rdotdraws
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wild thing
🕑 Added 2021-07-18 19:00:04 +0000 UTC(gznz, primal/chase kink, no warnings)
They’d been at a beach bonfire before it started raining.
It was fun, more so than Piers had been expecting. The warm, salty air, the sound of the crashing waves giving an underlying but constant beat to accompany the music of someone’s portable speakers and the crackle of the enormous fire. People were laughing, talking, roasting hotdogs on a grill and opening cans of beer from various coolers, splashing into the waves and running back out like playful kids.
He’d had hesitations when Guzma had suggested they go, but they’d been erased within an hour. Beaches in Spikemuth and beaches in Alola really were worlds apart…and as he sat on a folding plastic chair, chatting with strangers and sipping his canned beer, he started to see the appeal of all this.
Then Guzma had come over to pull him out of his seat and into the ring of dancers near the fire, where absolutely nobody judged his foreign dance moves and skinny frame as he swayed to the music. It felt both impossibly old—how many millennia had humans been dancing to their own music in front of a roaring fire?—and yet utterly comfortable at the same time.
Guzma wore a patterned shirt with the top three buttons undone, just enough to show off a little of his well-tanned chest and the gold chain he always wore, and people had started talking to him more and more recently.
People liked him, and it pleased Piers to see. He was a likeable guy, despite often pretending otherwise, and deep down, he was a good man. Now that he was finally starting to act on his values instead of just blustering about them, he was making friends.
Firelight cast his hair amber and gold, his smiles came readily, and Piers found he couldn’t take his eyes off him as they danced around one another, sandals slipping in the sand.
Then, just when Piers was getting a bit tired, the sky decided to open up.
It was a true tropical downpour, announced by a clap of thunder that rattled one’s back teeth before the sheets of rain came hurtling down, and people shrieked and cussed at the sudden drenching. Piers whipped his head around, looking for Guzma, and they found each other in the chaos as people started to run for shelter. The party had been planned far enough out that there weren’t any nearby structures to hide under, so within minutes most people were back in their cars and headed for home.
Piers and Guzma had walked from Shady House, because of course they fucking had. Yet Piers couldn’t find it in himself to get pissed; out of nowhere, he was laughing at the exhilarating feeling of rain pelting down on his skin, the faint sting of it all the more thrilling as he looked back towards the woods that separated the beach from Po Town.
In clear weather, it had already been a twenty or thirty minute walk, and now they had no choice. It was dark, it was raining, and they gave each other a ‘it’s a good thing we’re both crazy bastards’ look before heading for the tree line.
Dark didn’t bother Piers, for obvious reasons. He’d never understood a fear of the dark—what was /in/ it, perhaps. But darkness itself was ultimately innocuous, and there were many things that comfortably made a home there. Dark was safe, serene, protective, and Piers didn’t mind being wrapped in it.
Once they reached a sufficiently large tree, Guzma took his arm and pulled him gently to a stop, reaching up to wipe back a strand of hair that had become plastered to his face.
“You really okay with doin’ this? I could carry you or somethin’, if it’s too far for yer skinny legs.”
Piers could only snort at the gruff chivalry, and gave his boyfriend’s shoulder a quick shove.
“Mighty decent of ya to offer, oh noble island prince. But I think I can manage on my own two feet.”
Lightning lit through the leaves of the tree, bleaching the world black and white for a second. He took the opportunity to lean in and steal a rain-drenched kiss, heart pounding in time with the rumble of thunder that followed.
“In fact,” he said as he drew back, and eyed the dense foliage around them, “bet I can make it home before you.”
One of Guzma’s thick eyebrows raised as he crossed his arms over his chest, chain glittering from under the wet fabric of his shirt.
“Think so, haole?”
Piers’ own chin lifted in response, and a smirk curved the corner of his lips.
“Aye, I do. Then again, it’ll probably be easy for someone who’s lived here his whole life to catch up to me. What d’you think, Kahuna Guzma? You up for a little challenge?”
The title had precisely the desired effect. Guzma’s eyes lit like a pair of twin embers, he hadn’t quite earned formally yet, but Piers knew it would come to him in time.
And until then, it was a very handy spur to his libido.
“Guess I’d better do th’ gentlemanly thing and give you a head-start, then,” he intoned, and reached up to push his damp hair back against his skull. Another flash of lightning lit him from behind as he straightened up to his full height, and Piers couldn’t help the tremble of excitement at that intimidating posture.
He paused for a moment, wondering if their little race was going to be counted off, but Guzma merely inclined his head towards the forest.
“So run.”
Piers turned, and obeyed. Perhaps running through a darkened forest during a thunderstorm wasn’t the wisest of ideas. It was the sort of thing normal people would be warned against, and shake their heads at the mere idea of.
But Piers wasn’t normal people, and he wanted this. The disorientation of crashing thunder, the freedom of running and feeling each footfall travel up his body in a long stroke, reverberating from the soles of his feet to the very core of his body. The burn in his lungs, and the foliage that bent aside as he passed.
In a flash of silver-white light, the moon reappeared from one of the heavy clouds, illuminating the forest around him in its ethereal glow. He slowed, lungs already working for breath, and behind him in the not-quite distance, he could hear the sound of Guzma coming after him.
He would always follow.
The truth of that echoed in Piers’ bones, and where once the thought of being pursued in any sense would have frightened him half to death, now it was a promise that had him shake with anticipation. He would always be chased, and always be caught.
The noise was for his benefit—this, too, he was aware of. Guzma, like most native Alolans, was more than used to moving through the dense forests and could do so near-silently when he pleased. Piers, for all his hardiness, was a city boy through and through, and lacked the home turf advantage.
The crashing footsteps were Guzma’s other concession to him; or no, not that. Not a concession at all, more an announcement of how close he was coming, how inevitable his victory. Speeding up, Piers rounded a large rock that meant he was about halfway home, mud spattering up his calf as he splashed through a puddle. The rain was beginning to abate, but he was already soaked to the skin, hair plastered down his back and shoulders, every inch of him dripping into the balmy night air.
The scent of rain-soaked earth filled his nose, and footsteps pounded in his ears as loudly as his own heartbeat.
He’d just passed into a clearing when strong arms wrapped around his torso like iron, lifting his feet clear off the ground as his breath exited in a huff. He was aloft, helpless, and yet the only thing inside him was pure, primal excitement as he felt hot breath rush against the back of his neck.
“Gotcha.”
Guzma’s body burned against his own with all the ferocious heat of his exertion, and Piers could feel the working of his muscles beneath his skin, the strength held in every motion.
It felt like pure heaven.
Piers twisted in his arms, enamoured, moving until he could thieve a much longer and more ardent kiss from welcoming lips. This was it, this was what he had missed with every other lover. Intensity and passion and silly madness shared between two. Their lips crashed against one another bruisingly, and he sucked on the thick tongue that pushed inside his mouth with greedy pulls, relishing in the groan he dragged out.
Guzma sank to his knees, bringing Piers with him, and he felt himself laid back on the damp grass with a shocking tenderness. When he opened his eyes, Guzma was leaning above him on all fours, gold chain dangling down between their bodies. His clothes were equally soaked and left nothing to the imagination—not that Piers was keen on using it at the moment.
“Turn over,” he bit out, and Piers obeyed yet again, always finding himself responding to that tone without question. Perhaps he didn’t hate authority quite as much as he thought, at least not like this.
A last bolt of lightning streaked the sky above them, cracking the stars, and thunder grumbled a few moments behind. Piers pressed his chest down into the fragrant grass, hips arching high, and looked back over his shoulder to watch as Guzma towered over him.
Like this, he truly was some god-appointed lord of this island, and Piers’ body trembled in delight at his silhouette alone.
Reaching down between his own legs, he unzipped the waist of his jeans so Guzma could pull them down, then heard the sound of him doing the same to himself.
Raw. This felt raw and wild, here in a clearing lit by the moon in the woods, it was as primal as two people could ever hope to be with one another. There was a deep and satisfying rightness to it, and Piers felt himself stretch farther, rocking back and forth to attract his mate. A heavy hand landed on his arse and he moaned, eyes fluttering shut.
There was movement behind him, and then…pure heat engulfed his sex. Guzma’s tongue snaked through his folds, wringing a shocked cry out of him, and lapped at his clit in a way that had Piers babbling praise as his hips jolted and twitched. Without taking his mouth away, Guzma wrapped a heavy arm around his middle, and Piers felt the ever-present watch dig into his hipbone as he was trapped in place. Nowhere to go, nothing to do but feel this. Lips suckled at his clit and he screamed, unashamed, feeling pleasure radiate out of his cunt. Maddening, delectable, he never wanted it to end in the same moment that he needed release more than air.
“Gods—Guzma, please, I need…”
His mouth moved back enough for him to speak, but a finger plunged inside anyway, erasing Piers’ rationality further.
“What do ya need, princess?”
His hands fisted in the grass, body already so close to the edge.
“Just a little more, gonna cum, I want it, let me have—“
Guzma grunted, and thrust his finger in at the same time his tongue flicked against Piers’ clit again. The world went white, and Piers’ fingernails raked the earth as his body shuddered through his orgasm. Pleasure ripped through him, and he squeezed the digit inside for all it was worth as a greedy tongue lapped up every drop of slick he spilled.
When he finally fell limp, everything buzzed pleasantly, and the pawing at his arse became more insistent. Chuckling, he drew himself back up onto his hands and knees and turned, eyes sliding from Guzma’s face down to the massive erection curving up towards his belly.
“That all for me?”
“Never for anyone else,” Guzma murmured in return, and Piers hummed as he brushed his lips over Guzma’s rain-slicked torso, dragging them down in a steady, meaningful descent. Guzma groaned aloud, voice shaky as Piers’ nails raked the sides of his thighs.
When the thick cockhead prodded against his chin, Piers grinned and ducked down to lick it in a long line from base to tip. Salt greeted him at the slit and his curious tongue sought more, until a broad palm cupped the back of his head and guided him all the way down.
This, too, was a bliss. He felt the length stretching his jaw, shoving implacably over the back of his tongue and filling all of his senses with that thick, musky scent. More moans reverberated in his ears, and the heavy hand kept him utterly in place as he adored the cock in front of him. It pulsed, hungry for him, and he suckled it in loving response to draw out more of the salty taste.
When Guzma gripped the base and pulled him off, he resisted it being taken from him even as his hips were lifted and he was turned back into place, licking his lips for it until that same hand landed firmly between his shoulders and pressed his chest to the earth.
Heat pressed to his entrance and he froze, yearning.
Need this. I’m so empty…
He only had a moment to lament that before Guzma thrust forward, filling him up.
The wetness of his earlier orgasm slicked the way beautifully, and Guzma slid home in one beautiful stroke. From there, it was only the perfection of a union as old as the tides, and everything else faded away. There was only pleasure, only the ritualistic slap of flesh to flesh as their bodies met, only the warm darkness that wrapped around them both in the minutes when the moon ducked behind a cloud once more, and then reappeared in a flash to bathe them with light.
Piers worked his knees wider and heard his name groaned in a deep, guttural voice. A wind blew through the trees, hissing and sighing in complement to their moans.
Guzma knew precisely how he liked it, deep and steady at first, building in pace until they were rutting against one another like feral creatures.
Anyone else would have found it painful but Piers was always a little twisted, and lived for the feeling of that thick cock bullying the end of his cunt, driving again and again at his womb and bruising his stomach from the inside. Nothing felt better than being owned inside and out like this, giving everything up to the moment and hunting his pleasure.
The moon’s light felt like a caress on his cooling skin, and he surrendered himself completely.
Each thrust drove him higher, his mind growing dizzy with ecstasy as his thoughts dimmed.
Above him, Guzma was snarling his name, praises for his pussy, his hips, everything about him. Reaching back, he grabbed one hip and felt it slam into him mercilessly, a brutal claiming that he begged for with every stripped breath.
“Yes—fuck yes! C’mon, give it to me, make me yours! Deeper, harder, anything you want—fuck, just cum in me!” His throat felt raw but he screamed the words anyway, a half-nonsensical litany of delight as his orgasm wound tight in his gut.
Guzma bent low over his back, teeth clamping against his skin just beneath the metal of his choker, and fingers worked his clit furiously at the same time. It was all he needed; he cried his orgasm to the trees, mindless as he came in intense, clenching waves. His body twisted on instinct, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure, but he’d been caught by his hunter and there was nowhere left to go.
More heat flooded inside, and he distantly realised he was being bred deeply, inexorably. Guzma was lodged in all the way…each spurt felt as though it were in his belly, filling him with perfect warmth.
Nothing to do but take it, nowhere to go, no fight. Only sweet acceptance, and the bliss of mindlessness.
They pulled apart a while later, when Piers began to shiver from the wet and cold, and he felt himself gathered up and carried the rest of the way home.
As it turned out, they were only a stone’s throw from Shady House, a hot shower, and a bed to tangle around one another in.
The comforts of a civilised home were many, Piers mused as he slid his leg between his lovers’, but there was something to be said for the wild.
