"Okay, listen up!" Zidane had jumped up on a convenient crate and clanged a serving spoon against a pot that he'd picked up on the way from the kitchens, like he even needed anything to get people's attention aside from his loud voice. "Let's sort out what we found in the castle!" he said once he was sure he had everyone's attention, although Quina was giving him the evil eye for disrespecting cookware and Amarant lounged near the doorway like it was pure chance he happened to be here. Zidane stared at him for longer than he ought to, then looked back at everyone else, spread out in front of him. "So, uh.. Right! On top of the castle was a map of the whole world, with four mirrors set into it. The writing on the mirrors was in the language only I can read... 'My power is protected under the shaking ground,' 'My power is protected behind a tornado,' 'My power is protected high atop a fiery mountain,' 'My power is protected underwater, surrounded by the earth.'" "I'm sure the mirrors are pointing to the locations where we can break the seal!" "The monster guarding it gave me a clue, too. He said 'One is all. All is one.' So, there's a connection between these four seals." "So what do we do?" Dagger said, "Are we going to take each seal one by one? No..." she paused. "We have to get all four at once, don't we?" Zidane nodded, grinning stupidly at her. "We're not going to go together like we always do?" Eiko said, sounding put out. "No... I'm gonna drop off two of us in each location. Then once we're all in place we're going to advance as one!" There was a general clamor of assent, and after that things got busy as everyone prepared and they set off for the first site. It wasn't so much that Zidane was trying to avoid Amarant, just... there was, legitimately, a lot of stuff to do and he was really busy with it all, and Amarant was presumably equally busy. The next time he saw him was when they got near the Fire Shrine, perched on top of a volcano. The air was sizzling and there was a general murmur through the crew that the engine was going to overheat; that they were all going to crash down onto the slopes of the volcano and die. Freya and Amarant were standing near the open airlock, looking down at the ground an alarming distance away. Freya was a Dragoon; she'd probably have no trouble with it, but he couldn't deny he felt a little curl of worry for Amarant. "This is as close as we can get," Zidane said, apologetically. "The heat'll kill the engine if we get any closer," Freya said. "Let's go." Without any further preamble she leapt out of the airlock and fell down to the rocky slope below. "...Why do I have to go with her?" Amarant asked, surly, and Zidane looked up at him, surprised. "What? Well, sorry. Did you wanna go with Eiko?" Amarant narrowed his eyes at him, and before Zidane could react, he picked him up by the shirt and slammed him back against the wall at eye height -- to Amarant, so his legs were dangling in the air. Amarant closed the gap between them and kissed him violently, almost just biting his face. His hand clenched tight in Zidane's shirt, and he reached down with his other hand to cup Zidane's cock. His huge hand curled around his bulge, fingers digging between his thighs, clenching and stroking. Amarant drew back after what felt like a minute but couldn't have been more than a few seconds. He let go of Zidane, letting him slide down the wall. His legs buckled when they finally touched the ground. Amarant's cock tented out the front of his pants, half-hard and already fat and heavy. "When I get back," Amarant said, his voice low and almost threatening. "I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk." Zidane stared blankly at Amarant, and only found his voice right before Amarant jumped out of the airship. "Good luck," he said, almost a murmur, with no clue if Amarant even heard him. Afterwards he got shakily to his feet, gave himself a short moment to compose himself, then dashed off to tell the pilot to head to the next place. They had jobs to do, after all. But after that little stunt of Amarant's he just couldn't focus. Amarant was hot, if irritating, and now that they'd actually had sex the thought of more was even more distracting. It hurt his ego, to think that Amarant probably thought his self-absorbed swaggering was working. Sure, Zidane was gonna jump him once he got back, but that wasn't why. He was the one who did the charming around here, and he was gonna have to make sure Amarant knew that. ...but for a stuck-up self-absorbed jackass he was nice on the eyes, and unexpectedly accommodating in bed. That just got him thinking about them fucking again, and that chain of thought lead to him glazing over, flushed and distracted. Repeatedly. So it was probably a good thing that the guardians of Terra turned out to be absolutely pathetic. Splitting up had definitely been a good plan; even alone he could've taken his guardian on. The fight was just some punctuation between now and later, when he and Amarant would get up to all kinds of things, though no doubt the guardians would be offended by that representation. The airship had flown off to collect the first people they'd dropped off, and even though it only took an hour and a half to get to the Earth Shrine and back from where the airship had left them him and Quina, he was still left waiting with Quina for almost half an hour. And he liked Quina, sure, but the only topic s/he could possibly hold was about cooking and by the time s/he started talking about sauces and glazes and something called "caramelizing" it was all he could do to nod occasionally and keep scanning the sky for signs of the Hilda Garde III. "There it is!" he finally yelled, waving and hollering at the tiny dark speck in the sky. He was pretty sure Quina was losing patience with him, and given another few minutes he was thinking s/he'd try to figure out what kind of meals a monkey-tail could be used for. They were both at least a little tired of each other's company by the time they got on board, and Zidane scrambled up to the bridge to make sure everyone else had made it out unscathed. Vivi looked windswept; Dagger and Eiko were soaking wet (and in Dagger's case, the figure revealed was quite interesting, although Steiner looked about ready to assault him for looking); Freya and Amarant smelled like smoke. In fact, Dagger was currently trying to heal up a few sooty burns across Amarant's arm and side, and Amarant was growling and looking intimidating. Zidane felt jealous and he wasn't even sure who he was jealous for. "Hey, I got direly hurt too!" he said by way of introduction, looking at Dagger's wet clothes, clinging to her skin. "I need some of your tender affection!" He smiled goofily; Dagger hit him with her staff. "Ow!" he yelped. "And, uh, Amarant, we talked about this," he said with a glower. "Don't be all aloof and aggravating all the time just to show off how much better than us you are. Especially when you're actually hurt, you jerk!" He jabbed his finger into Amarant's chest with enough force (or at least with enough forcefulness) to make him take a step back. "You are going to let Dagger heal you and you are going to thank her afterwards for going to the trouble of healing you up in the first place!" Amarant smirked down at him, looking alarmingly hot with his clothes singed; smears of dark char accentuated the muscles of his arms and the structure of his face. "And what happens if I don't?" he said, challenging. "Will you drag me off and make me, again?" He smirked again, the same showy smile that looked like he wanted you to think he was going to go for your throat. Zidane leaned forward and stood up on his tip-toes, about to jab his finger against Amarant's chest again, when Dagger coughed to get their attention and then hit him with her staff again. Well, it was more like she stuck the staff in between him and Amarant and then swung it back with enough force to bowl him over. "Thank you, Zidane," she said with a completely, entirely 100% fake smile. "I appreciate your help, but I think I can cast white magic without assistance, so if you don't mind leaving me bereft of your extremely useful advice, I think someone else could use your help," Dagger ended with a smile. Amarant actually laughed, and then hid it lamely behind a cough. Zidane made angry faces at the both of them. He sidled off nursing where Dagger had hit him (and also his ego), although after he left it looked like Amarant was actually letting Dagger heal him, which was a plus. "So we're headed to the Shimmering Isle now, right?" Zidane said to the pilot, someone Cid had provided along with the ship, thankfully. "Yes," she said, and even that one word was enough to show her patience for all of them was wearing thin. "It'll be several hours before we reach it." Her eyes flicked over to the general commotion across the bridge. "I'd appreciate it if there could be some peace and quiet up here in the meantime." "Yeah, yeah," Zidane said, and turned away. Several hours, though... he looked back over to Amarant. With his shiny burn healed up it was a little more obvious half his shirt was missing. The half that was left was scattered with black-edged circles, his bare skin blue-pale and hairy. He was still sooty and almost literally smoldering, so it looked like Dagger's magic couldn't fix that up. But they were still talking to each other (and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what they were talking about now) and every time Amarant shifted his weight Zidane caught a glance of his bare chest through his burnt shirt. The heavy roll of his muscles was almost more distracting, half-covered like that. Zidane swallowed. Several hours meant waiting five minutes wouldn't hurt. Except, just as he thought that Amarant nodded to Dagger and then looked right at him, breaking the conversation. Amarant smirked again while he sauntered over. "So," he said as he leaned his shoulder against the wall, all but pinning Zidane to it as he tilted towards him, "how did your little trip go?" Zidane folded his arms over his chest to get some room between them, but Amarant just stood still and let Zidane's arms drag against his stomach. Zidane scowled. "It went fine." "That's good." Amarant slid his hand between Zidane and the wall, up across his sides, ending with him cupping the small of his back. "I was thinking we could fuck now." "You're kind of an asshole," Zidane said, and rolled his eyes. "C'mere." He grabbed Amarant's other hand and dragged him, unresisting, out of the room (with a slight wave to everyone else) and across the ship to one of the rear berths. Amarant let him, a little smirk on his face the entire time. Zidane was half-hard in his pants just thinking about Amarant pushing him up against the wall before he left, and it felt like the walk from the bridge to the berths took far longer than it actually did. When they got there he dragged Amarant in after him, shoved him towards the bed, and slammed the door shut behind him. He turned back from latching the door and he found Amarant sprawled out across the bed, legs spread wide, shirt rucked up enough to show his pale, muscled belly, and his eyes tracking his every move, the same self-confidant smirk on his face that he always had. "You're such an asshole," Zidane said, and climbed bodily on top of him, pinning Amarant's lanky arms above his head. Amarant didn't make any move to resist, just smirked up at him still, his brow and jaw moving slightly in an expression of pleasure as Zidane ground their dicks against each other, through their clothes. "Really," Zidane said, and released one of Amarant's arms to jab him in the chest again. "Don't be a jerk just because you know it'll give me an excuse to drag you off." He poked him in the chest again. "And don't be so insufferable all the time." Amarant laughed at that, once, low, his annoying smirk transforming into an actual smile for a brief moment. "You like it," he said, somehow managing to say it while maintaining a smirk the entire way through. "I really don't." Amarant pushed against Zidane's arms, just enough resistance for Zidane to have to push back; neither of them ignored the pulse Amarant's cock gave when Zidane shoved Amarant back against the bed. Amarant was spread out in front of him, pale skin smeared with soot, dark cinders tangled in his chest hair, sharp jaw framed by the feathery spread of his dreads, fanning out behind his head... it was painfully hot. Just staring at him was making Zidane cock twitch and drip precome. He brought a hand down, clenched around the bulge of his cock -- knocking against the fat bulge of Amarant's cock -- and insinuated his fingers under the waist of his pants, sliding his thumb along the underside of his cockhead, letting out a loose exhale at the friction and pressure, and bringing his thumb away glistening with precome. Amarant was staring at him. Zidane leaned back, giving him a better view of the lean line of his body, of the heavy bulge in his pants, almost-but-not-quite pressed against Amarant's cock. "Strip," Amarant said. It was a flat request. "What, you're not going to help?" Zidane unbuttoned his trousers, letting them settle a fraction lower on his thighs. "Just want me naked?" "Yeah." Amarant's eyes were glued to the bulge of Zidane's cock. Amarant shrugged out of his shirt and lazily reached out with one of his ridiculously long arms. The movement was so casual Zidane didn't fully catch up until Amarant's hand settled in the small of his back, followed immediately by him jerking forward, sending Zidane sprawling over his bare chest. "I said I was gonna fuck you until you couldn't walk," Amarant said. "I'm gonna keep that promise." His voice was husky and low. Zidane squirmed in his grip, brushing his tail against Amarant's thick wrist as Amarant shoved his hand down the seat of his pants, prying crudely into the crack of his ass, his other hand palming across the front of Zidane's underwear, groping his cock. "Look at you," Amarant growled, again attempting to sound dangerous. "Begging for it." "Oh, don't even start that again." Zidane rolled his eyes, shoving against Amarant's chest. "Look at you begging to get in my ass; I bet I could get you to come all over yourself again just by touching myself." He sat up, bracing his hands against Amarant's chest, really digging into the coarse hair spread all across his chest. "What do you think, huh?" he said, rolling his hips slowly, putting pressure and heat on Amarant's cock, rolling the fat bulge up until it was skewed up and out, practically outlined through Amarant's pants. "Want me to make you beg for my ass?" Zidane said, grinning down at him. Amarant's fingers slid over the narrow curve of his hips, digging into the flesh of his ass. "You're chatty." He dug under the waist of Zidane's pants, fingers dimpling over the swell of his ass. "I'm gonna make you beg. Work you open with fingers --" and he punctuated with a slow slide of a finger down the crack of his ass, skewing the feathery fur there, "-- and then with my mouth, and when you can't even run your teasing little monologue because you're panting and begging for my cock, maybe I'll give it to you." Zidane grinned, wiggling on his lap with his legs splayed wide, the bulge of his cock grinding against Amarant's stomach, pants hanging from his hips, tail swinging across Amarant's calves. "Sounds like you should get to work." Amarant growled, bodily tossing Zidane to the side and jerking his underwear and trousers down to the knee in a single rough movement. Zidane bounced when he hit the berth, before settling in, legs spread wide with his trousers bunched at his ankles, cock thick and skewing to the side, head glistening. "Use some actual lube this time; those potions aren't cheap," Zidane called as Amarant stalked over to the supply chest. "Didn't object last time," Amarant said, settling back between Zidane's legs, stripping off the tangle of his pants and leaving him totally naked. "Seemed to like it when I had my hand up your ass." His fingers, lube-slick, trailed down the crack of Zidane's ass, smearing around his tight pucker. Zidane's tail met his hand, curving slowly around his forearm, down the bulky lines of his muscles. "You're exhausting." Zidane sprawled back, hands laced behind his head as Amarant pushed inside him, the rough slide and solid presence inside him a little more familiar now. "Is everything you do--" and then Amarant slid his fingers up, crooked just-so to hit inside him; a slow wave of pleasure spilled through his body. "-- full of that much posturing?" he finished, voice hitching for only a second. Amarant probably noticed. "Says the kid who won't shut up," Amarant said, before bowing his head and mouthing across Zidane's inner thigh, just below his balls. A second finger twisted around his entrance before pushing inside, and then Amarant slid lower, tongue slipping along the crack of his ass, down the hairless furrow at the very center to his tensely-puckered asshole, spasming and working against Amarant's two fingers. Amarant's coarse beard dragged against the curve of his ass, dreads fanning across his thighs. His tongue was wet, slick, as he lapped down below Zidane's balls, along the thin stripe of lightly-furred skin between his legs. His fingers slid back and forth past Zidane's asshole, slick but still rough, shoving in, like Amarant wanted to make a point by even making the foreplay a little uncomfortable. On the one hand, Zidane figured he should just be glad he didn't try to open with his whole fist. Again. On the other hand... He lazily reached down and loosely grabbed a hank of dreads, pulling a little until Amarant followed the motion, up, spit-slick lips just barely sliding up his cock until Amarant's mouth was poised over his cockhead, red and half-hooded lolling against the curve of his stomach. Zidane's tail followed, tight over his hip to curl back and forth over Amarant's shoulders. "I don't know about me," Zidane said, "but I can think of a better use for your mouth." Amarant smirked, and this close he could feel the stretch of his skin as it ghosted over the wet rim of his foreskin, just that movement sending little shocking sparks down his cock. "You're an impatient little shit," he said, words lisping as his lips caught against Zidane's dick. His fingers worked inside him, a little slower, thumb grinding down the crack of his ass. "You're one to ta--aaaahlk" Zidane cut off with a sharp squeak, his dick suddenly down Amarant's throat, hot slick muscles working against his cockhead, Amarant's tongue lapping over the underside of his shaft. Amarant gave him a knowing look, grinning around his cock as he loudly slurped back and forth, letting his fingers work inside in symphony. "Since you jump right in to whatever gets you off," he finished weakly. For the first time Amarant didn't respond, head buried in his crotch, beard scratchy over his thighs. Absent getting a sarcastic and vaguely threatening rejoinder to everything, what was even the point in talking. Amarant was sucking him off, -- messily, drooling down the shaft as he licked along the underside of his cock, his lips popping back and forth over the ridge of his cockhead, -- his fingers working into his ass in a much more managable pace than last time. It wasn't long before he found himself rocking into the motion, lazily rolling his hips to thrust into Amarant's mouth, settling back on the bed and almost-incidentally spearing himself on Amarant's fingers, tight as they pushed in past the band of his asshole, loose and open inside. Amarant gripped his thigh, sweaty palm spiking up his fur, his thumb rolling back and forth along the rooted muscle of his cock, rough and heavy. Amarant lapped at his cock, tongue swiping over the curve of his cockhead as he drew up, and then his lips pulled his foreskin up, rolling suddenly-tight as the tip of Amarant's tongue dug into the furrow. Zidane made a frankly embarrassing noise, squeaking high in his throat as he almost reflexively bucked forward, rolling his foreskin back as he shoved his cock practically down Amarant's throat, balls suddenly grinding over the wet, spiky hair on Amarant's chin. When he drew back, hips falling back onto the bed, Amarant ground three fingers into him, fat and rough as he probed into his ass. Amarant pulled off with a wet, slobbery pop, drool slimy-hot as it spilled down his shaft. "Said I'd make you beg," he said, and his voice was rough and cracked, thick from cocksucking. Zidane grinned, wide, at the ceiling. "Yeah, you can make someone feel good when you're fucking them, that's real impressive." Amarant growled, tongue swiping out to lap at his cockhead. Zidane squirmed, breath hitching at each wet stroke, and he could feel Amarant's smirk grow. "What are you even thinking here, I'm gonna say 'uncle, you win, you're the best at sex'?" "I'm thinking," Amarant said, in between soft, slobbery kisses against Zidane's cockhead, his lips shining and swollen red, "you're gonna come so hard you can't think of a snappy comeback. Then I'm gonna fuck you until you come again, around my cock." He lapped around the ridge of Zidane's cockhead, tonguetip digging into the loose folds of his foreskin. "But if you do that while crying my name, it'll be better." "Who even does that," Zidane said hazily, sprawled out, slowly rutting into Amarant's sloppy mouth, fucking himself on his fingers. His hands were loosely coils around handfuls of Amarant's heavy dreads, tugging him like he was a horse. "No one I've ever been with has ever yelled my name. Like, I'm here, you're here, it's not an introduction." He couldn't help but feel he was getting a little off track, but Amarant was resolutely silent, or at least more involved in sucking cock than dealing with Zidane's endless supply of banter. Amarant buried his face in Zidane's crotch, sharp nose flattening against his shaggy pubes. Zidane gasped, throat clicking, he rolled up, not so much thrusting in as driving his cock differently. Amarant moved with him, cockhead slopping against the roof of Amarant's mouth, digging into the soft tissue behind his palate. Amarant didn't gag at all, which Zidane filed away for future reference. He was good at it, tongue flicking along the underside of his cockhead, throat working around his cockhead when he took it deep, and -- less surprisingly, in a way -- his fingers kept grazing his prostate, thick fingertips working it, practically palpitating him as he rocked back and forth between Amarant's mouth and fingers. And, well, he looked like that, all sooty and sweaty and half naked, bare chest covered in a thick scree of hair, practically opaque at this angle. He was hot as hell. The coaxing heat of Amarant's mouth had him about to come fast, tension curling across his stomach, sizzling up inside him as Amarant's fingers jarred roughly inside his ass. He bit his lip to keep himself from saying something, dizzy groans, whatever, but honestly he was a little worried he'd end up yelping "Amarant!" and that would just totally destroy the mood. He gasped and then grunted, orgasm hitting like a hammer when it finally crashed over. He just groaned, cock twitching, slapping up against the roof of Amarant's mouth as he shot into his mouth, and Amarant made a big show of swallowing, tongue wrapping around Zidane's cockhead, catching the few spurts before swiping right over his dripping cockslit. That shot through his body like lightning, thighs jerking up short and sharp, and then it was just the slow, repeated jog of Amarant's throat as he swallowed. [AMARANT FUCKS ZIDANE] [structure: intro. zidane & amarant go fuck. amarant is all "yeah get my dick wet for when i fuck you", basically, and zidane goes to suck him off except then he starts playing w/ amarant's ass while dirty talking him and amarant gets super into it and it turns into zidane fisting him bicep deep, etc etc etc, and amarant coming all over himself while sobbing, and then afterwards he's still hard so zidane ends up riding him while fucking him w/ his tail. then amarant tries to stand up and his legs just completely give out and zidane's like "yeah so fuck you until you can't walk huh" and amarant is like >:E] [i guess this is ch. 3. zidane fists amarant bicep deep and amarant comes all over himself for like two minutes straight while sobbing and wailing and then zidane fucks him and lasts like ten seconds] --- Amarant scowled but slowed down, his jackhammer thrusts slowed to a rolling slam. "And you could, I don't know, talk instead of just grunting," Zidane added in a cheerful voice, wondering just how much he should push it. Amarant's scowl deepened. "I'm talking. You're talking. ...Like what, dirty talk?" While Zidane had little doubt Amarant could dirty talk like a sailor while fucking, that wasn't exactly what he was after. "You keep jerking me off," he said, and Amarant blinked at him like he'd just changed the subject. "You want me to come on your face?" That got a response. Amarant grinned, half-snarling, showing off all his teeth. "Sure." "Why d'you want me to come on your face?" "'Cause it's hot." Zidane rolled his eyes. "Why is it hot?" "Is this what you do when you fuck someone; ask them what they think is hot?" Amarant said, in a tone of voice that clearly denoted that he thought it was the least hot thing he could think of. "Somewhat." Zidane gritted his teeth, rolling his hips back into Amarant's next few thrusts just to avoid say anything else. Then he arched up, half-sitting on Amarant's stomach as he thrust his cock forward, pulling Amarant forward by the dreads until his head was right in front of his cock. "Suck me off." Amarant complied with honestly more eagerness than Zidane'd expected, bobbing forward and licking across the head, slurping loudly and lewdly on what had to be purpose. "Want me to come in your mouth?" Zidane asked. Amarant just let out a muffled moan, lips spread around his cock, tongue wetly kissing it. "What is it, you wanna have me shoot in your mouth, taste it, drink it down? Or do you wanna have me come all over your face, mess up your hair, make you beg to taste it?" Amarant pulled off with a growl. "I don't beg," he said, voice a little raspy from cocksucking. "That's not the point," Zidane said, petulantly. "You want me to say I want your jizz dripping down my lips," Amarant said, and punctuated with a wet, slobbery kiss on his cockhead, slurping the head into his mouth. Zidane whimpered. Amarant pulled off with a wet slurp, running his tongue along the ridge of his cockhead before continuing like nothing happened. "You want me to fuckin' beg to shoot all across my face." Maybe he was after dirty talk. "You're insufferable," Amarant said between gasps, his chest heaving as he recovered from his orgasm. "Good," Zidane said shortly, sliding off Amarant's cock with a wince as the thick head popped out. "I like me that way." [ZIDANE FISTS AMARANT] [ZIDANE FUCKS HIM LIKE FIVE TIMES] Then Amarant broke his loose hold and Zidane caught himself almost pouting. His massive hands came down on his hips, fingers insinuating their way under the waist of his pants as he slid them around his hips, though the too-sensitive fur across his stomach. "What're you gonna do about it then, huh?" Amarant said, throat working slowly as he stared up at him, watching Zidane watch him unbuckle his belt. "Think you're big enough to put me in my place, 'cause I don't think so." Holy shit Amarant was transparent. And also, really hot. Zidane jerked down Amarant's pants, his cock jackknifing up against his stomach the instant his pants cleared his thighs, the head dark and flushed purple. Amarant tugged Zidane's pants down, sliding his fingers through the fur on his thighs until he was cupping his ass with both hands. He squeezed, practically kneading his ass cheeks, and pulled Zidane closer, grinding their cocks firmly together. He slipped one hand up between them, squeezing and tugging at their cocks together, grinning up at Zidane when he let out a low groan. Zidane grimaced and pushed Amarant's chest, sprawling him out on his back. His cock jutted up from his unfastened pants, his shirttails framing his thick shaft. Zidane crawled on top of him, unfastening Amarant's shirt with nimble fingers, and tugged it up over his shoulders only to leave the heavy fabric tangled around Amarant's arms, pinning them behind his back, with his bare chest revealed. Zidane traced his fingers down Amarant's rough, muscled torso, working over his hairy pecs, down through the tangle of hair and across the center of his stomach, to where it spread out above his cock. His muscles were tense to the touch, hard under a padding of fat. Zidane grabbed Amarant's cock and stroked it, watching as a slight droplet of precome emerged from the slit at the tip and smeared across his cockhead as his foreskin rolled back and forth. Amarant growled, thrashing his arms around through the tangle of his shirt, and Zidane grinned up at him as he lightly touched a fingertip to the very tip of his cock. Amarant's entire body shuddered, and another wet dewdrop of precome leaked from his cock. Zidane touched his fingertip to it, loving Amarant's breathy flinch beneath him. The slickness stuck to his fingertip as he pulled back, stretching it out into a glistening line that drew out, thinner and tinner until it finally snapped, streaking a thin line down the side of Amarant's cock. He shuddered, his cock spasming again, and Zidane stroked his finger lightly up that wet line, leaving behind a dull smear on the velvety skin of his cock. Zidane sat back, ignoring his own stiff cock, and tugged Amarant's pants down, revealing his immense, hairy thighs and impressively defined calves. His pants tangled too, and so Zidane sat back, his own cock smacking firmly against his stomach as he did so, and pulled off one of Amarant's boots. The grabbed the cuff of his pants and pulled, stripping off one leg, his pants still tangled at the ankle of his other leg. [... amarant fucks zidane and zidane is like "you know given that i'm down with fisting it'd really just be fair's fair if you weren't so focused in ~raw primality~ and bothered to fuck me so i'd be good for me instead of just trying to get your rocks off inside me" and amarant is like what, by that do you mean "go slow" and zidane's like "well it would be a start" ...] "I'm gonna fuck you," he said, trailing his hand over Amarant's hairy thigh, dragging his momentarily-slick thumb along the pale expanse of Amarant's inner thigh, brushing across his balls. His muscles trembled under his touch. "That putting you in your place?" Amarant jerked his chin up, head lolling back. "With what, your little kid prick?" Zidane rolled his eyes. "I guess no one even told you it's not the size that counts, it's how you use it?" And anyway, half of Amarant's absurd cock was just that he was, overall, pretty absurdly huge. "I'll give you an object lesson. Because I'm gonna fuck you." He waggled his eyebrows as he said it. "You talk too much." "And yet, you're here anyway." He trailed his thumb down under Amarant's balls, to the crack of his ass. Amarant's cock was twitching, a clear stream of precome hanging off his cockhead and tangling in his messy pubes. "Basically begging to take my cock." "Fuck yeah, come on," Amarant demanded, like a quarter-second hesitation was already too much. Zidane thought this really showed too little dedication to the little scene they were working up to, where Amarant was -- he figured -- being overpowered and forced to get fucked, or something, but fuck if he was gonna ignore a nice invitation like that. He spread Amarant's legs, tilting his body up, and Amarant let himself be moved, sprawled out across the bed. His forearms were still tangled in his shirt and he made absolutely no effort to even try to get out, just shifted his weight slowly to make it easier for Zidane to lift his legs up. Amarant had a hairy ass, the same as the rest of him, and Zidane stroked his fingers across the heavy, meaty muscle for a moment, grinding his cock back and forth against his thighs. He circled his tight pucker, the muscle flexing open to practically gulp down his fingertip, and then Amarant rocked towards him, shoving himself down onto Zidane's finger. He grunted, his cock dripping precome across his belly as Zidane started working his finger back and forth, fucking him carefully. He pulled back and Amarant snarled, frowning. "You're so impatient," Zidane said, prodding at his asshole with two fingers for a moment, before he pulled back. Amarant made another angry, hasty noise as Zidane stepped over to the supply chest and grabbed some lube. Actual lube this time, not magic potion; Amarant was so wasteful. Amarant's gaze was focused on him, and so Zidane slowly, showily dribbled the lube across his fingers and then stroked his cock, slicking it down. The wet crackle of lube across his thick cock was loud in the room, audible over Amarant's heavy breath. "Think you're ready?" Amarant's growl resonated through his chest, and he pulled back his lips, baring his teeth. It looked ridiclous, and yet, still kind of hot. Zidane stepped back over to him, cock jerking and bouncing with each footstep, and then easily came to rest with his cockhead pressed right up against Amarant's ass. He didn't even have to thrust in; Amarant growled and jerked towards him, flexing his asshole open and slamming himself up onto Zidane's cock, hilting the entire thing inside him. He groaned, his face even more flushed and ruddy, and despite himself Zidane gasped as Amarant flexed his asshole around his cock, tight and slick and stimulating. "Fuck me!" Amarant practically demanded, letting his legs down over Zidane's shoulders, ankles touching behind his neck. "So hasty," Zidane murmured, reaching forward to stroke Amarant's cock, slick with precome. He slid forward, grinding his hips against Amarant's ass, shifting his cock inside him, and then started thrusting, slow, in time with his strokes along Amarant's cock. Amarant threw back his head and moaned, so loud Zidane worried about being heard out in the corridor. [...] Amarant yelped, making a voice that was probably at the very peak of his register as Zidane drove his hand up his asshole, the entire thing sliding in with a wet slurp. "I guess that was a little rude of me", Zidane said, grinning, clenching and unclenching his fist inside Amarant as he whimpered, head thrown back against the bed. "But you always seemed so eager to try and—" "Fucking do it harder," Amarant growled, and then laughed at Zidane's crestfallen expression. "Come on" he said, and shoved himself forwards onto Zidane's arm, grunting as he drove himself down almost to Zidane's elbow. "You're unbelievable," Zidane said, nevertheless starting to work his hand back and forth, twisting it around inside Amarant, coaxing out more guttural groans. Amarant grabbed his cock, tugging it in time with Zidane's slow movements. "Faster," he said, trying to shove himself back again, but this time Zidane curled his free hand around his hip and pushed him down. "Impatient," he said. "Man, you're always so hasty." He slowed down his pace even further, rocking his arm deeper into Amarant's body and holding it there for a long moment, grinning as he felt Amarant's internal muscles spasm and clench, working against his forearm and hand. "Gotta have a little patience; it's better that way." "I go slow sometimes," Amarant practically growled, his voice catching as Zidane abruptly twisted his arm around as he was talking. "Now I want you to fuckin' go fast." His last word came out slow, drew out as Zidane eased his arm deeper, his eyes going wide when Amarant flexed and opened his ass again, more of his forearm sinking inside until he was almost into the elbow. Amarant practically yelled, then bit his lip, a sharp whimpering keen coming out as Zidane twisted and pulled back, easing his arm out until the crest of his fist caught against the inside of his asshole. "You're really into this." Zidane was a little surprised; from Amarant's particular eagerness the last time they fucked it was obvious Amarant had a thing for fisting, but actually watching him pant and groan and whimper from having him stick most of his arm up his ass was a little... weird. It was also unexpectedly hot. "Fuck off," Amarant said, not even bothering to look up at him, his head lolling bonelessly back with a glazed expression. Zidane looked down at his arm, the tuft of fur across the outer end of his elbow matted to his skin with globs of lube. He made a face. Amarant was practically vibrating with tension, his asshole clenching and spasming around his wrist, his internal muscles shifting and working around his hand, and Zidane had to keep his hips pinned down to keep him from fucking himself on his arm. Zidane slopped lube across his forearm, all the way to the matted fur across his upper arm, and slowly pushed back inside. Amarant groaned, the massive muscles in his legs going tight as Zidane eased his arm back inside him. He'd— he thought it went without saying that he'd never stuck his arm inside anyone before but given what Amarant was into: he'd never stuck his arm inside anyone before. It was hot, and slippery, and tight, and Amarant kept shifting around him, working some internal muscles that clenched tight around his forearm. His asshole felt like a huge stretchy band, slowly working its way up his arm, his skin slippery with lube and sweat. Zidane slid deeper, slowly twisting his arm back and forth, watching Amarant's blissed-out expression, eyes blank, mouth open. He was jerking himself off almost perfunctorily; his cock was drooling out precome in a constant dribble, smearing across his stomach, and he just barely slid his fingers around the head of his cock, touching lightly. His fist knocked against the end of Amarant's ass, and his entire body lurched, like it was an uncontrollable spasm, and he let out a moan that was closer to a bellow. His muscles clenched, asshole locking down just before his elbow, and those rippling internal muscles went crazy, spasming and seizing around his arm. Zidane expected him to come all over the place, but Amarant jerked his hand off his cock, letting it spasm against his stomach, and it just pulsed a few times, a single white bead of come emerging, thinned by his copious precome. Amarant went limp, his entire body relaxing, and Zidane looked up at him. "You okay?" he asked cautiously. "Yeah," Amarant replied, his voice husky and rough, deep and tired. "Keep going." "Keep going?" Zidane was pretty sure he was as deep as he could go. He slid his hand back and forth against the smooth, satiny slick rear wall of Amarant's ass, as if to prove the point. Amarant's whole body jerked again, but a let less explosively than the first time. "Sorry," he said. "Don't," Amarant said, which Zidane didn't really get. "Do it again." Zidane did it again, even uncurling his hand to trail his fingers against Amarant's flesh. His entire body trembled, and he suddenly jerked. "There," he practically rasped, his voice caught in his throat. Zidane furrowed his brow in concentration, staring down at Amarant's stomach like he could see right through him. He ran his fingers across the surface, back and forth, and slowly realized Amarant's ass had, like, a grain. His flesh was seamed in a really subtle way, tiny striations all radiating around, and also, Zidane was feeling up Amarant's guts, and he wasn't sure if this was hot or gross. Probably both. His flesh was ridged under his fingers, closed into what he realized was a clenched pucker, and with a glance at Amarant's face (still looking totally out of it) he pushed against it. It flexed against his fingers, bowing back before opening slightly, and wide-eyed Zidane pushed his hand into Amarant's guts as gently as possible. Compared to that, his elbow slid in past his asshole completely without note. The bony plate of his elbow caught against the gaping muscle of Amarant's ass for a fraction of a second, a jolt of strange friction running up his arm, and then it was over and he had half his arm inside Amarant, and his fur was even more matted and gross. Amarant made a noise that was almost a snore, a low rumble deep in his chest, and Zidane glanced up at him. "You not going to sleep, are you?" "'M going slow, like you wanted," Amarant said, his lips curling up into a sneer. Zidane stared at his lips and felt his cock jerk. He felt inappropriate for that for a fraction of a second before he remembered he had his arm up the guy's ass, and he really hoped Amarant got as enthused about cocksucking as he did about fisting. It was kind of freaky just how easy his arm pushed deeper. Amarant just lay there, his skin shiny with sweat, his breath coming fast, his cock practically pulsing against his stomach, twitching and jerking as Zidane shifted inside him. It was so hard it looked like it must hurt, his cockhead flared out, flushed a dark purplish-red, but Amarant still just lay there, his legs spread, one raised up, heel resting on the shallow shelf beside the bed. Zidane twisted his arm around inside Amarant, the motion... weird. His fur was matted to his skin; his elbow ground against the wall of his ass, the tight clenching passage to his guts spasmed around his forearm, and Amarant's guts just rippled, weird internal muscles massaging his hand. He didn't have that much more arm left to push inside; the lower end of his bicep pushed against Amarant's asshole, and he just made a noise like a gasp and flexed his asshole open. It gaped around Zidane's arm, and his bicep slid in without a hitch, with just the wet crackle of lube, and then abruptly he had an entire arm inside Amarant. With his shoulder pressed flush against Amarant's spread asshole the only way Zidane could position himself was kneeling on the floor, half sitting up. His head was brushing against Amarant's inner thigh, his heavy dark hair matted down over his skin, and... well, the smell of his sweat wasn't as objectionable as it could've been, but it still smelled like a guy sweating. Amarant's balls were pulled up under his cock, so tight they were a single lump just below his shaft, and as Zidane moved his arm around inside him his skin wrinkled even tighter, until Zidane wondered if they were going to pop back up into his body cavity or something. He started up a slow rhythm, pulling back until the bulge of his bicep pulled out — admittedly not much of a bulge, especially compared to Amarant's ridiculously muscled arms — and then pushing back in, twisting his arm back and forth. Amarant's entire body trembled, the muscles in his thigh twitching as Zidane kept it up, but he still just lay there, head lolled back, panting open-mouthed. Amarant groaned, a long extended sound, and when his voice squeaked higher Zidane felt a swell of arousal that was almost perverse in its strength. Amarant's cock twitched, jerked up and down, slapping against his stomach, and then he threw back his head, mouth hanging wide open, and just groaned as he came, come just spilling out of his cock like it was a spigot opened low, dripping over the hull of his cockhead and pouring in a thick white puddle over his abs. Zidane stared, wide-eyed, as he just kept coming, come drooling out in a single thin thread, pumping up through his cock and spreading over his stomach, until it overflowed and spilled down his sides. His body got increasingly tense, his stomach flexing, his legs flexing, and he slowly lifted his hips up, shifting Zidane's arm inside him at a different angle. His asshole clenched tight, the flushed muscle like a massively thick band around his upper arm, and he came in slightly harder pulses, with a series of sharp wines, come still drooling out but firing across his chest on each pulse, spreading the messy pool of come all over his chest, pooling in the hollow of his throat as he angled his ass up higher. Holy fuck. Zidane kept moving his arm, not thrusting so much as twisting, back and forth and forward slightly, acutely aware of the wet suction of his spasming asshole around his upper arm, of the equally-strong surges from inside his guts, all that weird internal muscle pulsing and spasming as Amarant came for what seemed like minutes, and, realistically, was also probably minutes. Holy fuck. Amarant felt boneless and unconscious -- Zidane could tell, because with his hand up his ass he could feel the slow ebbing of tension all across his torso -- long before he actually stopped coming. His cock actually started going soft, still slowly drooling come into the matted mess of his stomach. When his cock finally gave up, he raised his head groggily, eyes blearly and cheeks quite possibly tear-streaked. Zidane hadn't been watching his face. "You got awfully feisty," Zidane said, quirking his brows at Amarant. "I said I was gonna fuck you til you couldn't walk." Amarant groped his cock, turgid against Zidane's thigh, streaked with come. "I wasn't lying." Zidane was embarrassingly aware of his cock trapped in his trousers, half-hard and flushed hot, grinding against Amarant's bare stomach. Still... "What, I wasn't good enough for you the first time? I hope you don't have aspirations of shoving your arm up my ass." Amarant jerked, a rough moan escaping his lips; against his thigh Zidane could feel his cock pulse, dripping wetness across his trouser leg. "I'd like to see you try," Amarant growled, low and hoarse against his ear. "But I don't got aspirations of you trying." It was meant as a taunt, the most transparent kind of reverse-psychology Zidane had ever seen. It was maybe a little appealing, just to see how into it Amarant would get, but he was awfully cocky still, full of dumb swagger, and honestly Zidane wasn't all the excited at the idea of having someone's hand in his ass. "Good thing you don't have high hopes then; I'd hate to crush them." Zidane reached out with his tail, curling it around the base of Amarant's cock, grinning at the low growling moan he made when he squeezed down. "This doesn't seem too big, though — I'd like to see you try with that." Amarant let out a barking laugh. "Oh, I'll show you try!" He curled his arm tighter around Zidane's chest, fingers digging into the small of his back, reaching down Zidane's front with his other hand, tugging open his belt and shoving his trousers down to his ankles. [...] [amarant recovers, pins zidane]