DrWorm (drworm) wrote,

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Hey look... just for the hell of it. The nice, kinky chapter of the LxS

The young man curled his arms around the other’s powerful neck, pushing them up and slightly into the long, black hair of his embracer. Thin, obsidian-colored locks curled around his greedy fingers as Squall murmured: “Undress me.”
The rocking ceased.
“Undress me.” He repeated the statement when there was no further response. Very carefully, Squall’s fist sought the heated hand that was resting gingerly on his knee and led the reluctant entity back to his stomach, where his shirttail had risen ever so slightly. “Go on,” he urged, gently, “Go on, take off my clothes. I want you to. Please.” He glanced up for conformation and to reassure the elder man. Brilliant green eyes met his with an abundance of silent inquiries that left Squall nearly dumb with amazement. I can’t believe … how real … how real this program is … can be. It’s almost frightening. His fingers were closed over the man’s, gently pushing them over the soft flesh of his belly. “Please, Laguna?”
The mention of the man’s name seemed to push his consciousness back into action. Suddenly, Squall felt lips crushing his own and his thin t-shirt being almost ripped from his skin. He helped as best as he could to tug the garment up and over his head and toss it out of the way. Once the boy’s chest was bare, the dexterous fingers were back, skillfully playing across the peaks of Squall’s nipples. The tongue in his mouth was invading harshly, pushing itself in and out in a teasing mockery of coital union.
Squall moaned slightly into the mouth of his lover. Yes, this was what he had wanted. To be controlled. To be utterly and completely used. It felt good, the hand on his chest, the tongue in his mouth, the fact that he shouldn’t have been enjoying something so depraved and so socially rejected. But he was.
Fuck yes. Squall arched his hips and reflected on how each and every time was so different. Using the TS for sex was not like having a constant lover, even if you were using the same image every time. In addition to removing the vocal properties of the simulation, Squall had randomized the mood of his creation. Sometimes the lovemaking would be slow, tentative, and hesitant, but other times it was fast, hard, and controlling. Once it had been absolutely vicious, closer to rape than anything else. Squall’s entire week had been spent trying to explain the bruises on his face and body to friends, coworkers, and Rinoa. As artificial as the Training Simulator was, one could program it to allow the user to feel pain, even bleed, and this Squall had done. He had wanted to experience every part and every emotion of an act that would never take place in his real life.
Laguna’s hand had moved to the button of Squall’s jeans and was gently releasing it. Squall gave another tortured moan as the hand freed the zipper and began to push the waistband down; he vulgarly spread his knees and urgently shifted one hand to help remove the restraining article of clothing. As he pushed the rough material down to his knees, Laguna tugged off his boots and socks, tossing them into a heap at the foot of the bed. Squall’s jeans soon followed. The boy stretched his legs, displaying himself for his lover. Thin, cotton briefs were the only thing still covering his body, and the elder man traced the lines of his nearly visible erection through the gauzy material, fingers trembling gently with lust. Squall arched his back, smoothly gyrating his hips against the hand that was stimulating him.
“Mmm… more, please,” Squall murmured, one hand gripping the soft, cotton shirt that was rasping slightly against his cheek. He could feel the man’s erection pressing into his naked thigh; he felt strangely guilty.
And then he felt the hem of his sweat-soaked underpants being peeled from his skin, being tugged down past his thighs, past his ankles, and discarded. A heated palm was dipping between his thighs, fingers probing gently. Squall could feel them slip and slide over his flesh, the tips shallowly entering and putting gentle pressure on his insides. It felt nice; long, thin fingers slipping in and out of the tight hole he had discreetly lubricated in the privacy of his own room before beginning his session in the TS.
“Mmm…” Squall gave one last, violent twist of his pelvis. “Mmm… pick me up, Laguna. Take me over to the wall; fuck me there. Fuck me against the wall.” His commands were delivered rough with pleasure, fingernails digging into the replication’s skin. Almost immediately, the gratifying fingers were removed from Squall, and the boy felt himself being lifted and carried. Within a bare moment, his back was pressed forcefully against the smooth, cold wall. A sharp kiss pressed against his lips and he received it eagerly, opening his mouth wide as his thighs were lifted and spread. He felt the false-Laguna press his erection against him, insistent in a blind need to conquer or control.
Squall gasped as he was entered, fists clutching Laguna’s shoulders, just trying to hang on for the rest of the ride. He was close to climax already; everything moved so damn fast. Exhaling quietly, he hunched forward to bury his face in the other man’s neck. “Harder. Please, harder.” Heavy panting echoed in his ear as his lover’s hips moved faster, and the peaks of his own pleasure came at closer intervals. “Ooohhhh… yes. Like that, yes.” There was a hand, a fucking hand, on his erection, pumping with infuriating leisure. Taking its own sweet time moving over every inch of his skin, teasing, manipulating. One slick finger slid over the very tip, lingering and worrying at the tiny slit. “Oh…”
The muscles in his thighs trembled. His orgasm was building, fast and angry in its intensity. Squall began to buck back against Laguna as the first shudders of pleasure streamed through his senses. “Father,” he whispered, “Dad. Dad. Dad.”
Then the most intense waves began to hit his brain, punching his consciousness into oblivion. “Daddy,” he screamed, voice raw and hoarse, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” Hot liquid poured onto his stomach from the tip of his erection, dripping from Laguna’s hand to the flesh of his thighs. It was sticky and thick; Squall could feel his semen leave a slight slimy trail as it ran down between his legs.
As the feelings of climax ebbed into exhaustion, the young man gave a final mewl of satisfaction, his body slumping against the wall. One, two, three final thrusts and his imaginary lover was coming as well, throaty moans resonating in Squall’s ears. But no words… no words; I’ll never hear him say my name.
The realization saddened him.

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