This bad boy is NSFW from start to finish. Also, anon, log in and interact with me via a message. I'm not going to yell at you. Leaving your grievances in a comment on my DBS story really isn't solving anything.
It wasn't tentacles, but it wasn't bad. It might even be impressive. Not that Dyspo was going to give Hit the satisfaction, the way the smug bastard was looking at him, so expectant.
"I guess it's fine," Dyspo finally said, slipping his hand out of Hit's pants.
"I'm glad it's to your standard," Hit deadpanned. "I was concerned I was lacking."
"You don't have to worry about that," Dyspo muttered before he could stop himself. There was no way Hit didn't hear him, with them being practically pressed against each other. The assassin's grin confirmed what Dyspo already knew.
There was a sizable part of Hit that wanted to tease and poke the bear. Or the rabbit, as the case was. Considering how the tentacle fiasco had ended, however, Hit decided against further aggravating Dyspo. Instead, he asked, "Since you've found me satisfactory, what would you like to do now?"
The Pride Trooper shrugged. "I dunno. We could probably figure something out. Maybe touch some stuff."
"Do you honestly expect me to believe you haven't been making plans for days? That the vaguest statement I've ever heard is really the best you could come up with?" Hit asked.
"Then try this one on for size. You've got a dick—though I'm still sore as hell about those tentacles—I've got a dick, let's see what we can do with them."
Hit slipped a finger under the collar of Dyspo's uniform. "It isn't eloquent, but I can work with it."
Time had lost its meaning for Dyspo. He didn't think Hit was pulling any of this weird temporal tricks, but he knew the assassin was simultaneously making him the happiest and the most frustrated being on the planet.
Because the score was more skewed than ever. Since they'd begun, however long ago that had been, Dyspo had climaxed twice. Hit was…just starting to breathe hard. There was no difference in effort put in by either party, but Hit seemed to have far more control over his physical reactions. The same touches that would have the Pride Trooper squirming into the mattress hardly raised the assassin's heart rate.
"Don't exhaust yourself," Hit said softly.
"Stop touching me. Let me concentrate on you," Dyspo replied, panting at least as heavily as Hit was.
Hit did as asked and removed his hands from the rabbit's hips. "You don't-"
"Shut up. I do have to, because it's gonna aggravate the shit out of me otherwise."
"It's a matter of pride."
"Damn straight it is. Alright, here's the plan. Get off of me and lay down."
Hit had been straddling the Pride Trooper. He rolled off and, given how narrow the bed was, stood for a moment to allow for an easier change of positions. Once Dyspo was out of the way, Hit took his place.
"You're not used to this kind of attention, are you?" Dyspo asked, now standing at the bedside. It was difficult to be sure, given how standoffish Hit was at baseline, but he seemed a little more tense to the Pride Trooper.
"It's an unusual arrangement for me," the assassin admitted.
"Is it a problem? Because I'm more than happy to try-"
"I'll give it—and you—a chance."
Dyspo was taken aback. The number of people Hit trusted enough to show even the slightest vulnerability around could probably be counted on one hand. It was kind of an honor to be in that company. Though it was also extra pressure not to screw up.
"I appreciate it. Really. But if you need-"
"The only thing I need, or will need for the foreseeable future, is for you to stop stalling."
Trying to grin through his nerves, the rabbit climbed onto the bed. "You want it, you got it."
Dyspo began by hiking up Hit's shirt. There was no way to get it off without either shredding it or removing the coat first, neither of which were things the Pride Trooper wanted to do. Once he'd exposed as much as he could, he paused and took it all in.
The color of Hit's skin was nearly uniform across his chest. The only anomalies were two small, slightly darker circles located near the base of his pecs. Dyspo regarded them with interest.
"Before you ask, yes, males of my species have nipples," Hit said, as though reading Dyspo's mind.
"Same here. Though you knew that since yesterday," Dyspo replied.
"Look at us, two hairless mammals," Hit mused.
"Some of my peeps have fur. The closer you are to the north or south poles, the furrier they get. I'm a more tropical bunny."
Before they could get side-tracked on the fluffier branches of Dyspo's family tree, the Pride Trooper dragged the conversation back to where it needed to be: on Hit's nipples.
"You cool if I touch them?"
"It would be more effective than just looking."
Dyspo didn't have to be told twice. He ran his hands along the assassin's chest before settling on the barely raised nubs. With a gentle rolling pressure, he pinched the sensitive flesh between his thumb and forefinger. When that didn't elicit enough of a reaction, the Pride Trooper lowered his head.
"Watch the teeth," Hit warned.
"Relax, I don't bite unless you ask nicely," Dyspo said with a wicked grin.
Despite his initial misgivings, Hit realized almost instantly that the rabbit knew what he was doing. His tongue was hot—Hit was sure Dyspo's species ran a few degrees warmer than his own—and enthusiastic, every lick precise yet teasing.
"I'm glad you finally found a better use for that mouth of yours," Hit said, barely suppressing a groan.
Dyspo looked up from his task. "You ain't seen nothing yet."
Before Hit could ask what other tricks were in store, Dyspo's mouth was on his. Then it was trailing kisses along the border where the lighter and darker tones of his face met. As Dyspo moved lower, he discovered a pulse point just behind the angle of Hit's jaw.
Hit's first impulse to any touching so close to such a vital artery was to label it an immediate and mortal threat, and then deal with the threat accordingly. Punching Dyspo to death, however, would cause an instant and permanent end to all their fun. The assassin instead dialed his survival instincts back a few notches and reminded himself rabbits weren't exactly notorious throat-rippers.
The gentleness with which Dyspo nuzzled against him erased any lingering concerns the Pride Trooper was going to chew into his carotid like a rabid animal. Hit closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into the sensations. It had been...a very long time since he'd relaxed to such an extent with a partner. Not never, but at least a human lifetime.
"You're not gonna fall asleep, are you? Come on, if anyone needs a nap, it's me."
Hit's eyes remained closed. "Keep me awake."
Without warning, Dyspo forgot about playing cute and cuddly. He nipped the side of Hit's neck, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but enough to force a sharp gasp from the assassin. Hit sat bolt upright, pressed a hand to his injury, and shot Dyspo a glare that threatened murder.
"I thought you didn't bite without permission." Try as he might, Hit couldn't completely keep the quaver out of his voice. It wasn't so much from the shock as it was the from the way his body responded.
"You told me to keep you awake, so I did. It looks like you're really up now." Dyspo looked pointedly at Hit's crotch, as though the innuendo wasn't enough.
"If you bite anything else—especially where you're looking—I'll knock your teeth out," Hit said.
"If I bit you down there, I'd deserve whatever you did to me." Seeing the unamused look on Hit's face, Dyspo held up his hands. "But seriously, no more biting. How about I show you how sorry I am?"
At the earliest opportunity, Dyspo had shrugged out of his clothes. Hit, even late in the game, had retained everything except his boots. That left the assassin far too overdressed for what Dyspo had in mind.
The Pride Trooper toyed with the waistband of the bodysuit's bottom half. "You don't know how much I've wanted to get you out of your pants."
"I can just imagine," Hit replied.
With Hit's cooperation, Dyspo was able to shimmy the fabric down and over the assassin's hips. Once the pants were banished, Dyspo finally had the chance to see the prize he'd only touched until that point. Hit waited patiently for the verdict.
Dyspo's silence spoke volumes.
"What's wrong, were your eyes bigger than your mouth?" Hit asked, smirking.
"Not even close," the Pride Trooper replied. "I'll prove it to you."
Dyspo couldn't quite match Hit's total control over his gag reflex, but he didn't hear any complaints from the assassin. In fact, the only thing he heard from Hit was an initial soft groan and then nothing except his rapid breathing. It wasn't like Dyspo expected the taciturn assassin to suddenly start spouting porn-level praise, but the silence wasn't encouraging.
The Pride Trooper was about to lift his head and ask what else he could try when he felt fingers brush his ears. "Don't stop."
It was a simple command but one Dyspo wouldn't dream of disobeying. He got as deep of a breath as he could given the object he was attempting to breathe around, and then did his best to show his mouth was every bit as talented as he'd made it out to be. Hit rewarded his hard work with slow, methodical strokes down the length of his ears.
The two of them found a rhythm that soon left Dyspo breathless. Literally. As much as he didn't want to stop, the burn in his lungs insisted he either come up for air or risk passing out and probably tumbling right off the bed. Nothing—not even Hit and his ill-timed laundry—was as much of a boner-killer as a bad head wound.
"Don't worry, I'll get right back to it," Dyspo promised, panting like an exhausted dog. "I just need a second. And can you ease up on the ears? That's not exactly helping."
Hit wordlessly acquiesced and withdrew his hands. Without the stimulation, the Pride Trooper found his breath much easier to catch. Not having anything in his mouth didn't hurt, either.
While Dyspo worked on oxygenation, his eyes wandered to Hit. He sat up a little higher to better assess how the assassin was enjoying himself. Or not enjoying himself. Or somehow both at once.
"Hit, what's going on?"
The assassin fixed his eyes on the ceiling with an intensity that suggested he was trying to melt holes in it.
"If you don't talk, I can't help you," the Pride Trooper said.
Hit opened his mouth, closed it, briefly looked to Dyspo, and breathed one of the heaviest, most serious sighs the rabbit had ever heard. "I'm having...difficulties."
"With…?"
The look Hit gave Dyspo was equal parts incredulity and exasperation. "With achieving orgasm."
"Oh! Yeah, that explains some things. Do you know if this is a physical problem or a mental hangup?" Dyspo asked.
"Mental." Hit's reply was immediate and sure.
"That should be easier to work with, because I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty good at getting people off. If it's a mental block, we just need to get you out of your own head."
"I can't get out of my head; I've lived there for a thousand years!"
"Okay, okay." Dyspo scratched behind his ears, trying to encourage his brain. "You're not the only person who ever had trouble with this, believe me. Maybe we can-"
"Bite me again."
"And get my teeth knocked out? I'll pass, thanks."
"I rescind the threat."
There was a strangled desperation in Hit's voice. Which made perfect sense, considering the state he was in, and must have been in for some time. Dyspo really couldn't say no to a man who was so obviously suffering.
"Good enough," the Pride Trooper said. "Just keep it rescinded."
That was all the agreement Hit needed. He sat up just enough to grab Dyspo under the arms and haul the startled rabbit up in bed.
"Come here. You're going to burn with me."
Hit held Dyspo against him in a one-armed hug. He snaked his free hand between their bodies, the Pride Trooper squirming atop him once he figured out where the hand was headed. The assassin met the rabbit's eyes, grinned, and then closed his hand into a loose fist.
It took Dyspo a few seconds to remember how to breathe, and then a few seconds more to remember how voluntary motor control worked. Even once he'd scraped together enough of his wits to reciprocate, he couldn't completely stop the shaking in his hand. Not that the jittery extra motion bothered Hit at all.
"Tell me when," Dyspo murmured. "But do us both a favor and don't wait much longer."
Hit clutched the Pride Trooper tighter, pressing skin to skin, body to body. Both of them were alight, scarcely able to think, so close that agony and ecstasy were indistinguishable.
"Now."
The command was given not a second too soon. Dyspo was on the edge of delirium as he leaned in like a vampire, albeit one in possession of unorthodox fangs, and bit down at the junction of Hit's neck and shoulder. The assassin shuddered, his obstinate self-control hanging by a thread.
It was a chain reaction, catalytic and explosive. The friction of Hit shivering against him was the final nudge Dyspo needed. As the Pride Trooper was swallowed by his third climax of the day, he reflexively clenched his teeth harder than either of the previous bites. The last thing Hit felt before he surrendered was a hot drop of blood trailing down his shoulder.
Author's Notes:
The title of this chapter is taken from the song "The Bad Touch" by Bloodhound Gang.
Hit has never seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail, or he'd know rabbits were, in fact, renowned throat-rippers.
This will probably be the last NSFW chapter, and we're much closer to the end than the beginning, but I've still got a bit of action planned.
Thanks for reading.