Re: Dirty Little Secret (2/3)
anonymous
May 17 2011, 06:47:14 UTC
It’s obscene how fast he gets the Specialist’s pants down, obscene what he does to the alien in less than five minutes alone with him. He covers the turian’s mouth to muffle the drunk, fucked-out sounds he makes when the Commander reaches between his legs to find the turian’s pubic plating already spread wide open. Jesus he was hot down there. Desperate too. The Specialist licks his captor’s palm, wrist to finger tip - Fuck! - and the audacity makes the Commander hard enough to fuck a hole in a log. He’s unbuckling his military cargos when things get complicated.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The Commander freezes. Remember the Spectre? He is now standing the alley and he looks murderous. To the Commander he’s an older, rougher more serrated looking bastard of raptor and the a wash of biotic blue around his left hand makes the Commander certain he’d just met one of the Specialist’s cabal squadmates. Shit. He doesn’t move away from the younger turian, doesn’t dare give this hard-ass military motherfucker a clear shot.
“Nothing he doesn’t want me to.”
“Really? He’s sober enough to tell you that?”
“Not really. Why do you care?”
“I don’t actually.”
Only on Illium. This fucking town… “So what, you want a turn?” demands the human incredulously.
“No, actually,” says the Spectre, darkly amused. “I haven’t seen a decent turian lay since I arrived on this rock. I want him and you’re in my way. Give me one reason not to lay you out cold.”
Without missing a beat the human retorts: “I’m good at sharing.”
That actually stops the Spectre in his tracks. He tilts his head, biotics fading. “Interesting.”
“It is,” says the human. As if to make a point, he palms the Specialist’s jaw, leans in and lathes the wet flat of his tongue up the younger turian’s throat. Hmm… Well, then. The sight arouses the Spectre more strongly than he’d thought a human could manage. It’s probably the intrigue of it but suddenly the idea is intriguing and the human in question is, at least, decent to look at. Said human smirks. “How do you want to do this?”
The Spectre comes over, casually undoing the fastenings of his own clothing, eyeing the state of the spec ops tactician. Clearly, the human works fast. They’d only been five minutes ahead of him. Then again, he works fast too. With zero warning, the Spectre pulls the Specialist to the ground and takes a seat against the wall. He sits laconically, knees spread and grips him by the fringe. He pulls the other turian’s head between his legs and looks boredly at the human.
“Are you going to fuck him or aren’t you?”
The Commander blinks. He was distracted pretty badly by the sight of the other turian on his knees, head rocking obscenely into the other turian’s crotch. Maybe he was just that drunk, but the Specialist tongued and licked his fellow turian thoroughly, almost desperately eager to please. He moaned every time the older turian yanked his head down, like just being allowed to do this was getting him off. It was… disgusting. He could have watched that grizzled bastard skull-fuck that other turian for hours.
Instead, he unbuckles his fatigues and fucks the younger turian from behind.
The Spectre doesn’t much care for humans, but he appreciates that whatever is being done to the spec ops tactician in his lap, it’s good. He’s making vulgar, pornographic panting sounds, spine arching. He spreads for the human like an animal in heat, moaning. While the Commander is in this for the audacity of having fucked a turian, the Spectre can appreciate how arousing it is to watch a young turian soldier get put through his paces like this. Even with his face blacked out in cabal matte, this Specialist is attractive, remarkably so.
Not that the human knows any better.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” murmurs the Spectre, gripping the tactician by the fringe. “Get going.”
Re: Dirty Little Secret (3/3)
anonymous
May 17 2011, 06:48:56 UTC
The instinctive-ness with which he follows orders is a turn-on in and of itself. There’s turian discipline for you - keeping in control enough to orally pleasure your partner while being brutally fucked by an alien. The Spectre runs his talons along the spines of the Specialist’s head crest and contemplates asking the soldier’s name… but decides against it. This mission is complex enough without scouting another Nihlus from the ranks. The Spectre groans appreciatively as he reaches a slow, agonizing climax, the shocks and starts of it spasming pleasurably through him. From there he’s content to watch the younger turian lose control under a human’s touch. He passes out eventually, too much alcohol and too much exertion, but by then things have wound down.
“I think we’re done,” says the Commander, straightening his fatigues.
The Spectre smirks at the human. “I’ll help him find his squad after he sobers up.”
“You’re gonna stick around?”
“Not long enough to explain anything.”
The human hesitates, hands in his pockets. He can see it’s in the man’s nature not to give a shit but nevertheless he glances at the unconscious Specialist and, attempting to sound dismissive, he says, “Make sure he doesn’t wake up in a fucking alley.”
“I can do that.”
The Commander, the Spectre, and the Specialist won’t see one another again for half a decade, long enough to forget faces, voices, the details of their meeting. None of the three ever recognize each other. Their blind encounter affects their relationship in no way what so ever. But it’s interesting and somewhere in the Shadow Broker’s files, buried in the bottom of the systems, way down deep, there is record but for now it’s a still a secret. For now.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The Commander freezes. Remember the Spectre? He is now standing the alley and he looks murderous. To the Commander he’s an older, rougher more serrated looking bastard of raptor and the a wash of biotic blue around his left hand makes the Commander certain he’d just met one of the Specialist’s cabal squadmates. Shit. He doesn’t move away from the younger turian, doesn’t dare give this hard-ass military motherfucker a clear shot.
“Nothing he doesn’t want me to.”
“Really? He’s sober enough to tell you that?”
“Not really. Why do you care?”
“I don’t actually.”
Only on Illium. This fucking town… “So what, you want a turn?” demands the human incredulously.
“No, actually,” says the Spectre, darkly amused. “I haven’t seen a decent turian lay since I arrived on this rock. I want him and you’re in my way. Give me one reason not to lay you out cold.”
Without missing a beat the human retorts: “I’m good at sharing.”
That actually stops the Spectre in his tracks. He tilts his head, biotics fading. “Interesting.”
“It is,” says the human. As if to make a point, he palms the Specialist’s jaw, leans in and lathes the wet flat of his tongue up the younger turian’s throat. Hmm… Well, then. The sight arouses the Spectre more strongly than he’d thought a human could manage. It’s probably the intrigue of it but suddenly the idea is intriguing and the human in question is, at least, decent to look at. Said human smirks. “How do you want to do this?”
The Spectre comes over, casually undoing the fastenings of his own clothing, eyeing the state of the spec ops tactician. Clearly, the human works fast. They’d only been five minutes ahead of him. Then again, he works fast too. With zero warning, the Spectre pulls the Specialist to the ground and takes a seat against the wall. He sits laconically, knees spread and grips him by the fringe. He pulls the other turian’s head between his legs and looks boredly at the human.
“Are you going to fuck him or aren’t you?”
The Commander blinks. He was distracted pretty badly by the sight of the other turian on his knees, head rocking obscenely into the other turian’s crotch. Maybe he was just that drunk, but the Specialist tongued and licked his fellow turian thoroughly, almost desperately eager to please. He moaned every time the older turian yanked his head down, like just being allowed to do this was getting him off. It was… disgusting. He could have watched that grizzled bastard skull-fuck that other turian for hours.
Instead, he unbuckles his fatigues and fucks the younger turian from behind.
The Spectre doesn’t much care for humans, but he appreciates that whatever is being done to the spec ops tactician in his lap, it’s good. He’s making vulgar, pornographic panting sounds, spine arching. He spreads for the human like an animal in heat, moaning. While the Commander is in this for the audacity of having fucked a turian, the Spectre can appreciate how arousing it is to watch a young turian soldier get put through his paces like this. Even with his face blacked out in cabal matte, this Specialist is attractive, remarkably so.
Not that the human knows any better.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” murmurs the Spectre, gripping the tactician by the fringe. “Get going.”
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“I think we’re done,” says the Commander, straightening his fatigues.
The Spectre smirks at the human. “I’ll help him find his squad after he sobers up.”
“You’re gonna stick around?”
“Not long enough to explain anything.”
The human hesitates, hands in his pockets. He can see it’s in the man’s nature not to give a shit but nevertheless he glances at the unconscious Specialist and, attempting to sound dismissive, he says, “Make sure he doesn’t wake up in a fucking alley.”
“I can do that.”
The Commander, the Spectre, and the Specialist won’t see one another again for half a decade, long enough to forget faces, voices, the details of their meeting. None of the three ever recognize each other. Their blind encounter affects their relationship in no way what so ever. But it’s interesting and somewhere in the Shadow Broker’s files, buried in the bottom of the systems, way down deep, there is record but for now it’s a still a secret. For now.
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*speechless*
that was...unexpectedly hot.
If you go to hell for this, I'll probably already be there for liking this.
Special hell. Definitely.
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thank you authoranon! i am in your debt ::bows deeply::
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God: Stop reading the porn.
Me: NEVER!!!
God: To hell with you.
Me: <.< I get porn still right?
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