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To Date a Yautja	By : Sonsasu Category: M through R > Predator Views: 5141 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Predator movies, books or comics. Nor do I make a profit from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
To Date a Yautja
By, Sonsasu
Chapter Three
"The Predator's Hunger"

Fear writhed in a shallow pit of my stomach, sitting there in all its wiggling glory like a spilt cup of slime-covered worms left to drown. What I was staring at, a fiend in human shape that was holding me imprisoned in my own damn towel�was no measly human in an expressionless rubber costume. The harsh countenance portrayed on his alien features told me such.
Though humanoid in bodily appearance, as I knew from the movies, the vicious nightmare that was his facial aspects terminated all scant resemblance to humans. Four mandibles, like crab legs, immediately seized my gaze.
Well, that sent French kissing right out the window with a pair of lead anvils tied on to it.
The flexible appendages, each tipped with a wicked tusk, flared apart, unfolding from their neutral positions in a sharp union of movement. Despite his hot breath not exactly being a pleasant nose tickler, it was not what caused my nausea. A consuming fear, extremely acute, bled an intense dose of adrenalin into my system, and by it happening so quickly, I felt faint from the two warring impulses of fight or flight, if only for a fluttering second.
Yautja only spread all of their twitchy face bits when blind with the purest of fury.
My gaze went to the task of terrifying myself further by looking into his hellish oral cavity, which made me think that he would be an orthodontist's worst-case scenario. I could already hear it�
"How do you hook these bitches together? And what the hell is the right alignment?"
Concealed within those independently moving extremities, a series of unblemished fangs adorned the exposed dark pink gums of his inner mouth, upper and lower canines longer than my middle finger. Rapidly cataloging his current expression and matching it to memorized tidbits of information about Yautja facial maneuvers, he presented me with a remarkably good reason to stop. I instinctively drew backwards as his head came nearer, mandibles still extended to their fullest widths. Those outspread members gently ghosted around my cheeks and jaw, closed onto, and then framed my face in a particularly disturbing embrace.
A few choice actions, such as screaming, struggling and all good things like that quickly skidded to a halt when his continued motion forced my unwilling lips to press against his teeth in a macabre kiss and my poor nose to encounter something rather unpleasant. Where it came into contact, located directly center on where his nose should have rested, or at least nostrils slits, was on the flat, hard ridge instead. The explosion of his throaty purr vibrating through my skull like the dull roar of a monster truck engine apparently made my common sense abandon me.
I snapped opened my mouth, perhaps to voice my shock from the foreign sensation, or maybe for some other reason of protest, but I never got the chance as Predy took full advantage of my stupidity. His teeth parted like a pair of colossus gates, allowing something hot, slick, and moist to caress my lower lip, dart past it, and glide across my tongue in a single, swift swipe before retreating to its owner.
Uttering a noise of, "ugh!" I yanked my head from him in disgust, not thinking about how his tusks could peel my face like a banana.
Yet he had released me already from his unusual kiss-clasp, possibly on the foreseen reaction to his inspection of my mouth. On an urge I submitted to, my hand flew to the assaulted area, originally intending to wipe clean any traces of his smooch and immediately paused. From beneath his expressive, boney eyebrows, set forward like a natural earthbound hunter, solemn eyes observed my form as he resumed his towering height over me.
Amber irises, glinting like the warmed hue of honey cradled aloft to a light source, held a form of stark vividness in their depths, a type of unyielding strength that made me painfully uneasy in its presence. In other words, I did not appreciate the look I was acquiring. The bastard could have at least volunteered the courtesy of blinking. Oh wait, ogling with direct eye contact was a rude gesture to him�and I doubted my prolonging of staring would receive a pleasant consequence.
I carefully sent my gaze downward, imagining I would assess the glossy ground, only to have myself educated in the relaxed state of a Yautja's anatomy when I caught sight of Predy's lack of coverings. Oh yeah, my jaw fell slack as I goggled him wide-eyed. His�maleness did not look overly different from a human's, hell, if not for the slight ridges and the wider crown topping it, the damn thing would have looked the same. However, as for the size, I had heard of the saying, "hung like a horse," but for him it was more like, "hung like an elephant."
I felt the color drain from my face.
Not because of his oblivious and frighteningly intimidating endowments, but that I was a human, a mere wisp of flesh and bones compared to his greater bulk. I had also made a deal with him, an ignorant assumption of what I had believed as lies and games, was going to happen, if I went on the view of the absence of his apparel.
Moreover, he was a genuine Predator.
The realization of what stood before me, the absolute, shocking reality of it, produced a searing black ice of terror to freeze my blood. That terrible sensation imploded outward to my muscles, causing them to go rigid and unresponsive. It went on to ensnare my sensory activities and send them into overdrive, strangling me in an overwhelming and utter domination of helplessness.
There was a moment, just a brief, scorching flash of a second that yielded to me a realization of what stole my rationality. The hydra of many problems was fear in its most basic of forms. On that spot of time, I was able step from myself to examine this, literally treat it like a solid, touchable object held in my hand. I turned the deformed anxiety over, awestruck that such a glimmer of something once so petty could assume control in an instant.
Fearfulness, as I knew it, was as an emotional response, a basic survival mechanism occurring when in the presence of threats and danger. As I tilted this little, insignificant thing again, I experienced how my heartbeat violently thundered, felt how it palpitated and knocked against my ribs in its frantic pace. I returned this mutated lump of feeling upright, my mind buzzing hotly, every thought vivid and detail as clear as if printed on a sheet of paper. Yet they were all terribly imperfect in my quivering state, and I knew it.
There came another second where I began to employ that fractured lucidity through questions and answers, seeking to bring my toes to touch upon the floor of sanity by assuring myself with reason.
Why was I frightened?
Staring at the hideous face that should have remained imprisoned in a dreamer's nightmare was not too bothersome, I determined. Now, resisting the backbone liquefying intimidated from the giant who stood before me was another feat all on its own. Even after meeting, talking and joking with people wearing Predator costumes could not fully help to erase that kind of headache.
Then was it the expectation of pain and the possibility of its horrendous Goth cousin, Death appearing?
Yes, to both accounts. I did not relish the ideal of withstanding enormous amounts of physical pain. In fact, the very image of one of his massive hands enclosing on my throat and crushing the fragile column with just the slightest of squeezes terrified me. Indeed, the two family members of unpleasant demise did breed flames of concern to lick my insides, but rather than wander further into their examinations, thus melting the uneven quality of my logic, I quickly set them aside in a separate pile of what kept me paralyzed.
Was it therefore the terror of nameless possibilities at the mercy of a Yautja, a creature whose very existence stood established on hunting? The limitless prospective of unknown theories at the hands of another you did not distinguish from a stranger was not a pleasing tidbit of information to toss around the ol' brainpan.
Did I honestly need to fear him?
The photoflash of an impression from my memory, noted and gone, came out of a cache from one of the many scenes of me sitting at my desk, smiling as I spoke with Predy during a late night chat. Caution perhaps, was the best route as I abruptly considered the option that his giant frame might carry more of a friendly temperament as shown in our conversations.
If he were human, would I react as badly?
No, what was I thinking? He was not human and this was not an alternative scenario. This was not a, what if, situation up for consideration. I needed to think clearly, I needed to bleed the fear out of my system before action came into play.
On the next tick of a second, I withdrew from the racing shallows of my mind, held my breath and started to count.
One.
Fear was anticipation, blind expectancy, or the fear of the unknown.
Two.
I lacked the faceless cards of clairvoyance and foreknowledge, but I was not entirely helpless.
Three.
I was not alone, King was here, and if I called, he would come.
Four.
Caught frozen in a car's headlights on a winter night did not always mean the car was going to intentionally hit you.
Five.
I swallowed the dry pill that was the strangulation of fear.
Forcing starving lungs formerly neglected to process the needs of their function, I ignored the increased queasiness eating away at my stomach. Crippled from the usurp of my returning senses, the wounded, bitter frame of terror dragged its fainting limbs in retreat, closing the phantom doors of my mind from the greater effect of its poisonous influence.
Trembling muscles finally awakened from the pause of unreality, and contributed to an unsteady exhale. I licked my lips with a tongue that felt equally dry, thinking with a sluggish gumption, what now? Moving might have been nice, but it was as if my motion receptors were turned off and I was deactivated to respond to my brain's commands.
Predy, the generous bastard, solved that problem for me.
Those hands, once inanimate along my back, holding the edges of the towel, abruptly came to life. His thumbs moved; coming to encircle my ribs as you would on the wider body of a wine bottle. This, and the length of his fingers, allowed him to lift my semirigid figure of one hundred and seventy-two pounds up without placing a hideous amount of stress on the structure of my bones.
Arms bound in tight slabs of steely sinew wove around me, aiding in heightening the realization of the inequality of my size compared to his superior magnitude. It was a sickeningly humbling experience. Cradling me firmly, yet gingerly against his warm, concrete hard chest, my perceptions went haywire when I felt his calloused palm, abrasive in a strangely good way, slide and grip my bare bottom to keep me in place.
It caused me to jerk, my parted thighs braced on the sides of his waist to tighten their hold, and my empty grasp to flee to his broad shoulders. I tried to pull away immediately, to distance myself, and in retaliation, that same hand holding my backside stiffened and pushed my hips forward. It roughly shoved my sex, which the hiked up towel did not protect, onto the plane of his stomach, keeping us pressed together in a confining contact.
The notion of lashing out, landing a flat, more-than-likely-break-my-knuckles, punch somewhere on his face went sailing before my forebrain. I considered it, and then waved to the idea as it passed by.
His free hand, actually his palm, went to the back of my head. It formed to the shape with his long fingers sliding into my hair, combing through the wet locks, separating them and causing me to shiver against him. He began to push, spreading his mandible once more, for what I was assuming to be another Yautja version of a kiss.
I was having none of that.
My hands, formerly on his broad shoulders, dove into his mass of dreadlocks and found several to grab. A nasty snarl set my heart in a reservoir of ice. I refused to let go, however. Kissing was nice, but I preferred mine with lips involved. His growl softened to a low bass, throaty purr, giving me the full effects of the harsh vibration rolling through him.
Tugging backwards on the thick, tube like tresses to defend my personal space, I strained the limits of my circumscribed boundaries to escape the impending facial embrace. In the wake of my restraining him via his tresses, Predy supplied a significant amount pressure to his previously delicate clasp, each digit becoming a warning vice to the integrity of my skull. I got the message and wondered.
Did I really want to test a Yautja's good will?
His discouraging presentment of a potential risk to my health dislodged my imposed brakes on his head with incredibly speedy results. He huffed in my face, as if disappointed I had given in so quickly. Right now, defiance was not a favorite player in my hopefully successful routine of attempted escape. His hold resumed its earlier leniency, though not in intention. I was unable to swallow my unwilling whine as his mandibles went back into the hug-my-face grip and his inner mouth opened against mine.
This was so wrong on so many levels, and when I went to keep my lips zippered shut, the tips of his lower tusks tightened then bit into my skin. I barely opened my mouth to make a noise of pain, and that tongue, long, prehensile and somewhat rough, thrust, and explored with a more leisured pace this time. It ghosted over the surfaces of my teeth, wandered lazily on them, and toyed with their grooves and edges.
I had never wanted to bite down on anything as much as I did in that instant.
His implement of hungry probing dueled briefly against the might of my mouth's own pink and shorter champion. He ultimately ended the battle by pinning my weaker tongue like in a thumb war. I groaned as he caressed my taste buds, fighting the natural need to retch.
"Oh, good God."
I sucked in air using my flattened nose, feeling my stomach roll as my brain told me what he tasted like. The revolting flavor of his saliva was something bitter, salty and underlying with another nameless thing turned sweetly sour. A muffled yelp, muted by our joined faces, failed properly to announce my shock during the meeting of my derri�re encountering the spongy cloud called a sleeping cot.
Somehow, he had walked the two of us to the alcove without my noticing. Then again, concentrating on not expelling my stomach's contents did have quite a distracting factor behind it. The second he unlocked his face from mine, I tore away from him; or tried to, anyway.
The unyielding, curved stone of the wall brought me up short. Not to mention Predy decided to take hold of the edge of my towel, thus hampering the scramble backwards. Clutching it to cover at the very least my breasts, I watched him gather a small portion of the fabric and lift it, using the wadded cloth to soak up the remaining droplets along my arms and neck.
My heart fluttered, slamming against my ribs, and I could hardly call my limbs into functioning order no matter how hard I attempted to, not after spotting what lined the floor beside the dingy gray cot, opposite of where I pressed myself against. He could be preparing for an all out war for as many edged weapons that glinted and gleamed on the ground, just within his arm's reach.
I dragged my gaze back to his relaxed features, experiencing that one-of-a-kind feeling of being a bobble-head when he began gradually to dry my hair.
"P-Predy?"
That name sounded absurd as I barely brought it to life in a faint voice. He rumbled in his throat, a low grating dissonance that did not bode well with my nerves. The air I intended to apply for my speech of inquiries emerged as formless, short puffs of expelled breath, mainly because I did not know where to begin, but my brain insisted on utilizing the action. It did last long enough for a considerably sensible question to materialize, though.
"Can you�understand me?"
His service of removing the water from my hair stopped; and in that little lull of motion between him and me, one of his upper mandibles twitched. It began tapping its tusk against one of his inner mouth's canines, creating these small, sharp clicks. Oh come on, did my question really require a thoughtful consideration on his part? With a measured motion, he inclined his head, if barely.
Okey-dokey�what was I going to ask him then?
"Are you going to hurt me?" I blurted without forethought. Oh, what a simple and tremendous candy-filled wonderland I had to live in to spit out such an open-ended, generalized query. It was a blunt thing to ask, a stupid thing even. He could say no, hell, anyone could reply with that. Giving a reassurance of not inflicting harm did not mean he was not going to adhere to what I believed as 'hurting' me. In the comparative sense of injury possibly meaning an idle flick to the nose, or light pinch on the arm, versus losing the appendage or limb altogether, he might see the latter as the lesser evil.
I swallowed while waiting for his answer. He dropped his head the way a dog might right before it sneezed, and huffed. The loud, harsh exhale made me jump, if only because I had not expected such an air related response.
That fistful of fabric he held suddenly grew taut, and I had no more time to flood my lungs with a gasp before the rest of the towel followed, fled from my grasp and body in a snap of motion. Naked, I scrambled sideways, casting aside modesty to the greater need of gathering distance.
His massive hand connected with an outstretched ankle in the midst of my flight backwards, unable to contain the rush of adrenaline woven with fear, I screamed. Embarrassing as it was, hearing the shrill noise and feeling my throat vibrate with the terrible cry, there was no way of controlling the now relinquished expression of terror. He tugged once, and with the physical strength coiled in the thick sinews of his arm, I went sailing toward him.
No, no, no, no, no!
As the former air I had used for a gasp ran on empty, I refused to have another screech fit, and settled for chocking down on the frantic ocean of hysteria.
There was a brutal reality behind my breakdown out of a fragile, semi calm state. I really did not want to indulge on anything carnal with him, virginal inexperience controlling outward reactions to his aggressive behavior. Surrendering my first time like this was too fast and too much for me to contend with.
The instant my forced inertia halted, I braced a palm on the cot, and tightened required muscles to flee in any direction presented. Escape skipped out the door- so to speak- when Predy lunged, pinning a claim over my torso by looming over me on all fours. Staring up at liquid amber eyes that could belong to a bowl of honey, I lay shock still, tensed for the worst. A trickle of a growl faintly colored the air, and I recognized- if just by the sheer colossi size compared to mine- that potential evasion was a lost cause here, not when his fast reception to motion outclassed mine so severely.
"Predy, plea-"
An agitated flick of the head sent his tube-like dreadlocks rustling.
"Night Brother."
Stunned by the abrupt change in our manner, I just barely caught the Yautja language out of his rumbling.
"S'cuse me?"
He mimicked my English name for him, slowly rolled his head in a plainly displeased action, and then repeated the earlier phrase. Reduced to an unmoving state to think, the dose of adrenaline remained unused, thus I trembled in its dying wake.
"Night Brother's your name�"
If not for my fascination with the full Predator language, I would have missed the lower, negative rattle infix to the word Night, keeping it from becoming shadow, or sky, and Brother was merely a set word, not requiring additional bits to alter it to anything else. He lowered himself, flattening my breasts almost to pancakes. There was the gripping need to let out a scream again, a need I swallowed and reduced to a whimper.
"I- no- harm-"
I lost most of the translation, catching only the part of him indicating himself, a negative, and the term for injury. Shaking hands migrated upward, moving to rest on his mid ribs.
"Could you�please get off me?"
His eyes lowered to half-mast as he inhaled, undoubtedly dragging a list of scents in that no human nose could detect. Night must have found a particular odor he enjoyed with the tremor that set his body shuddering against me.
"No."
Had my hands not lain confined, trapped under his arms coffining me in, I would have gone for his eyes. Stealing a shuddering breath, knowing it sounded much like a continuous sob forced into submission, nausea ate away the sedate balance of my stomach. My neck went lax, limbs following suit, as the drain-off of too many emotions demanded its fee on a dying defiance.
This could not be happening.
Reality, just because you stop believing in it, doesn't make it go away�
I had never really wanted to pretend something did not exist; most mind-bending events could lead to understanding, given enough time, of course. However, to encounter a traumatic consequence that resisted a human ingrained logic, well, this crashed under the category of too-much-to-handle-at-once.
A dull howling inside my skull inhibited sanity for a moment, one blissful, thoughtless, moment. Both eyelids lowered closed. The length of that pause gently rotated to a lightless black, and it was a thick rattle, and the lack of warmth atop of me, to help a realization really hit home as I reopened my eyes.
I had fainted, and Night Brother was at my side, reclining on the right of the cot with an arm curled over my waist. Moistening dry lips, I opened them to ask a question. The words were absent; in their stead was a gasp. Night Brother repeated his incredible agility qualities in one smooth motion. Low, his torso spread my legs apart, calves hooked over broad shoulders, with his hands- more like forefingers and thumbs- cradling my wrists.
"Get the fuck off me!" Panic reformed quickly to vehement struggle, rapid, violent jerks of tired muscles causing the straining sinews to scream in fiery aches. No amount of pulling, twisting, or arching resulted to liberation, hardly; it just helped loathsome knowledge of how much more powerful his frame acted compared to me sink in. "This isn't physically possible! You'll rip something!"
Unable to fertilize energy into producing another fight, as Night Brother had allowed my worse tantrum to pass, I clunked my head backwards on the cot, feeling it dip into the embrace of sponginess. There was a fervent wish that my bladder needed relief, but I had done that back home, and hadn't had anything to drink since, thus, no pissing on his face to deter him�
Trivial wrenches to take back my hands aside, hopelessness of being utterly undone, human strength and speed surpassed without effort, began the quiver of my yield. Lips shivering, jaw locked, and eyes mashed shut, the intermission for Night to force our deal allotted sluggish thoughts to swish gingerly. "Can we hold off on the ending part of our bargain? I...I really hadn't believed you'd get here so fast. Please, my body can't possibly accommodate all of your- Ah!"
The first saliva coated, hot, flick of his tongue parting my nether lips swiftly had caught me off guard. Protesting the�foreign attack, sudden sensation height painfully brutal, I gave a wordless shout. "Bastard! S-stop� N- Ah!" This time he had dragged his tongue from the start of the slit, pushing apart the fleshy rims, before creeping upward, intentionally rasping over my bud for a heartbeat, before retreating.
Another careful, lingering pass, another almost-pained cry and twist of my body, came to take the leap of change with this lick. Opened to emit warm, humid air into desperate lungs, I shut my mouth, teeth gritted. For sanity measures, I began to slather his name in curses, loud as possible, and to keep resistance alive, beat my heels onto the steel-like hardness of his back.
The alien touch of roughened taste buds began to exchange tense half-pain to something�different by the forth lick. Stomach and vaginal walls clenching to the new modifications from discomfort to a type of odd pleasure, the uncertainty to the perception gave birth to a hesitant noise. It fluttered to my ears, surprising me badly enough that I shut up instantly.
Insistent, hungry, flashings of the blunt length of his tongue across my entrance strangled all ability to inhale a breath. It felt incredible, while at the same time it impounded horror; knowing it eventually would lead to agony helped carve a niche in the growing wall of pleasure for defiance. Rather than rain rapid, random light strikes onto his shoulders, I tightened up and unleashed several viscous impacts to his spine.
He stopped.
Then again, so did I; that had hurt like a frigging bitch!
His eyes, those gleaming amber hues, focused on my face for several erratic heartbeats, then slid downward. You'd think I had tossed a starving monster a bountiful feast with how his features intensified, a stark look of bared lust concentrated on the sight between my legs. At half-mast, his eyelids fell over his gaze, and a deep, raw, throaty purr bled from him like dulled thunder. The sinful vibration cut off when he dragged in a deep inhale, hot breath ghosting over my exposed flesh causing me to shudder.
Partly lifted on my elbows, I flinched naturally backwards at the sharp flare of his mandibles and inner mouth full of teeth, stressing the limitations of my frame by fighting to pull away. His hands disappeared from their duty of shackling my wrists, and then halted to encircle my lower thighs in the grasp of long, strong fingers tipped with wicked sable talons. Despite the pain thrumming in my heels from the pounding I gave his spine, I resumed thrashing; with hands free now, I also socked him on an upper mandible, believing it would hurt enough to make him at least pause.
Night did not even shake a dreadlock in reaction, no, only his tongue thrusting forth and practically shoving itself onto that hidden pearl cruelly, then impaling my channel, was his reply to my fist. Mine was to cry out and fall onto the cot, fingers sent to curl into the edge's fabric until it whispered a creak in objection. Chest rising and falling uncontrolled, all attention went to that instrument of torture invading and retreating. I couldn't lift my pelvis to met his languid ministrations to speed up the pace, nor shy from them with the clasp of his hands keeping me motionless.
Once again, he stopped, my internal walls squeezing on nothing but still seeking more even against my decaying will. I lifted my head, anxiety written on the tug of lowered eyebrows and the pinch of watering eyes. Panting, my throat convulsed as I tried to swallow a far louder vocal expression when the tip of his tongue strayed out, extended forward, and tickled both nether lips and then flushed bud.
Shaky hands settled on his, tightening on the larger ones, not to remove their hold, just to convey silent want for more. There was no genuine hope of escape, no probable way to exceed him on anything, and no strength matched to what he could do if he wanted to harm me. I'd just have to prepare as best I could. While not subtle in its clue, he reacted positively to my gripping him.
I was unable to repress the tortured scream that swelled into the air, not when his wild tongue fiercely assailed my aching opening. It was the sweet struggle to breathe, to battle to twist away, to contend on no certain term with beautiful agony, which reduced all fight to void itself to nonexistence. Stabbing bliss bloomed into fiery heat inside clenching walls and stomach; it ran hand in hand with the wet trails marking the corners of my eyes, and sides of my face.
Any remaining control splintered at the introduction of harsh, bubbling growling. The quaking rumbling rocked through his mouth better than those resonating spheres I used whenever I got bored in the evenings. Choking on nothing but air, my thighs pressed onto Night's head. His performance didn't suffer by my accidental bodily reaction, if anything�it excited him. The reapplied vigor was too much, the growing surges of pleasure in my belly was simply too much.
Shuddering helplessly, the starting point of a climax was unmistakable. The white-hot tides crashed faster and closer together during the thrusts of his tongue, the unmitigated rushes not dimming in intensity. Feeling the exertion calling in its dept as the trickling of rolling sweat teased down my skin, my internals flushed hotter from the searing breath of pleasure. Holding onto Night as a lifeline carried me into a higher escalation, burning ecstasy showing itself as a red bloom across my face, a blush that set the surface of my flesh boiling.
Another frail breath ended in a sobbing whimper as he rammed his tongue deep as it would safely go. My thighs contracted, trying to bring his face further, to increase what I needed to find release. I smashed my eyelids shut, body tightening upward into an arch, riding and confining the first concussion blast of an orgasm.
Night had other ideas, however.
Senseless frustration peaked when I failed to arrive to oblivion in rapture. Speech came as incoherent protests, tear besotted eyes and expression pinched in a mixture of a grimace and desperation. I rebelled through attempts to tug him back, using my legs and even my hands entangled in his dreadlocks. Astonishingly, he trilled in laughter. As if my demands were just the equivalence of flimsy vapor to his iron strength, he outright ignored my strife to drag him back.
His right hand left my hip, returning it with his forearm to drape over them instead; wicked fingers long enough to curl on my left curve completely, arresting it in his might. Whole-heartedly pinned, he shimmied backward slightly, left hand disappearing from sight. Thrumming desire animated my thoughts, yet no realization dawned on what that other intended to do. Unwitting naivety lasted only for a hot second. My entrance felt the solid presence of a fingertip in the space of a heartbeat, recognition dawned, and while that understanding hit, molded around the stunning girth when it eased forth.
"Ah!"
How his talon didn't slice into me was a mystery for later; nothing other than the smooth, substantial invasion and retreat of that digit mattered. It thrust without hurry, no rush despite pleading. In anger, I retracted my hands from his 'hair,' and fully intending to finish the job myself, barely snatched them away before Night's inner mouth caught them�
"Damn it then hurr- Oh!"
My mouth fell slack. During the withdrawal, a second finger joined, impaling my channel wider when it slid and neighbored the first. Those two cracked my ability to inhale when they moved, stopping short of breaching my hymn. Yet all sanity shattered at the writhing brush of his tongue to that hypersensitive nubbin. Constricting his fingers with rapid squeezes from my walls, fighting to escape and to get closer to Night was a bewildering war to toss in my participation. Torture straddled the finely drawn line of orgasmic domination and absolute madness.
Whenever he took his fingers out, he'd run the flat of his tongue over my bud like lingering flame of ice, while timing their exit with the length of it. Both hands smashed into the cot, my nails raking over the fabric covered foam bed. "Night Brother-" I sobbed, "please!" I didn't entirely expect a yield of his stubborn foreplay to my begging, but he was just so�full of surprises. Breathing became impossible, unless it involved gasping and then screams. His tongue never left the surface of my pearl, relentlessly rubbing up and down in union with the forceful plunge of his fingers.
Approaching like the colliding clamps of a vice, pleasure overcame reality, detaching it from awareness. I adjourned to the realm without mortal boundaries, drowning in the crashing weight of the ocean conceived from the waters of physical delight. All that existed there was blinding sensation; carnal need I wanted a finish to. Muscles shook as his caressing somehow escalated. The last haunting pass of his tongue, its tip dwelling so that it might grind idly, paired with the drive and flex of his fingers, is what did me in.
Unimaginable, the orgasm's constrained force brightened into a condensed core, two heartbeats, before transmuting into a mass implosion within my frame, rivaling an exploding super-nova. My back abandoned the cot for the open air, head acting like an axis with my pinned hips as its opposite end. Screaming through the possession of the breaking undulations from his hungry ministrations, the pulsing manifestation of delectation crested at the highest note.
Expiring past that highlighted stage of incorporeality, bliss gradually diminished in connection to Night's cruel stimulation. Able to regain mastery over frantic lungs, heaving gulps of air returned rationality. I was limp on the sweat-drenched cot, too content to wiggle even a toe.
Sleep avoided me, muted peace ringing forgetfulness of the situation. If this was what sex was, well, sign my fuzzy ass up for as many rounds as humanly possible! Trapped in my own world, drifting in the buzz, laughter died at the trickle of a low, dark purr. Although snapping my eyelids open might have seemed nice as a dramatic scene, they merely fluttered, parting gingerly. Amber eyes hovered inches away.
"It's�considered rude to stare."
Rumbling, he leaned back, kneeling with the narrow bed situated between his thighs, my own legs mantling his hips. Wetting dry lips, my languid stare traveled down the steep concaves of his muscles, the ripples of hardened steel cloaked under a layer of skin. Appreciation of the male body leapt higher than an airplane. Expect this one had engine trouble mid flight and dropped faster than a fucking boulder. Night's standing erection might have turned a blue whale green with envy.
He loomed over me, hands coiling under my knees.
"Oh God�no."

-Claimer-
� 2007-Sonsasu owns Winterborn, King, the plot/world settings, and Predy/Night Brother
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To Date a Yautja