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guide_beregond[Continues from where we left Beregond and Smith - with Smith convincing Beregond to stay with him. NC17 with non-con overtones. Eeek.]
You might think that Beregond would be happy - from the day he'd met Smith, he'd fantasized of a night just like this. And now he had it - Smith, not a cloned imitation, but the real thing begging him to stay, completely willing in body and mind.
Beregond was appalled as he began to realize his true feelings. The Smith that tugged at his hand now, pulling him down close to curl around him, covering his neck with kisses, this was not the Smith that compelled him. Beregond finally admitted to himself that the attraction lay in the unattainablilty. Beregond had always known beyond the shred of hope that he could never win Smith. Yet... in spite of the facts, he had won him. Not by any great deeds or seductive words, but through a virus Smith had caught.
In other words, Smith was sick enough to want him now.
It wasn't Smith that crawled atop him, pinning him to the floor, growling low and pressing hard flesh against his own. It was the virus that wanted him. Beregond grimaced at his own flesh's weakness. His mind resisted, but his body arced up, meeting Smith's own. His hands were quickly pulled up over his head, held firm in one insistent grip, while elsewhere he felt his pants being loosened, material shoved aside, fingers slipping in and around his erection.
Beregond cried out Smith's name as he was stroked to the point of madness, the man's libido taking control. The program was devious, this was a fact. He could now let go his grip on Beregond's wrists knowing he would not run, not without completing what had been started.
His pants were pulled further down, then off. He thought he heard them slap against a wall, and maybe they did, but it was hard to think more on this when lips were sliding over the head of his cock and swiftly down his length, taking him in to a depth that made his ears roar. Dizzy with need, Beregond's fingers found Smith's hair, clutching wildly, urging him on.
When Beregond came, he could not make a sound - so intense was his release, taken from him by insistent lips and tongue. It was not a release given, it was taken from him. Smith allowed no choice in the matter.
And it would seem he was not finished. As Beregond gulped for breath, Smith slid away from him, rising to drop his own confining clothing. Beregond squirmed to prop himself up on his elbows, meaning to rise and end this madness, but that would not be allowed. Smith meant to make Beregond completely his. As he slicked himself with an oil he'd found in Beregond's own coat, the man held out a hand, and breathed one word. "Stop".
"Stop? Every look you have given me since we met has said 'don't stop'. Beregond, be rational. You want me. Now you have me. Is it really that difficult for you to comprehend? Let me explain it to you in terms you might understand. You're mine now. You took the clone, and we both know you pretended it was me. Now, you don't have to pretend. And it's your turn to be taken. Kneel, my love."
Beregond listened in disbelief, his body screaming 'yes' when faced with Smith's lust, but his mind countered with a stream of logic. The irony did not elude him. He stood, moved quickly towards where his pants had been thrown and grabbed them from the floor.
He'd forgotten how quick Smith could be when needed. Beregond’s face was against the wall now, Smith behind him, chuckling, knee nudging his legs apart. "Is this what humans call foreplay, Beregond? There's no reason to run from me! I'm the one you love. I'm who you want. This is what you want. I love you too much not to give you what you need."
There was no subtlety in the thrust that drove Smith deep into him. Beregond clutched at the wall, his hands scrambling to brace himself. And as Smith pulled back for another hard stroke, Beregond's hips matched his movements. He gave in, and let his body take what his mind rejected.
"Mine. You're mine now." The words filled Beregond's mind even as Smith's cock filled him with a hard, hot release. Beregond knew that nothing could ever be the same now. Life had gone from simple infatuation to something infinitely more complex. He no longer knew the way back.
You might think that Beregond would be happy - from the day he'd met Smith, he'd fantasized of a night just like this. And now he had it - Smith, not a cloned imitation, but the real thing begging him to stay, completely willing in body and mind.
Beregond was appalled as he began to realize his true feelings. The Smith that tugged at his hand now, pulling him down close to curl around him, covering his neck with kisses, this was not the Smith that compelled him. Beregond finally admitted to himself that the attraction lay in the unattainablilty. Beregond had always known beyond the shred of hope that he could never win Smith. Yet... in spite of the facts, he had won him. Not by any great deeds or seductive words, but through a virus Smith had caught.
In other words, Smith was sick enough to want him now.
It wasn't Smith that crawled atop him, pinning him to the floor, growling low and pressing hard flesh against his own. It was the virus that wanted him. Beregond grimaced at his own flesh's weakness. His mind resisted, but his body arced up, meeting Smith's own. His hands were quickly pulled up over his head, held firm in one insistent grip, while elsewhere he felt his pants being loosened, material shoved aside, fingers slipping in and around his erection.
Beregond cried out Smith's name as he was stroked to the point of madness, the man's libido taking control. The program was devious, this was a fact. He could now let go his grip on Beregond's wrists knowing he would not run, not without completing what had been started.
His pants were pulled further down, then off. He thought he heard them slap against a wall, and maybe they did, but it was hard to think more on this when lips were sliding over the head of his cock and swiftly down his length, taking him in to a depth that made his ears roar. Dizzy with need, Beregond's fingers found Smith's hair, clutching wildly, urging him on.
When Beregond came, he could not make a sound - so intense was his release, taken from him by insistent lips and tongue. It was not a release given, it was taken from him. Smith allowed no choice in the matter.
And it would seem he was not finished. As Beregond gulped for breath, Smith slid away from him, rising to drop his own confining clothing. Beregond squirmed to prop himself up on his elbows, meaning to rise and end this madness, but that would not be allowed. Smith meant to make Beregond completely his. As he slicked himself with an oil he'd found in Beregond's own coat, the man held out a hand, and breathed one word. "Stop".
"Stop? Every look you have given me since we met has said 'don't stop'. Beregond, be rational. You want me. Now you have me. Is it really that difficult for you to comprehend? Let me explain it to you in terms you might understand. You're mine now. You took the clone, and we both know you pretended it was me. Now, you don't have to pretend. And it's your turn to be taken. Kneel, my love."
Beregond listened in disbelief, his body screaming 'yes' when faced with Smith's lust, but his mind countered with a stream of logic. The irony did not elude him. He stood, moved quickly towards where his pants had been thrown and grabbed them from the floor.
He'd forgotten how quick Smith could be when needed. Beregond’s face was against the wall now, Smith behind him, chuckling, knee nudging his legs apart. "Is this what humans call foreplay, Beregond? There's no reason to run from me! I'm the one you love. I'm who you want. This is what you want. I love you too much not to give you what you need."
There was no subtlety in the thrust that drove Smith deep into him. Beregond clutched at the wall, his hands scrambling to brace himself. And as Smith pulled back for another hard stroke, Beregond's hips matched his movements. He gave in, and let his body take what his mind rejected.
"Mine. You're mine now." The words filled Beregond's mind even as Smith's cock filled him with a hard, hot release. Beregond knew that nothing could ever be the same now. Life had gone from simple infatuation to something infinitely more complex. He no longer knew the way back.
