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Untitled Quilava Lemon	By : sandlava Category: Pokemon > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 5127 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Don't own Pokemon, Quilava, or any registered trademarks of The Pokemon Company; am not writing for profit, yada yada

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
Turk stared at the ceiling.

It was intricate - patterns of plaster swirled round each other like racing streams, and images formed in his tired minds as the peaks and valleys intermingled in his imagination, forming names and faces, places and scenes...

Oof-!

He jolted upright, a massive weight suddenly landing on the other side of the bed. A flash of blue and gold- and, suddenly, those red irises were looking at him once more.

The Quilava’s golden forepaws straddled his right thigh, and its body was low, as if the creature was hugging his leg to its chest. There was something about his posture; not possession, nothing threatening... but, as if secretive, the Quilava was hiding something from his sight.

“H-hey,” he began, tentatively. “S’alright...”

Why did I say that-?

The Quilava’s stare was something new. Ferocity, perhaps, but no malice. Desire- ? Desire for what?

Maybe it just wants better company. Kyogre knows I’ve been talking too long.

A moment of indecision. Emotions he couldn’t place rolled within him, strange feelings he didn’t understand writhed in his chest, and he couldn't help it, control it... and he was fine with it. The paws against his leg held a substantial weight, and the Quilava was easily half his size, but the contact – a contact he hadn't felt in a long, long time - something about it; he couldn’t stop himself. Slowly, he leaned in towards the creature, reaching out with a hand...

Suddenly, the Quilava stirred. It blinked, stepping forward, meeting his outstretched arm and, with a warm, welcome pressure, began to brush the soft fur of its cheek against his palm.

The Trainer held back a gasp, his throat catching on the sound - from hostility, to this-! The Pokémon was a power to be reckoned with - its red eyes a testament to the depth of its own limitless strength. Yet, here and now, it was letting him experience the warmth its friendship could provide, the shimmering down of its fur playing through the gaps of his fingers, an ear flitting as he passed his palm over it...

Those deep, red eyes... staring right back at his. They held his stare, twinned, even as the bed shifted beneath him, and the Quilava moved - paw after paw, it drew closer to him, straddling his leg slowly, almost defensively... the sense of secrecy overshadowed by a strange, animalistic desire.

Turk felt something tug within him. Something animal, something deep within him, wanted to share in that desire.

He leant back as the ‘mon drew closer, until, finally, two paws lay on the middle of his chest, the Quilava looking at him, the intense stare matching his own gaze back, an intensity he couldn’t hope to compare with.

He’s beautif--

He caught his thoughts, suddenly, scratching them, trying to correct them. He hadn’t thought that thought. No way.

The Quilava leant on him, mounting his chest. Its weight was an assurance; he was reminded, suddenly, of all the muscle that lay beneath its fur, of all the power that a trainer could use...

Now, its face was right above his. Its forepaws pressed down against his shoulders, like something roughly playful; its hind legs sat at his hips, pressing down against his softer lower chest. The trainer was dimly aware that he was, in a way, trapped... the Quilava, if it wanted, could rip his neck open here and now... but, the notion was drowned out as thoughts rushed through his mind - the Quilava was on him, its eyes looking still at his face, a mischievous glint hiding in their depths, and the beauty of its golden fur running from the base of its maw, down its slim neck to its chest, down still further, running to its...

It’s male.

The trainer’s mind was numb, frozen. A single thought pumped in his head, screaming at him, overriding his ability to move. The Quilava’s secrecy. Its desire. The squeak of Marc, minutes, hours - years ago.

Beneath the Quilava’s furred chest, a slip of pink protuded from a furred bump between the pair of its hind legs; a musk, on the edge of sensual, undoubtedly male, suffused his senses, a smell that he’d smelled before, a long, long time ago...

And, he couldn’t deny the realisation... once more, as long ago, there was an uncomfortable pressure in his own jeans.

He stared. The room was heated, oppressive; or maybe he was just suddenly hotter than he’d ever been. And he couldn’t help but notice, with a fiercely rising arousal, the Quilava’s size, one that was still growing, even as he watched with wide eyes, and with a mouth that was suddenly dry...

“No,” he said aloud, quietly, nearly silently. A ghost of a whisper.

Yes- said his thoughts.

“I -- I’m not...”

He’s beautiful..

Lost, he looked up at the Quilava, up at its crimson eyes, eyes with a dangerous beauty.

Fuck, I am...

The Quilava leaned in towards the Trainer, its maw hovering just tantalising millimetres from the human’s face. Fur hung above flesh, irresistible... a heat filled the air, and Turk felt a bead of sweat slip down the side of his face, rolling down to his cheek...

A final whisper-

“No...”

I want this. The thought was impossible to escape. His body knew it. He knew it. And, with a sense of finality, as the Quilava’s maw descended to his own lips, he tilted his head to meet it.

The Pokémon’s maw was warm against his lips; the subtle taste of fine spice played on his senses, and he couldn’t resist- his lips parted as the creature’s did, allowing the Quilava’s tongue to slip inside him, toying with his own, investigating his mouth with a tongue like no human he’d ever been with - its slick, roughened texture enticing his own, the painful throb of his hardened manhood pushing against his jeans...

It felt like nothing he’d felt before; the Quilava’s longer, thinner tongue sliding against his own; slipping over and around his tongue with a domineering intimacy. Thoughts raged in his head - the taboos he was breaking, the trusts he was holding- they didn’t matter. Swept aside, they were meaningless, and the moment took hold.

Only one thought lasted in his mind. Twenty-two years old, he’d seen something incredible. He hadn’t been disgusted, he now realized.

He’d been jealous.

With a final, dexterous flick of its tongue against his own, the Quilava slowly broke away; its maw again hovering once more just above his own lips.

Shit...

It was hot. The room was hot. Or he was hot. He couldn’t tell. Fuck... He had to cool off, somehow... but there really was only one way. His hands trembled as he hooked them under his shirt- the plain fabric easily sliding up his smooth, moderately toned chest - the Quilava easily adjusting its balance, as he pulled it off over his head, chucking it somewhere - anywhere - into the room.

He was panting, he realised. Or out of breath. Or just.. excited. Something, like an energy, pulsed through him; he was more alive than he’d been in a while. A wife who didn’t care about him; a job that he had to struggle through. Fuck that.

Right now, he didn’t care about any of it. All he wanted was to stare back at those crimson depths above him; the eyes of the creature that so predatorially now sat atop him, a mischievous glint shining from the pair, soft hindpaws padding at his chest...

Something was about to happen, he realised. The Quil had something in mind...something it wanted from him. It seemed to preen, looking up from him, beyond him; stretching, almost... as if to show off. Or taunt, perhaps, the man beneath him.

The weight suddenly let his shoulders, as the Quilava leaned forward. It stepped over him; slipping its warm, golden fur across his face. And, suddenly, he knew what was happening; a spark flared through his chest, an apprehension that flooded though him suddenly denied by the desire of the moment. The Quilava’s back legs now straddled his neck, and its forepaws, he knew from the creaking of the mattress, were just behind his head.

It didn’t take much to know what was going on.

Suddenly, it happened. The Quilava’s legs lowered around him; his face was straddled, fur playing first against his forehead and settling quickly across him until suddenly something new rested against his lips, the tip of something warm settling against him. The contact effected a new shiver of anticipation; this was what he had wanted, he knew it - there was nothing more or less; fuck!

It pressed against him, like something insistent, asking for permission. But there was no misgivings; he knew what he wanted. Twenty-two years old...

He parted his lips once more, slowly opening them around the length pushing against him. Faintly, he registered a rumble in the fur above him; like a pleasurable mewl, constrained for composure- the warm length slipped inside him, naturally slick, quickly pushing into his mouth, sliding against his lips.

It was a new sensation. The member throbbed pleasantly inside his mouth, its at once alien but welcome texture slipping against his own slick tongue, leaving a foreign taste of forbidden spice; it felt wide against his lips, and already he knew he was taking on a challenge. But, fuck, did he want this.

He opened his mouth wider. He wanted it all. He wanted the whole thing; the Quilava obliged, sliding, with a push, what felt like the final stretch of an ungodly length into the depths of his waiting mouth. It pushed against the back of his throat; he tried, successfully, to hold back his reflex.

Kyogre, it’s huge -!

He heard it this time, a squeal from above him. Despite the creature’s confidence, he knew he could do this; he could make it beg from him as much as it could make him could beg from it.

He might have smirked, had his mouth been free.

He was new to this. But he knew enough... slowly, he began to explore the Quilava’s slick, hot length with his tongue, gliding his own slick muscle against his partner’s, tasting its exotic musk with a feeling of renewed vigour. He felt the creature shudder pleasantly against him; a response that meant everything...

He toyed with the creature’s sensitivity, pressing and sliding, his own pleasure stemming from the responses of the ‘mon; now suckling lightly against its flesh, seeking out with experimentation the best way he could find to get the creature above to react-

Suddenly, it did.

“Quil-!” it squealed. It shuddered against him, fluff and flesh pressed softly against his face for a moment. It seemed to contact around him; suddenly, two paws pressed against the crest of his head.

It’s hugging my face-

He didn’t have time to think as the Quilava slipped slightly out of him, leaving his mouth feeling uncomfortably void in comparison. There was a heartbeat of respite.

Suddenly, it thrust back into him, a powerful stroke that pushed the length into the back of his mouth again. He gagged lightly, stifling a jerk that passed through his body; the warm length slipping back out again as quickly as it had arrived, before pressing into him again- it pushed against his lips, over his tongue; a spark of feeling that nearly amounted to pain, but wasn’t far from pleasure, flooding through him with each thrust of the Quilava against him.

It forced into his mouth, again, and again; the fur against his face sliding up and across his bared skin, and the paws against his skull forcing him lightly up into the pressure of the push, before slamming the warm, sensitive member down him and against him once more... over, and over, it seemed to slide into him, the creatures length forcing itself down against his lips and into the back of his mouth, driving with a force that was at once amazing, and intimidating...

The Trainer could only submit to the Quilava’s pounding into him. There was some dimly registering morale, trying desperately to get him to stop, hold, anything; but it was drowned, overcome by an intense pleasure, feeling only the moment, the animalistic jerks and thrusts of the golden-furred critter hugging his face and driving that hot length down against his lips to thrust into his mouth again and again- It was incredible to feel the fur against his flesh, the heat of the room; the feeling of filling matched only by the satisfaction of hearing the Quilava above him, its pulse racing through its fur, the paws against the crest of its skull forcing a pressure that ebbed and peaked as it mewled with each forceful push down into him...

There were paws tight against the back of his head, two hinds pushing down at his neck, warm, yellow fur smothering his field of vision and, again, and again, that hot length driving down into his mouth, roughly spreading his lips apart with each driving thrust of the creature above him - an unbelievable heat suffusing the air as, with a sudden burst of realisation, he noticed the white walls of the room brightening around him...

“Qui- -iil-!”

His eyes widened suddenly as he tried to gasp, the heated, stiff, and throbbing arousal slamming down inside him - he could feel that hot, thin tip, almost right inside his throat! - a last, powerful, jerky thrust that left the Quilava’s huge prize buried inside his mouth, its warm, firm shaft slipping against his tongue, against his lips-

Fuck-!

- and, with a sudden throb of the hot member, warm, liquid seed spurted from its tip; splashing against the back of his mouth, his tongue, throb after throb - firing again, and again, loosing an intense heat inside him, and sliding down the back of his throat... coating his insides, with an incredible, musky flavour...

Slowly, slowly, the liquid spurts began to peter out, and as his own awareness returned from the flood of sensation, he could hear the exhausted pantings of the Quilava above him. Light seemed to flit erratically around the room, as if the creature’s flares were low and dim, waving- and all he could smell was an incredible sense of... of satisfaction, of victory...

He slipped his tongue against the Quilava’s length, still so deep inside him... eliciting a pleasant shudder from the creature - accompanied by a quiet, gasped, shaky Q-quilll... - letting the flavour that had flooded him swill against his tongue; just enjoying that final moment...

Still, he couldn’t hold the creature inside him forever... as much, as he’d begun to realise, he wanted to. Twenty-two years of age, he’d seen this - damn, why hadn’t he tried this sooner-?

He slipped his arms upwards, wrapping them around the Quilava’s soft belly to, slowly, hoist him from his face. As if resigned, the paws fell away from his face without a struggle, and as he sat up to face the three-foot creature - admiring, with a slight twinge of dark humour, what was left of the length he’d managed to take inside him...

It tilted his head at him, the flares on its head low and dim, as his gaze swept up the golden-furred chest of the Quilava, finally meeting that gaze once more. Crimson eyes... he swallowed, finally, feeling that warmth, that flavour slide down inside him...

Holding the three-foot Quilava in his arms, staring at those eyes, made him realise suddenly - everything he’d done today, the day before, he’d never have even thought about. It was ridiculous. Hell, it was laughable. It was...

“Heh...”

pretty damn funny, actually.

He chuckled, quiet laughter rolling in his chest, as he leant over, placing the Quil on the floor. It turned to face him as he stood up, head still tilted, as if curious to watch him.

He couldn’t help but chuckle a little louder at its expression.

Crazy, crazy male-male. But god damn, the man was a good ride!

Hell, he’d be happy to see that guy again. Mmf... the tingling afterwards-feelings were still spreading through his body. Like little pikachu-strikes running through him... mm, it felt great... and he was so deliciously exhausted, too...

With an absent gaze, he noticed the strange man was by the table, now, collecting one of the soft colour-pattern-fabric pieces all humans seemed to use to cover themselves before they had their fun with him. And he was making all these noises, too! Like soft... soft ‘laughter’, they called it.

He always wondered why they put that fabric over their bodies. It seemed so strange to wear those things outside but not inside.... or maybe, they were just trying to make up for all the fur they didn’t have.

He preened, stretching himself out, admiring the way his blue and golden fur rippled along his body... watching, with more than a little feeling of superiority, as the man slipped that strange fabric they wore back over his head, to cover that warm chest he’d been so close to.

Words, muffled under the ‘shirt’, reached him, and he tried to make sense of them.

“Don’t happen to know how I call up those old guys, do ya’, little guy?”

Little-! He wasn’t little, dammit!

Turk watched and chuckled once more, as the Quilava eyes seemed to flash with indignation. Tired as he might be, there was still humour in the situation... there was a stiffness in his trousers he was uncomfortably aware of, and, frankly, he already had ideas on how to deal with it.

Technically illegal...

I don’t care how much you cost, buddy.

But I’m taking you home with me.

---

Thanks for reading! I'd really appreciate some comments; I'm looking to keep writing, and I'd like to know what I can add, or improve, and what worked well.
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Untitled Quilava Lemon