Stranger Blue

by paxnirvana 

Rating: NC-17

Fandom: New X-Men

Pairing: Iceman/Beast

Archive: Please ask first.

Author’s Note: Hmm. I offered to write smut, so Phan and Vic asked for Bobby/Hank smut. But I guess I had this idea lurking around in there somewhere too, just waiting. The next one will be foofier, I promise! 11/1/01 

Dedicated to: Hank McCoy. Because, Mr. Morrison, he certainly didn't deserve to get beaten with a baseball bat… and I doubt you and Mr. Casey will get together long enough to let Bobby grieve properly, or even just be his friend. And that's not right. 

Disclaimer: They belong to Marvel, more’s the pity. I’m just taking them out for a little fun… no money changes hands at all.

* * * * *

Bobby Drake looked up from the computer screen in his bedroom at the mansion and blinked at the somber, blue-furred face of Hank McCoy in surprise. His fingers froze on the keys and the vitally important data that he’d been so busily entering into the database vanished from his mind. 

“Wh-what did you say?” he asked. And he didn’t sound like Mickey Mouse - at least not too much. Okay, sort of squeaky, but it was pretty good considering the verbal bomb that had just been dropped on him by his best friend. He sucked in a steadying breath. Hank’s heavy lips lifted in what now passed for his smile. Sharp white teeth gleamed against dark blue fur in the light from the monitor. 

Hank had been suffering odd mood swings of late, from morose to hectic, which he attributed to his recent further mutation of form. Aggravated by the fact that Trish had finally dumped him. Which had pleased Bobby no end in one way, but had greatly distressed him to see the impact on Hank. Bobby was still planning his revenge on the newswoman. She’d get hers for breaking Hank’s heart, he vowed again. But that wasn’t important right now. He stared, frowning slightly as Hank’s grin just widened. 

“I said, Robert, that you’ve been working in here for over nine hours now. Relaxation and sustenance would greatly facilitate your ability to concentrate on your tasks. As you are wont to remind me with alarming frequency.” 

Bobby blinked and shook his head, noticing the mischief in Hank’s eye warily. 

“No way,” Bobby replied. “That’s not what I heard.” 

“And what do you think you heard, Robert?” 

Bobby blushed and looked down at his hands. Were they shaking? Then taking the plunge. 

“Something about giving me a blow job if I’d look up…” he muttered, glancing at Hank out of the corner of his eyes. Hank’s mouth was open wide now, smiling in the way that his new cat-like muzzle wasn’t really designed to handle. It often looked more like he was snarling. But Hank just smiled anyway, and they’d all gotten used to it. 

Hank straightened away from the doorway, padding silently across the room toward him on his odd new feet. Bobby gulped and looked up. His friend leaned over him, large hands braced on the chair arms, hemming him in. Large slit-pupiled eyes stared unblinkingly into his own. Then Hank smiled again. Sharp teeth gleamed. 

“Given my new dentition, I do not believe that would be wise, Robert,” Hank said quietly, eyes twinkling. “No matter how enjoyable it could no doubt be - for the both of us.” 

“Hank!” Bobby yelped in surprised shock. Feeling soft fur brushing against his bare arms, awakening old dreams. Unlocking a memory thought long sealed away, relegated to the realm of total improbability. 

“Robert!” Hank replied in the same tone, he gaze dancing with amusement. Then his voice lowered to a near purr, "I desire… diversion." 

"Wh-what?" Sterling response there, Drake, Bobby thought in disgust as Hank gave his silent cat laugh. Just sound even dumber than usual. But it wasn't like Hank to come looking for him. He usually had to do the looking. The dragging out. And the way he'd said it… He eyed his friend cautiously, "Okay, what diversion? I'm working on stuff for Kurt here, Hankster. Gotta catch up with the team some time tomorrow." 

Then his brain seized up as Hank lifted a hand to rub his velvety palm across Bobby's cheek. The glitter in those yellow eyes grew brighter, almost possessive. 

And he remembered the one time, the almost-time between them. A memory he treasured above all others. Shortly after his twenty-first birthday, Hank and Warren had taken him out drinking. Intending to get him falling down, stupid drunk. They'd pretty much succeeded. But then Warren had allowed himself to be diverted by a shapely and willing waitress, leaving Hank to bring the rather loose and carefree Bobby home alone. Hank had been driving, Bobby's head in his lap, and, well, one thing had led to another and they'd nearly driven off the road. Hank had never mentioned it again, but Bobby still remembered how his friend had tasted. So right, so very very right. 

He'd tried various ways to forget, to pretend it was only a drunken slip. Hank was his friend. His best friend in all the world. The last thing he wanted to do was mess that up. So they silently and mutually forgot about it. But he knew in his heart of hearts that the real reason he couldn't make it work with his endless parade of nearly brainless girlfriends was the big blue genius lurking in the basement of the mansion back home. Hank was everything he needed. 

But Hank had Trish. And Hank had acclaim. And Hank had been an Avenger. And Hank had him for a best friend. And he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that. He might be childish at times, but he wasn't a total idiot. 

Plus, there had always been Trish to help keep him from being stupid. 

Until now. 

Hank's hand stroked up and down his face, slipping to his neck. Cupping his neck in soft, gentle warmth. Those yellow eyes watching him closely. 

"Always there for me, Bobby," Hank said softly, "aren't you? I've taken you for granted. Now you’re trotting the globe with Kurt and Warren and young Mr. Starsmore. I hardly see you any longer." 

"You know you've just got to call and I'll be here," Bobby said, swallowing hard. Hank's hand was teasing his neck, claw tips combing through his hair. He trembled at the tickling touch. 

Hank leaned forward and his broad nose hovered near Bobby's neck. He sniffed deeply, eyes sliding closed. Bobby could feel the soft fur of his forehead, his tufted cheek brushing against him. He shivered in response, clutching the arms of the chair tightly. 

"You smell very good to me. Very good indeed. My senses were heightened before, but now," Hank sighed, hot breath gusting across Bobby's neck, his shoulder. "Well, I understand more of what makes Logan so irritable at times. It is truly incredible and very distracting." 

"Hank?" Bobby gulped. "What's up? What's going on?" 

"I am just appreciating one of the finer things in life, my friend," Hank said, drawing back slowly. His eyes opened and caught Bobby's gaze. Bobby flushed at what he saw… no… it couldn't be… what he imagined he saw there. "The scent of you." 

Then Hank cocked his head, eyeing him with curious appraisal. 

"And it alters with your emotional response. I'm new to this - I’m still trying to associate scents with known emotions and reactions. But you, Bobby, well, you bamboozle me. Because every time I am around you, your scent changes. In a way I usually associate with Scott and Jean, if you comprehend the allusion." 

"Hank…" he tried again. But Hank's nose was back against his neck and he was taking deep, snuffling breaths. Bobby bit his lip hard, fighting not to cry out, hands clenching to numbness around the chair arms. Back rigid. And hoping against hope that Hank wouldn't think to just look down… 

Then, of course, his friend did just that. Eyes widening briefly before he glanced back at Bobby, who flushed brightly. Concerned, alarmed, tense. The great leonine head so close to him shook slowly back and forth. He couldn’t tell if Hank was laughing or crying. 

"Ah. Well. That, Robert, explains a great deal," Hank said as he looked up, smiling his cat-smile again. And Bobby didn't see the sharp teeth, the short whiskers, the wide mouth, he just saw Hank, smiling at him. His best friend. The man he trusted over all others. Had he ruined it? Their friendship? He swallowed hard, grabbed his courage and met those yellow eyes straight on. 

"Always been you, Blue," Bobby managed finally. "Since day one. Sorry." 

Hank pierced him with a sharp, knowing look, self-mocking darkness lurking at the edges. 

"And why, pray tell, should you be repentant of that, Robert, my friend?” 

Bobby gaped at him, surprised, missing the self-deprecation in his words. Hank’s other hand settled on his shoulder, a heavy, warm weight. The first hand was still stroking the side of his neck so very gently. Almost tenderly. 

“’Cause you… well, Trish… and I didn’t wanna… um… friends don’t…” he trailed off in blushing confusion as Hank’s hands slipped up and cupped his face. Surrounding him, holding him. A tremor raced through him. Thumbs like the softest down ran over his lips and he shivered again. Feeling the touch like fire, sending his heart thudding wildly, his blood pumping, his pants tightening further. He shifted slightly in the chair, but Hank’s gentle grasp held him in place. 

“Oh, Bobby,” Hank said, sadly. Regret and shame clear on his face. “I had eyes, but I could not see - at least until I got this new nose. It truly doesn’t matter to you what I look like on the outside, does it? It never has; man, ape, or cat.” 

“No, Hank,” Bobby said, swallowing hard. Knowing his friend was in pain, and wanting to do something, anything about it. And hoping this was the right thing. “I’ve always loved you. I always will.” 

Hank’s eyes closed. A low rumbling sound, like a cross between a growl and a purr came from his chest. He tipped his head back, releasing a deep sigh. 

“Ah, and now when I no longer have the appropriate lips, I want so very badly to kiss you, Bobby,” Hank said, his voice hoarse. Bobby cried out at his words, struggling up out of the chair, wanting only to get closer. Hank’s big hands fell to his shoulders, holding him slightly away. Hank looked down at him with pained sorrow. It stabbed Bobby through the heart. 

“Kiss me anyway,” Bobby rasped, hands clenching in the thick ruff around Hank’s neck. Trying to tug him closer. “I don’t care.” 

“Bobby,” Hank said sternly. “These teeth of mine are very sharp. I do not wish to harm you.” 

“Fine, don’t kiss me then,” he replied, using his own wiry strength to push close enough. “But nothing stops us from touching.” He put his words into action, feeling the heat of Hank through the black suit that covered his heavy chest. Wondering how he could stand to wear black leather over that dense fur, when before he hadn’t bothered. But now, maybe, it was shame and self-disgust that had forced him into clothes he didn’t need. About his body, about his continuing mutation. The idea that Hank felt shame about anything made Bobby cry out softly in pain. 

Hank’s hands were just resting on his shoulders, his gaze searching his. Holding him in place. Not pushing him away, not pulling him closer. His eyes filled with infinite sadness. 

“Bobby,” Hank said quietly, but this time there was chagrin, guilt in his tone. He could tell. Hank was going to push him away. 

“No,” Bobby said, glaring up at Hank, tone harsh. “I know how curious you are, so you just had to find out what it all meant. Now you know. Wolverine’s known for years. He gave me the five dollar lecture about loyalty and friendship and the virtue of women. As if I needed it. I’ve fucked plenty of woman. I’ve even fucked a few men. I like it well enough, but I only do it because I know you don’t want me that way, and it got the Wolverine off my back if I smelled like someone else from time to time.” 

Hank’s eyes narrowed, his breathing deepened, his hands clenched tighter on Bobby’s shoulders. All warning signs, but Bobby ignored them. Things he’d wanted to say for years, but hadn’t dared had been given their chance. He was going to say them or regret it for the rest of his life. 

“Do you remember my twenty-first birthday, Hank? In your car? I asked you to kiss me then. You wouldn’t.” Bobby pressed closer, his hands stroking the long, heavy fur of Hank’s cheek, his neck. Staring blindly into those yellow eyes, lost in memory. “But you were driving. I gave you a blow job instead.” He shivered, his eyes closing as he remembered. His hands fisted below Hank’s jaw. Holding onto him. His voice dropped to a husky murmur, “God, I wanted you to fuck me so bad that night, Hank. Did you know that?” 

He laid his head against Hank’s chest, listening to his heavy heartbeat. It was faster than he’d expected, but comforting. Solid. His arms slid down and he wrapped them around Hank’s chest, pressing close. The silence dragged on, broken only by Hank's heavy breathing. Until he was starting to wonder if he’d mortally offended his friend and Hank was just looking for a polite way to pry him off. 

“I knew,” Hank rumbled suddenly, his voice low and slow. “You told me often enough that night. The only thing that stopped your begging finally was letting you suck me off.” 

Bobby’s eyes flew open and he stared up, astonished, into Hank’s face. He hadn't realized he'd been that drunk. The yellow eyes were narrowed, glazed almost, mouth parted as Hank panted slightly. Then he leaned forward and sniffed deeply again. Those yellow eyes slid all the way closed as his grip tightened almost painfully. Bobby could feel claw tips against his back, but he wasn’t afraid. This was Hank. 

Hands tightened on his shoulders, slid down his back. One cupped his ass and lifted him up. The other braced his back. He slid his legs around Hank’s waist almost automatically, steadying himself with hands spread against those massive shoulders as he was lifted effortlessly into the air. 

“I can smell your desire,” Hank said hoarsely. “You… God, you have no idea what it does to me. So powerful…” 

“I trust you,” Bobby said. Hank’s eyes opened and Bobby saw genuine fear there. 

“What if I don’t trust myself? Bobby, Bobby I could hurt you,” Hank said, anguished. “I can pick up small cars and hurl them. You are only human flesh and blood.” 

“Mutant flesh and blood, Hank. Just like you. And you won’t hurt me,” Bobby said, squirming in his arms. Trying to get closer, lower, to see if Hank was as involved as he was. But Hank would have none of it. Instead he took two long steps to the door, Bobby still clinging to him tightly, and locked it. Then he carried him over to the bed. And Bobby’s heart soared. 

* * * * *

He put Bobby down on the bed with strength, prying him away. He had to, since Bobby was reluctant to be parted from him. Then he took several steps back from the bed, watching as Bobby bounced up on his knees, glaring at him. 

“Well, I guess you think I’m a sick perv after all, huh?” Bobby challenged. His brown eyes flashed with anger and pain. Hank sighed deeply, expression torn between melancholy and need. 

“No, Bobby, I think you are the brightest, most precious soul I know.” Bobby stared at him for a long moment, stunned to silence by his words. Then he began to strip. Tugging off his tight blue tee shirt first and throwing it almost angrily to the floor. Then his belt went. An impatient flurry of motion took his shoes, then socks and finally his hands were on his loose chinos, slipping the button, drawing the zipper down. Hank watched silently, slit pupils narrowed with concentration. As if he'd never seen anyone strip for him before - or had never expected to see it again. 

Bobby didn't even pause. He slipped the pants off revealing a pair of underwear very similar in design to his old uniform shorts. He put his hands on the waistband with a quirk of his lips. 

"Never know when you're going to get blown out of your clothes - the old tricks are the best tricks," he said sheepishly. Hank didn't comment, but just watched as Bobby paused, then almost defiantly stripped his last article of clothing away. 

His cock jutted out proudly from the soft thatch of pale brown hair between his legs. Not huge, not small, just amazingly, wonderfully normal. Bobby knelt there for a moment, too self-conscious to knowingly pose, but still a vision of sleek male beauty. Not for Bobby Drake the hard muscles of others on the team. His power was more subtle, requiring different disciplines. He was fit, but not rippling with muscle; agile, but not excessively so. He could so easily pass as an average human. Far easier than any of the other originals could ever hope to; Scott's eyes, Warren's wings, Jean's stunning beauty, and Hank, the blue-furred animal. 

Then Bobby was moving, sliding off the bed to press that beautiful bare body against his friend's. Pale hands tugging at black leather, slowly stripping away the shield of clothing to reveal the thick blue fur beneath. Hank shuddered as he helped by shrugging his own coat away, lifting his arms passively in order for his shirt to be peeled off. It was only when those tender hands fell to his belt that he resisted. The shame was all the sharper for being so foreign to him. But Trish's hurtful words still echoed inside his head. 

"I'm not very human-like any more," he murmured warningly. Big hands closing over Bobby’s slender ones, claws carefully held away. 

Bobby's brown eyes rose to his, fierce suddenly. "Nobody's more human than you, Hank," he said. "And you're the one I want inside me, in whatever body you have." 

The earnest words crumpled his already shaky control. He gathered Bobby's slim body against him then, burying his nose at the bend of his neck and just breathing in the exquisite perfume of desire and need and trust that somehow rose from sleek skin. Afraid, for a moment, that the hurt he could do Bobby wouldn't be physical at all. But right now he needed him. 

His mind hazed slightly and he pressed Bobby back onto the bed. Stroking him with the sensitive pads of his hands. Learning with his new senses, the new configuration of his brain the feel of Bobby's skin under him, the shape of his slender body, the sounds of pleasure he made at the exploration. Even when claws he couldn't fully retract grazed tender places, Bobby simply writhed and moaned in pleasure. Feeling everything so fully, and welcoming all of it. Heady scents rose from the delicate skin below him, mesmerizing him until he finally became aware of a soft rumbling that turned out to be coming from him. He was growling. Actually growling as he explored Bobby, moving his compliant body around, sniffing him, licking him even. 

The reaction to licking was more than he'd anticipated. Bobby gave a deep shuddering groan and slender, strong hands clenched tightly in the fur of his chest. 

"Do that again," Bobby panted, brown eyes half-lidded with passion. Hank watched him closely as he extended his slightly-rough tongue and laved it slowly up Bobby's sweat-damp thigh, lingering in the crease of the groin. So near, but not touching his swollen cock. Bobby cried out, head falling back in abandon as he writhed under the touch. 

"God, are you trying to kill me?" Voice hoarse and low. Hank growled louder, hands clenching on the slender hips below him, as he licked up Bobby’s body. Savoring the taste of him. Hearing the low moans of pleasure. Feeling his own erection straining against the gusseted leather of his pants. Bobby panted. “I want you to fuck me, Hank.” 

The words were like a match to his desire. He growled again. His control was quickly eroding. 

"Lubricant," he managed to say. Bobby pried his eyes open, and gestured toward the nightstand beside the head of the bed. Hank kept one hand on Bobby, reluctant to break contact as he leaned over and rummaged in the drawer. Typical Bobby-messy, but the tube was easy to find. It was big and near the front. Partially used, even, but there was still plenty left. He squinted at the tube, frowning suddenly. 

"This is from my lab," Hank spoke as the realization hit him. Bobby grinned mischievously. 

"Reminded me of you," he shrugged, unrepentant. Hank fixed him with a repressive stare, but it didn't last long. Not with a naked, eager Bobby nearby. He moved back over him carefully, the tube held in his hand, suddenly at a loss. Bobby wriggled under him, hands combing gently through the fur on his chest. It took a moment before he realized Hank was just staring at him in thoughtful, dismayed silence. 

"What?" Bobby asked, frowning slightly as he stroked his bare legs slowly along the outside of Hank's hips. Back and forth. Against the smooth leather of his pants. He wanted more. 

Hank gestured with the hand containing the tube. His other hand flexed against the point of Bobby’s hip, claws raking lightly against skin. Bobby moaned softly, eyelids fluttering lower. 

“I cannot safely prepare you, Bobby,” he said with a rumble of regret. Bobby glanced at the tube, then at his huge, claw-tipped hand and just smiled. Hank’s heart stuttered slightly at the mischief and lust in that look. 

“No problem,” Bobby said huskily, lifting the tube away. “You can watch.” He flipped the lid on the tube with his thumb and squeezed out a generous amount of lubricant onto his other hand. Sliding the glistening stuff around on his fingers deliberately. Hank could only stare. 

Bobby’s eyes gleamed with sensual anticipation as he scooted himself slightly higher on the bed, lifting his knees high as he reached down between his own legs. 

“Hank,” Bobby breathed. Yellow gaze darted to brown. Desire glittered in both. Then Bobby nodded slowly, deliberately. “Watch me.” The hand with lubricant hovered near, poised. But he reached over with his other hand first, closing it slowly around his own cock with a soft moan.

Hank could see - and smell - the glistening moisture that hovered at the tip of it, as Bobby’s hand slowly stroked up and down. Moaning softly the while. After a few strokes he reached down and gathered up his own balls, lifting them out of the way. Exposing the smooth line of flesh below the base of his cock, leading down to the small puckered hole below. Hank just stared, dimly aware that he was growling again, but too caught up in Bobby’s display to care. He wanted. He wanted to touch. To taste. To grab and take. But he waited, watching, trembling with the effort of restraint. This had to be right. Bobby had to be ready. 

Slick fingers slid slowly down his inner thigh as Bobby moaned softly, pressing his own legs wider, opening himself up to Hank’s avid gaze. 

“I’ll be happy to do this for you - any time,” Bobby said, gasping slightly as he ran his own hand down to the small hole. Lubricant gleaming. He spread it around slowly, carefully. Making certain it was thick. One finger pressed against the hole, disappeared a short way inside, laying down more slickness. Easing the way in anticipation of something much more. Bobby moaned. Hank’s breath left him in a whuffling gasp as the finger slid slowly out again. He leaned close, bracing himself over Bobby, arms inside his knees, helping to spread him wide. Bobby obligingly hooked his legs around his arms. 

“Bobby,” Hank panted. The scent of the man below him was making him dizzy; lust and desire and need. Leaving him scrambling to find his scattered wits. "My weight is problematical with regard to the safety of positions…" he began. Bobby snorted in amused disgust, then smiled seductively, hands stroking back up his own chest, leaving a trail of shining slickness behind. 

“You’re new at this,” Bobby said with a trace of mirth. “Weird. I get to teach you something for a change. It’ll be okay, right? Trust me. But you’ve got to lose the pants, Blue.” 

Hank shook his head in an effort to clear it, caught up in the scent, the sight of Bobby. So sleek, so willing, so dear. Jumped slightly as he felt those hands on his belt, on the buttons, loosening them, sliding his pants open, pushing them away. Realizing what was happening, he stiffened slightly, watching Bobby’s face. Waiting for the expected dismay or disgust as he realized just how bestial his friend had become. But it never appeared. There was only gentle curiosity and a bright, gleeful pleasure. 

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Bobby said huskily, licking his lips. Hank glanced down at himself, feeling the usual sense of dismay. His genitals had changed along with the rest of him. His penis now resided in a furred sheath, his balls lower than before and hanging away from his body. Pants were problematical at best, but with elastic and heavy modification he could tolerate them. Now, however, his penis had emerged from the end of the sheath as it did when he was aroused. The dark blue head weeping pre-ejaculate into the surrounding fur. 

Bobby’s hands moved without hesitation to his sheath. Hank groaned as he explored, but forced himself to endure the pleasurable torment. Bobby’s hands slid the softly furred protective flesh back, learning the angular shape of the penis beneath, all the while a gentle, wondering light shown in his eyes. 

“Dang,” Bobby said, voice hoarse. “You’re big. God. I want you.” He glanced up into Hank’s concerned gaze, his own sharpening with desire. “I want you inside me.” 

Hank shuddered at the words, the low growl beginning in his chest again. Bobby clutched at him, pulling on his hips. Hank leaned over him. Looming. He was so much larger than Bobby. He could so easily crush the comparatively slim form below him. And Bobby was male, was stronger. How could he ever even have considered subjecting Trish to this? He wasn’t aware of the pain stealing into his own expression, but Bobby saw it right away. Frowned. He reached up, raking his hands through fur to stroke Hank's face. Hank found himself turning into the touch, welcoming it. 

“Hey, Blue,” he said gently, tenderly, warm brown eyes shining as he smiled up at him. “Don’t think so much. You’ve got me naked and pinned under you. So what are you going to do about it?” Hank’s heart stuttered in his chest. Bobby. So loving. So open. His best friend. And his desire was honest, he could smell it. 

“I am going to fuck you into screaming insensibility, Robert,” Hank said slowly and deliberately, watching Bobby’s eyes darken with desire. He shifted back, ignoring Bobby’s cry of dismay, and swiftly stripped his pants away. Then leaned back over him again, looking deeply into those brown eyes. Bobby squirmed below him, holding his own thighs open wide. His body gleaming with sweat and lubricant. He positioned himself carefully, mindful of his claws. Pressed forward slightly. Just enough to feel Bobby’s hole flex against him. Slick and hot and ready. 

“Are you ready, Robert?” 

Bobby pulsed under him, pelvis shifting up, pressing against him, moaning in reply. His hands were biting deeply into his own thighs, keeping himself spread. Watching Hank, gaze darting from yellow eyes to throbbing cock anxiously. His own cock jumped against his shuddering belly, bright fluid leaking from the swollen tip to spatter on pale flesh. He bit at his lip. Hank took a deep breath, drawing in the wonderful scent of Bobby’s desire. A tremor raced through him, doubt and fear. Should he? 

“God, Hank! Get on with it already!” 

Bobby’s impatience broke his hesitation; he thrust forward. Moving easily through the lubricant, hearing Bobby gasp and groan as he passed the tight outer ring of muscle to slide deeply into snug heat. He pressed forward until he couldn’t go any further, eyes falling shut. 

Glory. This was glory. Bobby around him. So tight. He felt Bobby’s thighs close around his lower ribs, then urgent hands gripped his arms. He looked down, mouth parted, breathing hard. 

Bobby’s face was screwed up in ecstasy. Flushed, damp with sweat, he moaned deeply. Hank could feel it through his cock. He shuddered and Bobby arched and cried out as the motion moved him slightly. He was panting hard, head rolling from side to side. He pulsed around Hank’s cock making him growl in response. 

“God, Hank. So deep. God.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes! Yes! God. Hank. Fuck me. God. Now, please.” 

There was nothing he wanted to do more. He began to move. Slowly, gently. Watching Bobby carefully for signs of pain. But there were none. Just flushed, panting pleasure. He thrust deep, pressing down, careful to keep his weight on his arms. Over and over again. Feeling the heat. The glorious friction. The bed began a rhythmic creaking under them from the force of his thrusts. The sound only added to the excitement. Bobby moaned, his thighs clamping down tighter on his ribs; his balls and the base of his cock brushing against Hank’s straining belly. 

“Hank. Oh, God. Hank!” Bobby writhed, pressing himself up, changing the angle. Hank snarled, feeling the tightness, the glory. Bobby. Wanting. Leaning over and licking his neck, his chest. Tasting him. Wanting to breath him in, to consume him. Saying so in a low rumbling voice against that bright, pale skin. Thrusting harder, deeper, feeling wildness rise inside. Then Bobby was shouting, shuddering and helpless as he arched and came, hips jerking against Hank, body taut. 

Bobby went limp against him, gasping. But Hank wasn’t done. He reared up, watching Bobby’s sated face flush with desire again as he slammed into him over and over again, caution gone. He felt only the burning desire to come, to mark his lover, to claim him forever. Hands rising up to brace his legs apart as he rose to a crouch, drawing Bobby’s hips up onto his lap. Staring ardently down at where his own dark cock slid in and out of Bobby’s slender body. Disappearing and reappearing. So wonderful. So glorious. The scents, the sounds, the exquisite pleasure. Bobby. 

Then he was shuddering too. Almost roaring as he froze over his lover, pressing him back down to the bed, and shaking hard. Driving in deep one last time as he came and came and came. Pouring himself into the body below. Lost in the purest, brightest pleasure he’d ever experienced. 

Bobby cried out again, hands tangled in the fur of his chest, holding him close. He fell forward, onto his arms, braced above Bobby. Feeling the deep trembling in the slender thighs around him. Knowing they were probably dangerously close to cramping. But he couldn’t move just yet. Couldn’t bear to break the contact between them. Skin to skin in one of the few places he was still bare of fur. Mind whirling with the aftermath of glory. 

“Are you okay?” he muttered, prying his eyes open to look at the man below him. Bobby had a silly, sated smile on his face. His skin still flushed, eyes half-lidded. Bobby’s hands stroked up and dug into the fur around his neck, finding the skin beneath, making him shiver. 

“Okay? Yeah, well I’ve just been thoroughly fucked by the man I’ve lusted after for years,” he answered breathlessly, lips curving in a smug smile. “I think I’m a little more than okay.” 

With a laughing groan, Hank rolled to the side, bringing Bobby with him effortlessly. There was a brief hiss as he shifted inside him, as Bobby lowered strained legs, but they managed to stay connected. Bobby settled down on his chest with a contented sigh, face buried in thick fur, hands around his neck stroking. 

“You’re soft,” he whispered. Hank couldn’t suppress a chuckle. 

“I am also a sticky mess,” Hank said, with amused regret. “From various fluids and substances.” 

“Oops,” Bobby said without real regret, voice slowing. Worn out. Hank laid his hands on Bobby’s back, stroking the smooth skin slowly, gently. Over and over. Feeling Bobby’s breathing slow as he slipped toward exhausted slumber. His cock was still sheathed inside Bobby, held there in the firm grasp of muscle. Bobby had shown no signs of discomfort, no desire to have him leave. So he stayed. Contentment stole over him. 

“Hey, Blue.” Bobby’s voice was barely more than a breath as he settled into sleep, held securely in his best friend’s arms. “Love you.” 

Hank smiled. 

“I love you too, Bobby.” 

- - fin - -