Ship: Rexshipping (Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuzaki x Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuzaki)

Okay, so someone requested a smutty oneshot with our good ole pal Rex here. Okay, no problem. I go to draw a name from the hat… IT'S REX RAPTOR. I put it back, shuffle it all up, have my friend draw a name from the hat… IT'S REX RAPTOR. Hat-kami has made his will known!

This could've gone so many ways - like he finds a clone, he finds another version of himself from another dimension, etc. But I really didn't want to stray too close to something that resembled twincest, because I don't want to touch that door with a ten foot pole. Or a longer pole, for that matter.

So instead I'm experimenting with this. I feel like all parties involved will get pretty uncomfortable, but, hey. Let's try this out. I guess. Or something. Feel free to not read this at all.

*ATTENTION* To the anonymous person who requested a tryad in the first chapter - YOU MUST LEAVE A SLOT OPEN FOR A CHARACTER FOR HAT-KAMI TO PICK (In other words, a maximum of 2 requested characters). Otherwise, this wouldn't be Hatshipping. Thank you :)

Loving Yourself (aka Rex's Journey of Self-Discovery)

The novelty of sex wore off pretty quickly. Which surprised Rex, on so many levels. He'd personally felt that he was a fairly sexual person, ever since puberty, really. He liked indulgence, liked pleasure. When he was a teenager, the number of nights he spent masturbating until he was dizzy were innumerable.

The first couple of times he got intimate with his first serious girlfriend were pretty amazing. He wanted to be touched, wanted to touch, and his girlfriend at the time was pretty hot, too. He'd thought he'd want more. All of his guy friends were obsessed with sex; they wanted whatever they could get, whenever they could get it.

But after a couple of months of having sex with his girlfriend, Rex just didn't feel the same way. It was dull, boring. It felt like, even after some time, that she had no idea what she was doing. Rex knew what made him feel good, had memorized and mastered all of the sensitive parts of his body, and she seemed to have no clue, even when he would show and tell her what to do.

She seemed to enjoy herself. Which was honestly annoying. It made him a little spiteful because why was she having so much fun when he would rather be doing literally anything else?

They eventually broke up because Rex had lost any and all interest in having sex with her, and it had resulted in an altogether sour relationship.

Whatever, fine. It didn't break his heart any. And maybe that girl would find someone who really enjoyed being intimate with her. She certainly deserved it. She was good person and just deserved the best in life.

(Rex often kept it a secret, but he felt this way about a lot of people in his life.)

Okay, so she didn't quite do it for him. But he wasn't too worried. He'd find a girl he could really get it on with and it would be awesome. So he enjoyed the bachelor life again for a couple more months, and felt a hell of a lot less guilty when he masturbated (feeling guilty about masturbationat all was fucking awful and he never wanted to feel it again).

But the next girlfriend came and went, and the next one, and the next one, and it all turned out the same way, but he kept trying because he was fixated on the idea that out there somewhere there just had to be a sexually compatible girl for him. It wasn't until his fourth year of college that he completely gave that up. He didn't even find women all that attractive anymore - it was like a safety mechanism to keep him from getting his damn hopes up.

So Rex decided to experiment with the same gender.

And, whew, was his first homosexual experience actually fucking hot. Guys, generally, knew exactly what other guys liked, and dear god, nobody would ever beat that one ginger boy at that one party that had gone down on him.

He even had a handful of steady boyfriends. Which was way different than dating women.

But… it was short-lived.

The novelty of gay sex faded away - and Rex never thought he'd ever utter or think such a thing; when he was younger, he would've punched someone out if they ever told him he'd end up having sex with a dude (he was so glad he got over that internalized homophobia - it was a nasty feeling, and with acceptance came a sort of peace that he loved). But it happened - it just wasn't exciting anymore, just a lot of body parts moving quickly and then various sore spots later on.

Okay…? What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Women didn't do it for him. Men didn't do it for him. He'd long given up on finding that perfect sexual 'soulmate.' He couldn't even summon up the enthusiasm to find anyone attractive anymore. Which was a little sad, but, hey. Whatever.

Whatever. Maybe he didn't really need sex, maybe he was like… a monk or something…?

Which he found out was very wrong.

So very, very wrong.

Rex's libido never left him.

But, Rex could readily admit that his relationship with sexual pleasure and intimacy was probably vastly different than what most people experienced.

But it worked out. It worked out great.


Rex loved nighttime. He loved it when the sky got all dark and the stars came out, and he adored it when darkness hung about the furniture in his home. He liked the difference between the warm, low light and those shadows. He loved candles, was mesmerized by how the light and the shadows danced together.

He liked what it did to his skin tone. He liked how the shadows fell over his skin and highlighted the bone and the muscles beneath.

He sat on the toilet seat lid, foot propped up on the edge of the bathtub. His leg looked so damn smooth in the warm light from the candles sitting on the bathroom counter. The act of shaving his legs was so tiresome and weird (like, he was a guy and it was supposed to be a deviation from the norm for a guy to shave his legs), but the results always left him breathless.

He bit his lip, grabbed the lotion off the counter, and blew out the candles on his way out.

Several candles were already lit in the bedroom. They cast everything in warm, dim, inviting relief. He stepped across the carpet and crawled slowly onto the bed. The blankets brushed silkily over his bare legs, and he shivered. He propped his foot on the footboard, his red T-Rex bathrobe drooping over his thigh, now bared to the faint orange glow of the candles.

The cap of the lotion should have seemed loud in the quiet of his bedroom, but Rex was so focused on warming the lotion between his hands, and the way his toes look curled slightly over the edge of the footboard. He finally bent to set his hands on his ankle, and the slipped right up, over his shin and calves, and his slowly massaged it in, feeling the muscle and bone beneath his hands, felt his hands, kneading and rubbing. His legs were so soft.

Lips parting, he worked his way up, to his knee, rubbed it all in until there was nothing but softness left behind. He moved to his other leg. Warmth coiled low in his stomach, but he continued, enjoying the moment, relishing how he was pampering himself.

He hummed, traced his fingertips down and up, ghosting along the smooth, lotioned skin on each calf. Heart rate kicking up just a little, he laid back, feet still propped up on the footboard.

His breath caught in his throat, but he avoided looking at the ceiling for that moment in time.

He nudged the hem of the bathrobe off his thighs with his fingertips. He applied more lotion to his palms - squeezing a little too much out in his excitement, but, oh well, he'll make use of it eventually - and warmed it with slow enthusiasm.

He set his trembling hands to his knees and they skated down, along his thighs, towards the seam of hip and leg, but he stopped short, rubbed slowly up, kneaded the meat of his thighs with slow, sensual intent. It felt good, so good. A soft noise uncurled from low in his throat, and he brushed his thumbs teasingly down the inside of his thighs. His skin was smooth and hot, and getting hotter with each pass of his hands. He blinked slowly and finally let himself look to the ceiling.

Maybe Rex Raptor was a kinky bastard, but he couldn't care, not when his heart palpitated and his breath caught when he saw his own eyes staring back at him from the mirror mounted on the ceiling.

He loved how he looked when he was like this - Even in the dim light, the flush pinkening his cheeks and crawling down his neck was visible. His lips were parted, glistening from where he had flicked his tongue across them. His hair - still damp, laid spread out in a disheveled fan around him. His eyes were already so needy, and he'd hardly done anything yet.

With bated, hitching breaths, he watched his hands smooth up his thighs, to his hips, nudging more of the robe aside until the belt was just loosely holding it to him and he was bared to the warm air. His breath bubbled up fast and hot in his throat. But he ignored his building need, and instead massaged at his hips. The heat was building, slow and liquid but crackling, and with a whispered grunt he moved his slick hands further up. With the lotion still on his hands, it was hard to undo the belt to the robe, but he managed. He nudged the material off until it was only on his arms and he was laying on it.

He looked in the mirror, studied heatedly how the warm light from the flickering candles played over his body. His palms slid up, along his abdomen and to his ribs and his pectoral muscles. Each touch was slick and heated, and he panted excitedly as he rubbed the lotion in. His nerves were alight, shuddering with each pass, and his head kicked back, digging into the mattress when he rolled a nipple between wet fingers.

"Oh god yes," he moaned, choking, toes curling tighter against the footboard.

And he loved the way he sounded, loved being vocal, loved how his voice got husky and needy as he drove himself to the brink of insanity with unfulfilling touches.

So he whimpered and mewled freely as he teased himself, slipping slick fingers over both nipples and watching his hips buck in the mirror. He admired how his muscles twitched beneath his skin, how tendons and bones became more prominent when he moved just so, how his flush grew darker when he would watch his hands as he played with himself.

He was wet and leaking when he finally wrapped a slick hand around himself and started pumping, slowly.

His cry echoed in the room and made him ache.

He watched himself, watched his hands and his face and his writhing, bucking body as he touched right there, yes, there, oh god. It was so good, so hot, consuming him as he mewled and quivered on his bed. He met his eyes in the mirror as one hand raised back up to thumb his nipple, and his other hand was moving so fast now, so desperate, but he'd teased himself so long and now the pleasure was roaring up inside him.

He watched his mouth gape wider with each sound he made - "ahn, ahn, hn" - watched a tear trek down his cheek, watched his slick fingers skate over his flesh over and over again, watched his reddened nipple peek from between his rolling fingers. And then he could only see white and black, strobing and hot, as that scorching wave surged over him and made his thighs tremble and jump and his hips stutter. He'd arched off the bed in a tight bow, head digging into the mattress and sweaty feet slipping on the footboard.

He crashed back down. He was still bucking and gasping, riding that high as he gazed heatedly up at the mirror that reflected the image of his glorious mess back down to him.

Yes, Rex had a different relationship with sexual intimacy than most had, but he still enjoyed himself every step of the way!

END PART

I find human sexuality to be a fascinating subject, so I played this off of the concept of 'autosexuality,' where someone finds his/her own body to be sexually attractive or where they find masturbation to be more fulfilling than sexual intercourse with another person (depends on who you ask on how to define it).

Next Up: Compassionshipping (Mai Valentine/Kujaku x Yugi Mutou x Ishizu Ishtar)