Disclaimer:I don't own them and I don't make any money off of them.
Warning:Male/male sex, graphic, language... 6x2


My ass hurt and my head was pounding. Consciousness can be a bitch, especially when sunlight decides to do a cruel tap dance on your closed eyelids. I tried to escape by pressing my face into the darkness of a very soft and clean smelling pillow. Since I was used to ones smelling like sea salt and unwashed bodies, and feeling like burlap, that in itself was a puzzle that my bleary brain only wanted to solve with half hearted attention.

Ah... okay... I remembered... a party... Relena's place.... Yeah, she'd have soft pillows with gold stitching, or some such crap, I thought. It was possible that I had crawled into some spare room and crashed after a very major drunk. That meant that sleeping was definitely something that I wanted to continue. Who knew when Pink Princess would ever invite a sweeper, ex Gundam pilot, back into her fourteen carat mansion? If half the things I remembered doing were for real, I didn't think it would be any time soon, if ever. Well, you know what they say? Invite the street in and you get... well... the street.

My brain tried to enjoy the soft pillow under my head. My brain tried to hope that I could order some sort of grand breakfast before my ass was kicked out. Sausages, biscuits, real orange juice.... Can we say, 'denial'? My brain tried every trick in the book to avoid the subject of, 'Why does my ass hurt?'When it knew stinkin' well that there were very few reasons for that sort of thing. Maybe I was a virgin, of sorts, but I could still put two and two together... when I wasn't so busy trying not to add.

"First... tell me you are not a woman," a cultured voice said near my ear, " and then tell me you're legal."

"Yes... and no," I replied with a cringe. My voice was dry and rough. My head throbbed. I didn't want to look, but the choice had been taken out of my hands. Silky hair drifted around my bare chest and arms and warm breath smelling like stale wine filled my nose.

"Duo?" The man's voice was stunned, unsure, almost scared. I opened my eyes to take in the sight of a very confused Milliardo Peacecraft.

"We can get up, get our clothes on, and pretend this never happened," I said quickly and started doing just that.

Milliardo's white eyebrows drew together. His ice blue eyes were suddenly appreciative of ... well, me. "I didn't... hurt you?"

I blinked. "Kind of... I guess," I managed and then tried my escape again. He was lying on the the sheets, though, effectively trapping me. Sunlight was  glowing over his long , strong back and his lean hips. There were marks of fingers on that back... on his ass. "I... I didn't... I've never..." I put a stop to that. "We... fucked... didn't we?"

His smile made his handsome face even more so. "I think we did. If I took advantage..."

"Uhm... don't really remember." That was a lie. I suddenly remembered some sort of drunken conversation and my tongue trying to go down Milli's throat. I remembered a staggering two step down a hallway, into a... this room... and a wrestling match. The humping was hazier. Had I really let another guy ride me like a....? Put his wang in... ? Hook my legs up and ...? Maybe, I'd even... you know... gone down on ....? I tried to recapture what he even looked like... down there... and couldn't.

"I could get arrested," Milliardo suddenly worried.

"I'm eighteen sometime this year," I found myself saying, as I tried to make myself squeeze like toothpaste out of a tube to get out from under him and the sheets."Since I don't know my real birthday, I can pretty much make my own call."

"I see," he said and his smile was softly amused.

He shifted, rolled, and was suddenly under the sheets with me without allowing me to escape. A long, hard body was a strange presence against my own. He reached out and played with my hair, smoothing it out of our way. It was out of it's braid and hanging over everything. His own long hair mingled with it as he leaned on one arm and looked over me again.

"If you find this distasteful, I'll go," Milliardo promised. "No one will ever hear of it."

There was a tent pole pressed against me. It was hot and silky, but hard too. This had been in me. This had gone in my.... No wonder I hurt. He wanted me to think. He wanted me to consider consequences and the future. He wanted me to wonder whether I was doing, 'the right thing'. I wasn't much for thinking past 'now' and my morals had always been questionable. I suppose I was still a virgin because that sort of vulnerability hadn't come naturally to me. I didn't trust. I hadn't wanted someone in that space with me. Porn vids and back alley mags had been my lovers up until then and that had been damned unsatisfying compared to even drunken memories of a confusing night with this guy. My cherry had been popped and it had been popped by a prince.... a really hot and handsome prince... a prince who was under the sheets with me and wanting more maybe.... no, not maybe.

My hand went down under the sheet and wrapped around something very large. His eyes sparkled and he leaned in to nuzzled my ear. As I stroked, I felt a big hand squeeze my hip. A middle finger tested the waters. I was damned sensitive.

"You know, if you want to," I said as I rolled onto my stomach and cushioned my arms and head on my pillow, "We can still pretend we're both drunk. I won't tell anyone either."

That finger found something slick and tested me again. I closed my eyes and allowed it to push in. "Is that necessary?" Milliardo asked with a chuckle as he played until I was stretched and the pain over come with endorphines.

He slipped an arm under me and lifted me to my knees. His body went over mine, arms and legs braced on either side. His head was beside mine, bowed, his cheek pressed against me. I could feel stubble. The wine smell was a definite turn on. That big thing found where it wanted to go without a hand to direct it and it had no trouble jamming in with a few humping motions of Milliardo's hips.

I hissed at the stretching, uncomfortable feeling and I tried to avoid it, tried to move forward to pull off of the thing. Without alcohol I had to wonder at myself. I was letting a guy fuck me. I was letting him cram his big Johnny into my ... guys just didn't do that and feel very masculine about it, I didn't think, well, not from my limited experience. His balls were hanging with mine too, and that just felt very, very wrong. For one, a guy shouldn't have balls that size, and another...What do you tell other guys. How do you face other guys thinking, knowing what it felt like to...

Milliardo suddenly took my earlobe into his teeth and his hips began pumping. His balls collided with mine, and he made a slapping noise between us, as that very big, very hard, ponderosa sized log tried to find oil somewhere in my ass.

"Shit!" I groaned and cursed as I tried to minimize that driving force. I turned my head sideways away from him, trying not to lose it, trying to endure until he got off. I saw the wall sized mirror then, trimmed in gold, and our reflection in it.

Big muscled man stallion humping a little, skinny pony sized man. Hair was everywhere. His balls were swinging and his hips were flexing and thrusting. My eyes were wide and purple, my lower lip caught in my teeth. I looked a mess, peeking out from under that man in the midst of white blankets and sheets.

The pain was gone. I grunted, realizing it all at once. My body was letting him do what he wanted, surrendering at last. That's when the image of us changed and became... erotic. It stopped being about guilt, about allowing a man to rut. It started being about enjoying a really hard, damned handsome man, in my ass.

We rode each other. I stopped hanging in his grip and began slamming backwards in a brutal rhythm that I knew I would pay for later. Didn't care. Wanted it. Wanted him. I remembered stalking him last night, then, remembered slipping away to the rose garden, with him reluctantly in to tow, to share a bottle, some war talk, and then a bit of slutty flirting. I remembered rubbing his crotch and talking about dirty tangos. I had said, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to pop my cherry, because I was damned tired of having it when handsome, blonde men were available. Then had come the tongue jamming thing and the struggle to wait long enough to find a room.

He shot his load like a fire hose, bringing me back to the here and now as bore down on me heavily as he came. Just the thought of him spurting made me come in splatters over everything.

He pulled out, then, that thing sliding against raw nerves seemingly forever, before it left me and then nudged wetly, here and there, along my body as he stretched out beside me.

"Ow," I managed.

He made a pleased sound, proud of his size and prowess and too exhausted to muster sympathy for me.

"Is this where we take off, back to our real lives, and never speak of this again?" I tried after awhile.

He looked at me, reached out, and wrapped a big hand around my spent cock. He said, as serious as someone can be in that position, "This isn't real?"

"My ass tells me it was, but... this is just screwing, right?" I wondered as I thought about getting my clothes.

There was a knock at the door. "Does his Highness wish breakfast?" a muffled voice inquired.

This was his room then. Or the servants were damned observant. I blushed, deciding to keep quiet, but Milliardo ran a hand along my jaw, smiled, and called, "Perkins! Breakfast for two."

"As you wish, your Highness," came the prompt reply.

"Orange juice," I dared, sinking back into the soft sheets and pillows and wondering where life was taking me now as Milliardo chuckled and indulged me.


[back to Kracken's fic]