Jungle God

This is a little gem I discovered in the shrouded, misty past of my Y!Gallery. Truth be told, I'd forgotten I'd even written it until today.

For all that I completely perv out over Wolverine, Storm is my favorite X-Man. I love her regality, her strength, her compassion, and her powers. I've been through more ups-and-downs with her than anyone else on the team. So when it came to making her a guy, the writing just felt natural.

I'm thinking of writing a remake of this, with Logan instead of Ka-Zar, but still set in the same place. Thoughts? Comment here or on my Y!Gal page. :)

~*~

“Warning. Warning. Guidance System failure. Eject now.”

“Hold together for me…just a little longer…”

Raoro Munroe gritted his teeth as he struggled with the unresponsive controls of the minijet. The electrical systems sparked and sizzled as he fought for all he was worth, but the plane’s descent would not be denied. Finally, with a growl of frustration, the X-Man punched the bright red “EJECT” button. The jet’s canopy blew off, carried away by winds strong and brittle enough to tear a human body apart, and then Raoro was launched into the bleak, cold Antarctic air.

For anyone else, this would have been only the beginning of the danger, but for Raoro, it was the light at the end of the tunnel. For long before he’d joined the X-Men, he had been worshipped as a benevolent Sky Father by tribes in his native Kenya, brother-consort to Mother Earth herself. Even though he was only called “Strong Wind-Rider” as a term of endearment now, he was still Storm, an X-Man, and master of weather.

The cold, while extremely unpleasant, did not freeze him, nor did the destructive force of the stratospheric wind harm him in any way. As soon as he’d fallen through a layer of clouds, to where the atmosphere was thick enough to be commanded, Storm gathered the winds about him and soared over the bleak Antarctic tundra, watching regretfully as a fireball blossomed in the distance where his jet had made its final, fatal crash.

Goddess, that will be difficult to explain. I shall never understand why Charles didn’t simply let me fly here on my own. Even back when he’d first joined the X-Men, Raoro had made trans-Atlantic flights in less than a day, with only a sharp hunger and fatigue bothering him on the other side. After years of training in the Danger Room and elsewhere, Storm was fairly confident that he could manage to fly all the way round the globe, if necessary, without needing to use one of Xavier’s machines. But in America, it seemed, everyone was in a hurry, and Raoro had to grudgingly admit that airplanes and jets were still faster than he was.

A massive ring of mountains in the distance, measuring over fifty miles in diameter, caught Raoro’s attention. Deep in the valley of those mountains was his objective, shrouded in unusually thick clouds.

The Savage Land, Storm thought, his body suddenly rife with anticipation. As dangerous as the jungle was, especially one filled with prehistoric animals, every time he’d been there, the “weather-warlock” had always felt more at peace and free in the sheltered, tropical valley than anywhere else in the world. Even if he was on a mission…his crashed jet was only further proof of how serious the situation was…Raoro already looked forward to being in the Savage Land. It would be something like going home…or back to what his home should have been, before despots and petty dictators ran roughshod over them and destroyed the tribes that worshipped him.

Breaching the clouds inside the valley, Raoro looked around in astonishment, as he always did whenever he first entered this deadly paradise. The vista alone was breathtaking…miles of verdant jungle canopy, throbbing with the essence of life itself, nearly untouched by man or mutant, free from the concerns of the world outside. There was no M-Day here, no bloodless extermination of mutants. There were no laws or bills denying people the basic right to live just because of how they were born. And even though Storm had a mission here, he felt as though he could leave his cares and worries completely in the dust.

Once he landed at the foot of the mountains, just at the edge of the vast jungle, Raoro breathed deeply of the humid Savage Land air. It smelled of nature, of new-grown leaves and long-lost flowers, of rich, fertile soil and hot, life-giving rain. But there was something missing. Storm thought for a moment, and then smiled. He knew what it was.

It had been said of Storm’s powers that he was immune to temperature changes. That was close, but not perfectly accurate. Raoro’s body was surrounded by a field of perfect temperature, one that he could control or eliminate altogether if he wanted to. With the field up, as it had been outside the valley, he could stay comfortable no matter how hot or cold this surroundings got; he could survive in an open volcano or frozen in a glacier. But it came at a cost; his sense of the natural world around him was impaired when he was controlling his body temperature like that, like trying to hear through earmuffs. So whenever the temperature outside was comfortable (or at least bearable), Storm would lower the field, subjecting himself to the temperature of the rest of the world, and let himself feel in tune with the planet itself.

That was what he did now. With a sudden impact, like being covered with a thick, heavy quilt, the tropical heat and humidity slammed into Raoro, staggering him with its brutal intensity. He welcomed it, relished it, and spread his arms out for more.

Unfortunately, there was still something blocking his way. This time, it took only a second to realize what it was. With a wicked smile, Storm peeled his black-and-gold uniform off, hiding it as best he could in a nearby bush. Back in America, not only was personal modesty an alarmingly omnipresent concept, but the weather always seemed too cold for Raoro to let his guard down and disrobe as he could here. As much as he would have liked to raise his arms there and transform Salem Center into an equatorial paradise, Xavier frowned on any mutant, especially an X-Man, using their powers in such a way unless there was need, or on special occasions. And he certainly wouldn’t have let Raoro do it just to be free of those absurd, constricting scraps of fabric people made each other wear.

Now refreshingly naked, completely open to the elements physically and spiritually, he headed for a lake he often frequented and drank deep, pausing to look at himself in the mirror. A leanly muscular African man gazed back, with skin the color of milk chocolate and eyes so bright and blue they matched the sky itself. His hair tumbled in cascade of silver around his shoulders, having been allowed to grow out considerably after the embarrassing phase where he’d shaved himself completely bald except for a single forelock of white, as part of a rebellious stage in his own personal growth.

He knew he was attractive, and reveled in enjoying his own body, and the bodies of other men whom his appearance pleased. T’Challa was, of course, the first man who came to mind. But Forge had also been a longtime suitor of his, that brilliant, thoughtful Cheyenne man with the tormented past and unmatched candor. Though they had ended bitterly, Storm still remembered his time with the shaman as sweet. There had been brief, torrid affairs with Logan, Kurt, and Piotr, before Raoro had come across the disturbing concept of jealousy, and in Kurt’s case, religious turmoil. The thought that one man could belong solely to another, especially in acts so supremely joyful as making love, made Raoro squirm inwardly, and he bristled at the thought of being rejected by an entire religion simply because of whom you chose to love.

Even the memory was starting to make dark mists gather about the lake, and Raoro dove beneath the surface to cleanse his body and mind, lest he ruin the delicate balance of the Savage Land in a simple fit of bad memories. The warm water swirled about him, caressed him, pulled him gently in all the right places., and he felt himself hardening. Climbing back to the shore, he spread his arms and legs, gripping the sand as if it were a lover, and lay back, simply enjoying the way his large, powerful hardness thrust proudly skyward from its glistening nest of silver pubic hair.

It seemed Storm had only closed his eyes for a moment before he felt something warm and wet engulf his rampant member. Opening his eyes in surprise…he hadn’t even felt the air move…he relaxed when he saw Kevin Plunder, the Savage Land’s chosen protector, kneeling naked before his supine form, engulfing his black-skinned cock in that sensuous, talented mouth.

“Ka-Zar…” he whispered, his voice deep and rich with want. The English noble-turned-savage responded with a long, slow lick up the underside of his shaft and a mischievous smile as he reached up and gave a powerful squeeze to Storm’s chest, massaging the hard slabs of muscle as he turned his mouth to Raoro’s balls. His hand was busily working, sliding up and down his own shaft, making his balls jostle back and forth between his kneeling thighs, and Storm fund himself panting at the sight. Ka-Zar noticed this, and without a word positioned himself above Raoro’s lips, letting the African weather-god take his red length into his mouth and nurse on it for all he was worth.

The two men, African god and European beast, stayed locked in that wondrous position for what felt like hours, tasting each other’s most forbidden parts, sampling of all the joys one man can give another, before Ka-Zar broke the position and turned to face Raoro. “Please… beautiful, black thunder-god…it has been too long. I need you inside me.”

Storm nodded his assent, and stretched himself out on the soil as Ka-Zar straddled him, admiring the wild man’s muscular body and powerful tan thighs as he tossed his golden lion’s-mane and pushed Raoro’s member into his tight, welcoming body. Hs face contorted in the naked ecstasy of lust, and Storm started thrusting upwards, feeling the weight of Ka-Zar’s heavy balls on his stomach as he watched the jungle man’s cock begin to spurt its pre-ejaculate nectar over his chest. Using one hand to hold the hard, rounded globes of Ka-Zar’s buttocks, Storm used his free hand to smear the fluid over the jutting maleness in front of him, wishing to the Goddess that he were limber enough, as he had been in his adolescence, to ream the jungle lord and suck him at the same time.

Their moans echoed and resonated with each other, seeming to caress each other in the humid air as their bodies did on the ground, As their passion escalated and the heat of the jungle consumed their senses, man and mutant became as animals, mauling each other and thrusting against one another with a primal urgency and drive that stained their skin with blushes of exertion and contorted their faces with pure, raw passion and ecstasy.

Thunder clapped overhead as Storm tossed his argent hair out of his face, and the two were drenched in hot, tropical rain that steamed as it hit their naked bodies, heightening their passions further as they slid against each other in the storm, grasping every part of one another that they could reach.

Ka-Zar was the first to lose control. In a fit of passion, Raoro lunged forward and swallowed his member whole, while keeping his own maleness firmly lodged inside the jungle lord’s body. Being taken from both ends like that caused Ka-Zar’s body to spasm wildly, and with a howl born from the most primal origins of humanity itself, he spent himself, over and over again, into the weather-god’s hot, willing mouth.

Storm was now completely bombarded on all fronts with sensuality; the scent of Ka-Zar’s lust a spicy musk in his nostrils, the taste of his semen salty and bitter, but heady and addictive in his mouth. He looked up and watched Ka-Zar’s face contort in the throes of orgasm time and again, and heard his cries, moans, and sighs echoing in his ears. But the feelings…oh, Goddess, the feelings!…that rode roughshod over his skin were what drove him over the edge. His throbbing, steel-hard member completely engulfed by Ka-Zar’s heat, the jungle lord’s body pressed firmly against his own, slick with sweat and rainfall…and when Ka-Zar’s tightness clenched uncontrollably around him in a desperate expression of climax, Raoro was himself overcome by pleasure. Lightning streaked across the sky as he screamed in ecstasy, shooting deep into Ka-Zar’s bowels as the savage’s legs wrapped tightly around his own, their bodies trembling and gyrating uncontrollably as they coated each other, and the ground beneath them, in their own creamy essences.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the two relaxed into each other’s embrace, soaked in fluids. The skies cleared almost instantly, and Raoro looked up at Ka-Zar with a gentle smile. “It is good to see you again, my Jungle Lord. But what of Shanna?”

Ka-Zar met Storm’s gaze directly. “She is a wonderful woman and I am proud to be her husband. But some things must be shared between men…or between man and God.” Raoro felt the blush rise in his cheeks again, and he gave Ka-Zar a deep, powerful kiss, before the two of them dove into the lake together.

Raoro knew he still had a mission to accomplish…his jet had crashed for no apparent reason and he was, for all intents and purposes, stranded in the Savage Land. But constant danger was part of who he was, and he had learned to take respite whenever it came along…and treasure those moments when they came. Ka-Zar would help him uncover the threat, and stop it. And they would celebrate, as only those who are in touch with nature truly can. The X-Men would find him, and he would go back to his life as one of them. But for now…just for these few fleeting days…he was Storm of the Savage Land.

And it felt right.

~*~

Wolverine Likes Watching Teammates Sweat

Another day, another Wolverine porn fic. Or so I thought when I first sat down to write this. Turns out, the story contained so many of Logan's thoughts, I figured it might as well be written entirely in his voice.

I think the key word I was going for here was "depraved." Granted, most of my fics are depraved in some point or other, but I just wanted to write some pure, utter filth.

~*~

I fuckin' love bein' supervisor on Danger Room sessions. It's almost as much fun as gettin' to shred stuff in it.

Surprised ya, didn't I? Most people think I'm only inta scrappin'. All-fight, all-the-time. But that ain't me, any more than Frost sits in her 'bu-dwaah' an' drinks champagne all day, or Summers gets all his jollies outta bossin' us around. OK, maybe he does, but that ain't th' point! Point is, we're all more than we seem ta be onna surface.

An' besides bein' a born scrapper, I'm one horny fucker most'a th' time. So, give a guy like me th' job a'watchin' a team like this, an' you bet'cher ass I'm gonna love it.

Take today, f'r instance. it's a straight up, four-on-four team brawl. Only rule is, like always, don't hurt nobody serious-like. The holograms whipped up some big-ass alien moonscape or whatever, but that ain't important.

What is important is the lineup. Blue team is Scotty, Hank, Alex, an' Drake...Cyclops, Beast, Havok, an' Iceman, if ya wanna keep track. Nate, the Russkie, the Elf, an' the Cajun...Cable, Colossus, Nightcrawler, an' Gambit...are Gold team, or as I like ta call it, "Sexy Accents Central." 'Cept fer Cable, every one'a them's got a voice makes my skin crawl. In th' good way, if ya know what I mean.

Ah, hell with it. There ain't a guy down there whose bones I wouldn't jump, given half a shot.

I signal th' start a'the session, an' they're all in action. Cyke an' Havok fire off shots at Colossus at th' same time, figurin' him fer th' biggest threat. Since Cable's the only psychic down there, I figure they might be right...even though that whole techno-virus or whatever is gone from his system, he don't like usin' his powers 'less he's gotta...or when he's in bed.

My mind starts wanderin'...the good part about bein' supervisor. I c'n picture the Summers Brothers under the mistletoe, all naked an' sweaty from a roarin' fire, makin' out an' rubbin' up against each other while Cable's on his knees, servicin' his Dad an' Uncle Alex with that hot mouth. He ain't much fer facial expressions, but he reminds me of that Nine Days song from a few years back...I absolutely love him when he smiles. An' when he smirks, it goes right ta my loins. Guy's one sexy silver daddy, an' it's like he don't even know it. Too obsessed with th' flaws, I guess.

Back in th'real world, Colossus ain't even slowin' down as he marches up ta th' Summerses. His uniform's torched from th' waist up, an' his metal bod is built. Lookin' at him like this is like starin' at a piece of fine art...but when his shirt's off an' there's skin underneath it, that's when I start feelin' all lightheaded. Th' kid may be an artist...damn good one, too...but he's hot enough ta be a fuckin' professional model. I've lost count'a th' times I've wanted ta push him onto his back on a locker room bench, climb on top'a him, an' just sit my ass down on that hard Siberian hot rod. I love a big hard cock inside me just as much as I love givin' it ta someone else good an' hard, an' with Petey I definitely wanna go both ways. Wouldn't be able ta call him Petey Pureheart after that, that's fer damn sure...though Petey Pound-Me-Real-Good has a nice ring to it, too.

Speakin' a goin' both ways, Bobby an' the Elf are keepin' pace with each other nicely. Th' kid's playin' snowball-tag while the Elf teleports, that sexy German laugh a' his echoing in my ears like a silk curtain brushin' over my skin. Drake and I never got on that well...too much alike. Back before I signed on, he was pretty much me, arguin' with One-Eye every chance he got. He turned that anger on Petey, Kurt, an' me when we joined...the original X-Men were the only X-Men, ta him, an' we were the intruders messin' with th' natural order. Can't say I appreciated that, but I understand. Over th' years he's mellowed some, but he never really grew all th' way up, an' 'Crawler's been helpin' with that every chance he gets. Wouldn't surprise me ta walk in on 'em some day, fuckin' on the War Room table, Bobby thrustin' an' groanin' on top while Kurt tailfucks him from below...Damn, it's gettin' hot in here.

No one can see me in th' control booth from behind th' holograms...They ain't gonna care if I give "li'l Logan" a little air.

That's better. Now, where was I?

Hot damn. Th' Cajun an' Hank are makin' like it's the fuckin' Olympics, bouncin' around each other like jackrabbits on speed. Hank's claws are tearin' up LeBeau's coat, so he tosses it aside...doesn't need th'drag...showin' off that lean, wiry bod in th'skintight armor. An' that ass...I used ta think Betsy had every guy on th'team beat in the ass department, but one look at Gumbo from behind, without the trench gettin' in the way, an' all I can think of is how much I wanna kiss those perfect cheeks, an' shove my tongue all the way in between 'em, lickin' his sweet spot till he cries out some mangled French obscenity an' creams me good.

I'd be doin' Hank a disservice if I didn't mention his fine, beefy ass...kinda wish all th' guys on th'team dressed like him, in nothin' but skin-tight Speedos. I love a big guy with a heart, an' they don't get any bigger, or more big-hearted, than the Doc. His fur's the same shade'a dark, dark blue as the Elf's, an' I wonder what it'd look like if they got t'gether in a dark room. Would McCoy's eyes glow like 'Crawler's as he sucked th'German's dick? Would I even be able ta make out Kurt's body writhin' under Hank's as the Beast locked him in a hot, sexy 69? An' when they fucked, whose voice would send me over the edge without touchin' myself faster?

My fist is wrapped around my meat, an' I'm beatin' off while I watch these hot guys pretend ta kick the crap out of each other. I wish I could say a word an' get 'em all as revved-up as me, watch the uniforms fly off an' get eight naked, sweaty mutant men all rubbin' up against each other. As it is, th' only person down there who could even guess what I'm thinkin' about is Cable, an' he's busy backin' up a half-naked Russkie. His big-ass guns fire stun beams outta both barrels, an' Scotty an' Alex dodge like one being, their instincts honed an' trained ta work in perfect tandem even though they ain't even been on the same team all that long at a time. My brain goes back inta Happy Incest Land, an' I'm in a three-way with the boys, Alex fuckin' me from above while I plow Scooter missionary-style. I wonder if their mouths would taste alike if I kissed 'em while fuckin', one after the other...even though Scotty's the older brother by a good couple years, they act like twins more often than not. That'd be one helluva check off my personal Bucket List, bein' in th'middle a'that hot-ass sandwich. Throw Nathan in fer good measure...could always use an extra cock, mouth, ass, or pair a'balls. Woof.

When I cum, it sneaks up on me...somewhere between fuckin' the Summers boys, havin' a threesome with Blue an' Bobby, or bein' gangbanged by Petey, LeBeau, an' 'Crawler, my whole body spasms, an' I gotta bite my lip ta keep from screamin' out loud as I buck my hips like crazy, fuckin' my fist like there's no tomorrow as my cock swells up an' shoots load after load all over the control console. My whole body arches an' writhes, an' I'm caught in the grip a'the best damn orgasm I've had since servin' with Steve Rogers in the Deuce (a story fer another time.)

I cum fer a good 30 seconds before I come down, an' come back t'myself. Thank fuck Charley had th'good sense ta get it waterproofed when he upgraded...don't need ta make the Room go haywire just 'cause I wanna get my rocks off. As it is, the whole thing's covered in my jizz, an' I'm gonna have a helluva time cleanin' it up before one side or the other wins.

I look out the window ta make sure no one figured out what I was doin'. Nope...they're all involved, havin' the time a'their lives. Even Slim's grinnin'. Lookin' sexy when ya smile must be in th'Summers genome somewhere, along with overly complicatin' yer life by makin' bonehead decisions. Oh well.

I grab a rag from th'supply closet nearby an' start moppin' up. Suddenly, by mistake, I press down too hard while wipin' up a keyboard, an' an army of Sentinels materializes in th'Danger Room.

Oops. Better find a cover fer this. Thinkin' fast, I tab the mic.

"New plan, folks! Yer all on th'same team again, an' everyone's goin' inta recycling!"

They spring into it like th'pros I know they are. Ta be honest, I like watchin' 'em fight as a team way more than I like seein' 'em fight each other. Reminds me a'what makes th' X-Men so different from any other outfit I ever belonged to. That, an' watchin' 'em fight t'protect each other gives off some real nice Theban Band vibes.

Maybe I won't put my pants on just yet.

~FIN~

~*~

Birthday Present from TheMadSlasher

I bet you guys thought I forgot about you. ^_^

Well, I'm back with more offerings! This one was a birthday present from my good friend TheMadSlasher, following up on a Logan/Snake crossover fic he wrote. Under the circumstances of that fic, which can be found on his Y!Gallery, he doesn't think the two of them would get along too well if they actually met.

However, not only does he like the idea of them together under different circumstances, but he describes this present to me as "a wish fulfillment piece that ignores perfect internal logic for the sake of porn." Good thing, too, because this is SCORCHING.

Enjoy!

~*~

Curt's Birthday Present

"Not An Animal, Reprise"

The Mercenary sat in the bar. His eyes glanced around the room, as they always did whenever he wasn't in HQ. He was clad in a pair of black jeans and a tight red shirt.

On the other side of the room, a short, black-haired man recognized his scent. The short man immediately smirked. Ever since he heard about Philanthropy on the news he'd been tracking the soldier... the man that held him in a basement for a week. The man that was everything Weapon X would've wanted.

Dave began lifting the large glass to his lips. He quickly set it down when he saw the familiar face slide into the seat next to him. His eyes instantly narrowed as he scanned the stocky man for any weapons.

"Not armed. Not here fer a fight," Logan quickly replied. "Saw yer charity in tha papers."

The gravelly rasp took him back all those years; he suddenly felt the same cold sink into his bones as he watched the muscled feral struggle like an animal. And he's so much more human than I ever was. He didn't say a single word; his fingers gripped the glass with enough force that his knuckles were bone-white.

Logan placed his hand out with an open palm. His fingers were not rigid. "Ya know... what yer doin' now... its whatcha always wanted ta do."

Dave knew exactly what Logan was referring to. What Fox did. What I was too weak to do. The mercenary took a breath.

Logan felt his heart rate increase as he looked at the handsome face before him, yer livin' yer own life now... ya broke tha leash they put on ya... and that's so fuckin' hot.

Dave knew Logan's extended hand was not merely an offer of forgiveness. The gravitas of the feral's words, the dignity of the wildman's posture, those cobalt eyes boring into his own with the same determination he saw in the eyes of Hal and Fox. Even the gravelly voice of the feral had the same tone Naomi used when she said one must not be chained to fate.

He took a breath and extended his own hand.

Logan wanted to cheer, but he smiled warmly as he felt the soldier's battle-roughenned hand grasp his own and shake firmly. The mercenary's grip on his own was strong and trustworthy.
"Ya don't have ta if ya don't wanna.... but wanna come back ta my place fer some fun?"

[Thirty Minutes Later...]
The feral was straddling the soldier's waist; his knees ground into the sheets as he felt Snake's length slide up and down between his butt cheeks. His face was a lustful leer as he looked at the body below him; all sinews and flexible cords optimized for precision and speed. He licked his lips as he leant over and began to plant kisses down the Mercenary's torso. He left one on each scar; gonna be here a while.

The heat of the granite-hard, dark-haired muscle above him almost had him panting already; it pressed down on his body with significant weight. His hands clasped at the Canadian's waist; a droplet of his precum slid down his shaft as he thought about what was happenning next, wanna be inside him.

Logan lifted his head; his cobalt gaze locked itself onto the mercenary's forest green as he licked his lips;
"Ya ready fer it Dave? Wanna feel that hot cock o'yers buried inside me? Cause damn I want it too... I'm all lubed up and ready ta go handsome.."
The feral's mind was too clouded with lust for him to register that Snake said nothing; the man beneath him grunted and even purred at times but not a single word escaped those lips. Logan didn't care as he positioned his ass atop the Alaskan's length and slid his way down.

The feral made a growl that nearly became a roar as his tight ass descended further; his hole devoured the soldier's shaft in a smooth, slow motion steadied by Snake's hands around his waist.

Dave grit his teeth as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. His white-knuckled grip on the Canadian's hips remained steady as he tried to avoid letting a shout erupt from his lungs with each additional inch he was drawn into the wildman.

As Logan felt the hilt of Dave's cock pressing against his ass, he let his head tilt back and took a deep breath. Droplets of sweat fell down his torso and moved through the thick forest of hair atop the thick ropes of musculature that reinforced his stocky frame. The heat and pressure moving inside him only stoked the fire in his loins; his hand encircled his achingly rigid shaft and began to pump back and forth as his body began to move up and down.
"Fuckin' hell Dave... I fuckin' love this..." he growled, "yer cock feels so fuckin' good in me Dave"... his voice became rougher as his sliding up and down the Alaskan's shaft became faster, "I'm gonna cum soon stud... yer gettin' close ain'tcha? Wanna cum inside me don'tcha handsome?"

The mercenary responded by thrusting upwards into the amazingly tight and hot ass his hands were kneading; his heart rate surged with each motion into the hairy man above him. The knot in his gut only grew tigher with each depraved syllable the mutant uttered. But still over every guttral grunt he made, no words emerged from his mouth.

Finally the tension within both men reached the apex; Dave let out a drawn out, rough moan that interlaced with Logan's harsh, subterranean growl. The feral's load shot skyward and landed on his furred chest. The mercenary came inside Logan with several more upward thrusts; each one targeting the wildman's prostate with ruthless precision.

Snake felt the heat of Logan's body descend back onto his; the smoky whisper of the feral's voice massaged his ears;
"Ya feelin' good?"
"I'm good," he replied quickly in his own metallic rasp.

Least he didn't say "I'm fine", Logan thought with almost some regret. He recognized that controlled, military demeanor of absolute professionalism; that appearance of stability which was almost masochistic to imitate.. just like Scotty... he don't wanna relax..

And then an idea emerged in his mind. He smirked as he contemplated it.
"I know whatcha need Dave... I gotta real treat fer ya... yer gonna love it..."

[Two Minutes Later...]
Dave lay back in the sling; the angle made his legs naturally drift back and the firm, muscled globes of his ass spread. His eyes shot straight towards the Canadian; the pupils diluted as his heart raced.

"Relax, stud..." Logan playfully snarled from a table across the room, "I ain't gonna tie ya up er anythin'... ain't gonna control ya.." fuck, that's tha last thing I wanna do... "yer a real reserved one Dave..." Logan began to turn around from the table; he carried something in his hand, "Im gonna make ya lose yer inhibitions..."

Dave saw the playful smirk on Logan's face; his pulse raced when he made out the form of the black rubber dildo in Logan's hand.. Part of him felt defenseless; the air caressing his asshole made him feel vulnerable. But as his grip on one of the sling's straps grew tighter he stabilized his breathing.. I trust him... he coulda killed me back in Alaska...

"Ya want that Dave? Wanna lemme drive ya completely wild?"

He remembered the sight of the feral racing through the snow after leaving his house, how the short Canadian looked so untamable... I wanna be that free...
"Bring it on," the Alaskan replied in a rasp free of any trace of uncertainty.

Logan grinned as he poured lube on his fingers. He let out a smoldering chuckle; not one of conquest but of anticipation... "god Dave... ya got tha sweetest ass.." he slipped a single finger into the taller man's asshole and heard the infiltrator purr back through gritted teeth, "yer gonna love this, I promise."

The mercenary's breathing grew more ragged as Logan slid a second finger into him. He didn't feel pain, just the familiar stretch that he needed to adjust to. As Logan spread those fingers within his hole, he let out more soft hisses and snarls. After he felt the tightness yield, he looked the shorter man in the eye with a smirk of his own.
"Alright... 'm ready..."

Logan grinned wolfishly as he held the dildo up. There was a pump-like bulb at the base.
"Inflatable... starts out small and can get as big as ya want it."

Dave let out his own chuckle; it sounded raspier and more on-edge than Logan's.
"Sounds fun. Do it."

Without any hesitation he quickly slid the lube-slicked toy and lightly pressed it against Snake's entrance.

A sonorous but quiet moan spilled from Dave's lips as his ass yielded to the slow intrusion of the black rubber dildo; his iron-hard length throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He felt the toy move deeper and deeper within him; it ground against spots he thought only Hal knew about. The moment the base of the toy touched his butt he sharply drew breath. His grip on the sling was ruthlessly tight.

"How does it feel, Dave? C'mon, yer so sexy and strong and free now... ya deserve ta feel good... tell me..." Lemme hear ya... drop tha fuckin' stoic crap and say it... His fingers slowly squeezed the bulb and gradually the toy began to expand slightly inside the mercenary's ass.

A long, teeth-clenched, hissing moan erupted from the infiltrator's lungs as he felt the black rubber length fill him more completely; the familiar pressure in his loins only grew in response. His cheeks were flushed as he panted for more breath. And still words failed him, even as he felt the dildo begin to slide in and out of his asshole. He could only groan in response, but no longer was the sound attenuated.

Logan smirked with an inward smile at each unrestrained moan that came from the scar-covered, lithe mercenary. His sensitive ears still felt that aggressive rasp that lay on the edge of every sound the man made. His own fist moved up and down his again-rigid manhood as he slowly pumped the toy again.

The growl-laced roar that emerged from the Alaskan's mouth foreshadowed the drops of precum that dripped down his steel-hard shaft. The depth and the stretch of the toy inside him, the rough voice and soothing body heat of the man moving the toy in and out of him, the constant invitation to rip away all the protocol and decorum the military drilled into him... it was all too much. His resolve finally broke.
"Logan... fuck I'm gonna... gonna.." he couldn't string any more words together.

The Canadian didn't care; his eyes roamed over the sinewy chest that glittered with sweat, the delicious globes of muscle and the toy moving in and out of the tight entrance between them, and the ever-so-slight crumble of the mercenary's quiet, reserved demeanour. Only a bit... but its progress... "Yeah Dave... yer gonna cum, just like ya did when ya fucked my ass, yer gonna blow a huge load from me fuckin' yer sweet butt with this toy... and ya fuckin' love it dontcha?" He didn't need an answer.

One final strangled cry was wrenched from the infiltrator's lungs as he shot jets of seed over his own chest. Each successive blast from his cock was accompanied by a nearly angry grunt as beads of sweat trickled down from his face and along his corded, flexible torso.

Logan quickly followed; his own fist tightened around his thick shaft as his essence erupted from his body and landed on Snake. He barely took time to finish coming before he quickly withdrew the sex toy from Dave's ass and got his tongue working on those limber muscles. The cocktail of sweat and seed was lapped up off the scarred body of the mercenary; Logan's moans of relish combined with Dave's slow breaths in a call-and-response that punctuated the afterglow.

"Damn," the Alaskan said with a visible smirk on his face. "Was good."

"Still is," Logan replied as he looked up at Dave's face. Every trace was cleaned off of Dave's torso, "yer real tasty too..."

Dave only chuckled in reply as he sat up and slid out of the sling. "You wanna... do this again sometime?" Can I take some photos for Hal? he thought mischievously.

"Anytime, Dave."

The End

Conquering The River Lord

New fiction new fiction new fiction!!! About time!

OK...not so much "new" as "stuff I haven't uploaded here yet," but still, I'm proud of myself. This blog isn't dead!

This one's my only stab at a totally original story so far...I have others I'm working on, but as hectic as my life gets (and being on a shared computer doesn't help), inspiration takes its sweet time to hit me with a 2x4 and MAKE me write.

Anyway, this one's pretty self-explanatory: a river spirit (who just happens to look like a sexy bald stud) needs to keep his water flowing. ^_^ Porns ensue.

I may continue this if I get enough feedback...

~*~

The River Lord felt, rather than heard, the first man beneath him cry out as his body convulsed one last time in ecstasy before going still. He felt pride swell in his breast as his loins pumped the his viscous seed into the willing entrance of the second. The third, he hadn’t even had to touch; watching a demigod bring two men under sexual submission had been more than enough to bring him to a shuddering climax, his manhood spasming and throbbing in his hand as he screamed soundlessly in the river’s cool, cerulean depths. After this, the River Lord thought with triumph, the three surface-dwelling chauvinists would never even lay eyes on another female.

As the humans floated to the river’s surface, gasping for breath, the River Lord was already gone, his essence merging with the stream to travel to another shore with another willing set of adventurers who’d heard the legends of the water-spirit, the master seducer who gave men the best sex of their lives before washing them ashore.

The truth was, he didn’t just crave sex, in the way mortals did. He needed it to survive. The flow of his river was dependent on the flow of his seed, and most of those who depended on the river to survive knew it.

There were some small villages on the banks who were skeptical of his nature. They were used to sending sacrifices to the Goddess of Water, slaughtering cattle and livestock needlessly to appease some aloof ice-queen of a deity. The fools. Thank the tides for the lovers in the village, who believed the riverside a wonderful place to have private trysts. No coincidence, that…there were times when the River Lord would take the form of a surfaceman and casually bring some young man to any of a hundred private places, concealed by trees and bushes, where he would tell the youth legends of the River Lord’s insatiable lust until his victim found himself naked and at his complete mercy. Depending on the nature of the man, he might reveal himself then, as he had with these three tale-chasers, and lead them into the waters themselves for an offering. Or he would simply continue to share tales while the boy pumped himself to a frantic, screaming climax, and make his offering that way.

It mattered not to the River Lord what happened to the seed of the males he seduced…just so long as their passions were given up to him, that was all that mattered.

And now, such passions were about to be shared anew. Travelling down the stream of his river, the Lord came to one of many pools where his waters would collect and be warmed by the sun, until they evaporated and went to join the rest of the river in its timeless, endless flow. Lying fast asleep in this pool was an irresistible lure…a muscular Garnet Elf, reddish-tan of skin and midnight black of hair, his body rippling in the dappled sunlight. Garnets, he knew, were more muscular than most breeds of elf, and were renowned for their empathic powers…not to mention their sexual stamina. A Garnet male could sexually satisfy a dozen humans before needing so much as a rest stop. They so loved what they did that their race would often leave the confines of their tropical island home in search of new and exciting sexual adventures, as much as for the traditional reasons mortals had for their escapades.

This one was a particularly fine specimen. Like most Garnet men, he had a fine sprinkling of black hair on his body, and a lustrous sheen to his reddish skin. He had the build of a natural-born swimmer, lean and defined, and when he stood to wash himself, the River Lord admired the spherical, muscular sculpt of his ass, dripping with his waters.

This was a prospect far too tempting to pass up. The River Lord assumed his human form, choosing not to bother with creating illusory garments this time, and hid in the shallows.

He saw the Garnet look up briefly, but remained hidden, camouflaging himself with his surroundings…he was a spirit of water, after all. When the muscular Elf seemed satisfied that he was alone, he returned to his bathing…though the River Lord noticed something different about the way he washed his body now.

Where before his scrubbing had been brisk and businesslike, now his movements were decidedly slower, and more graceful. His hands caressed his compact, tight muscles with every pass of the cloth, and when he rinsed himself, it would be a gradual process of pouring the water down every crevice and sculpted line of definition his body possessed.

As the River Lord watched, the elf crossed into a deeper part of the pool and let his nude body float, his manhood bobbing to the surface like the mast of some great ship risen from the deep. The River Lord had to suppress a groan of desire at the sight…it was an impressive endowment, swollen and red, perfectly shaped and nestled in a patch of glistening, blue-black pubic hair, with round, heavy balls bobbing behind it in the pool. As he watched, the Garnet Elf ran his hands over his body with groans of amorous pleasure, then wrapped a lean, strong hand around the base of the shaft and looked directly at him, his deep, honey-brown eyes softening in wordless invitation.

For a second, the immortal cursed. How could he have been spotted?! Then, he remembered the Garnet gift of empathy, and smiled ruefully to himself. Of course. After a moment’s thought, he realized that the mortal was in the right; this offering would be much more enjoyable if he participated.

Becoming visible to the Garnet’s eyes, the River Lord displayed himself proudly from the shallows. His skin was a dark silver-tan, with a grainy cast to it, like sparkling sand at the bottom of a riverbed. He was completely bald, the only hair he sported on his body a thatch of glittering silver pubic hair nestled at the base of his own considerable endowment. His balls rested on the surface of the water, thick and heavy with pent-up seed…even though it hadn’t yet been an hour since he’d come last, he was always thirsty for more sex, and always ready to bring his partners to the orgasms he craved.

The River Lord swam to the Garnet’s side and embraced him in his own powerful arms, kissing him hotly, passionately. The Garnet’s skin was smooth and hot, while the River Lord seemed to be made of solid water, hard and unyielding as ice, but radiating the warmth of a hot spring. Steam began to coalesce around them as they kissed…not enough to burn the mortal’s flesh, but enough to heighten his senses and overwhelm him with the torrid humidity of their encounter.

The River Lord rose up in the water until his flagpole erection was level with the Garnet’s mouth, and the red-skinned male engulfed it, bathing it with his tongue as slowly and expertly as he had bathed his own body. The River Lord closed his eyes and let out a groan of ecstasy, his voice low and sensual as it sent a thrill of ecstasy through the Garnet’s body. For his part, the Elf displayed his people’s amazing carnal skills by swallowing the River Lord’s impressive mast all the way to the hilt, with a little freedom of movement left to run his tongue lovingly over the silver-furred balls.

The River Lord had been saving this load for a special occasion…normally when he wasn’t coaxing offerings of lust out of some unwitting male, he was masturbating, using his hands to bring forth his seed and perpetuate the river’s flow with his own power, again and again, without more than a few moments’ letup. But for the last hour, this being of perpetual lust and gratification had not so much as touched his cock…for a River Lord, a gesture of supreme willpower.

But even his willpower had its limits. With a grunt of ecstasy, he shot into the warm, willing mouth, his seed tasting like the purest waterfall as it flowed down the Elf’s throat. The raven-haired mortal gave out a moan of appreciation and gulped it down, unwilling to let even the smallest drop go to waste.

Once he let go of the River Lord’s cock, he swam naked to the shallows and lay down in them, spreading his legs wide as he eyed the River Lord wordlessly. His wonderfully formed ass was in the air, being lightly caressed by the pool’s waves…and then the pool’s waves became the River Lord’s tongue, penetrating his entrance with a wonderfully wet, hot pressure, rimming him with an experience born of centuries of seduction. He thrashed and squirmed and splashed under the torturously pleasurable onslaught, his cock burning with need and rampantly hard as he started to pump it furiously, his rising tide of lust a greater offering than the River Lord had experienced in millennia. No longer merely sustaining himself on the lust of the mortal, the water-spirit found himself partaking in it, letting it fuel his own desires in a way that no mortal physicality ever had before. It was in the heat of that moment the River Lord realized he had found a lover in this hot-blooded mortal, not just another giver of offerings..

When his passion reached the point of no return a second time, the River Lord positioned himself at the Elf’s entrance and let loose a second torrent of silver seed, splattering his opening with enough divine semen to lubricate the passage and turn their encounter into an act of pure pleasure. Still panting from his release, the River Lord positioned his still-hard manhood at the moaning Elf’s opening, looking into his eyes in a wordless request for permission…something the spirit had never felt the need to do before.

The elf looked up at him with those warm, dark eyes, and nodded with a salacious smile. Closing his own eyes, the River Lord began to penetrate his lover with agonizing slowness, pushing the pucker of flesh open with infinite care, where with his offerings he’d simply punched through mercilessly, using his magic to drive them so insane with lust that they didn’t care if they were ripped apart or not.
Not so with the Garnet elf. His body was the River Lord’s own temple, more precious to him than the flow of his current, inciting hotter passion than he’d ever felt in his life. The children of the Gods never fell in love, but the River Lord felt he was as close as an immortal being would ever come. He pumped, slowly and with infinite care, in and out of the Garnet’s tight, willing hole, steam swirling about them as they both broke out in a sweat from the heat of their union. The Garnet’s stiff, hard maleness jutted against his muscular belly, and the River Lord repositioned himself so that it glided between them, lubed by the precome the crimson shaft was secreting by the ounce.

The Garnet grunted at the pleasure from both sides of his body, and urged his spirit-lover for more. Harder, faster, he cried, until the River Lord finally complied and began unleashing the full might of his sexual prowess upon the desperate man. Their racing heartbeats were a primal drumming to which they set their pace, the steam from their union coalescing into a full-fledged fog, hot as a sauna but thick as a fall morning. Their cries grew more strident and urgent by the minute as their shared lust and passion spiraled to a crescendo.

When the River Lord came for the third time, he screamed in ecstasy as his manhood shot its load deep inside the Garnet’s willing opening. Trapped between their bodies as it was, the Garnet’s own red member spasmed and shot, drenching their chests and faces with rich, spicy seed that the River Lord found he couldn’t get enough of. They came together in the steam like that, both men crying out in ecstasy as their bodies gyrated beyond all control, for nearly a minute…longer than the River Lord had ever come in his immortal life, and certainly more pleasure than the Garnet had ever experienced.

After a moment that both beings needed to take to recover themselves, the River Lord rose to the Garnet’s side and kissed him again. Where his first kiss had been demanding, strident, and intended to incite lust, this one became passionate, needful, and an expression of a feeling most immortal folk were incapable of.

Finally, the River Lord rolled onto his hands and knees in the sand, and with a look back to his lover, raised his perfect, tan ass into the air.

~FIN~