1 . Name: Muinargante @ 2012-09-23 22:22

I understand that what exactly is going on in the dialougue can get confusing, just remember it's all from Heavy's perspective and it is rather hard to keep track of what language you're speaking under some circumstances.

I do hope someone else shares my love for strange pairings.

---------------------------------------------------------------

It is a strange thing, what is happening, I think.

A very strange thing, I repeat to myself, and then realize that I have spoken out loud.

“Y’could say that again, mate,” slurs the skinny little man sprawled out on top of me, breath as stinking of alcohol as my own. He chuckles, a dry chuckle, dry as the land he came from; licking chapped lips cracked like red earth.

“Who would’ve thought you’d get all cuddly after a few drinks?” this man of dust and savage heat continues on amiably, shifting slightly in my grasp. I admire how big my hands are in comparison to his stretched out frame, he is someone made out of leather and taffy instead of flesh and blood. I wonder how easy it would be to snap him in half.

“I have had much more than just a few drinks,” I say after a moment, slightly hurt.

“English mate, English,” comes the gentle reprimand.

I say it again, this time concentrating so it is in a form tiny man can understand. He lets out a little huff that sounds very amused before laughing as if I have said funniest thing in world. We are tangled together outside his van, I am leaning back against a tire while he is half in my lap and my arms are half around him. There is no one around and we are both drunk so this is okay.

We are both teammates and we are both adults, world weary and responsible; there is nothing to fear.

I say this out loud too, as I am looking up at the sky and the faded stars that are dimmed by the lights of the van. The vodka has burned away all the filters in my throat, it seems.

The man in my arms sighs and says something in agreement, with his voice thick and like syrup running over gravel. I like his accent, it would most likely sound terrible in my mother tongue though.

He pushes up, hands on my chest, he is kissing me but I am still looking up at the sky and wondering how different the stars must be for him, all the way on the other side of the world. Insistent lips finally coax me to kiss back, he tilts his head and slips out his tongue and I get further intoxicated on the drink staining it.

This is okay too.

We fumble at each other with clumsy hands, his are more sluggish than mine, but I think that is just because he is more patient. There’s no need to rush, he breathes against my cheek after we finally separate.

“I could not if I wanted to,” I rumble through my stomach, tugging off his shirt as he raises his arms as spindly as tree branches, “It is hard to tell where hands are going.”

I smile and I am the one laughing this time, at my own joke, and toss pesky shirt aside; my face is likely redder than the dirty fabric now. My companion on this mild night straddles me, fixes his piss tinted glasses. I do not know why he does not take them off but, I humor him.

I lean forward to press open mouthed kisses to his neck and, even though they are sloppy and not my best work, he gives a little grunt of appreciation; own hands rubbing over my clothed thighs in a way that could be called affectionate.

Trailing down to his collar bone, mouthing tanned leather-flesh, I start to roll my hips gently against his, shoes scraping against the dirt to get enough leverage. There is no need to rush.

My little friend responds in kind, as I knew he would, and matches my movements. I can feel us both stiffening, can feel his breaths quickening on the skin of my head. A murmur of pleasure rolls off my tongue. Rough, dry dry, hands finally go to take off the trappings on my own upper body. I do not help him and instead have fun toying with his left nipple with aforementioned tongue; using my hands to knead his bum.

It’s not a very plump one, but it is a satisfying one.

I have managed to get a groan out of the man—a great accomplishment as this one is quite reticent—but, after a moment I decide that it was probably one of frustration as he futilely tries to remove my shirt.

“Oi,” his voice wavers slightly as I move onto the right nipple, “Oi!” He smacks my head and I chuckle simply because I know it will infuriate him. I push and we roll forward so his bare back is now against the dirt. He squawks and I nuzzle his cheek, mocking his position as my fingers drag over his taut stomach.

“Y’gonna crush me,” the little man says without any of his usual tact, squirming under me with his legs sticking up at my hips.

“I will not,” I respond simply, now fumbling with his worn leather belt. I do not mention that I enjoy the fact I could easily squash him like bug (I had no intent to anyway). He sucks in a breath when my hand succeeds in slipping into his underwear, I cup him and rub him to full hardness, a loose smile still on my face as I watch him bloom red. Head falls back, glasses askew again but he does not fix them this time, fingers are twitching uselessly in the dirt as he rolls his hips up.

“Got some real big hands there…” come the strained, mumbling, words, and I know if he were not drunk the man would be silent but for his labored breaths.

There is the sound of scraping dirt as I shift to be more comfortable, resting back so I could start undoing my own pants with my free hand. Under me, the dazed Australian’s eyes have gone half lidded. He is watching me through slitted eyes like some wild beast. I like to imagine that lazy strokes to his cock keep him tame.

Now, my aching need is exposed to the night air and I suck in breath through my teeth as I give it a good once-over, under me the smaller stirs as I stop paying attention to him. Before he has chance to protest, I shuffle forward and state simply that we do not have lube.

“Y’where supposed to-“

I raised my eyebrows and he sighs, rolling his eyes in turn, pushing himself up onto his elbows and then I push my length into his warm mouth.

I moan, not bothering with restraint, a low rumble across an empty land and it feels like the man under me is only other man left. My head tilts back and I press him closer with my hand on the back of his head; I make sure to be gentle though, I have no desire to see this little one of much dignity choke on my cock. He cannot take me all in but, puts in a very good effort, gets closer than many other’s have.

I wonder if he has experience.

It does not matter.

He traces big vein on bottom with his flat tongue, breathing through his nose, swirling around and then pulling back a little so he can pay more attention to sensitive head. Suction is applied and warmth bubbles up in my gut.

My lips part now, as to suck in more breath, I can feel my nerves on fire. Gaze travels down to see lips stretched around my length that is much too big for him and I cannot look away. I see saliva slicked flesh when he starts to bob his head and—unknowingly—my grip on the back of his head is getting tighter and tighter.

He makes a noise of discomfort and I start, releasing him sheepishly with a mumbled apology. I am flustered enough that I forget english once again. The message is clear enough though and he pats me on the thigh, “No worries.”

The sentence ends with a cough and a uncomfortable face even he cannot manage to hide but, I do not waste time feeling too bad.

“Right, now, let’s get down to this before that dries.”

I nod.

Preparation is a quick affair, he had kicked off his pants completely while his mouth was occupied and somehow managed to start himself; I credit it to much flexibility.

In a few moments I am testing this flexibility.

I am bent over him and he is almost bent in half; wirey legs that go on forever slung over my shoulders. My hands are clenched around his thighs, hard enough that there will be deep purple bruises there in the hours to come. I am not concerned about that right now.

In fact, I am not thinking about anything, merely pounding into this man that is more quiet dignity than human. Merely taking all of that from him. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh fill the air and all semblance of gentleness is gone. I am sure he likes it.

Sweat glistens on his skin and his hands are clawing at the ground, mouth gaping and him gasping for air like dying fish. I go faster. My nostrils flare and I grunt at each thrust; teeth grit as I so overwhelm the other under me that he cannot find his throat to moan. It does not take me long to finish inside of him, and he pumps himself to my shallow finishing thrusts until he tenses up and then shivers like a released bowstring, spurting onto his stomach and letting out a muted growl.

I pull out and roll over to lay on my back next to him; trying to catch my breath and figure out which stars I was seeing were the ones in the sky.