A/N: Written for the AmeCan Halloween exchange 2015 for buckybear0v0. Also posted on ao3. Title is adapted from a Little Red Riding Hood spin off of the same name. I haven't read it, but i just needed something for the title.
Warnings: Contains sexual content, swearing, and mentioned character deaths
Crimson Bound
If there was one thing Matt absolutely hated, it was time.
He hated the tick-tock-ticking of grandfather clocks, he hated annual holidays, he hated history and the future and the present, too.
Honestly, what did it matter if it was Monday or Wednesday or Saturday. The last time he had known the exact date it was a Tuesday, if that had any relevancy. February 27th 2001, which was incidentally the same day he permanently left home, away from clocks and dates and lives run according to schedules.
He didn't live life via timetable. If he wanted to go to sleep when the sun was beating down in harsh rays, he fucking power-napped all the way through. Who cared if the sun had barely kissed the morning sky and he wanted dinner? Stupid nature.
Unfortunately, just because he didn't agree with the indefinite continued process of existence didn't mean that the universe let him get away with it. Oftentimes he had been more than happy to go for a brisk stroll through the over-grown forest of trees that he had secluded himself to, he found that night had already fallen. Navigating was difficult whenthe world was pitch black and starless.
The seasons moved around in a kaleidoscope of white and green and brown and red. It seemed that just as he was getting used to the bitter chill of winter, spring snatched that away and replaced snow with blossoming flowers and chirping cicadas. Honestly, he felt a little attacked. Time was attacking him. Ha.
His old 2004 calendar was starting to decay. Or maybe it had started long ago. Whatever, who knew how long it had been since he had replaced it, and what did it matter if it had been one year or ten.
Of course, he knew that such things were only natural. The world never stopped turning even when it felt like it did and there wasn't any grey in his hair, dammit. He was only twenty-one several summers or millenniums ago, "Where oh where did the time go?"
His outdated floral wallpaper and lacy curtains say nothing. Downstairs, his cassette player sings oh, how your bubble's gonna burst, because radios are overrated and he can never get a fucking signal so far out here anyway. He has sixty-four records. He ritualistically organises them from red-to-orange and yellow-to-green and blue-to-purple, and everything else goes on the side. Paris in April is orangey yellow.
He needs to go in to town today (fuck). Matt does not enjoy trips into civilisation. Of course, it was necessary for certain essentials that he would rather not live without. However, he could certainly live without the flashing neon in signs and loud, blaring traffic wherever he went.
Sure, plenty of delivery companies advertised their services with flashy pictures and big words. Matt stopped and considered them sometimes, but always decided against it. He didn't need anyone knowing his whereabouts. He'd had people fuss over him before: "oh, Matthew darling, I do hope you are alright living out there all by yourself. There are lots of predators there, dearie. Wolves and the like." If only they knew.
He hates leaving the security of the forest. Plus, it costs money to buy essentials. Money was a stupid idea, what ever happened to good old-fashioned trading and bartering. Matt earns his keep by selling wood. His axe is a not-for-cutting-big-trees axe, but Matt does so anyways. He's strong and has patience. He likes to think that he has all the time in the world.
His rusty wagon creaks with every step. If any wooden pieces fall out, he picks them up. Each log is about the size of his hand now; he's learnt to cut them into portable pieces. Easier to sell.
The birds chirp a ceaseless melody. Matt's feet go crunch, crunch, crunch. His throat is dry.
When he gets to the market, he'll invest in some maple syrup. Maple syrup made everything taste better, even the bland vegetables he grew in his backyard. They always tasted like dirt or cardboard, no matter what he did. And he was terrible cook, so the only thing he could do was steam them or make stew. Matt ate a lot of steamed veggies and stew.
A twig snaps somewhere. Matt is not alone. He treks on.
He's already quite sure who it is, although there are three possible options: a random fauna that just so happened to be in the area, a lone hiker (unlikely, as campers rarely travelled alone. They liked to migrate in large packs and chatter loudly about irrelevant things, just to annoy Matt). The last choice was the most likely, but Matt had yet to decide about how he felt about that particular creature joining him.
Sure enough, a head of mahogany hair peeks out behind one of the skinny lodgepole pines, about 50 yards ahead of where he is walking. Matt pretends not to notice. The head quickly snaps back behind the trunk. Small, clawed hands that were clearly in sight fidget a little and scratch at the wood. A dark tail flicks in and out of sight.
That was Al. A short, tan individual that also happened to be the bane of Matt's existence, as well as his (boy)friend, of sorts. He looked like a giant cat that thought he was smaller than he actually is; and really, that's exactly what he is.
As Matt nears closer, he decides that he would rather not fall prey to one of Al's juvenile pranks, so he slows to a stop. "I can see you, you furry fuck." He calls casually. The shoulders sticking out tense, but stay still other than that. Matt hears a small giggle.
Then, "Trigger treat!" Al cries happily, bounding out from behind the tree, arms spread and tail wagging. What a kid.
"I believe that it's trick or treat." Matt's comment goes ignored.
Instead, Al claps in delight. "Did'ya get scared, huh? Did'ah scare ya? I totally did, I saw you jump, sucks to be you!" He jeered.
"Yes," Matt agrees. "You sure got me." Al lets out another gleeful giggle, then turns to him, hands on hips.
"So," he started.
"So," Matt mimicked.
Ignoring him, "where's my 'hello' kiss?" Puckering up his lips, Al leans closer, trying to reach Matt's mouth. Considering said Canadian had at least eight inches on him, he expertly dodged the puckered lips by simply tilting his head up. For several moments it goes on like this; Al protesting and trying hard as he might to peck Matt while he simply bats of each attempt.
Al's eyes start to fill with frustration and a glint of anger. Deciding to grant the desperate wolf his "oh so dearest wish, Mattie, just one kiss" if only to stop the complaining, Matt finally bends slightly and tilts his head. Immediately, his lips are attacked with a frenzy of desperation and a whisper of I missed you.
When Al pulls back, he can already tell that his lips are going to bruise. Al smiles coyly, then snakes his arm around Matt's waist. It's then that Matt realises that, since pulling away, his mouth is filled with a distinctly metallic taste. A glance downwards confirms that yes, that is blood smeared on Al's face. How gross.
His ass is suddenly pinched rather firmly, and Al lets out an appreciative sound. "Ooh, that's real nice, sugar."
"I am neither nice nor your sugar. Just Matt is fine."
"Baby," Al argues. "You're sugar and spice and everything nice!" He finishes groping Matt's bottom, but not before placing a cheeky slap on the left cheek. "Hey. Wait here."
"I won't." Matt assures. He stays in the same place. Not because Al told him too. Of course not. He was just. Drinking in the view—one could still enjoy the scenery of s place they had passed by countless times, right?
After a few moments of dumbly standing out in the open, Al scrambles out of a nearby bush, beaming. He has a small twig stuck in his hair, but Matt's more aware of the arm sticking behind his back.
"Uhh… That's not, like, a gun or something right?" He asks cautiously, discreetly checking if his axe was on his person. Sure, Al could easily overpower him with or without a weapon, but you could never be too careful.
Al just laughs. "Nah." He hops from one foot to the other.
"It isn't another dead bird? Dear god Al, if it's another dead bird. I know that's normal for your species but I swear to god—"
"It's really not!" He's loudly interrupted. "Here." Al presents an assortment of leaves, weeds and wild flowers. "Looook. Look what I got ya." He waves the 'bouquet' around wildly, bits falling out left, right and centre.
"Um." Matt just stares. "What is that?"
"It's an bo-kay!" He yells cheerfully, throwing his hands in the air. A large thistle falls onto the ground.
"A bouquet," Matt corrects. "And why?"
"Welllll!" Al stretches the word, puffing his chest out slightly. "You were sayin' about all your kinds of traditions, and I think you musta said something about people giving these bo-kays to their loved ones, an', well, I couldn't remember the exact holiday buuuut I figured that Halloween was close enough, right?"
Matt hesitates slightly. "Okay. First of all, flowers are typically given out on Valentine's Day, but they can be presented in other situation too, such as—ugh, hold on a minute, did you say that I was your loved one? It's pronounced bouquet, for crying out loud. 'Musta' isn't a word. And—"
"Okay okay okay!" Al looks vaguely embarrassed. "I was just tryin'a do something nice, jeez."
"God, why?"
He scratches the back of his head. "Well… I just, ya know. Wanted to do something sweet for ya." A nervous smile plays in his lips. The last remains of his leafy collection are tossed aside, and Al's face forms into what is unmistakably; a pout.
"…You're a dork." Matt concludes.
"I'm your dork," Al replies, pointing a finger. "Yours."
"If you insist." That gains him a laugh, and Al's hand wraps around his own.
There was something indescribably charming about Al's complete lack of knowledge when it came to Matt's world. He almost very childlike in the sense of how much he didn't know and how easily he got things confused. But, then again—the russet stains on his cheek twisted into obscure patterns when Al grinned widely, and Matt thinks maybe not.
"Who is this?" Matt gestures to the smudged splatters, morbidly curious about the tragic fate that had surely befallen one or more of his distant neighbours. Or maybe a naïve traveller. Don't they know that the woods are a dangerous place to be? Tsk, tsk.
"Oh yeah," as if he forgot. "Hmm… they were twins, ah'm pretty sure. The bigger one tried his hardest ta protect the lil' one.." Almost identical; differing only in their eyes. Cornflower blue, alluring violet—just like Matt's, but lighter. And happier. "I tore him apart. He tasted like amber waves of grain and fruited plains."
"Ah." Either Al was trying to imply that the boy had been very beautiful, or he had gotten his describing words messed up.
Al's mouth waters at the memory of the little purple eyed boy. He smelt sweeter than his twin, and was like a soft, cleaner Matt. His hair was aureate like the bubble champagne Matt had once let him try. Al wants to drown in it. Wants to drown in the angelic not-quite-Matt.
He sighs wistfully. "Even their screams were beautiful. Sounded like a song. He tasted like America, Mattie."
Matt has no idea what America tasted like. Al was using confusing words again.
Al wraps his arms around himself, feeling his belly. "If feels nice. Nice and warm. It feels wonderful to be full."
"Mm-hmm. You're just being creepy now, by the way."
"Ain't that what Halloween's all about?" Matt simply shrugs, then subtly lets go of Al's hand. "I've got to get to the market. This wood isn't going to sell itself." He twists out of Al's grip and starts making his way back to his wagon.
The wolf gazes at the lumberjack's muscled back, then lands on the man's delectably toned backside. How could he let such a beauty slip away this easily! It simply wasn't possible. If Matt didn't want to, he'd make him stay. So...
"Mattie~" he purrs, embracing the taller man from the behind, nuzzling into his plaid shirt. Matt probably had about eight inches on him, and Al has the bizarre thought that if anyone were to see them right now; it would look like an adolescent hugging an adult.
Matt would be a much better wolf than him. He could lure victims in with his masculine physique and his stern stare, and after speaking to him for several moments they wouldn't even be surprised when he rips out their vocal chords. Matt has a strange sense of finality about him. It's difficult to argue with someone like that. (Al still manages to.)
After he continued to do whatever with his oh so precious lumber—did lumber have such great abs as he? Didn't think so—Al decided to take action. Tightening his grip around Matt, he starts to grind against him. He had to stand on his tip-toes to get a good angle, right against the crevice of Matt's rear.
"Hey. I just had an idea. Let's have sex." It was better to make Matt think that he had just had the idea. If he knew that Al had wanted to hump like rabbits since he had woken up this morning, it wouldn't be 'improvised' and 'extemporaneous' like sex is supposed to be. (According to Matt. Gaay.)
"Hey, I have an idea. No."
"Aww." Time to bring out the big guns. He all but humps Matt's plush ass, not even bothering to stifle his moans. He hears Matt sigh deeply, and keeps grinding until he's hard. Matt thankfully grants some gratification by rolling his hips, but he's doing most of the work.
"…Do you make it your duty to never listen to me?"
He's starting to chafe a little, so he spins Matt around and all but attacks his lips, kissing him like they were teenagers that had snuck out to make out. Their tongues brush up against each other, only causing the pleasure to spike. Al wonders what he should do next. As the self-appointed dominant one, it's his decision to chose whether or not he should fuck Matt against a tree, the wagon, the ground, or somewhere else.
Animal instinct tells him he should just mate, or kill. His human side wants to get married, and kiss under the pouring rain, and do all sorts of inane things that he just can't wrap his head around. To get back at Matt for confusing him, he shoves him, hard.
He stumbles, then lands heavily. The leaves crunch underneath him. "Did you have to?" Matt sighs, shifting uncomfortably at the feel of twigs digging into his back. "My shirt will get muddy."
"Nah, you're just looking for things tah complain about, aren'cha?" Al straddles Matt's legs, setting to work on the buttons of his plaid shirt. "And lookie, I'll just take it off, see?"
Matt wants to roll his eyes at the wolf's logic—because, really. They both knew that the garment would just be thrown somewhere to get even more dirty—but instead settles for his signature Noncommittal Grunt™.
Then, just to annoy Al, "By the way, how long has it been since you last changed your clothes? You fucking stink."
"Ehh, shuddap. Besides, it's not like I can fuckin' go tah the store an' buy some." He finishes unbuttoning Matt's shirt, and nods his approval. He longs to lightly run his long nails down the rough expanse, so he does exactly that.
Matt can't help but shiver at the sensation, and shrugs out of his shirt only to have the American throw it into the air. Matt watches with slightly pursed lips as his favourite item of clothing whizzes through the air and somehow lands in a tree. Well, at least it wasn't mud. But if gets bird shit in it, Al will be entirely responsible for the damage to his smirking face.
The wolf licks his lips, then leans down to suck a collarbone. Matt squirms, "Ugh, foreplay. Just get it over with." Al has the audacity to lightly nibble on the bone, and it's all he can do not to cry out. Instead, he bites his cheek harshly.
"You better not be trying to turn me into one of your meals." He shoves the brunet head away, rubbing at his overly sensitive clavicle. Al sends him a shit-eating grin.
"Don' you worry, darlin' I'll just treat ya." A yellow shirt that was once white is peeled off, revealing sun-kissed skin. Al pauses, flexes, and pulls a myriad of ridiculous poses. His dark skin is smooth and hairless, lightly dusted with a layer of dirt. Al is damn lucky that Matt isn't particularly picky about hygiene.
"Jesus Christ, I forgot how hairless you are. You're like a pre-pubescent girl." The stark difference between their bodies is clear, and Matt briefly compares Al's sepia hue to his own his pallid skin tone. He idly scratches the thick forest of body hair on his abdomen, "Aren't you supposed to be the wolf?"
Al rubs his bare skin, only now noticing the comparison. "Well, sweet cheeks, I may not be the ideal Big Bad Wolf, but you're certainly no Lil' Red Ridin' Hood." A slender hand reaches out and pinches Matt's cheek, to which growls and bats the prying appendage away.
"What an odd thing to say." Al just shrugs, then shimmies down Matt's body. Dang, now he's imagining Matt in a fucking red hood, complete with pig tails and maybe even a little skirt. The thought amuses him more than it should have, as the stirring in the deep pits of his stomach reveals. Role play idea filed away for the future, that's for sure. It Matt ever agreed to it.
Mmm, just thinking about it is turning him on. He would hold Matt down by the hair as he ruthlessly fucked him, moans and whimpers spilling from his pretty mouth. The boy's light lavender eyes would fill with tears as Al harshly dug his teeth into sensitive flesh, marking him as his own territory—
A possessive urge washed over him, and he had to fight to keep from biting a chunk of Matt's skin off. Damn, he really thought that those twins would fill him up enough that he wouldn't want to eat his lover, but maybe not.
He hungrily palms said lover through his jeans, eager to get it on, frowning at the feel. "Hey, you're not even hard." Al complains loudly, bright vermillion eyes narrowing.
"You're not exactly the sexiest thing around." Matt defends, flicking one of Al's furry ears. Honestly, they look like the cute, fluffy ones one would find on kittens, and Matt's not into beastiality. Despite. You know. Dating and fornicating with an actual anthropomorphic part-wolf part-human hybrid. Whatever.
Shaking off those thoughts, Matt pulls Al down and kisses him, tasting sweat and dirt and blood. Matt's hands twitch, itching to wander over the wide expanse of lovely coffee-tinted skin, but he keeps them by his sides. After all, Al has to learn to work for things that he wants.
After several moments, Al pulls back. They're both breathing a little harder than usual, but neither will give the other the pleasure of knowing that they're affected by a little kissing. Instead, Al starts tracing little patterns on Matt's pectorals, then dips down and rests on his belt. With a cocky grin in place of what should have been a loving expression, he starts rubbing Matt through the thick fabric.
The Canadian barely acknowledges the hand caressing his most sensitive regions, staring at Al with a blank expression. Slightly disappointed at the lack of response but not surprised, Al moves on to slip his hand under the material. The angle is incredibly awkward and strange, so Matt decides to remove the hand attempting to grope him.
"Honestly, I thought you were experienced," Matt sighs lowly, wriggling out of his pants. Al gladly watches the display, relishing at the sight as more of that creamy skin is exposed to the chilly air with every passing second. Honestly, Matt is so lovely, with his pretty lilac eyes and hair like the soft sunshine peeking through the canopy of leaves above. Well, it's more is a fair colour, but Al thinks it's nice either way. Despite all that body hair. (He's not jealous.)
Instead of voicing those thoughts, he says, "Christ, you're glowing like a fucking lantern, you're so goddamn pale. Don't you ever go outside?"
Matt looks extremely unimpressed, but that's alright. That's just his default expression, Al knows, Al knows that Matt doesn't think he's annoying. The slight crinkling of those lovely eyes means that he's smiling, but that's just because Matt's weird like that.
Al brushes his nose along the pale thigh, and goosebumps appear in his wake. He starts removing Matt's briefs—and what do you know, they're tighty-whities, Al doesn't have to be an active member of society to know that's fucking unacceptable, especially for sexy times—and throws them as hard as he could, hopefully getting rid of them forever. He doesn't notice Matt's eyes fill with rage when his underwear joins his shirt in the tree-now-a-clothesline-apparently.
After that it is so easy to grip Matt's half-hard length, stroking and touching all over. It's all Matt can do to suppress a groan, but that doesn't stop the low keening noise at the back of his throat.
"You like that, don't ya?" Al says proudly, thumbing the slit on the tip. Half-lidded eyes stare at him with the same amount of interest one might have while discussing the weather. Or politics. Al can't wait to see those pretty peepers fill with pleasure.
Al easily teases him up to full hardness, tracing a vein here and stroking a testicle there. Soon Matt's length is red and throbbing. Like a heart. His hand is beginning to hurt and he wants to fuck Matt into oblivion.
He gasps, "Oh, Matt. I want you so bad, Mattie. Let me have you. Let me swallow you whole."
"Ooh, sexy. What, you into vore now? I don't usually kink shame, but that's sort of where I draw the line." That sounds like Matt's own obscure way of confirming, so he quickly lets go of his cock, and as a small afterthought, places a little kiss on the tip. He gets another odd look for that, but it's okay because it makes Matt jump a little, and that's really fucking cute, okay.
Now there's too much clothing and not enough skin-to-skin contact so Al quickly strips himself of his trousers and undergarments, resisting the urge to neatly fold them. Damn it, living on his own and having to take care of himself has made him start actually caring about his property, ugh. Speaking of property…
Matt would definitely kill him for ever referring to him like that, even in his head, so he distracted himself by crawling on top of his boyfriend once again. Nothing else matters at that moment, because Matt is hard and ready for loving, and he's prepared to make the most of this.
"Hey there," he giggles when he reaches his destination (Matt's face) and lightly pecks his nose. Matt mumbles out a greeting, and man, that deep tone really does things to Al.
"Your voice is so gravelly, Mattie~" Al presses their bodies together playfully, rubbing their groins together a bit.
"The fuck does that even mean." It's a rhetorical question, not even a question at all, so Al ignores him, and instead chooses to dip down and plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
The two of them are bare underneath the dreary sky, surrounded by a forest of saturated polychromes. There is flaming red and amber orange and brown and grey and white. It's like a painting, something out of a pretty picture, but they're in it and probably ruining it. Al chuckles a bit. He's always been good at corrupting beautiful things.
Al starts to grope around a bit, trying to get a feel of Matt's body. Even though he knows every inch from head to toe, it's nice to familiarise himself with his lover once in a while. Matt's skin is cold, clammy, and a little filthy from writhing in the dirt. Perfect, just as always.
Frowning, the wolf realises that Matt is most likely uncomfortable, and looks around to put something down for him to lie on. There's nothing but nature, and their clothes. Actually, most of them don't seem to be anywhere in sight. Weird. Oh well, they'll be fine.
Their tongues intertwine again, and it's always an adventure, kissing Matt. He's tricky and devastatingly complicated when it comes to most things, and this is no exception. He likes to lead Al on, making him think that he is in control, when really, Matt's always dominating, despite being the one penetrated. It's a little disconcerting, but Al will take what he gets.
Al starts kissing down Matt's body with his mouth, sucking and leaving hickies wherever he can. Even though Matt claims to hate foreplay, it's really the only way to keep him interested. He's such a girl sometimes.
"Mmm, you taste divine." he says in what he thinks (hopes) is a seductive tone, lapping at the outline of his ribs. Feeling a surge of confidence coming on, he latches around one of the hard nipples near his face and sucks. That earns him both a yelp and a hard smack to the head, but it's worth it when he sees the light pink dusting Matt's cheeks.
There's more hitting and "Fuck you, Al, you know I'm too sensitive there, you dick" but eventually he settles, huffs a tiny bit, and glares. He keeps that glare glued in his face when tan fingers run against his chapped lips. Al chuckles (giggles) at his silly Canadian's attitude. He's just too fun to tease.
"Hey, suck." The glare increases intensity, and his fingers are nudged away. With a grimace, Matt glances at the blood crusted nails—no, claws—that are trying to creep their way into his mouth. Like he was letting those inside of him, no matter the hole.
"Don't bother. I'm already prepped enough from last time." And plus, fingering is totally awkward, for both of them. Matt usually gets bored and Al's movements are choppy, ungraceful, and quite frankly, a little painful. It's almost embarrassing.
"I don't want to break you or nothing." A flicker of concern shows on Al's face, but it's gone as soon as it came, so Matt must have just imagined it.
"Really, it's unnecessary. Just get on with it, I'm becoming flaccid." Well, since this is taking too long, and Al's never been a patient guy—wolf? Wolf-guy?—he's not going to bother arguing. It'll be Matt's fucking fault if he gets an anal prolapse or some shit, and he won't feel an ounce of guilt.
…But he'll go slowly, just in case.
"I could tear you apart," Al warns lightly, spreading Matt's legs open. He doesn't look very well lubricated, but he is rather loose, so it shouldn't hurt him too badly. Legs wrap around him as soon as he lifts Matt's hips up, and he adjusts them both into a position he deems comfortable. He's tempted to ask Matt what he would find acceptable, but decides against it.
Since Matt apparently has something against his bangin' nails, Al has to find other ways of means of sufficiently slicking his dainty lil derrière. He wouldn't want Matt to cry or anything. Like, that would mean that he'd probably want to skip the fucking and use Al as a tissue, and Al ain't about that life.
Perhaps all the blood that had run to his cock meant that he wasn't aware as he should have been, because Al knew that he sure as hell would never do something like this had he not been so incredibly turned on.
But, in his almost inebriated state, it made perfect sense to lean down and stick his tongue in Matt's rump. It tasted… absolutely awful, and that wasn't even an exaggeration on Al's part. However, the wolf had tasted much worse, so he simply grimaced and explored Matt's inner walls a little, stroking them with his tongue.
He honestly had no idea what to think when Matt squeaked and tightened his legs around his head, almost crushing him with the strength behind it. Was this a murder attempt?
Choking a little, he struggles to escape the iron grip, thrashing around a little. Oh no. This was the end. All he can think about is how ridiculous his death certificate is going to look like. Cause of death: thick thighs. Primary cause: crushed skull. Fuck, he could already see the light.
And then… he is released. "Urrgh," he gasps, clutching at his chest. "The fuck, Matt. What the hell?" He scrambles backwards, fumbling over the leaves in a desperate attempt to put as much distance between himself and Matt. He casts an accusing long at the offending party, not before spitting on the ground to cleanse his mouth to the best of his abilities.
"You surprised me." The sentence was accentuated with a careless shrug. Al's eyes widen in horror.
"No. No no no no. You nearly killed me. I nearly died. That was attempted murder. I'll see you in court, bitch." Al rubs the sides of his head furiously, his ears twitching in irritation. It looks almost comical, but Matt is not one for laughing.
"You're being dramatic. Besides, trust me on this one, you'd react the exact same way if it had happened to you." Al scowls down at his lap, only then noticing his still hard prick—traitor. He's not a masochist like some people.
"Are you gonna sulk about it?" Matt asks tiredly.
Al sticks out his bottom lip. As much as he loves pouting, his boner is actually beginning to hurt a little. And who was he to deny a completely willing and fuckable specimen, regardless of whether they may or may not have tried to murder him naught one minute ago. He glances warily at the thighs that were almost his downfalls and worries his lil uneasily.
"Uhh, you know what? I think doggie style is a super great position, actually. Haha, yeah. Bend over." In response he gets a frown, then an indignant snort.
"No. I'm good."
Al protests a little, but quickly gains his enthusiasm when Matt retaliates with the promise that Al can go as rough as he wished and he won't even complain. That didn't apply to after, however, but Matt would wait until then to inform him. Maybe he could get Al to stay over and look after him. He certainly thought that he deserved at least a massage for bottoming all the time.
"Okay," he agrees, then clambers back on top of the large man, wrapping one arm around his stomach and the other around his erection. "Ready?"
"I suppose," Matt sighs. Al's primal instincts snap to attention, and he growls, "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to shit 'til you're in your thirties," gripping tightly onto the blond's shoulders. Taking no time to savour the moment, Al swiftly enters with one thrust, all the way down to the hilt.
"Oh, how romantic. I'm blushing, Al, I'm blushing." Although Matt is not just blushing, Matt is gasping and his expression isn't blank anymore, Al caused that, and his inner muscles are convulsing and tightening around his cock, yesss.
Matt looks almost angelic, writhing on the dry leaves with blond locks curling around his face like a halo. He looks so vulnerable right now. It would be easy to tear his throat out, see if Matt is as pretty on the inside as his exterior is. His cheeks are flushed in arousal, and his lilac flower eyes are unfocused and staring at nothing.
Al wonders if Matt's heart is beating as fast as his.
To check, he presses an ear to where he guesses Matt's heart is, and is delighted to hear it beating a million miles per minute. "Hmm, like a hummingbird." He murmurs, and Matt gives him a confused look. Which consists of his eyebrows raising half a millimetre. What an open book. Really, his lover is so expressive.
Matt murmurs something that sounds like fucking describing words. But Al could have misheard.
He feels like making a smart ass remark, but Matt's muscles clench, hard, and the only sound he is capable of making is a moan. Al's entire body is on fire. He starts rocking slowly, just to get Matt used to the feeling, and to relieve himself of the near unbearable pressure in his groin.
"Well. Now you go slow," Matt exclaims breathlessly, and there's no bite behind his words. A small smile plays on his lips. The autumn air has never felt so hot, he's burning up. Al kisses him again, moulding their tongues and clashing teeth. Matt places his hand on Al's abdomen, pulling him closer and Matt is touching Al, not Al touching Matt like usual, this is perfect.
His thrusts were starting to go deeper and faster. There's some more squirming, but Matt doesn't make any pained sounds, and a brief study of his face confirms that he's okay. Al watches his cock slide in and out in a rhythmic fashion. In, out, in, out. It's as natural as day, night, day, night.
It's hot and wet as rain on a summer day.
With Matt, sex isn't just sex. Of course, there's the passion, the fervour, same as always. It's a little clumsy and messy, they're both relatively young and inexperienced adults with much to learn, but it's full of emotion and so much feelings. Which is weird, for someone like Al. But Matt is… Matt is special. He's cynical and sarcastic and terribly rude, but it feels so nice to be this connected to him, to know that he is the only one that had the privilege of taking his sweet ass.
Ha. Isn't he such a Casanova? He could write a fucking teen novel.
Pressing his face into the juncture of Matt's neck, Al sinks his teeth into the cool flesh. His sharp fangs draw blood, which he laps up. There. Now Matt is his. And wow, his blood almost tastes like fucking maple syrup. How much more Canadian can you get?
"Well shit," Matt breathes. "I thought I was dating a werewolf, not a vampire."
"Haah? I'm not either." Al pants, building a steady pace. Every several thrust earns him a low groan; Matt's never really been one for making a lot of noise, even in the midst of the throes of passion. It makes him extra proud whenever Matt groans. He likes the challenge of having something to work for.
But when Matt fucking whimpers, it's all he can do not to come right there. Al's eyes widen at the noise; the implications behind it. And Matt's covering his mouth, he's embarrassed, and, "hey, hey, hey. What was that. Since when were you capable of being cute?"
"Oh, just shut the fuck up," he moans, and shoves Al softly. He just chuckles lowly and starts to thrust deeper and harder at an almost ruthless pace.
Beads of perspiration trickle off of Al's body and onto his. Matt can't help but stare at him. When his face is scrunched up in ecstasy like that and his cheeks are shiny with was was maybe sweat (maybe tears?) he looked nothing like the monster that he truly is. How can someone so cruel look so lovely? It almost wasn't fair.
It makes him wonder what Al is doing, here with him. He is an ostentatious being driven by emotion and feeling; Matt is about the equivalent of a robot when it came to affection. A blowup sex toy would probably be more responsive than he. It was good that Al tended to care more about his own pleasure than his partner's. They were a compatible pair.
Then, Al finally strikes that spot that had Matt screaming in bliss, and he's holding onto him for dear life, it's almost too much. There is no gravity. There is nothing but the two of them. There are no seasons, and no trips to town or vintage records that sing what big eyes you have, the kind of eyes that drive wolves mad.
Al starts getting rough, driving into him deeper with each thrust. He's almost too harsh—but Matt can't bring himself to care, not when his prostate is being struck dead-on like that. It feels hot and beautiful and made his eyes flutter like a butterflies' wings and his heart beat like a hummingbird.
Sharp claws dig into his side, and he feels the skin tear. It only heightens the sensation with a wonderful cocktail of pain and pleasure and he's so lost. Al's holding him close as can be while their bodies move in sync. He places light kisses on his collarbone, making Matt feel like such a girl and he's not a fucking chick, Al.
Al nips at his cervix just right, sending thrills down his spine and making his toes curl and his hips arch. His very being is tingling with erotic intimacy, he's so close... "Ahh, yes, uhnn~"
Al is grunting like an animal, and all too soon he jolts, moans lowly, face twisted in an expression of relief. His grip tightens as he empties himself inside of Matt, who makes a unimpressed face as the feel of the hot fluid. It end much too quickly and not fast enough.
Al carefully slips out of him, spent and exhausted, before curling up above Matt. He is not amused. "You done already?"
"Don't worry your pretty lil' head off, I'll suck you off." Al tries to compensate, still reeling from his intense climax. He is perfectly content to stay and snuggle right there, but me knows that Matt would just bitch if he didn't finish him off.
"Yeah, yeah. Are you aware that your ears twitch when you come?" Al waves him off, and shakily reaches for Matt's cock. After some fumbling, he manages to gain a somewhat slippery grip on the organ.
He urges Matt to stand up and move backwards until his back hits a tree. Then, he kneels in front of him. Sweat and pre-cum glistens invitingly on the tip, along with his own bodily fluids. Al already knew that this was going to taste like utter shit.
Grimacing only a little, he licks it from root to tip, trying to recall any useful pointers about oral. Wasn't there an abc thing that was supposed to feel really good? Wait, crap, Matt hadn't taught him more than the first few letters of the alphabet yet. Damn.
He starts to kiss along the underside, relishing in the twitching he left in his wake. When he reaches the shaft, he starts easing it into his mouth, gently suckling. Matt moans lowly as Al sensually slides the thick member into his mouth. He uses his hands to get to where he can't reach, lightly caressing Matt's testicles.
Matt's hips buck up, his toes curling in pleasure and his mouth agape as Al starts to deep throat him. Hair brushes lightly against his thigh, only adding to the sensation.
"Om nom nom." Al mumbles around him.
"Whaah?" Matt says breathlessly. The vibrations feel heavenly, but really, Al is such an idiot. He glares down at the brunet, who only winks back. He starts to hum a little tune, and Matt's thighs tremble. The boy is doing things with his mouth Matt doesn't even think he should know how to do, licking around the base and the foreskin and—
His temperature spikes and his breath comes out in rapid gasps and he reaches his peak. He grabs a handful of mahogany hair and tugs it back, just in time to release his load.
When Matt comes his hips jerk up and he gasps something under his breath. It sounds like Al's name. Al doesn't know if he believes. Cum splatters into his mouth and onto his face, but he is watching Matt shiver and quake.
The rest of the world has come back, and he can hear the birds tweeting and feel the wind on his body. Silently, he leads a boneless Matt down to the ground, where he wraps his arms around him. He runs a hand through Matt's hair, most of it having fallen out of his ponytail.
"You really know how tah pick 'em, Alfie." He whispers to himself. Matt turns to face him, face flushed from orgasm. It's a lovely colour on him. Al wants to frame that face and hang it on a wall. Maybe if he asked nicely Matt would let him?
Then he opens his mouth, "Well, you certainly have much to learn," he starts. Heere we go. Al quickly swoops in and kisses him senseless, his lips starting to sting from so much friction. Matt makes a noise of disgust and pushes him away, hating the taste of his own essence. Then, they stare intensely at each other. A red leaf flutters down from above and lands on Matt's nose. He makes a mildly surprised face.
"Ha ha! Ya look like a clown." Al exclaims, flicking the dry piece of wildlife off.
"I can't believe you got me to do this for you." Matt emits a long, deep, audible breath, and narrows his eyes. "You fucker. I won't be able to clean myself and make it in time for the market now."
"So? Just, like, stay here. With me."
"Manipulative little shit. No." Matt sits up, wincing slightly, then brings himself to his feet. He scours the area for the location of his clothes, not really seeing—oh. In the tree. Yeah, Al was going to get hell for that one. He manages to pinpoint the exact position of his jeans (a nearby pile of leaves), and trudges over to pick them up.
"I love you~" Al sang from where he was lying. After a moment of consideration, Matt grunts back the same thing. If perfection had a sound, it would be those words.
And, as a small afterthought, adds, "Oh, and by the way. My ass hurts, so you need to carry me back. I don't think I'll be able to walk."
"Huh?" Al's expression is dumbfounded. "But yer walkin' right now."
"Every step is agony. I fear I may collapse should I make my own way back."
"Oh no! I didn't mean to hurtcha! You just said, I could go as rough as I wanted…" He trails off. "Wait a minute. You said I could go as rough as I wanted and you wouldn't complain. Liar!"
Their banter continued on like this for ages, even as Al carried the other man all the way to his home, the wagon left forgotten until morning.
[Fin.]