feel ridiculous. "But we don't have to do like...one and done, y'know. Or two and done."

Peter shrugged, eyeing Tony and his liquor.

"It could be like...super casual."

Yeah, he was trying to play cool. Trying.

[Prompto tried hard to keep his moans quiet, so as not to wake anyone else. It was kind of hard to think of anything else other than the pleasure of being with his best friend again, but he tried so it wouldn't have to end.

Camping for the first time since the club, sharing the tent with Noctis again, lying so close to him after what happened. After the words that had been repeating in his mind. It didn't take long at all for the desire to overcome the uncertainty (now that they didn't have the drinks to blame it on...) He had rolled over to face his friend and brought up some of the word they'd said. It could have just been things said in the moment, which was why Prompto used a teasing voice... but now they were like this again.

He shivered lightly and held tighter to Noctis. He gave a suck to his lip before gently nipping at it, then pulled away slightly to speak, voice heavy with his desire.]

Wasn't there something you wanted to do at the club but couldn't?

[Kinky, fluffy, whatever you like.]

[OOC: Kinks on profile.]

( please note that i play this usagi in two distinct styles, so be sure to clarify which one you're gunning for:

1. canon-ish compliant, sweet and fluffy milfy kinks. nothing too fancy, basically, vanilla and gooey gooey doki connections are a go. she'll be open to being gentle and loving to anyone.
2. sluttification mode. heavy, heavy kink. a version of usagi who's been corrupted and turned into a sexual deviant, though she's still her cute, friendly self otherwise. it's all very fluid, however, so if you'd like to make any special requests with regards to kinks, attitudes she can have, libido and morality levels, piercings, tattoos, other body modifications, leave them with your comment. more info can be found in the journal.

info | assumed cr info [ available in sweet/vanilla/canon or kinky versions, as previously discussed - i'm also down for playing adultery or other angles ] | super basic prefs; for this meme, i'm open to male characters of any medium as long as they're 16/17+. )

[he'd thought about sleeping with noctis before. once or twice, at first. and then it became a once or twice a month thing. and then once or twice a week. and if it ever got to once or twice per day, well, prompto wasn't going to admit that to himself.

anyway, it was always a purely hypothetical exercise. just, in theory, if he and noctis slept together, who'd be the top and who'd be the bottom? prompto could never decide. he'd thought about it a lot, though. like: on the one hand, noctis was lazy, and unwilling to put forth energy, and probably wouldn't want to do the thrusting, and he'd probably be a pillow queen, or a dead lay, but prompto wouldn't care. or like: on the other hand, noctis was stronger, and more reliable, and at heart prompto was pretty submissive, and the thought of being on his back with noctis in front of him really wasn't that bad.

and it was all purely hypothetical.

but now —

now they're sprawled out on a hotel bed, prompto riding noctis, his insides squeezing tight around his best friend's cock, and already it feels horribly wrong yet dizzyingly good; prompto moves up up up then all the way down in one fast clip, again and again, and all he can think of is how he'd never considered doing this in his usual top-or-bottom debate before.]

You know... the hotel's gonna — they're gonna add an extra charge to our bill for using their lube...

[admittedly noctis hadn't really thought of this much before this. if he did it was purely a 'i wonder if...' situation and, after deciding it wasn't likely to come to fruition, he would go on with more pressing thoughts. as far as noctis knew, prompto had a very obvious thing for the ladies...

with prominent features.

prominent chest area features.

exposed prominent chest area features that noctis clearly lacked.

so the events that brought him to this moment, laying back with prompto riding him like a damn champion, were just a whirlwind in his head right now. all that mattered was prompto, his movements and how good he felt. so he let's out a bit of a frustrated groan when he brings up the bill they will need to explain.]

Just... say you- ah, you needed it for your camera.

[listen.

don't expect full brain power when he's balls deep in his best friend.]

Camera — ngh — th-the camera doesn't use this stuff...

[the fact that noctis doesn't have a pair of voluptuous breasts is far from prompto's mind at the moment. really, he's only talking because his mouth goes a mile a minute, well ahead of his brain; the only thing he's thinking about is how disgustingly sexy noct is when he's being fucked: hair spread out against the pillow, blue eyes fluttering, gasping and groaning. his moans only urge prompto faster, even though he's on the verge of coming, himself.

it's not like him to not rush headlong into the end, but prompto decides he wants to draw this out. he slows his strokes, giving himself some room to breathe and noctis a chance to regather his thoughts.]

Think it'd feel better... if we used a little more?

[his palms smoothing up bare thighs, dragging blunt nails along his skin up to his hips. he digs in just a bit, giving prompto a good squeeze as he slows his movements. it was a good move, noctis was painfully close and it gave him a moment to breathe and clear his head.

noctis has quite the view, and he makes it very clear he is admiring every inch of prompto's body as half lidded blues trace up the length of him. he even takes a moment to bite his bottom lip a little, it took some kind of willpower not to buck his hips and thrust into him a little deeper.]

...Probably.

[breathed out, his palms moving back to squeeze his ass a little.]

We're paying for it, may as well use it.

Yeah... Yeah, guess so...

[that's a strangely vague response coming from prompto of all people, but his mind is elsewhere — he's trying so hard not to come that he has to squeeze his eyes shut as he pulls himself up and off noct's cock so that he can work more lube into himself. all that vigorous movement wore through some of their first application; a quick swipe into the cheap little tub and a few moments of working it around, and then prompto positions himself above noctis again.]

Ready?

[noctis let's out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, a hand falling to bunch at the sheets beneath him. it's a damn good thing prompto moved when he did, he was already so close that any longer it would have been over. and if they're adding extra to the bill, may as well milk this moment a little longer.

eyes heavily lidded as he watches prompto work himself, it caused his body to tingle with what felt like electricity. few things were sexier, he decides, as he rakes his gaze along the dips and curves, the planes of freckles and pale skin- the way his body flushed in places, the way his chest fell with each breath... lips pink and swollen from earlier kisses.

a hunger and renewed vigor takes him as prompto positions himself.

noctis lucis caelum was every bit the pillow queen... however.

his palm reaches up to press against the middle of the other's back, so he could pull him down and maybe knock him off kilter as he shifts his weight and his purpose. it's a little clumsy, but soon he's pressing prompto into the bed, lips against his neck, lapping at the sweat slick skin before he bites.]

Are you?

[murmured thick.]

[canon and cross canon welcome!]

[color me curious; i know there's not a lot of information on derek's journal (it does have a really nice layout though; do you have the code for it?), but his icons and what there is of it definitely interest me. rig's information is in his journal so feel free to read up on him. since derek works as a medic and for shield, that could lead into something. or we can simply go the route of two hot guys getting together for a bang. let me know if you're piqued~]

[ooc: can provide k-list if you wish.]

[dmc3 remains my all time favorite game of the series for so many reasons (specifically that version of dante and, ironically, jester being one of the biggest), so how would you feel about these two having a go with each other? we can chat out a setting/plot or simply dive into it. ~~maybe they're yakking about who's got the bigger 'sword' hah~~]

[ omg. i just love DMC3 dante, he's such a little shit. i am totally down for something with these two versions because why not?? ]

[haha, most definitely. he seems the most free-spirited and all; both dmc3 dante and dmc dante had that similar "free" feel to them, even if dmc was "grungy" in comparison. neither of them had vergil's death hanging over their heads all game and their main female companions weren't playing with visions of mother (though lady is infinitely superior to kat). anyways, before we get into a nostalgia discussion, why not indeed?

do you have a preference on setting? dmc3 dante's pad or dmc dante's trailer or maybe they're partners exploring some demonic temple and why the fuck not? could be post battle or maybe a simple AU with them living together, getting a shower or bath. some place public perhaps?

as for sex ideas, they could mess around with toys (impromptu or not), there's always a 69, sexual competitions, desecrating a demonic temple because their enemies clawed their clothes to shreds (oops). i do tend to put dante on the receiving end, but if you wanna go multiple rounds, he's good switching up.

there's also the idea of them meeting up if you want to actually see how that would go. maybe they meet up while they're both skinny dipping or something? who knows. sword polishing. let me know if you have any of your own kinks or ideas you'd like to see or toss up!

I have to crash for bed now, but i'll definitely be around throughout later friday and the weekend. thanks again for the response and interest!]

[ definitely the most carefree with a smart mouth on him to boot. but he's a good guy. just has a dysfunctional family as he tends to put it.

setting-wise, could totally be either? dmc3 dante's place works if you want there to be some jukebox music playing in the background (because you know he would) and empty pizza boxes laying around. plus? chance of demons dropping in afterwards? always a possibility. otherwise... shitty motel, back alley, back of the bar, pretty sure any of those places work for them.

i'm totally fine with your dante being on the receiving end since i can't say mine wouldn't enjoy being the one giving it to him. ;) since it's mid-fuck, they could always be in the middle of a bj or just finishing up a round and about to start another since demon!stamina and all. regardless, dmc3 dante is going to be cocky as hell with all of this but i feel you probably already knew that was bound to happen. i'm good with whatever but maybe not so much bathroom stuff? throat penetration, face-fucking, roughplay, 69, if it's in public toys might need to result to rebellion or ebony&ivory somehow... i'm pretty good with whatever. ]

[that smart mouth is definitely a selling point. they both have a lot of good one liners through their games, hah. good guys, but yeah, sooo many family issues. it would be interesting to see dmc3 dante and dmc dante actually have a meet up considering their different life decisions (namely, dmc3 dante’s job of devil may cry, with dmc dante “trying” to stay out of people’s way cause fuck them).

setting let’s go with dmc3’s place; it’s a simpler set up. that way we’re not dealing with all that reality warping dmc’s limbo likes to play with or dealing too much with the public or other possible constraints. he's so gonna tease dante for being “retro” with that jukebox (even if he secretly thinks it’s kinda cool). ngl, i like the idea of demons dropping in afterwards (or during); hell of a party.

he'll enjoy getting it from your dante, mmhmm. bring on the cockiness, dmc dante’s going to be a punk obviously cause there’s promising some interesting banter. i like the idea of them being in the middle of or just starting a bj (can easily say they’ve been going at this (multiple rounds) for a while cause stamina, right). ~~yeah we’re definitely not going near bathroom stuff~~ as for kick off, how does starting with a 69 sound to you?

that nets them throat penetration, quasi-face-fucking, and we can throw in roughplay with their weapons since their rebellions can definitely be used as toys with those handles, as well as their respective eboniesand ivories. getting their weapons involved in sex is damn hot, so i'm all for that. they can mess around with each other like that until they’re hot and messy again before dante flips dante onto his back.]

[ it definitely would since they're alike but not in certain personal choices and dmc3 dante (at least until the end) is all very "i don't have a father" and so not on good terms with him or even wanting to be reminded of him/annoyed with demons taking their beef out with his father on him.

dmc3 dante's place works for me! jukebox is a go and demons can totally drop by after since they tend to do so whenever and just annoy dmc3 dante with ruining his place. talk about rude.

their banter with each other (themselves??) will for sure be entertaining. starting with 69 sounds fine to me on dmc3 dante's rickety bed or the couch, wherever.

i was thinking the same thing with the handles on rebellions. i imagine dmc3 dante might shove the barrel of one of the ladies down the other's throat and find it to be hot or whatever so yeah!

did you want to kick this all off then since we seem to have an idea for it all? ]

[mmhmm. “I don’t have a family; I just don’t like you,” as he said. At least they can both agree getting hunted by demons for the ancestry they didn’t even want is a sucky way to live. it’s a rough time to be the son of a high-ranking demon isn’t it. ‘rude’ is such a nice way to put it. Then we’ll go with dmc3 dante’s place! Haha, yeah they did share that too; dmc dante had his trailer home obliterated in his opening scene so he’s not at all fond of those place-ruining bastards.

It’s a shame we never got to see more of his dmc3 place beyond the office and general floor area (pool table at least). Hmmm bed or couch… bed cause they’re gonna be moving around a lot and who doesn’t like room to stretch out. Haha, great minds think alike! We’ll definitely have some sword fucking and gun blowing in there for the hot of it.

Yep, I’ll go ahead and kick this thing off. If it gets a little wordy with the description/background, don’t at all feel like you need to return the same amount of text. I simply like to set the scene. Also, if you want to change anything in this intro, feel free to let me know or change it in your response. Thanks again! Going for the spin on this~]

It wasn’t Limbo. Honestly, he didn’t know what to make of that warp shit, but it put him out here and as far as he knew, there wasn’t any way to get back home. For now. So what’s a Nephilim to do? Easy, hit up the nearest bar and wait for something, or someone, to happen. And sure enough, there were demons here too! What he hadn’t expected was to find another demon hunter. Who went by his same name. With a similar (same?) sword. And guns. And body. They’d gotten a moment or so to size each other up, decide if they were going to attack because the other was the reason for the demons or one of them. He remembered glass shattering and a warm back up against his own and that was the end of that standoff. One damn hell of a party.

“Ah, fuck!” Dante slammed his head back against the bed, feeling the rickety frame and springs through the packed mattress. Something to be said for demon stamina. He stretched his arm upward and clasped at the edge of the mattress, fingers curling over the ribbed side to scratch at its surface. That warmth playing at the head of his cock was threatening to steal his breath right out of his chest. Without a place to stay, Dante had invited him back to his place, some kind of shop as far as Dante was able to figure. Desk, phone, couches, pool table (hell yeah he challenged him to a game). “Hah… Easy, man, I’m still getting hard.” Didn’t sound at all like a complaint and Dante closed his eyes, brows arching towards the dark spikes of his hair as his other hand lifted into the air.

Demons, demons, more demons. The day was full of them. It was damn well deserved to get back to Dante’s shop and strip it all off. Gloves, coat, shirt, pants, boots, strewn from the front door to the bathroom as Dante went basking under a nice hot shower. And teasingly fighting the other hunter over the soap. Should’ve known they were just going to get dirty again. They didn’t even bother drying off before hands and mouths were everywhere and a pair of half demon young men twisted naked into Dante’s bedroom. Dante threaded his fingers through the silver white of his alternate’s hair, curling them in the soft, damp strands. “What’s this… third one?” he groaned thickly, pulling his head up to stare down at the other youth blowing him.

He’d pinned Dante to the wall and went down on his knees for him first, but hell of the dark-haired one didn’t end up taking the second one against the window. The third one… heh, well the third one came when he got pushed down onto the bed and was still going on. A flash of metal glinted under the moonlight, the pair of huge Rebellion swords lounging on the bed beside their masters, a pair of handguns lying somewhere on the expanse of sheets and blankets. Dante grinned and pulled up, urging Dante to slide off his length for a moment, leaving him panting in front of the white-haired hunter. “Fuck, that’s good… but flip it over, Dante. I want to work on your dick too.” Yes, he was an impatient dick.

[ honestly looks good to me! time to get this party started! ]

So... this was new? Sure he'd encountered plenty of demons before in his time (and all with such a terrible grudge against his father, someone should tell those guys to just let things go honestly) and even others who were considered hunters and took it upon themselves to ensure the safety of others, uphold the peace and all that shit. But to come across someone as handsome as him? With the same set of moves and smartass remarks? Oh, he had surely died and gone to wherever the fuck he was right now because this had to be too good to be true.

Of course, the whole sharing the same name, the same weapons (his looked nicer), even the same moves when it came to taking out the demon trash, kind of made it feel just a little on the weird side of things but hey, that was pretty much his life in a nutshell: fucking weird.

Also tragic, fucked up, sad, dysfunctional, so on and so forth but hey, fucking weird works pretty well, too.

Lips slowly pulled themselves back to the head of that cock they had been working over when he felt the nudge to him, a brow having lifted for a moment as if to ask what the big idea was for suddenly stopping him.

"Oh yeah? You know, I don't normally let people boss me around in my own bed like this but I guess I can make an exception this one time."

This kind of had him wondering if this was some bizarre form of masturbation, all things considered but hey, whatever. At least he wasn't Vergil.

But, he complied and with a rather rough push of his foot against the other's chest to get him back down against the mattress, he straddled himself over the other's lap, making sure to scoot back just enough before he leaned back in to wrap those lips around that aching cock; damn, he tasted pretty good which was honestly no surprise to him.

It was fucking weird, the whole introduction and the similarities and all. If Dante hadn’t found out he had a brother before coming to this place, he would’ve been a lot more antagonistic about it. But hey, stroke his ego some at seeing the other guy using the same moves when he fought. Even the sword and guns were almost identical style, though he noted Dante’s swordplay was smoother than his more brawler style (and his sword looked better, thank you). But damn the mouth on this guy, quipping off the same smart remarks from that handsome face. That white hair threw him for a moment—look he thought it was a mop for a second, sue him—but it’d definitely grown on him.

Dante bared his teeth in a feral grin as a low groan raked over his jaws as Dante dragged his head backwards. Going slow on fucking purpose. “Heh.” He hiked one leg and nudged the other youth with his knee on purpose, the long muscles in his thigh and calf firming beneath his skin. Don’t think he didn’t see that arched brow. “Yeah,” he hummed, just to yank his chain a little more. Dante swept his tongue over his upper teeth, a cocky expression gliding over his face. “So next time I should just grab and pull?” And gave a little nudge of his knee into Dante’s ribs again.

As far as he could tell, this was some alternate reality where “Dante” was… well, this guy. Similar powers, a half-demon like himself (the other half, however, was very different), Sparda making his family and life a mess, his looks and attitude. “Gives a big new twist on “go fuck yourself” doesn’t it,” the Nephilim laughed. Only to grunt a little when he suddenly had a foot against his chest and got shoved back down onto the mattress. Dammit, a little higher up and he could’ve bitten his ankle in response. But excuse is brain for blanking for a moment as Dante swung himself around.

“Fuck, you’re cut.” He leaned back on the bed, raking his eyes over Dante’s body as he positioned himself above him. Legs spread and he got treated to the sight of the other youth scooting backwards up the bed until his hips were positioned over his head and something large and dripping was hanging right in his face. A low groan bled out again as Dante went back down on him, lips wrapping around his cock and he reached up to encircle Dante’s dick with his own hand, pulling it down to angle him towards his mouth. Then leaned up and pulled him into his mouth. Fuuuck… He tasted good. The dark-haired hunter slicked his tongue over his head, lapping at the slick liquid drooling onto his skin.

If this kid wasn't him, he'd still like him what with how he carried himself and, well, come on, just look at him. Sure he didn't have the silvery white hair that he did or the cool red jacket that he just shrugged on without any kind of shirt on underneath but hey, maybe that was the fashion here and the fashion from wherever the fuck he came from was, well, all of that on the floor there. Basically, he'll let it slide but like Hell is he going to be taking that red jacket with him.

With a flick of silvery white hair out of his face for a moment, he grinned around the tip of that cock he had been so eagerly working over in his mouth and glanced back to catch sight of what was going on between his legs back there. Damn, now that was a nice sight and one he'd like to see a few more times before he needs to get back to wherever it was he came from... if that was even possible.

"You know, here I thought your mouth was only good for those witty little comments of yours," he grinned as a hand pumped his cock. "Turns out I was wrong there."

Who really gave a fuck if this was considered a weird form of masturbation, he was getting his dick sucked and that was all that really mattered as he pushed himself back into that mouth a little with a groan that might have choked a little on a laugh. Dante was taken back into his mouth then, moaning around him as he sucked on him, tongue brushing against his cock before he pulled back with strands of saliva stretching from his lips to the head of his cock.

"You ready to cum down my throat yet or do I need to convince you a little more?" His words were entirely teasing, that cocky grin a difficult thing to wipe from his lips while he stroked him over. "Or maybe you'd rather have me shooting down your throat, huh? Maybe you just couldn't get enought the first time." He pushed himself back against that mouth, wanting to slide down his throat as he spoke, needing to feel that mouth around him just a little more.

Hey, he was impressed with Dante just as much. From the once over to their teamwork to his attitude. Course, seeing him stripping those clothes off only solidified the deal (and his dick). Of course, he did rib Dante a little about that red coat of his. It’s red! Not just the inside like his own more-toned-down version, but all of it. Something out of a comic book… though Dante gave his counterpart props for going shirtless beneath it. He just might adopt that little habit… Because obviously there’s no reason to hide his torso. (Relax, Dante, he won’t take your coat.)

Dante felt a little whip against the inside of his thighs; must’ve been his hair. He leaned up further, savoring the sensation of Dante’s tip sliding past his teeth until the edges crested the soft ridge of his crown and met his hard shaft. The warm breath on his dick left and he felt it more on his groin. Oh? He was looking at him, huh? It was a damn nice sight, their chiseled bodies inverted to make a cavern of glistening pectorals, sweat slicked abdominals, and the telltale lines of pelvises already wet with saliva. With Dante’s cock lifted clean away from his body and a third vanishing inside Dante’s mouth. The dark-haired youth opened his mouth with an obscene “pop” and breathed out around it, more like cockily laughing. “What, first time plastered to the wall didn’t convince you?” he shot, words contorted around the dick in his mouth.

He jerked, head dropping back a little as Dante worked his hand over his cock and precum spurted from the tip of it on the next upstroke. “Fuck, you’re making a nice mess,” he teased before closing his mouth around the other’s cock again. This guy knew how to touch him, knew how to suck a dick enough to make his eyes roll back under his lids. “Uhhln!” Ice blue eyes widened when Dante dropped his hips and pushed himself further into his mouth. Dante smacked a hand against the back of the white-haired hunter’s thigh and gripped him, fingers digging into his skin as a few more inches pressed over his tongue. Fuck, he hoped he choked on that laugh (in a good way). His throat and tongue fluttered quickly to adjust to the sheathing, only to vibrate as Dante moaned loudly around Dante’s cock.

His arousal throbbed between the other hunter’s lips and another lance of precum splattered onto his tongue as he slid further into that wet heat. The bedsheets scraped under his foot as he dragged his knees upward, planting his feet against the bed and bracing his hips. Didn’t thrust… yet… but he was “threatening” it as he spread his legs below Dante. That fucking moan… It vibrated all around him. Dante’s breath hitched as his alternate pulled back again and left him soaking. He dropped his head and shoulders, letting Dante’s cock slip out of his mouth as well, eyes opening to watch his own spit drooling down the heavy dick above him and drip into his mouth.

“Might need more convincing, Dante; you just got me hard and soaking again,” he taunted with a grin, tongue flipping out to bat and play with Dante’s tip. Was it narcissistic to enjoy the sound of his name, both their names, shared between them on his lips? His breath quivered again and he dragged his fingers down the back of Dante’s leg as the other guy fisted his dick. “Now you’re talking. Give me what you’ve got.” And nipped at his tip lightly. Before opening his mouth again. “My load’ll be bigger.” And gulped hard as Dante pushed his hips back again and his chest arched as the other hunter plunged his cock further down his mouth than before. A choking sound bubbled into the air as the tip pressed over the back of his tongue and he jerked as Dante’s dick invaded his throat. Hell, he sucked him harder.

And then, the moment he felt those lips back on his own cock again, snapped his hips up off the bed, intending to spear the other guy to the throat.

The good thing about being part demon? Well, the stamina, obviously but also the healing factor. Sort of came in handy when you had two guys who were more or less the exact same in terms of strength and drop dead gorgeous looks (did he also have rotten luck with women?) who were going on round three of fucking each other's brains out. Thankfully? Not literally. But scratches and bitemarks and who knew what else? All a definite possibility and all bound to happen before the night was over.

But then there's the other part that they share and no, it's not the whole having a nice cock thing. Though, that is a nice touch. It's the needing the spotlight, the needing to be the best, the needing to be the one to deliver that final blow and showing just who was in charge around here and oh, that little comment about his load being the bigger one had Dante feeling the need to simply prove that wrong. Who knew he could be such a jerk to himself?

"You want it that bad, huh?" The sound of his alternate self choking on his dick was such a delightful sound that if it was possible to get any harder than he already was, he was sure it would be happening right now. "Well all you had to do was say pretty please." And he forced himself down that tight throat, filling him up to the point where he could get more of those lovely sounds torn from the back of his throat. Because damn if that didn't feel and sound so very nice.

But it turns out he isn't the only one that's a cocky son of a bitch and he's met with the other's cock pressing tight against his lips, forcing its way into his mouth that only makes him moan in delight at that dick in his mouth again, sucking him hard and loud. The sounds he makes are lewd in every way possible, drooling and caressing that cock with his tongue as he happily lets it fuck his mouth, giving it right back to him with every push back against that mouth on his own aching cock. Damn it felt good, so good to have someone so damn skilled like this and to be able to keep up with him without passing out or needing much of a breather (pizza breaks were different though).

Dante's throat welcomed that cock shoved down it over and over again, fingers squeezing and stroking over him while his tongue eagerly lapped up any mess that tried to escape every time he pulled back just for a second or two; the fact that he had fingerless gloves was a pretty damn good thing right about now. But he could feel himself wanting to let go for the- what? Third time was it tonight? And if things were to keep going as they were, this definitely wouldn't be the last round. "C'mon, Dante. Don't you want to cum in this pretty little mouth again?" It was still a little weird to say his name but hey, dick getting sucked and sucking a dick, not about to really cherry pick the name thing right now.

For all he hated the demons that routinely hunted him and made his life a mixture of miserable and rebelliously exciting, Dante found being around Dante… fucking amazing. It thrilled his blood to see his strength, his looks, and all that stamina. The taste of Dante’s previous load still lingered in his mouth and throat, scratches and bites already healing on his body. Shit, how long were they going to go? No idea, but he doggedly hoped this went on all night long. Sleep in the morning. Not like they had anything to do tomorrow. Except each other. Again. Maybe kill some demons if they dared interrupt.

He heard himself gag again, throat spasming around Dante’s cock as it lodged itself in his throat. But all those nerves squeezing around the other half-demon’s shaft made it pretty damn easy to feel him get even harder. The hell--? He was getting off to the sound of him choking on his dick, huh? If Dante’s mouth wasn’t so full right now, he’d have grinned like a devil. He curled his fingers against the back of Dante’s thigh, all of them but his middle finger, which stuck up proudly and dug his fingertip along the lines of muscle. And made sure his next gulps and swallows sounded a hell of a lot louder and lewder than previously. Listen up, jerk.

Dante’s eyes widened as Dante pushed his hips down again and his throat fluttered in frantic, exhilarated pleasure at the sheer force of hips against his mouth and his dick filling his throat. He jerked, chest arching, and abruptly choked again. Spit gushed between his lips and Dante’s balls, spattering all over his groin and the dark-haired Nephilim’s mouth and chin. Fucking mess, but damn was that hot. He bit down too, teeth raking over the hard base of Dante’s dick. But even impaled, he had plenty of fight in him; Dante should damn well know that enough.

“Mn!” He grunted around his cock in his mouth, a satisfied sound when he feels his dick cram itself into Dante’s throat. Guess he’s not at all ashamed of being a bastard either, hm. Dante clenches his abs, deliberately twitching himself in the quivering vibration of Dante’s moaning throat and tongue. The next suck, hard and loud, earns a low groan of his own and he curls his toes in the sheets. Fuck… It’s so damn wet, drooling and caressing his dick with his tongue. Feeling that little give, Dante dropped his hips again, unsheathing himself out of the sloppy, smartass mouth to the tip, just long enough for a few spurts of precum to paint Dante’s lips. Then shoved upward again, meeting his alternate’s mouth with a solid slap of his hips. “Fuck,” he spits out, managing it wet around the other hunter’s cock.

It didn’t take long and Dante set a pace, deliberately fucking Dante’s mouth. Only to grunt in thrill when he felt him mirror that pace. “Copycat,” he teased against Dante’s balls. But it wasn’t insulting at all, more a damn praise. Because he’s never been able to get this wild, this intense with someone before. And now he’s more or less fucking himself (a different, hot as hell, amazing self) and the experience was mind blowing. While Dante never said or admitted it bothered him, being alone so often did things to a person. He’d only had to fight alongside Dante for a few minutes to know he had no problem if this turned into something longer.

Dante jerked his head back and shoved upward on Dante’s hips, gasping like he just came out from under water. Saliva strands stretched between his mouth and the other guy’s dick and he panted heavily against the sensitive skin. “I want it on your hot face next time, Dante,” he purred. Then circled his tongue around Dante’s tip as he stared down the length of their inverted bodies, watching the other hunter bobbing on his dick. “You better count each swallow, man.” See? He didn’t forget the bigger load thing. Then literally dropped Dante’s hips as he tilted his head back and opened his mouth, letting the his cock slide into his mouth like a some dick-loving “sword” swallower.

Something fucking exhilarating about blowing a guy while he’s blowing you. Dante grunted as he pressed up into that wet mouth and face again. C’mon. So good. Fuck… not enough. He arched one foot onto the ball and then shoved it clean off the bed into the air. And swung his leg around the back of Dante’s head, calf pressing against that silky white hair of his, and squeezed—FUCK YES—forcing Dante down onto his dick harder as he slammed his hips upward, roughly fucking the other guy’s throat. Shit—god that was—Fuck! His cock throbbed and pulsed, precum oozing from the tip as he increased his pace. C’mon… fuck, c’mon, almost there!

As mildly fucked up as this was (his whole life is really), there's the lingering thought of what would Vergil think of this? Because, come on, literally fucking yourself and having your own dick shoved down your throat to the point of gagging and drooling around it and wanting so much more was just a little on the what in the absolute FUCK are you doing, Dante? Would his big bro judge him hardcore for this? Oh yeah, without a doubt. But hey, it's not like Vergil has any damn room to talk with how BORING he is half the time with look at me, I want power, I need daddy's power, blah blah blah. That guy seriously needed to get laid more and party or maybe fuck an alternate version of himself and see what kind of fun he's been missing out on. Couldn't hurt.

But what does hurt? Maybe just a teensy bit but in such a good way is how his alternate self shoves that dick down his throat without mercy and he can't seem to get enough of it. There's something about just being able to let loose like this, to really go hard without so much as a single fuck given that's way hotter than it should be and something he's never really had the pleasure of having before. Straight up humans were just too damn fragile and demons were, well, some of them were just fucking gross, ok? Not all of them, there were some hot as hell babes out there but even then, they either wanted to kill him or eat him or bite his dick off because his dad pissed them off at some point, some stupid shit after that it was just a damn hassle half the time. So this? This was nice, this was good, this was so fucking hot.

Dante groaned around that cock sliding down his throat, that little remark about how he wanted to cum on his face having not been missed and only causing him to grin around his dick at the thought. Hey, who was he to say no to such a request like that? Besides, it's not like he hadn't had his own fun with messing up that gorgeous face earlier and no, he's not a damn bit sorry either. Although, count each swallow? Damn, this was no time for math or a pop quiz later.

That's when everything took a sudden turn and became a temporary blur as movements were swiftly made and he found himself with that cock shoved down his throat over and over again, harder and deeper than the last thrust shoved into his mouth. Dante gagged for a moment in surprise and hands pressed at those lily white thighs that were clamped around him so tightly. Damn if this was some venus fly trap shit happening right now. But he took that cock eagerly into his mouth despite the moments of gagging and the quick, short breaths he took with saliva spilling from his mouth.

Now. The problem with being part demon is the whole demon side and that little thing called a devil trigger. Of course, he's not exactly the best at it yet and it's never really gone full-blown to the point of no control on his side of things but every now and then, there are moments where it slips up a bit and the fact that veins begin to branch all over his face and his eyes darken to a black show that he may be slipping up a bit. But hey, nothing to worry about, he's not about to go devil trigger happy here.

Choking again on that cock, he pulled himself back just enough to have lips wrap and suck around the tip of that cock, swallowing up every last drop of that precum while his tongue caressed and coaxed him to give him more as he pumped him quickly with his hand.

"Cum on my face, you little shit." He more or less demanded, tongue eagerly wanting to catch as much of it as he could, nevermind his own cock twitching and wanting to shoot its own cum down that throat any second now.

Honestly, he’d gone through so much in his life that to think this was fucked up was really being petty. Demons that mimicked his motions and looks, finding out he had a twin brother—Oh right, Vergil. Heh, wonder what that arrogant prick would think of this. He wouldn’t even stoop to fuck a human woman more than once or twice; knowing his brother was nigh-literally gagging around his own dick and clinging his arms and legs around his own body because he made himself hard enough to fuck over and over would probably drive him nuts. Stare at him like Dante was insane and then proceed to reprimand him for his “animalistic” enjoyments so unbefitting of someone who was supposed to rule the world. If not snap and yell at him entirely. Hah, Dante’d actually want to show his big brother this. Just to see the look on his face. Maybe it’d make him wake up enough to snap out of that fucking snooty world of his and learn to cut loose and enjoy his damn life! The world’s not all about power and control, damn prick. Maybe their brothers should meet… after Dante spiked their drinks with heavy drugs enough to see them go at each other’s asses like a pair of horny bitches. Wouldn’t that be a sight (and a hell of a morning afterwards)…

Dante choked again, the cords in his throat flexing under his skin as Dante dropped his hips once more. His dick went right down his fucking throat! Fabric hissed against his head as he tilted it backwards, giving his alternate an easier tube to fuck. The next thrust had him jerking, loud gulps and muffled wet sounds spurting around the girth filling his mouth. Fuck, he wanted so much more of this; was it possible to want to suck a guy’s dick for hours? He didn’t have to hold himself back, didn’t have to make sure wasn’t going to bruise or break his partner. He could let lose entirely and fuck his hips and suck Dante’s dick as hard and long as he wanted and not care a damn shit! It’s hot, way hotter than anything he’d had before. Human, demon, or angel. This was himself and that was fucking perfect. He swallowed again, gulping the mélange of his saliva and Dante’s precum.

And tried not to blow his load right then and there when Dante groaned around his dick. Dante felt that grin stretch around his length and he choked again because, fuck it was amusing. He definitely remembered his white-haired other coming all over face, remembered the warmth and thickness of his come dripping down the bridge of his nose and curving over his cheeks to his neck. Was he sorry for dragging that big a climax from him? Shit, no. And what, can’t be bothered to count? How else are they gonna know who shoots the bigger load? (They can probably find a way later.)

Dante curled his toes, ankle rolling as he stepped down on Dante’s shoulder, giving himself leverage to keep the fucker’s head trapped between his leg and his groin. With a harsh, raspy breath, he jerked his head back, unsheathing Dante’s cock from his mouth, and grabbed it with his other hand. Lazy strokes, wringing the dripping mast a few times, middle finger extending to play with his balls. “C’mon, prick, choke on it,” he growled, leg flexing again as he jerked Dante’s face back down to the base of his cock. He kept him there, basking in the sensation of his tongue and throat going fucking crazy all over his cock. Then released him just enough to rise again. The hands on his thighs were going to definitely be feeling all those long, iron-like cables of muscle as he moved his leg and Dante groaned in pleasure at the touch. Fuck, he wanted to blow him again… but he wanted his mouth free to talk right now. “Fuck, that’s so hot; you’re mouth’s all the way down at my fucking balls.”

Dante gave Dante a shit-eating grin at that one, peering between their bodies once more to see him work. “Eager bitch,” he purred, then started pumping with his leg, literally bouncing his alternate up and down on his cock. “That’s it, make a damn mess.” All that saliva and precum was covering his hips and between his thighs with a drooling coat of—god that felt amazing. Listening to Dante gag and gasp between his impalements was bliss. While he definitely wasn’t able to see Dante’s face as much as he wanted from this position, he could still sense his power. And that sparking energy coursing through his veins and skin… Dante himself didn’t understand his own devil trigger much, only just learned of it. But it felt familiar enough. He shoved his leg down, forcing Dante’s face against his balls again. “Heh, gonna fucking trigger, Dante?” he groaned, literally talking into Dante’s dick like it was some precum drooling microphone, using his hand to pull his shaft and rub the dripping tip against his smartass mouth.

He resisted once, then lifted his leg and let Dante up, just enough he could nurse the tip of his dick. Fuck, he was swallowing every damn drop he put out. Nephilim precum… His eyes lidded and he panted against the heavy shaft against his lips as Dante licked his head and worked his shaft with his hand. A single bark of amusement and thrill lanced out at the demand. “Fuck that. You’re gonna swallow half my load, then you can take the rest on your fucking face.” He knew Dante was edges away from blowing his own load, but nah, he’d wait and let him enjoy his own first. Then he could flip the tables. “Open up.” And without waiting, Dante clenched his leg again and plunged Dante’s mouth back down over his dick. Fuck this was great to be so rough with him!

Dante bucked his hips upward again, thrusting ravenously into Dante’s mouth, watching his wet, silverwhite bangs swing against his forehead and face. Pretty damn hair. Soft grunts grew louder, and Dante shoved one hand against the top of the other hunter’s head, fingers squeezing into his hair. Fuck… fuck this was good. So wet, and hot, that damn tongue. “Ngh, c’mon, c’mon yeah keep sucking--!” He jerked, head tossing back against the pillow. Hips bucked again, pistoning his thick shaft into Dante’s mouth and slapping his balls against his chin. His free leg braced itself and his hips, letting him lift his ass and pelvis clean off the bed as he fucked his throat. “Yeah—Ah fuck yeah—c’mon-c’mon, Dante!”

His pace abruptly grew erratic, precum bursting from the tip of his dick as his heart rate sped up, energy pouring through his veins. “Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck--AH!” There, finally! Heat swarmed down his body as he slammed up into Dante’s throat, his cock swelling between the other hunter’s jaws. Dante threw his head back with a howl of pure bliss and enjoyment, eyes squeezing shut as his abs and stomach hardened and his leg throttled Dante into his hips. Hot come burst from his dick, pouring two jets straight down the other half-demon’s throat. He bucked and thrashed, head rolling side to side with each heavy pulse. Screw counting. He just came, spilling himself into Dante’s mouth and unconsciously forcing his leg to loosen so the other guy could pull off for the last half if he wanted. Which, if he did, was going to get him several hard splashes of the Nephilim’s white come all over his face.

Every single thing about this was so beyond fucked up but with being a devil himself, hey, he was already on his way to Hell as it was, right? So why not have a little fun while here in the human world? At least, that's how he liked to look at it and especially now what with literally fucking himself and being face-fucked by himself; now that's something he didn't even know he needed to have checked off his bucket list.

Nothing about their movements (even earlier) were sweet or gentle. Everything was chaotic, needy, desperate, oh-so-fucking lustfully bad that it was definitely beyond animalistic by this point and just raw desire. A thick, hot, burning desire to fuck and be fucked and by none other than yourself to boot. Which, for the record, what exactly was so bad about self-love?

But he loved it and so did his alternate self judging from how rowdy and crude this fucker was being right now but hey, was he about to complain? Hell no. This was probably the best lay he had had in, well, ever to be honest. The fact that he could literally toss him around, scratch and bite him up to Hell and back and thrust his cock down his mouth as many times as he wanted without having to worry about killing the guy was Heaven in itself and damn if he wasn't going to miss this when-- or if things went back to normal. Damn shame really because this was beyond spank bank material. This was baby, I think I'm in love.

Even the way they spoke to one another was crude but sexy as fuck and really, the only other person who might get away with tossing him around like this would be Vergil and that's only because he can be a prick at times (spotlight stealer) and it's part of the whole 'big brother code' even if they're twins. But this? This was hot, this was crude, this was flat out ruthless and they both seemed to enjoy it. Hey, whatever kinks make you happy, right? Considering he's fucking himself, who in the Hell is he to judge?

The brutal pace of that cock being shoved down his throat caused Dante to groan even louder, his throat practically raw from how abused its been and yet he still sucks eagerly at that cock thrusting down his throat, caressing and inviting it back into his mouth with his tongue everytime it slips out for a few seconds. So what if he's an eager bitch? This little shit has been just as eager and needy for it the second they bumped into each other and with the way he had been howling for it earlier, you'd think this was payback or something for having been fucked so good. Because, c'mon, as if he would be a bad lay, same with his alternate self.

With every crude fling of encouragement coming from that mouth that should have been on his own dick, Dante moaned even louder in delight as he sucked him back into his mouth over and over again, choking every time the head of his cock hit the back of his throat a little harder than the last time. Blackness pooled off his shoulders and back and caressed along the other's frame as it billowed around them slowly, his devil trigger almost finding this as pleasurable as he himself was. Fingers a little more demony than human but not full-blown demon wrapped a little tighter around that cock being shoved down his throat and he was careful not to let those nails scratch him... too hard that is. Causing red-beaded lines to eventually draw blood along those lily white thighs, well, that's not his problem and the little shit can heal anyways.

When he finally came, Dante groaned around that cock as it slammed down his throat and fucked his face in an erratic mess of thrusts. He loved it, god did he love it as he swallowed up as much of that cum sliding down his throat that he could before he had to pull back, losing some of it at the corners of his mouth as he did so. But with an eager tongue catching up most of it and fingers stroking over quick to milk him for even more, Dante grinned that cocky as shit grin of his as as rubbed his dick all over his mouth and cheeks, having it smear all over his face in a mess of cum and saliva. He chuckled as he did so, sucking on the tip almost playfully every now and then before a set of nails reached out and roughly grabbed at the other's leg, piercing skin as he did so.

"Fucking finish me off, shithead. What kind of an ungrateful guest are you?"

Who cared what was fucked up anymore for them? They saw Hell on a regular basis and who the fuck knew where they were going after death (if either of them could actually die that is). Who cared. Live life to the fullest and keep himself alive, that’s what Dante planned on doing. No one was going to tell him when and where to die. And no one was going to tell him how to enjoy himself. Except maybe this sexy son of a bitch he was fucking right now; he was pretty much sucking his own dick right now, listening to himself choke and spit all over his throbbing cock and making a damn mess down there. Sure, there might be a doppelganger demon out there, but hell if he wanted a demon to substitute. This was Dante, Dante was himself; no one was going to compare to it. No one else could be so fucking rough and greedy; if he faced those seven deadly sins on a regular basis, fuck, he’d wrap himself in lust around Dante so much he’d be a fucking wreck when they took a break. Call him a narcissistic son of a bitch; he was enjoying himself way too much.

“Ngh, yeah… yeaaah…” Dante craned his head against the pillow again, his voice going from crude yells to breathless groans of pleasure. The powerful bursts of come pumping all over Dante’s throat and spattering against his face felt like it was pulsing through every inch of his body. His cock’s nerves grasped every second of his climax, from the way the white-haired hunter’s throat constricted around his dick to the feeling of his teeth and lips scraping upward as he pulled himself off it. “Fuck, man, so hot.” He’d never felt anything like this before (not even those random nights alone where he’d flipped his legs over his head and literally bent himself in half so he could blow his own dick). Dante got so much deeper around him, his teeth and nails scratched and marked him, and just… fuck, what a body. This was the best. Maybe he wasn’t going to leave at all at this rate…

Sure, Vergil was back home, Vergil would probably be the only other person alive who could remotely satisfy his body with an equal fight (he still doubted his twin would settle for giving him this kind of soaking 69 or more). But shit, did he really need that arrogant asshole? Heh, nah, he’d probably end up returning to his time to try and save his twin. He was his big brother after all…but probably not before making sure he could get back here to this sexy, crude-mouthed guy who had no problem roughing him up and fucking sucking his dick so much it felt like he was draining his balls in one go. Hell yeah he enjoyed it. Fucking himself and all.

The other guy’s groan sounded so good and Dante laughed against the tip of Dante’s dick, tongue flicking over his head again. “Damn, throat sounds fucking raw,” he grinned, pulling the heavy cock backwards a little and kissing/sucking at his curved head. “Did I go too hard, bitch?” He knew he hadn’t; he was just being a jerk to himself. Turning his head, he leaned upward and pressed Dante’s cock to the side of his face, nuzzling his shaft and head and feeling all the little details of his dick against his skin. He knew he should be sucking this thing right now, but he wanted to give Dante a chance to catch his breath before swallowing him back down. Peering between them again, Dante arched a brow at seeing that blackness wisping around them. Devil trigger. Like his own wasn’t affected by that… A red, fire-like aura was already starting to flicker and flare around his body, the sclera of his eyes threatening from white to a blood red. His devil trigger was a lot different from Dante’s, but no less potent… and sex was really starting to wake him up.

Blood welled in beads on his thighs and he huffed in pleasure at feeling the cuts. But they healed quickly enough and Dante “obediently” unwrapped his leg from Dante’s head, freeing him again. “Fuck, sounds like you enjoyed that, getting that load down your throat. S’all over your face too.” He leaned up again, sucking on the tip of his dick a few more times before scraping his teeth along the underside. “It’s a good look for you, prick.” Especially when those fingers worked his cock and coaxed out a few more spurts of his come as Dante literally painted his face with his dick. Each brush and casual suck on the tip earned a low hitch of Dante’s hips and he finally shut himself up to give Dante the stage.

“Ngh! Hey! Don’t get so greedy, man,” he purred, definitely not sounding at all like he wanted that. Get greedy, ravish him, fuck do him all night long and he was good with that. What kind, huh? “A real rude son of a bitch,” he answered with a grin. Then opened his mouth and lapped at his dick. “Come on, asshole. Fuck your load right into me.” And clapped both hands on the top of Dante’s ass before pulling his hips down, shoving his cock deep into his mouth. Eyes closed and he sucked hard, bobbing his head over and over as he worked on the thick mast ramming into his throat. His tongue curled and flicked, working Dante’s cock over and over as he sucked him off, pressing into the slit on the tip as he blew him. Fuck, his precum was good enough, but his tongue and body were almost aching for the heat of Dante’s cum from before. Dammit, give it to him.

[ work was demanding but here i am. ]

They way they talked to each other was just so, ah, wonderful, really. Anyone else, he might feel a little on the guilty side, especially if it was a chick but when it's himself? Hell, he damn well knows he can take it and it's a bit of a turn on to be talked to like that when it's yourself. Consider it a sort of pep talk you give yourself in the mirror or some shit since that's basically what it was with each other. Damn, did such a thing like this really have to eventually end?

It's when his own devil trigger starts to wake up (who would have thought something like sex could activate it) that Dante glanced down to the other version of himself and took note of how different it was from his own. Same shit at the end of the day but the overall appearance of it was different in colours but not in the familiarity of its presence when activated. Of course, he'd only ever known his own so intimately and thus, obviously he would be able to feel it wrap around him and fill the room. But hey, as long as neither of them ended up blowing this place to pieces (he needed a place to crash ok?), he was fine with it and knew just how damn difficult it could be to really control the thing when it wanted to come out and play.

Now there's a thought: the two of them fucking each other when in devil trigger.

When his aching cock finally gets the attention it's been deprived for awhile now, he finds himself groaning in pleasure as black smoke glides off the bed and onto the floor like his own personal fog machine. Hell, it added a little something extra to the room though. But he laughed at the words that spilled from the other's mouth before his cock was shoved down that throat again and he reached between them to grab a fistful of that black hair. Man, what was up with that anyways? Did this mean Vergil had the same 'do? Not likely given how boring the guy could be.

But that's when he gets an idea, when he wants just a little something more from all of this and so, with those quick moves of his that he has all thanks to the demon blood of Sparda in his veins (thanks, pops!), Dante moved positions rather quickly while, somehow, keeping that dick of his shoved down that inviting little mouth his alternate self had as he came up to face him instead of being opposite of him. Look, the thought of being able to face-fuck this guy with his hand shoving that head down onto his raging cock was just too good to pass up like this, ok? Sorry but not sorry as far as he was concerned.

"Yeah, now this is a fucking nice sight right here." Dante practically purred the words as that demon hand of his brushed through those black strands of hair and tangled in a fistful of them. He wasn't gentle by any means with thrusting his hips into that mouth, let alone pushing Dante's head onto his dick, wanting to fuck that smartmouth of his until he could barely breathe and was choking on his cum. "Look at you gobbling that dick up. You want it that bad, huh? Well you're gonna get it for being such a nice guest." And that was when his pace became more ruthless, more erratic and he rammed that cock down the other's throat just as he came.

[welcome back! I know how it is with work so good luck there~]

Dante doesn’t respect anyone really. Even the girls he brings back to his trailer and fucked could get anything from classy charm (ala punk) to downright filthy language. Guilt’s hardly a thing, most of the time. But there is something completely different about mouthing off to Dante, to himself. Because there’s nothing to be concerned about, no wondering if he’ll be able to take it. Dante can take everything he says and gives back just as good as he gets. And it’s hot as hell. Not just for the crass sexual pleasure of it, but the encouragement to keep on fucking going and this is so much more than fine; it’s wanted. And Dante trusts him to take it strong just as well. Mutual power and respect, a hot as hell guy, literally the other side of the mirror fucking him right now? Shit, this isn’t going to any anymore.

He’ll bust his way back into this realm if he has to. The sudden surge of devil trigger above him has his body pulsing and Dante bucks his naked cock up into the air just as Dante drops his hip onto his face and drives his cock back into his mouth. The dark-haired youth grasps onto strong thighs, fingers digging in as he swallows and gulps around the thick mast invading his throat and shoving his jaws open enough to ache in the best fucking way. His own trigger’s not full blown yet and he’s determined not to let it this round. While it’s a fucking amazing thought to go banging each other through the skies in their demonic forms, he doesn’t want to blow up Dante’s pad. And truth be told, he wants to keep this “human” side of him around a lot more than his demon. Dante’s a handsome son of a bitch after all. Doesn’t stop the fiery aura from licking around his body and causing some of his veins to glow momentarily from his aroused demonic blood.

They’re so gonna fucking do it one day; he knows that already. Just lay into each other and fuck the hell out of themselves with it.

Dante shuts his eyes and moaned loudly around the other hunter’s cock, vibrations running up and down the entire length of it. From the base shoved against his lips to the drooling head plunging deep into his throat. He hears that groan answer his own and the black smoke coiling off the bed twines with his own fiery aura, the mixture of shadow and blood writhing with each other as much as their creators are. Hell yeah it added to the room. Dante growls softly at that laugh, though the middle finger that abruptly slaps against Dante’s hips is indication he likes it. A sudden grunt bursts wet from his mouth, saliva spattering over Dante’s balls and leaking down the dark-haired hunter’s mouth and chin as fingers grab into his hair. He clenches only Dante’s hips hard and he gags around his cock as a light pain races down his head. And hell no, Vergil does not have the same hairstyle; his brother’s hair is white and full and swept back in a controlled, cool style like the elegant, power-hungry prick he is. Not like Dante’s black hair, all rebellious styled with the sides and back cropped close and the top left unkempt with bangs and soft spikes forming a sort of quasi-mohawk tapering off into a point at the nape of his neck. Still, there’s enough to grab and he bites down “lightly” on Dante’s dick in answer.

He’s about to pull back, start sucking again, when suddenly the whole scenery changes. Instead of looking up at that nice ass and pair of balls, he’s treated to the bed bounding under his shoulder blades and both of those athletic legs swinging off to the side. His eyes widen and he yelps around the other guy’s cock as it literally spins in his mouth, drilling his throat and tongue as Dante rights himself above him (okay fuck that’s kind of impressive being able to do that without fucking unplugging his mouth and all). His hands slide off the other’s hips and drop to the bed, staying out of the way until Dante finally settles and he’s now facing a chiseled set of abs above him and Dante’s cock is rubbing on the other side of his throat now. He pulls back enough to get only the tip in his mouth, cobalt eyes lifting up the plane of Dante’s body to give him a questioning look. That’s not an apologetic face… Uh-oh—OH FUCK!

Dante choked up a mouthful of spit and precum, making another soaking mess of Dante’s stomach and legs as fingers grab his hair and plunge his head right back onto the other’s dick. Not gentle at all. He slaps one hand against Dante’s shoulder above him, the other curling in a fist as his throat’s forced open around the other hunter’s prick. And those damn words too. “Fuck you,” he gurgles in a muffled attempt around the length working in and out of his mouth. He bobs under Dante’s control, letting him fuck his mouth with every thrust of those hips. Doesn’t even suck for a period, just lets him stab him over and over. He curls and slaps his tongue against Dante’s shaft, tasting his precum and feeling the bulging load churning in the main vein beneath his cock, his head sizzling with every fist of his hair. The heavy rhythm has him bouncing his head against the bed, saliva drooling down his chin and slinging onto his throat and chest as it leaks down Dante’s balls and slings off every time those twin orbs slap against his face. Messy and hot and fuck it’s amazing!

It is a fucking nice site, brows furrowed and eyes closed, squeezing when Dante forces him to deepthroat his cock. His chest bowed upwards again, hands grappling at Dante’s hips as they slammed into his face. Fuck, does he expect him to breathe with this big thing rammed down his windpipe?! Dante digs his fingers into Dante’s hips and yanks, pulling him flush to his face as he headily sucks on his dick, gulping and gagging as he chokes on the precum-drooling mast filling his mouth and pushing down his throat. His head spins and his eyes redden at the perimeters from the lack of air. His chest burns and a second later, right as warning signs are going off, he’s pulled back and sputters for air, gasping through the wet mess all over his face. Until Dante pulls and he goes down again. Gobblign it up, huh? Fuck yeah he is, consuming his cock and sucking down his precum, working his dick with his mouth and tongue and doing his damnest to coax that belated load right out of his balls. He feels the prelude a second later when those paces speed up, Dante’s hips slamming into his face with wet smacks that resound louder than the creaking bed. Harder, faster, ruthlessly fucking his fac—FUCKING BLOW, DAMMIT!

And he does, ramming his dick clean down his throat. Dante feels his other’s cock swell between his lips and teeth, his head pulsing in his throat, and suddenly he’s coming. A low groan bleeds from his chest and he gags, choking on the torrent of white spilling inside him. His throat’s slick muscles flutter and quiver around the hard shaft as Dante’s seed pours into him and he swallows, only half-on-purpose choking up a few spurts to burst white and wet between his lips stretched around the base of Dante’s shaft. He can’t even bob his head, only hollows his cheeks and clings to Dante’s hips as his legs kick and scramble over the bed behind the other guy. Toes curl and rake up the sheets and he digs his heels into the mattress as his knees tent and his hips and chest buck and writhe on the bed as the need to breathe and the greedy desire to drink Dante dry war in his chest. Fuck, that’s a big load, and if Dante looks, he’s going to easily see the column of Dante’s throat bobbing up and down, cords in his neck hardening as he guzzles down the hot liquid over and over with audible gulps and chokes.

[[Be gentle, please - bird bones are fragile.]]

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