Warframe - [The Hunters and the Prime(s)] - Wired
PART OF THE SERIES: The Hunter and the Prime(s)
Alone together, they got nothing but time on their side.
Stalker’s burning hate is always brought down by his stoic partner’s company; and confiding and confident, Stalker asks for internal assistance, the prime swirling inside his systems to adjust and provide.
Contents | Non-canon biology, Intimate partners, tentacle mouth, oral, cunnilingus, fellatio, vaginal, passionate
Length | 8,763w
He stares at the model ship held between his hands, course thumb stroking slowly over the mock gilded gold of the vessel. Its slim shape settles well in his palms, fingers in a cupping curl as the light of the void gazes through the observation platform below the walled off walkway. In his lap laid a flat device with the ship’s schematics, matching the model Stalker holds in half tilt. He’s half attentive as a racket comes from the room to the left of where he sits, looking away from the model after a short ‘ow’ comes from the next room.
“You alright?” he asks, sightless gaze returning to the model ship.
“Yeah,” the voice returns, followed by the ring of a hollow metal drop. He breathlessly snorts from where he sits on an orokin bench, aboriform vines drawn above him in a lazy twirl. Still in thought he stares down at the model, head half turning to the rolling cart at his side.
Eventually his partner starts to leave the room, setting salvaged items inside the rolling cart as he continues to stare down at the model ship – lost in thought. It’s not hard to notice; as the prime takes two more trips between the room and the cart he watches as Stalker stares unmoving, thumb stroking in idle thought. On the third trip the prime carries out a blanket that once was fit for a royal. “Here,” the excalibur prime drapes it over Stalker’s bent back, the rich red frame guiding it over his right shoulder as the prime settles down at his left. “Stuck in thought again?” he asks with a softened tone, hand moving up Stalker’s back.
“Yeah,” Stalker sighs, staring past the aboriform stalks to the window protecting them from enigmatic void. His hands still fiddles through incoherent thoughts occupying his mind, gaze barely fixed on the weaving blue and white of the distant void. If he had brows they’d be furled, his face an emotionless ripple compared to the prime’s down-turned maw. A silence carries between them, Stalker staring back towards his kneading hands. A flash red energy beams across his body for a moment before fading away, hands fastening tight at the model ship. “It’s just, with all those traitors out there, how the hell are we going to compete with them?” His fingers clutch at the model, the prime drawing him close beneath the blanket. “How they went through the system uncontested … and have to hide like cowards. I just…” he trails off with a sigh, looking down over his dropped hands. “Nevermind.”
“No neverminds,” the prime’s hand strokes against his side, resting his head against the other frame’s tattered helm. “We’ll figure it out eventually; we just need to make a plan.” He holds Stalker close, and moves back as Stalker shifts.
The rich red frame lies back against the blanket and bench cushion, staring at the ceiling. “With what, abandoned carriers and a half functional cruiser? We don’t even know if there is anyone still alive out there – the traitors could’ve probably slaughtered the entire origin system by now.”
His partner sits back beside him, looking down at the ship held in Stalker’s hands. “Do you like it? The model.”
A half chuckle resounds through Stalker’s systems, staring back down to the model of the carrier class ship they’re salvaging from. “Yeah. Always wanted to work on a carrier class someday… well, before … the slaughter.” Thumbs stroke over the shimmering model, a small scale of the orokin engineering excellence stuck in the choking clouds of the void. Oh, how he would’ve like to have seen it among its awaiting prime, in all its white and gold glory among the stars. His thoughts revert to what could-have-beens, and it only makes him angrier.
The prime pulls him back from the enveloping rage coiling in Stalker’s gut, planting a soft kiss against the ripples of his helm. “Hey, at least you have the chance to work on one now. That’s a step up.”
“What’s one carrier class vessel going to do to a swarm of traitors? We’re just a set of rejected shells – I can’t hold energy and you barely can for more than a couple seconds. The traitors are boundless,” Stalker curses beneath his breath, hands holding tight at the model ship still nestled in his palms. “I don’t know,” he sighs the prime’s name, “I need something else to think about.”
“We’re not rejected shells,” the prime’s hand coils up Stalker’s back, holding the rich red helm against his nuzzling maw, kissing against the smooth top. “We’re more than that – you are so much more than that. We’ll get through this, just need to take it all one step at a time.”
Another space of silence carries between them, close bodies lied against another beneath the white and gold blanket. Stalker’s hands rest cupped around the model ship, the prime’s right curled behind his head - a mild grey and cream hand holds out towards his hands against his lap. Stalker’s gaze is uncertain to the distance, the prime’s the same aside from his sharpened maw. Senseless data hums through the aboriforms above them, idle systems a bare rumble within the vessel’s gilded walls. A dark hand releases its hold of the ship, fingers entangling with cream and gold.
“Come here,” the prime quietly suggests, wrapping the blanket closer around their bodies. Stalker deposits the ship into the cart, pulling the edge of the blanket closer on the prime’s left side. Their hands entangle beneath the blanket’s shadow, heads resting on each other with shallow exhales. Bodies close, hands entwined – it calms Stalker, at least some, feeling the clawing in his gut dissolve. And together they stare out at the eternal distance of the Void, for nothing in particular.
Aboriform pulsations beat above them; shallow and slow. Hands lingering in small shifts as they rest in the comfortable silence.
The prime shifts just slight, inhaling slow. “I’m sure you’ll find some way to weaponize a carrier,” he speaks Stalker’s given name, “you managed to fit a turret to the cruiser without my help. Probably would take longer with my help, actually.” He snorts. “I never was much of a mechanic.”
If Stalker had a maw, he might be smiling. “Well, hey, at least you have some idea how these bodies work,” he sighs, purring the other excalibur’s name with a fond semblance, their fingers curling. “Because I don’t have a fucking clue how this shit works,” he emotes with a slight head tilt, the prime planting a warm tentacle kiss against his crown. The hand once at his nap moves down into a lazy coil.
“Hadn’t you said something about diagnostics the other day, after our spar?”
“Yeah. It’s – hard to tell if I’ve gotten any better,” Stalker shifts, the prime’s hand withdraws. “Unless you say something, of course. I don’t want to depend on you all the time. So,” he snorts.
“Well, I can try. And you know how bad I am with keeping promises,” the prime grins, freeing Stalker’s hand of his own as they both turn to half sit facing each other – blanket draping from their shoulders. “So, no promises that I can get it set up right on the first try – I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I set my own or noticed a difference in system functions.” The cream excalibur presses his crest against Stalker’s crown, hands cupping against a rich rippled jawline. Stalker presses back, hands lingering at the prime’s wrists in a gentle hold. “I’ll see what I can do, hun,” he coos.
A rumble rolls through Stalker’s chest as their foreheads press together, rippled crown against gilded crest as warmth coils through their calming chests – forming a mental link that connects their separate bodies. They revert into themselves, bodies going idle still with their heads pressed and hands in gentle holds as the prime is welcomed into Stalker’s systems and nerves. They interlink within Stalker’s systems, connection well maintained as the prime guides Stalker through wires and nerves about his uncertainties. At Stalker’s behest he double checks the rich frame’s energy pool for a sensible confirmation – and finds none. And the prime assures him; it’s okay, external senses rubbing crest against crown.
Their bodies remain motionless as the prime guides new function connections within Stalker, linking nerves in a cross-connection process. Each alteration is met alongside an explanation, the prime guiding his darker tone partner to make same of his own changes. The prime’s voice rings a softened tone, smoothing any lingering frustration cluttering Stalker’s anxious senses. When the prime asks if he can transfer his own diagnostics tracker Stalker is already brimming with serene sensation. It’s Stalker who sets it up nestled within his systems, of course guided by the prime’s smooth voice.
They lose track of time as they set up the diagnostic program, merging senses and data streams through a wide filter – all for Stalker’s own personal use. Once its finally set, and they’re both certain its running properly, the prime makes a second sweep through Stalker’s allocations. He gives Stalker tips on checking certain data points, giving the rich red frame a gentle nudge as they go still for a but a moment within. Externally, his fingers graze against the ridges making the front of his partners helm. “Anything wrong?” his voice seeps through their connection.
Outside their link Stalker’s hands squeeze at the prime’s wrist; and for a moment the prime is unable to make a handshake with his partner’s systems. He waits for Stalker to reopen the voluntary connection, nudging a gentle request before entertaining himself with his own systems. A monitor connected between them beats uncertain – and Stalker speaks.
“Can you, possibly,” Stalker starts, halting himself for a second,” help me out with another thing?”
“Certainly,” the prime coos. “What is it?”
“It’s … kind of embarrassing,” Stalker mumbles under his breath, scooting his bent leg against the prime’s. “It’s about my … um, more … intimate settings. I don’t know how it all works.” He goes quiet, withdrawing into thought as the prime’s hands linger in a partial touch against Stalker’s helm. “I want another outlet, you know? And you seem to have … yours.”
“Oh, the nervous surges? I can teach you that if it’s what you’re asking,” the prime purrs.
“No, I -,” Stalker holds himself back through uncertainty, “that’s not what I meant, but I’m always open to learn other ways to meditate.”
The prime sits in mild confusion before his memory momentarily relapses to a private session he had granted himself earlier; hands grasping at his parts, back arching in brinking anticipation, purring another’s name as he draws himself close. “Oh, you mean -,” there’s a snort from the prime, “you mean that? I’ll be glad to,” he purrs against Stalker’s helm. “Been sneaking peaks, have you?” He inquires, slipping back within Stalker’s system as a welcome intrusion.
A snort bites through Stalker’s voice, “hey, not like you could blame me – you were being loud.” There’s a partial inhale as a chill ripples down his spine as the prime guides open his buried sensitivity settings. Inside, the prime is careful where he tinkers, leading the rich frame through himself from his crown to the tip of his feet; Stalker leaning against the prime externally in full. The prime leaves some in vague nonspecific at first, an encouragement for the rich frame to find some for himself. He uses words like ‘capacity’ and ‘girth’, digital fingers spreading along Stalker’s chest. The other sighs, his own signal welcoming the strange sensations.
The prime sends him a nonspecific request; a formation of possible sensations and intimacy, a collective of simmering want made as suggestion – and Stalker grants a free invitation as his hands feel over a nonexistent grip at his signal. There’s a blooming that radiates from the prime and echoes through Stalker as their signals intermingle. A nonexistent hand pressing at a mental jaw, pressing open a lacking mouth for a soft kiss.
Stalker can feel the prime’s physical hands held lightly beside his throat as their signals break away from the kiss. Their heads press as a moment passes between them, Stalker’s hands drifting down over cream and gilded gold as fingers trail against his nerve endings. A mild hum rumbles through his chest as the prime’s maw presses against his lacking face, kisses trailing down through sensitive signals that echo across Stalker’s skin. He melts against the prime’s advancement, as the prime nestles into his neck as digital hands trail down his back and side – pressing their ethereal senses close. Breath breathes at his jaw as his partner’s mouth kisses downwards; a disconnect that makes Stalker pause, despite his yearning for his partner’s touch.
The prime can feel his hesitation, withdrawing from Stalker’s systems. “Want me to stop?”
“No, I don’t,” Stalker rumbles, physical hands grasping at the prime’s forearm juts.
“Then, what’s bothering you?” A hand returns to Stalker’s rippled helm, cupping against his jawline as he pulls back to give Stalker room to breathe. “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he continues, sentimental traces curling against the nerves of Stalker’s back.
“It’s just – I’m not used to the whole internal and external thing.”
The prime nods, “Yeah. If you’d rather, I can go physical, help you acclimate that way, I mean.”
And Stalker snorts. “Always wording around what you mean,” he mumbles, then purrs, “yeah, I won’t mind that.” He scoots faintly closer to where the prime is sitting, their leg practically on top of another. “Actually, no; I want that. Do you know how long it’s been since I had some proper ‘stress relief’?”
It’s the prime’s turn to snort.
“What? I didn’t even know these bodies had parts.”
“Nothing, nothing,” the prime grins. “But, I think I’m going to take it slow, get you used to them first before we get to the real stress relief.” His left cups at Stalker’s thigh jut, fingers spreading over skin. Their heads press back again, tentacle kisses trailing against Stalker’s throat.
There’s a slight huff from Stalker, a staggered sigh and a mental grin. “Should I keep the connection open, then?” he asks, head tilting upwards as wet cyan curls against his throat.
“Yeah. It’ll help ease the disconnection, and so I can make sure you’re comfortable.” The prime purrs, hands trailing to rest mirrored at the rich frame’s waist. “Feel free to say if you need anything,” he rumbles against Stalker’s throat, casting a shiver down the rich frame’s spine. Stalker pushes the cart away from them before his hands find position on cream and gold; one held against the back of the prime’s head and the other following a questing hand.
The hand snakes up between his chest and arm, fingers splaying against a mild sensitivity that brings him up against the prime’s caressing maw. Sensations familiar as the digits press against soft seams forming against his rib cage, his fingers hooking beneath the prime’s gilded crest as glowing cyan moves downwards against junction of chest and throat. Pressing warmth against his skin with a rumbling growl, a shiver rippling down Stalker’s spine.
Against the prime’s fingers the unseen seams split, making Stalker pause for a second before the digits press gently against his exposed plush red. It drags a short breath from him, “what’s this?” he breathes, back arching as the prime’s hand trails against his skin. Further down he can feel another sensation, senses below foggy and uncertain.
“Ventilation, or something,” the prime purrs against his throat, tentacle kisses pressing at his jaw. “As far as I’ve noticed, they only open under arousal,” he sits himself up against Stalker, his own vents coming undone and breathing chill. “Also helps keep cool, but, they’re also sensitive.” The prime withdraws from Stalker’s skin, guiding a rich red hand down against a set of bright cyan vents, and an exhale as dark fingers press between his glowing flesh.
“Ah, I see,” Stalker rumbles, kneading his fingers against the softness of the prime’s vent as cream digits press at his own. “And for – the sensation in my crotch – goes by the same principle - need to get excited first?” Stalker whispers against a pressing face, nudging against gilded crest.
“Yes,” the prime answers, in a near kneel as he arches against Stalker and the hand spread against his sensitive cyan. His free hand settles against a dark hip, fingers pressing out a restrained yearning as he leans posed over Stalker. “It remains closed unless you want it open; I can help you and demonstrate,” he purrs, feeling his own balling desire spread within his loins. “If you want.”
Stalker groans against a caressing in his vents, shifting against the hand held at his side in quiet want. “When you say demonstrate,” he stops, back arching against the prime leaning against him, “you mean give me what I want?”
“Well, I was going to save that for later,” the prime chuckles. “But, something to that effect.” Trailing a tentacle kiss against Stalker’s helm. “Just want to, make a quick sympathetic sync between us. Want to make sure it feels good for you,” he purrs, hands pressing against Stalker’s hips as he moves himself off the cushioned bench. Stalker shifts as the other excalibur moves to the floor, hands never leaving his hips as he stares down his rich red form.
At his sides glows crimson red, lights reflecting off his arms as they meet the prime’s grasp with his own – stark cream sandwiched between maroon as their fingers intertwine. Warmth cradles in his face as he stares down at the gilded crest kissing against his gut, trailing wet cyan over his stomach down to his seamed crotch – but never nears. The prime moves back, granting him the sight of his seamed crotch as cyan kisses against his thighs.
Stalker spreads against the kisses as he stares down at his crotch mound, a minute cerise glow reflecting off the prime’s cream as cyan trails up against his thigh into gentle kisses over his stomach; and then back downwards, curling against the cerise slit seam. “Sometimes takes some encouragement for the first time,” the prime purrs, and Stalker arches against the curl of tentacles crowding against him.
“Ah,” Stalker mewls, watching as the prime’s tentacle collective spreads against his groin. His hips nudge as the cyan withdraws back into the prime’s mouth, hands untangling as one snakes down beneath his thigh. An empty hand rests against the prime’s crest, the other balled on the bench cushion as fingers stroke upwards against his crotch. They spread beneath him at first, pressing gently at the cerise slit covering his privates. Cyan tongues meet again at his skin, replacing digits in gentle kneads against softening skin.
There’s a gasp from Stalker as his seam begins to give, warm cyan meeting his cerise in a sudden flicker; his hips withholding a roll as he forces himself to be patient. He watches as the prime bury across his crotch, fingers curling against the prime’s gilded crest as maw tentacles tease against the remaining seam. They gently press as cream palms cup against Stalker’s thighs, fingers grazing along his inner skin is slow pressing motions as slick cyan kneads against uncovering flesh. The prime’s tongues curls against bright cerise, tentacles wrapping among frilled lips and beneath an excited clasper clit.
The prime draws a shaking inhale from Stalker as he purrs against cerise flesh, trailing cyan upwards beneath a grasping clit. Head tilting upwards between Stalker’s thighs, eyeless sight meeting Stalker’s own. “You look fantastic,” he again purrs, fingers spreading under thighs hitching up against his shoulders. “How’s it feel,” he presses cyan against cerise flesh, his mind reaching out for Stalker’s connection in a gentle request – one Stalker gladly accepts.
“I missed it,” Stalker sighs, fingers spreading against the prime’s helm. Inside he can feel the prime reignite a connection they usually reserved for after sparring, quivering as breath breathes against his mound. “How does it feel?” He internally grins, rolling down against the prime’s mouth as a kiss presses his lips. Between him the prime rumbles, spreading kisses against thigh creases and cyan spreading over mound. A hum draws against his thighs, peaks of cyan following motioning mouth before it lands against his flesh again.
“It feels good, but I can do better,” the prime breathes, tentacle tongues spreading at frilled lips. A single twirl twists around the clasper clit, making Stalker shutter as it strokes over the fringes lining the sensitive clasper. It caresses and draws around the swelling organ, feeling Stalker’s hand pull his maw close against cerise flesh. The single tentacle abandons the lone clasper for a moment, replaced by a warm mouth pressing against mound; and Stalker groans, barely able to force his hips still without the prime’s curling grasp.
The warmth of the prime’s mouth slips against the excited clit, cyan tongues curling down at spreading lips between fleshy frills and teasing at vulva, a thick mass pressing at opening crease as the prime playfully growls; between his own thighs his cyan slit grows – coiling arousal growing as he pleases his partner. He can feel his cyan coils press between cerise against his own groin – a sensation made by sympathetic connection that makes him shift his knelt position. Stalker’s head lulls, groans slipping free as the prime slips against his flesh, coils teasing against his vulva, one wrapping and stroking his clit. The prime deludes his senses, to keep his focus clear.
“Fuck,” Stalker mewls, whimpering the prime’s given name. He pulls against the prime’s gilded crest, golden circle planting against his mound as maw embraces his need. “Ah,” he rumbles, clenching hand reaching behind him for the golden arches lining the cushioned bench top. “Fuck, mmmh,” he melts, staring down his wide vents to the cream pressing between his legs, warmth swarming through his helm and crotch.
With a purr against moist cerise the prime looks up, kissing Stalker’s parts. “Want me to finish you off?”
“Ah, yes, please,” Stalker rumbles, gasping as cyan presses between his folds, lips parting as cyan spreads him for a careful coil. “Don’t stop,” he whines, head pressing against his back-reaching arm as the prime’s tentacle tongues tease against his walls. A pair of tentacles still tease against his clasper clit, drawing hitched sounds as the flesh twitches on the soft coils. Stalker whimpers, his hand leaving the prime’s helm to hold at his mound, spreading his crotch against the embracing mouth. Against his arm he watches the primes’ tentacles coil around his bright clit, his breath in near pants as he feels himself teetering at his edge. “So close,” he whimpers, “nnngh fuck,” gasping the prime’s name and expletives as the tentacle tongues swarm against vulva and clit, stroking at his walls in slow-drawn passion.
The prime has a tough time keeping himself still, his own groinal coil drawn by sympathetic link and Stalker’s sounds. His arousal presses eager against his thigh; another sense to dilute as he brings Stalker to end. He presses his tongues deep against cerise flesh, bringing mixed shallow pumps and upward strokes over the clasper clit as it struggles to hold against his cyan tongue. He allows it to grasp at one, fringes pressing in trembles as another tenderly strokes upward from shallow hood to frilled tip. Stalker whimpers, groans, mewls as his hips tremble; his hand once spread his mound digs against the bench cushion. His head lies backwards against the decorative railing, hips in trembles as the prime’s tongues swirl against him – and they withdraw – breath breathing against his sensitive flesh – and the warmth returns and encompasses him. Tongues press up his twitching clit, spreading among cerise as his orgasm hits.
He holds onto the bench as his hips buck against the prime’s mouth, words trembling in every breath as hands try to hold him open. It’s useless, Stalker’s thighs squeezing around the prime’s head as tentacle tongues hold flat against wet flesh. Stalker rolls against the sensation storming through him, feeling the prime groan against his clenching vulva – inwardly he grins. When he starts to come down the prime withdraws his moist maw, tentacle tongues seeping with juices as he moves to kiss Stalker’s mound. The rich red frame holds himself still, breath in hitches as he watches the prime move into a kneel.
His legs shifting to rest outside the prime’s sides and sits up, watching the prime deliver a kiss to his stomach. Internally, he yearns for more, but…
“We can go again,” the prime rumbles, arms crossed over Stalker’s lap. “If you want to,” one of the prime’s arms withdraws for a moment, pressing down his rising erection. A small hitch rises from the prime’s throat, and from within Stalker reaches out from his mind as a searching tease.
“Wanna pound me, don’t ya?” Stalker sneers, then purrs, “lemme see your bits.”
“Certainly,” the prime purrs in return, pressing himself between Stalker’s leg as he rises to stand. As he moves his soft erection pokes his partner’s thigh, and there’s a snort from them both, cyan lips meeting cerise. The prime’s member lies perked from where it rests over Stalker’s mound. “Had I not diluted my senses, I’d be a lot harder,” the prime chuckles, knuckles holding him still over Stalker.
He stares down their shaded parts, red and blue glows lighting their sides as the prime’s pliable erection glows at their met groins. “Why do you have both?” he squints, hand moving downwards against the prime’s erection.
A rumble rolls through the prime as dark fingers enclose around him, crest nudging at Stalker’s crown. “It’s just settings; I’m sure I can help you have both too,” he sighs, a groan slipping through as Stalker palms over his girth. “Shouldn’t take too long – just need to nudge a couple settings the right way,” he purrs above Stalker, breath hitching as fingers slip between their pressing mounds. Dark digits spread between them, lips pressing at lips as Stalker’s slick is spread upwards at the prime’s clit and base.
As the prime weaves into Stalker’s systems fingers coil around his bright member, saturated fingers slowly pumping and gently kneading over a sensitive underside. The prime presses himself against Stalker strokes, one held up against the gilded trim of the bench and the other still knuckling against the cushion. He keeps his senses dilute, reaching through his partner’s teasing to deep processes that contribute to hip biology.
Against Stalker’s helm he groans, hand once on the cushion presses against Stalker’s hitched thigh as dark fingers pump, gently squeezing from mid to tip. “Going to make it hard, aren’t ya?” he rumbles, tentacle maw pressing at Stalker’s neck as he taps into the desired settings.
“More than that,” Stalker sneers, rubbing against the prime’s moist cyan.
The prime snorts, “I meant getting your settings up,” he sighs, “Which do you think will finish first; finalizing settings or you getting me off?”
“What’s the payout?” Stalker inwardly grins, grip held firm against the prime’s twitching member – a groan dripping from the usually stoic excalibur.
“How about a blow?” the prime teases, still intertwined with Stalker’s settings as his physical form shifts, pressing lips against lips. Stalker’s excited clasper clit easily finds the prime’s, stroking the sensitive bud to draw more sounds against Stalker’s neck. The hand once pressed against the wall worms behind Stalker’s helm, fingers spreading beneath the backward fringe.
“I can’t blow for shit,” Stalker grunts; for his lack of a maw.
“I know,” the prime groans, his girth twitching in the grasp of slick fingers. He presses Stalker’s head against his own, breathing and groaning against neck as he continues to prod Stalker’s settings. “I’m counting on it… having more trouble than I thought,” he barely growls, hips rolling against stroking fingers. “So, you’ll win the mini bet, probably.”
There’s a sneer from the maroon warframe, “‘Probably’?” He spreads saturated fingers against the prime’s member, rolling himself against the prime as his fingers knead against cyan – his clasper teasing against the prime’s smaller clit. Against his neck the prime groans, trailing skin with tentacle kisses as he continues to fiddle against Stalker’s settings. As much as Stalker can feel the prime’s internal presence, he has become enthralled with drawing sounds from the prime; fingers squeezing and pumping, teasing at dripping tip as moans press at his neck and helm. The prime presses his crest against Stalker’s neck, hand migrating from the bench cushion to hold at Stalker’s thigh jut.
“Oh fuck, hun,” the prime groans, rocking against the hand pumping around his length, purring Stalker’s name as he withdraws from Stalker’s systems. “Ahhh, there we go,” he breathes, forcing himself into a partial lean to press his crest against Stalker’s crown as he stares down their shaded bodies. “Mmm, fuck,” he barely growls – and Stalker can feel a small pressure building in his mound. “Settings all in order,” he purrs, “now to let it get to full.”
Stalker holds the prime’s member through the rhythmical rolls the gilded excalibur provides, squeezing the twitching cyan as his internal anatomy shifts within his groin. The prime groans against Stalker’s neck, hips in restrained bucks as Stalker’s fingers slow; watching his newly manifested girth form. His clasper clit still snakes against the prime’s, their mild meeting glow muted as the mass forms fantastic ridges around a glowing red tip. At his neck, the prime is in near whimpers, rumbling requests for a stammering release.
And Stalker, happily, obliges.
He pumps the twitching cyan, thumbing over the unusual tip between squeezes pressing in a broken rhythm. Stalker holds the prime above him as he jacks the near quivering prime in hard hearty strokes, cherishing the groaning whimpers pressed against his jaw and chin. The prime bucks, against hand and lips, rubbing cyan at cerise, groans of given name as he’s drawn to his grunting peak. “Oh, fuck,” he growls, bucking against Stalker’s parts and hand, feeling Stalker’s own arousal growing between their bodies. “Come on,” he almost whimpers, just almost, as he grunts. Clasper clit grabs at sensitive bud, stroking and kneading as their lips stoke; frilled to flowing.
At his risen peak, teetering on the edge, his grip tightens. The prime pulls stalker against him as he falls into unrestrained bucks, groaning at skin as he pushes Stalker against the bench cushion with each pressing roll. Moans press against Stalker’s neck through tentacle kisses, hands held tight, drawing to end in yearning bucks. And at his final he presses his crest at shoulder, trembling in body and voice, dripping impassioned Stalker’s given name, hands clawing, gripping, seizing as it hits him hard.
Stalker holds at part and side as viscous luminescent mess spreads across his stomach and fingers, squeezing out the last drips from the prime’s mass with a mental grin. Across their link is a kiss, mouth to cheek, an electric sensation very real to them both. As the prime begins to come down Stalker looks down at his own rising arousal, freshly form and barely perking where it rests upon the crease between body and thigh. The prime’s member softens as breath pants at Stalker’s neck, tentacle kisses purring against his throat. At their groins, Stalker holds their girths close, pressing near flaccid to flaccid in a mild comparison.
“Comparing, are we?” the prime rumbles, pushing himself from Stalker’s throat. “Guess you win,” he grins, knuckles pressing at the bench cushions. He looks down over their meeting groins; pale cyan and brilliant cerise members lulling as their lips press slick. “Should probably move location,” a hand digging through the shoved cart for something to clean up the mess he made on Stalker’s stomach. “Getting a kink in your back, should probably stand somewhere as we continue.”
He sits back to watch as the prime clears his stomach. “Mmmm, yeah,” Stalker sighs, rolling his shoulder against a forming muscle knot. He looks over the long hallway for a place to stand, somewhere he wants to be able to watch the prime again at his groin. As the prime disposes the sticky cloth strip away to one side, Stalker’s sights hone across the hall.
Partitions separate the hallway from the observation platform gazing out into the endless void, section split by wide struts and gilded half walls filling the lengthy divide. Short standing ‘potted’ aboriforms edge the unmarred struts, humming brilliant with the lining white above and the thick trunks decorating the observation platform below. The prime catches sight of where Stalker wants to go, shoving himself up as Stalker moves to stand. He grasps himself, eyeing over its thick girth, the fleshy ridges, the glowing tip of his member. “Did you have any … influence on it?” he rumbles, thumb rolling over the sensitive ridges ringing his tip, muscles clenching a twitch at his touch.
“Not at all,” the prime begins to guide him, slow stepping backwards towards the partition wall. “It’s all you.”
Stalker, satisfied, presses against the prime. “Good,” he rumbles.
The prime presses Stalker back against the partition as kisses transfer over their connection, sensory mouth at mouth, physical hands holding at Stalker’s hips to hold him still. Stalker’s own drift at the prime’s shoulders, following the prime down as he moves into a kneel between his thighs. Tentacle kisses trail down pecs and vents, caressing over stomach and down over groinal creases, Cream hands trail against his outer thighs, in slow caresses as cyan tongues curl between base and clit. One dark hand holds back against the short wall, holding light as another holds at the prime’s crest.
Cyan swirls against the clasper clit, twitching excited as it grasps against the wet tentacles sliding past and above. A huff slips from Stalker, staring down at the prime’s tilted head pressing his member upwards, twitching as tongues swarm against his clit and base. He watches as tentacles cup up against his base, holding rich colored member up into the air. Each breathe against him brings a tremble, the prime’s presence against his systems barely lingers.
Between the prime’s legs he can feel his movements against Stalker, muscles twitching as his tentacle tongues carefully drag over base in teasing roves. A gasp rises from Stalker as the cyan swarms beneath his length, the hand once on the prime’s holds to his head – a senseless restraint for a nonexistent mouth. He presses his fist against his ridged helm as a hand joins at his groin, fingers cupping against his frilled lips as maw cups below his member in an upward drag. “Ah,” slips from him, barely leaning as he watches the prime.
As he kisses against clit and base the prime rumbles, encompassing the clasper clit one last time inside his maw – drawing a hushed gasp from Stalker as tentacle tongues slip. Cyan leaves the cerise flesh for member, tentacle tongues encircling rich maroon base. They slide up from base to tip, a hand cupping it upwards and against lips as tongues kiss against ridged tip, trailing between the tip shapes, maw kissing at twitching tip as the cyan coils withdraw. “Feel good,” the prime questions with a name purr, looking upward from kissing tip.
“Mmhm,” Stalker groans, grapping at the wall aganist his back. “Please, more,” he whispers beneath his breath, low enough for the prime to almost not hear. And the prime’s reply is another tip kiss, drawing it against the tip of his maw.
“Certainly,” the cream excalibur purrs, maw tentacles coiling around ridged member as his mouth hangs open. Below the hand caresses, two fingers splitting down from base to clasping clit, stroking down between lips and vulva end. Tentacle tongues drag beneath rich red underside, curling against glowing tip as fingers return to clit. A digit holds still for the clasper clit to grasp against as fingers slide between frilled lips, stroking slow.
Legs shift around the prime’s kneel, pressing groin close to the dual sensations of tongue and hand – a groan slipping through helm and fist. Digits beneath him stoke between lips, maw at his tip teasing an inhale. Tongues swarm strokes around his tip, precum spreading over ridges held by cyan tentacles, a drawn groan slipping above as the prime rumbles at cerise tip. Maw kisses it, fingers spreading lips as the tentacles draw rich member inside a warm mouth.
Stalker shutters as the prime takes him to his base, an open moan vocal as tongues coil wet around him within cyan mouth. Hips shift, spreading against a slow rolling mouth as fingers stroke against his spreading vulva. The prime can feel Stalker twitch in his mouth, groaning as the sensation crawls down through his groin as his head bobs. His hand not at Stalker’s thigh pushes himself down, diluting his senses to transferred feeling.
“Nnnh, fuck,” Stalker whimpers, hand clutching against his helm, staring down at the prime’s bobbing head. Tentacles draw against his erection, enticing him quick to finish – but by the orokin, he wants this to last a little longer. “Mmmmgh, don’t stop,” he groans, hips sat restrained.
And the prime lets the member pop from his mouth, rich red twitching as cyan slides from tip to base, hand holding against thigh and clasper clit. He lets Stalker’s girth rest against his gilded crest, tongues swirling around base saturated with saliva. Fingers slip between lips, digits pressing over vulva as the tentacles draw up Stalker, head pulling back for a guided view.
The sight of the prime at his groin, tentacle tongues holding him out straight, the prime holding still in Stalker’s sight, sending a kiss over their mutual link. Digits press at ready walls, sliding saturate as the prime gives Stalker time to savor the sight. He spreads Stalker from inside, fingers a saturated mess beneath Stalker’s joint arousal. The hand withdraws and rests near thick member base, thumb being hooked by begging clasper clit. It grasps his thumb as tight as the small muscle is able.
Slowly, steadily, the prime slips the glowing tip into his mouth, halting behind the ridged tip before drawing back. Tentacle tongues keep the erection from escaping the motions, groans slipping from Stalker as his tip is drawn back into cream maw. Again the prime takes him to the base, and back over tip as tentacle roves hold around his member. Sounds slip free from Stalker, both of his hands on the partition wall as he stares down to the prime’s bobbing head.
“Oh, fuck,” Stalker whines, hips nudging bucks against the bobbing mouth around him. “Mnnngh,” he groans, “fuck, I’m going to... nggh!”
Over their link the prime purrs, his mouth occupied. “Come for me. Don’t worry about the mess.”
Stalker falters against his self-restraint, hips in mild bucks as the prime’s mouth draws him close, head upturned as a coiling grows in his gut – a coming release. The prime’s hand presses against his groin, against clasping cerise clit and bucking base. The hand forces Stalker’s bucks fixed, as his senses go mush, falling into vocal expression as he rises to peak. Finishing bucks press against the prime’s hands, mouth holding at base as maw tentacles take over inside, drawing ejaculate out of rich maroon and glowing tip. He trembles at he meets his end inside the prime’s mouth, feeling tentacles clean around his ridged tip of sticky cum.
The prime takes it all, engulfing the spilt mess inside his mouth as Stalker finishes and begins to come down from his stammering peak. He huffs above the prime, vents wheezing as he breathes. “Oh, fuck,” Stalker gasps, staring down as the prime pulls himself back. Flaccid member audibly pops from the cream maw, fingers held still at clit and base. Faintly, over their link, Stalker can feel the prime’s lingering arousal, feeling the hand still at his parts. “So,” he tries to start, breath huffing as he still works to catch his breath, “still wanna pound?” he grins over their link.
“Mhm,” the prime purrs, hands returning to Stalker’s thighs as he moves to stand. “Going to give you a minute to cool down, then we can pound to your hearts content,” he grins, his erection pressing downward between their groins, Stalker’s lying above. “May have been a bad idea to pull a sympathetic link,” he huffs, twitching against Stalker’s thigh.
“Got excited from having my dick in your mouth?” Stalker teases as a hand snakes between them, pressing over the prime’s arousal arching against his lips. “So, the cool down isn’t just for me, eh?”
“You could say that, felt it all over the link,” the prime rumbles against Stalker’s chest, “don’t want to finish too soon.”
Stalker sneers, cupping over the prime’s member, “quite a way to suck yourself.”
The prime snorts, slowly bringing sensation back to his groin. “Yeah, it is.”
“Going to be fun fitting you in,” rumbles Stalker, “it’s been a while.”
“Since what, you had any action?”
“Hmm, pretty much,” the dark hand withdraws from their parts, leaning back against the partition. “So, how’re you gonna take me?” Stalker grins over their link, and the prime kisses the grin off his lacking mouth. Hand nudge at Stalker’s hips, one over to the other.
“Turn around,” the prime purrs.
And Stalker complies, the prime pressing him against the wall groin to backside.
“Give me a minute, going to sever the link. So, I won’t feel a phantom hand while inside you,” the prime grins against Stalker’s nape, his hands still at his partners sides. He kisses against a rich red nape, tentacle maw stroking slow as his erection presses against Stalker’s ass.
For a moment, they linger there, staring out at the void together. Stalker’s hands move over the prime’s, pushing back against the prime’s hips with a playful sigh. The prime’s signal leaves his system, sympathetic link severed, and it leaves an emptiness within him he knows the prime will soon replace, spreading back.
“There we go,” the prime breathes at Stalker’s nape, guiding Stalker back from the wall with a hand at his rigid cerise, cream fingers spreading at groin and base. “I’ll take care of it, just hold yourself steady.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stalker snorts, leaning as his hips are guided backwards, cyan erection perking between his lips. With a mental grin, as the prime’s member slides against him, his clasper clit reaches against the mass spreading his slick lips. His cerise presses over the cyan tip, teasing a sigh from the prime behind him. “Need some help?”
The prime snorts, fingers holding at Stalker’s stiffening member. “Sure, guide me in.” Hips roll his mass between cerise in emphasis – and Stalker moves one hand down past the one stroking him over. Dark digits press against the lip spreading tip as the prime nudges against him. “May need to bend over some more,” the cream excalibur rumbles, cyan tip becoming saturate with excited mess.
“You or me?”
There’s a pull back on Stalker’s hips, and he follows, chest leaning against the short wall. Instinctively Stalker spreads himself back against the prime, dark fingers holding under testing rolls that press up against his clit.
“There we go,” Stalker purrs, the prime kissing against his neck.
“Ready?” He rumbles.
Stalker hums back as his head tilts, fingers pressing the prime’s member against his lips. “Mhm.”
The prime draws himself back, member sliding through frilled lips as Stalker’s fingers press down over his cerise, awaiting the penetration. As cyan spreads him again his fingers press the tip up against his vulva; a short grunt slips from him as the tip slides up against his walls. His hand hovers, fingertips trailing over the penetration as he groans soft. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, the prime holding him still.
“You good?” the prime rumbles at his nape, fingers hanging loose around glowing cerise.
“Y-yeah,” Stalker sighs, clenching against the slick mass pressing against his walls. “Ah,” he whines the prime’s name beneath his breath, hand rising back to the wall he heavily leans against.
His arms lie crossed on the wall, faintly looking back over the slow-moving prime behind him. He twitches in the cream hand, breathing sighs as fingers encompass his tip and stroke down over slick lips; they rise back over him saturated, drawing between the ridges as the prime holds still behind him. Muscles twitch around the prime’s cyan, faintly adjusting, becoming comfortable with the penetration deep inside him.
Cyan twitches inside as the prime groans against Stalker’s back, tentacle tongues kissing his nape. Purrs of Stalker’s name presses against skin, broken by halted sounds as he slowly moves. They hold still to adjust, an arm coiling up against Stalker’s chest and against red vents for teasing strokes. “You good?”
Stalker leans back with a sigh, pressing himself back against the prime’s hips, clasper clit pressing down to the penetration. “Take me,” he rumbles, with a mental grin the prime can’t see. But knowing his partner, the prime snorts, kissing against nape.
“Will do,” the prime growls, standing back with a hand at Stalker’s hip, holding Stalker’s member at the base. A lingering finger is wrapped at by clasper clit, a slight pull as cream fingers stroke upwards as he begins to move. Back and forth, slowly, he thrusts against Stalker’s walls, underside pressing out groans as it rocks against sensitive G. “You feel so great inside,” he groans, undoing his finger from the clasper clit, leaving it to quiver as wet fingers stroke up hanging erection. In a shared motion the hand strokes up and down in time with rolls against saturated walls, groans pressing against crossed forearms and breathing free behind Stalker.
“Nnngh,” he whines, face resting upon his crossed arms as the prime tends to him inside and out. “Aaah, fuck. More, harder,” he groans, his crown against forearms, staring down at his spread legs and the prime’s own between his. He’s held captive by hands and hips, locked between strokes and thrusts moving in rhythm against him.
He wouldn’t have it any other way. And smiles inside.
Behind him the prime is groaning, grunting as he thrusts and stokes, fingering against ridged cerise tip as he falls into a rhythm. “Uhhn,” slips from him, a groan of name reverberating through his chest as he slides at clenching walls. “Fuck.” Thrusts press against Stalker’s hips, hand clutching and kneading restrained as their hips move forward – Stalker nearly standing with his hips turned back into the thrusts. The prime buries his face into his partner’s nape, groaning, near whining as thrusts draw hard into unrestrained bucks; erratic slaps filling the empty air around them and melds with their groans and grunts.
The prime holds fast around his partner’s base as he forces himself to slow down, fingers dipping down past a clasping clit for slick to spread. He nips against Stalker’s neck, whispering praising and name against the ridged helm of his life partner. Stalker presses back, answering in the same, a response met with kissing tentacles as fingers scoop. The hand once at Stalker’s chest balls on the short wall, holding outside Stalker’s grasp as he pushes himself deep.
A trembling groan leaves the prime as he falters into bucks, Stalker curling an arm back over the prime’s helm to keep him there as he clenches around the erection perking inside him. “Should-hng let me have top, next time,” Stalker breathes, “ah, fuck, harder,” whimpers through. In the prime’s hands his member twitches in tandem with vulva clenches, groaning loud between free dripping whines and whimper.
Against Stalker’s neck the prime groans, tentacle tongues barely kissing as they near their peaks. “That, I wouldn’t mind,” he breathes, “having you inside me.” Soon the prime’s façade shatters, mumbling against Stalker’s nape as he slams inside, hand gripping around the twitching cerise that is his partner’s erection.
“Oh, fuck,” Stalker whimpers, his words turning to mush, breaking between huffed gasps and whimpers as cream draws him up against his peak. “Ah fuck.” Purrs of names teeters him, brought close but pumping fist and filling thrusts inside him. Each buck presses against his G, clit brought to throbbing, member aching inside pumping fist. He kneads his clit beneath the cream hand, hips rocking, a coil throbbing inside his groin. He whimpers, breathing halts, the prime purring his name and groans at skin. Inside the hearty slams around his erection he bucks against the pumps, head held back against the prime and dripping needing end. And it hits.
Behind him, the prime is barely containing himself from his own.
So tantalizingly close; only a few deep bucks and a deep roll away. In front of him his name is cried out as he draws Stalker to finish, nearly breaking his restraint. He only has so long to savor the sounds dripping from his partner’s orgasm, barely holding himself back as viscous drips over his digits. A sticky cream hand clutches against dark hip, his clean hand mirroring for a second before crawling up Stalker’s chest once more. His bucks push Stalker against the wall as he groans, grunts rumbling through his chest as he thrusts inside quivering hips. The prime holds Stalker close as he draws into his finish; messy hand reaching back to a once aching erection, fingers spread and pressing Stalker against him. He huffs, grunts, whimpers name against skin with each eager spurt inside clenching walls.
Stalker, still coming down from his own, holds the prime’s clutching hand at his chest, stilling himself as viscous spreads among his walls. Their bodies quiver as lingering orgasm forces them still, trembling against each other as their sensations twitch against and within. The prime holds himself buried against Stalker’s shoulder, still perked inside.
Air huffs through their open vents, the prime’s maw ajar as he pants and his voice trembles. Stalker can barely hear it through his own breathing, holding himself fixed against the partition as he stares over the open aboriform hall.
They remain still as they finally start to come down, the prime curling Stalker into a penetrated embrace, kissing over nape and neck. Stalker shifts, feeling the awkward prodding inside him. It takes a second, but the prime’s fuzzy thoughts catch up; a hand pressing him out of warm cerise. “There we go,” Stalker sighs, head leaning back against the prime’s. “That was great,” he breathes, nuzzling against the prime’s helm as again he’s pushed against the bordering wall – just not as awkwardly.
“Mhm,” the gilded excalibur breathes, burying his helm against a dark neck. “Think it’s time to get some sleep. That was exhausting,” he presses against Stalker’s neck.
“What about our mess,” Stalker sneers, rubbing his behind against the prime’s crotch, drips seeping from his own.
“Eh,” the prime sighs, pulling Stalker backwards a slight. “Should take care of itself. I think.”
“You think?” comes with a snort, Stalker pushing the prime back to turn around. “What makes you think that?”
The prime embraces Stalker again, their withdrawing parts pressing. “Always seem to resolve itself, guess it just… evaporates.”
“Well, ain’t that just convenient.” Stalker rumbles, pressing his crown against gilded crest. “Alright, then I guess it’s off to bed with the both of us then.”
“Yeah,” sighs the prime, guiding them back towards the room he was investigating earlier. “Maybe, next time I’ll let you be on top.”
“Maybe?” Stalker purrs, pulling the blanket from the cushioned bench. “Maybe I’ll just take the top from you.”
A grin cuts through the prime’s maw. “I’d love to see you try,” and he wraps Stalker in the blanket.
