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The moment the door of the hotel room shuts close, Boothill’s back hits the wood, his body trapped between the door, and a panting man that has his face buried in his neck, breathing heavily against the part where metal meets human skin, and restraining himself from sinking his teeth -fangs- in tender flesh.
Meanwhile, Boothill is barely surprised by the sudden display of force, so he just relaxes over the door, feeling the heat irradiating from the other’s body. “Y’okay, boss?”
A grunt is the only response he gets from the dark-haired man.
From what Boothill could get before this situation, Ashveil was having a shitty day, doing errands here and there, going to one side of the city, only to end up all the way to the other. And that went for all the day, at least that’s what Mr. N told him before he was shoved into the hotel room Boothill’s got for his stay in Planarcadia, and pushed against the door.
A teasing grin appears on his face, and he leans down a little, ghosting over Ashveil’s ear. “Seems like someone is keyed up.” He can feel the interested member over his thigh. “I can help with that.”
The grunt turns into a low, dangerous growl, which reverberates through the detective’s body, and the ranger can feel himself being pushed harder over the wood.
“Don’t tease me.” Ashveil’s voice is deep, guttural, almost animalistic, which gives Boothill a full-body shiver, but he doesn’t feel threatened. Instead, his grin widens and he slowly lifts a hand, ghosting over the detective’s clothes.
“Oh? And what if I do?” His hand is creeping dangerously close to the other’s neck. “What ya gonna-?”
His hand gets forcibly grabbed by the wrist, pushed against the door by a clawed hand, and his shoulder gets also grabbed, pushed with so much force that he can feel the wood crack under his metallic body.
Before he can comprehend what just happened, he feels teeth -fangs- sink over his neck’s skin, right above where his human body turns into metal.
A gasp leaves Boothill’s mouth, but he doesn’t push Ashveil away, for that he feels aroused the same way as surprised.
Ashveil’s mouth doesn’t linger for long, just a show of his unwillingness to follow Boothill’s tease, but when he moves away, he sees the mark of his teeth over pale skin, a pleased sound leaves his mouth at the possessive mark he’s left.
Once satisfied, he looks straight at Boothill’s eyes, finding the Ranger’s face with a blueish shade over his cheeks. A blush of blue blood.
Before he can apologize, or say something about what just happened, Boothill surges forward to kiss him, sliding his tongue forcibly between Ashveil's lips and teeth, reaching the deepest parts of his mouth and licking every single one of them.
After the change of power hold, Ashveil lets out a whimper that turns into a grunt, trying to gain the upper hand in the encounter, fighting Boothill's tongue with his own, even threatening to bite it, but futile in its nature since the cyborg doesn't move back.
It's Ashveil who loses the fight after his lungs scream for air, something that Boothill doesn't need anymore, but he doesn't move too far from Boothill's face, merely inches away and their breaths meet halfway.
The teasing grin is back on the ranger's face. “Ya think that's enough to shut me?” He goes back to the teasing. “Oh darlin’, y’ain't seen anything.”
A dangerous growl begins to rumble inside Ashveil, but it gets swallowed when Boothill is again on him, this time, deepening the kiss and keeping it like a dance rather than a fight.
Even though some part inside of him wants for the other to yield, to submit, for him to be the leader of the encounter, Ashveil follows the other's path, moaning softly into the cyborg’s mouth, enjoying the way Boothill’s tongue explores his mouth.
He’s so into it that he doesn’t notice the soft pull on his choker, and the way something has been linked to it. Only when he gets pulled towards Boothill he notices.
He draws back, looking at the “string” that is supposedly connected with his choker and… Boothill’s free hand.
The growl comes back with a showing of fangs. “What is this?”
Boothill doesn’t back out, and his calm demeanor only angers more what’s inside Ashveil, which wants to erase that insufferable grin on that beautiful face. But before something happens, another tug makes both their noses touch, both mouths inches away from each other, one with its fangs out, and the other with a teasing grin.
“Now, now, no need to be this aggressive.” Boothill leans over the detective’s ear, his hot breath sending tremors over Ashveil’s body. “A wolf can’t be left on his own, y’know? It’s too dangerous for other people.”
Some part of him wants to say that he’s not an animal, even though he’s showing teeth like one; another part enjoys the feeling of being leashed, of being under the other’s command. And another part wants to show Boothill how a real wolf looks like.
Before one of it could take control of his actions, Boothill breaks free from the detective’s hold, positioning himself behind Ashveil. Given that he still has the leash on, Ashveil also turns, both of them now far from the door and in the middle of the room.
Ashveil’s chest is going up and down with every frantic breath, his eyes showing a violet glow and his tattooed arm showing red lines over the mark, pulsing at the same tempo as the detective’s heartbeat.
The grin never leaves the ranger’s body, and Ashveil’s control is running thin, the beast inside of him wanting to show up and show the other who’s in charge, wanting to rip the leash attached to his choker.
“Stop with your tricks, Boothill. I’m not in the mood for this show.” His voice has a low edge now, dangerous, a signal that his patience is almost out.
But that doesn’t erase Boothill’s teasing attitude. In fact, he just tugs slightly at the leash, making the detective take a step forward, even though he’s trying not to approach the other for what might happen if he gets closer.
“This isn’t a trick, boss.” Another tug of the leash, and this time, Boothill takes a step back, walking slowly to the bed, and Ashveil walks with him, being dragged like a dog with the leash. Ashveil's muscles show from under his shirt, so tight that with every breath he takes, it looks like at any moment his shirt will break.
Boothill keeps pulling him until he's sat on the bed, the looming figure of the former Galaxy Ranger's leader a dangerous shadow over Boothill's body, being trapped the moment Ashveil puts his hands on the bed, next to Boothill's hips.
“Y'know ya can break free whenever ya want,” Boothill keeps teasing without a care of the other’s warnings, leaning up until both their faces are inches away. “But ya find this… thrilling too, right?”
His gaze, that was distant yet hungry, turns more human, though his pupils are slightly blown out. Ashveil lets out a heavy sigh that hits directly at Boothill's face, not that he minds.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Boothill.” The detective whispers, his voice devoid of the growl it had. “I don't know if I could control myself in this… situation.”
A soft laugh leaves the younger man. “Who says nothin’ about control? I got this, boss.”
And with that, Boothill is pulling Ashveil again by the leash until their mouths are again over one another, Ashveil surrendering at the surprisingly sweet taste of Boothill’s mouth.
Or is it his own taste that has been passed over Boothill’s own? He doesn’t want to know, not when Boothill is pulling him until he’s above the cyborg, his silver hair splayed over the bed.
The kiss is short, and Ashveil goes back to the ranger’s neck, only on the other side this time. He nibbles at the fair soft skin that is human, while metallic hands begin roaming over his clothes, the leash still on and tugging gently at his collar. Yet, Ashveil doesn’t stop his ministrations and keeps sucking and biting at Boothill’s neck.
Even with all his internal and external modifications, the human parts of him still can feel touch. And as such, pleasure, the most similar to when he was fully human.
And his neck is not different.
Boothill’s grip over the detective’s coat tightens with each suck, each nibble that makes his back arch into the touch.
Even through the assault over his neck, Boothill manages to pull off Ashveil’s heavy coat, falling next to them in the bed. Both their hats follow next, Ashveil’s hair falling freely around them, creating a curtain that hides them both from the rest of the world.
The ranger starts undoing Ashveil’s waistcoat’s buttons, finding it hard given the tightness of them and the mouth still latched on his neck. So, he decides to just tear the buttons away by pulling hard open the cloth, a low growl scaping the detective at the action.
“You owe me a new one now, kid.” Ashveil is still buried in the other’s neck, his tone only a little annoyed, but he knows he would have done the same in this situation.
Knowing this, Boothill only barks a laugh and doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tugs firmly at the leash, making Ashveil lose balance and fall face first on the bed, surprised by not finding the cyborg’s body, instead of soft sheets.
Turning his head to the side, he finds Boothill on top of him now, his smug grin back on.
Ashveil tries to turn back, but finds it impossible. Looking down, he sees that Boothill is sat on his lower back, right above his ass.
With his brows furrowed, the older man looks at the younger. “Boothill, what are you planning?”
A corner of his mouth lifts, a mischievous glint appearing on his grey eyes. “Oh, nothin’ ya need to worry about. Ya see,” he leans over Ashveil’s ear, murmuring softly. “Ya just have to relax, and let your junior take care of ya. What ya think?”
Take care of him… more giving up on control. His internal beast is not pleased about that thought, yet everything mixed up together into a pleasure mass when Boothill starts licking his neck, a gasp replacing the growl that was creeping up his throat.
Ashveil lets out more soft gasps with every kiss, small whimpers with every tease of those shark-like teeth over his pulse point, his forehead rests on the bed, his neck shyly tilts to the side, allowing more space to be peppered in bites and hickeys that will remain for days.
The assault is so much that he doesn't notice the metallic finger making its way through his pants, searching for the entrance that is screaming for attention. Or rather, all the detective's body is demanding attention, his cock being trapped under him and just having the stimulation some sheets give.
It's not enough, even when Boothill finally breaches his rim, unlubed, a faint spark of pain shoots through his spine, making him arch his back and moaning at the sensation, yet he pushes back into the finger.
It's not enough, his hands grab the sheets tightly, tearing them and leaving claw-like marks.
“Boo-Boothill… I-.” Ashveil pants, his breath leaving him.
Boothill kisses behind his boss' ear, nibbles at the earring that earns him a shudder and a moan from the man below.
“Yes, boss?”
When Ashveil opened his mouth to answer, his words turn into a low moan when the finger inside of him twists suddenly, his hole clenching around the metal that is starting to warm inside his ass.
Boothill leans closer. “Mmmh? Sorry, I didn’t hear ya. Ya were saying?”
He’s teasing, Ashveil knows. He can feel the smug grin on the ranger’s face when he speaks, the finger inside of him stilling as if letting him time to answer. And when his mouth opens to take air to answer, that sinful finger presses against his walls, not quite reaching his prostate, but close enough to send an electricity-like spark all over his body, all that air leaving him along with his force, laying limply on the bed while Boothill just laughs softly against his ear.
“Sorry, boss.” Oh, he’s not sorry at all, this infuriating yet lovely Galaxy Ranger. “I can’t help it when ya’re being so forkin’ gorgeous here below me.” He whispers right at his ear. “What ya think boss? Ya also find it that way? I promise I ain’t gonna do anything until you answer.”
That could be taken as an assurance, and as a threat.
Breathing deeply, Ashveil finally speaks. “You… You should fuck me already if you want to keep doing the junior care.” He turns his head, enough so that he can look straight at Boothill’s eyes, his own having the violet glow back.
But Boothill is not taken aback by that. In fact, that grin only grows wider, and Ashveil can feel a second finger probing at his entrance, little more warning before it’s moving inside, next to the one already in.
The glow gets brighter for a second before blackening out, Ashveil’s own silver-grey showing unhidden and raw pleasure and his mouth opens to let out the most loud and beautiful -by Boothill’s standards- moan of the night.
Those fingers move with easiness despite the lack of lubrication, Ashveil’s hips rocking into the cool digits, demanding more than only two fingers could provide. He almost pronounced his desires, but a cold finger has gone straight to his prostate, his back arches, his nails dig into the already wrecked sheets, his hole clenches around metal, and his trapped cock spams on the sheets, staining them with his precum.
“Aah, found it.” The cowboy sings, as if he has found the hidden treasure of a famous pirate.
Boothill, then, proceeds to abuse that spot, over and over, until the man below can only writhe in the spot from the pleasure, the feeling of his sweet spot being touched by skillful fingers too much, yet he keeps pushing back.
Ashveil was so out of his mind that the sudden tug of the leash makes him let out a breathless whimper, surprised after he forgot about that small addition around his choker. The tug makes him stand on his knees, his back pressed against Boothill’s chest, the cyborg soft breath caresses the shell of his ear.
“Are ya ready, boss? Ya think ya can take more?” The tease is there, but also is the concern. Even if he hasn’t used lube, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care for the other’s wellbeing. So far, the old ranger has taken everything surprisingly good, but there’s always a breaking point for everyone.
Ashveil turns his head, while his hips push down into the cyborg’s fingers still inside of him. “The real question is, how long can you last?”
Well, sometimes the breaking point is very far away.
With a low groan over the other’s neck, Boothill frees his fingers from that heavenly warmth. Ashveil can’t see what the man is doing, and that arises questions that should have been discussed prior this situation.
How is he going to “give me more”? Does he have something… down there?
In this position, Ashveil can feel nothing where Boothill’s under parts should be. Will there be a penetration in the first place? What is Boothill’s plan?
The only answer he receives are soft clicks and clacks from behind him, surely done by the cyborg, but he can’t see what Boothill is doing.
The soft lips on his ear erases every doubt he had at that moment. “Breath in deep for me, boss. Might hurt for a moment.”
When Ashveil breathes deeply through his nose, all the air leaves him through the mouth the moment something larger breaches his entrance, the intrusion similar to the fingers -metal going through his soft walls- but different, the object far bigger and longer than the fingers.
When he looks back, he can see Boothill’s hand still on him. Did he put something inside of him? If so, why metal?
“Y’know?” Boothill starts, leaning closer until he’s eye to eye with Ashveil without needing to turn his head. “This body can… adapt itself to any situation. Don’t worry, Ashy, I’ve already told ya I will take good care of ya.”
With that, he kisses his boss at the same time that strange object makes its way out, only to be pushed back inside with force, Ashveil gasping at the intrusion.
The object keeps a back-and-forth movement, inside and out his greedy hole that wants it to be kept inside, and Ashveil is moaning and gasping into Boothill’s mouth, the younger ranger drinking it all like a man starved.
It’s Ashveil that breaks the kiss to breathe, his moans now leaving his mouth freely for the other to listen. And, oh, it’s the most beautiful symphony the cyborg has ever listened.
How his body spams from the pleasure. How his throat lets out whimpers, and calls his name, asking for more, harder, faster. How he moans each time Boothill tugs at the leash when Ashveil falls forward, limbless, yet his cock remains up, devoid of the stimulation it needs, the head an angry red that leaks precum over his belly that then drips over his thighs.
The position is burning his thighs with the effort of standing up, but the leash and the object inside of him are enough to keep him in place.
“Fork, ya feel so good around me. So warm, so wet, so perfect.” Boothill purrs into Ashveil’s ear.
Ashveil looks back again, but not at the crazed gaze of the ranger. He looks down at where they are connected, finding that is Boothill’s fingers that are inside of him. His fingers? His hand? He can’t decipher, not until Boothill pulls back enough to see what is actually inside of him.
It’s his fingers, but at the same time they are not. All five fingers have been fused together into something akin to… a dick.
Ashveil moans at it. He knew Boothill could turn his hand into a gun, but thinking he can turn it into a dick, a dildo, he didn’t expect that from the cyborg.
And he doesn’t want to think anymore, not when that heavenly handmade dick pushes back inside of him.
“Hmmm, I didn’t expect for ya to like it that much.” Boothill muses, his mouth back at biting Ashveil’s neck. “Maybe,” meanwhile, the hand that has the leash sneaks down Ashveil’s body, making the detective to look down at where that hand is approaching dangerously at his neglected cock. “This can be repeated… any time in the future.”
A sudden harsh thrust over his prostate, and the hand finally closing over his member, it’s enough to send him over the edge, coming all over his belly and Boothill’s hand, the ranger groaning lowly at the way his hand is being squeezed by his boss’ ass.
Boothill strokes softly at Ashveil’s cock, draining him from the last remains of pleasure and collecting as much cum as he can, withdrawing the leash from Ashveil’s choker and finally giving his thighs a respite, the detective appreciating the soft material under him, even though it has claw marks from his doing.
Boothill also pulls out his hand, relishing in the soft moan his boss lets out, railing himself from getting more when his boss is one step from falling unconscious, and goes to the bathroom to clean his hands and grab a towel to clean the mess left. When he comes back into the room, he finds Ashveil nodding off into the pillows, face down.
Boothill puts a hand on Ashveil’s shoulder, shaking him a little and earning him a groan from the older man. “Boss, ya need to move to the side so I can clean ya. It’s surely not comfortable having all that stuff over ya.”
Another annoyed groan, and Ashveil is moving, face up this time. Boothill wastes no time at cleaning him, his belly and his dick, trying to be as delicate as possible with the overstimulated detective.
Once all is cleaned up, Boothill discards the towel somewhere in the room for later to be delivered in the trash can, not wanting the hotel stuff to know what happened there -not that Ashveil’s moans weren’t heard-, and crawls up in the bed, next to Ashveil that snuggles at the metallic chest of the younger man, inhaling deeply at the scent of metal and oil that the cyborg releases.
And Boothill is more than happy to let him cuddle against him, a metallic hand coming up to comb at dark locks.
In the darkness of the room, Boothill really hopes that this can be repeated.