So I guess being sick with cold and getting to the point where you cough dryly and your throat is at a CONSTANT FUCKING TICKLE is okay after all, considering I got this shitty little oneshot written in like, twenty minutes. At 4:30 in the fucking morning, no less. Anyway, without further ado, I give you a fic that may actually be more cracky than the Wyoming/Vic one I wrote a while back (wow, I know, is that even possible?)
Psst I'm typing this on my new laptop holy jesus how I love you, York. <333
Title: Protect Me, Bitch
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: Grif/Cone
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 660
Summary: Grif is angry and tries to rape the Cone. No srsly.
Disclaimer: The Cone is an almighty being which does not belong to anyone except for itself. Grif is Rooster Teeth’s bitch. I just like to torture him.
A/N: This one’s long in the making. Serenity, ILU and I hope you enjoy this, because it was your crazy idea in the first place. <3
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Dexter Grif hated everything in the whole fucking world and he didn’t care who knew it.
The med kit he had clutched to his nether regions only managed to keep down the pain swelling; the stupid masochistic hard on that had decided to rear its ugly head while Tex took out her personal vendetta against his balls (seriously, what the HELL had they ever done to her?!) was still very, very present. God damn, he knew Simmons liked pain, but he had no idea he liked it this much, or even that it would affect his own pleasure reactors when he got it as a transplant.
He still didn’t like the idea that he had Dick’s dick.
Sarge was moving off somewhere ahead of them, and Simmons was following like the good little monkey soldier he was (what the hell had happened to that brief period of rebellion?), leaving Grif alone in his pain.
Fuck. Everything.
To his right, he noticed in his peripheral vision, was the fucking pylon cone which had NOT PROTECTED HIM. He figured since he was orange, and it was orange, they’d had an unspoken agreement of brotherhood and protection, but of course not. Everyone hated him, including the fucking cone who stole his color.
Grif glared daggers at it, hoping it would burst into flame or something equally as mortifying.
“Fuck you, you stupid goddamn shitty-ass cunt cone.”
The Cone stared back at him, challengingly.
“Oh, shut the fuck up. You’re not even a person. You’re just a piece of orange plastic with a fuck hole in the top.”
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best idea to think about. Grif’s raging masochistic boner leapt at the thought of being shoved into something. And hell, that hole was probably just about the right size to produce a good amount of friction...
Before he really knew what he was doing, the med kit was tossed away like so many lettuce leaves in a salad he wouldn’t eat. His codpiece followed, and he was exposed to the air, descending upon the Cone with a feral rage he didn’t even bother keeping in check.
“Fuck you! Yeah, that’s right, I said fuck you! Who’ll protect YOU, bitch?!” His angry dirty talk was cut short as he shoved his way roughly into the hole. God, he’d judged just right, and ungh, even though the inside wasn’t tight in any stretch of the word, that HOLE, that goddamn hole, it was like a cockring or something.
He thrust in and out a few times, experimentally, groaning a low, deep groan at its perfect seal around him. The Cone was almost MOCKING him with this feeling, he just knew - so he fucked it harder.
“You don’t GET to enjoy this, cunthead!” he grit out past clenched teeth. “Take it like the whore you are!”
Maybe it was a badly aimed thrust, or perhaps in his excitement his member pulsed just a tad bit larger, but suddenly, he found himself stuck. Like, seriously stuck. Like, I-can’t-move-and-it’s-starting-to-hurt stuck.
Grif tried yanking back out, but the orange plastic just squeaked, a mocking laugh from the almighty Cone. He looked desperately around for someone to help him but everyone was gone and even if they’d been around there was no way he wanted to be caught in this situation and holy fuck this was the worst day of his entire life.
He tried moving again. The Cone squeaked a condescending chortle again.
It wasn’t too long after his feeble attempts that his armor locked down and he was confined to an even worse situation.
Fuck. Everything.