parallaxparilis | The ongoing adventures of Blonsky/Chris: Part 4

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The ongoing adventures of Blonsky/Chris: Part 4

The ride remained uneventful at normal speeds, the road stretched on too long, and he came as close to their limit as possible before a motel billboard appeared declaring it was just a few miles ahead, next right. As much as he wanted to drive on through the night he knew it simply was not possible. Gas shortage due to earlier activities for one thing; the need to ditch the stolen car being another.

He made a snap decision and turned in to the motel's lot. It was late evening, not yet eight according to the radio, and he figured they could get a few hours rest before leaving at dawn.

"You're going in." He stated flatly, without looking towards Chris, as he parked the furthest away from the office's main doors. "Just get a room, no frills, the cheapest. Don't draw attention to yourself." A pointed glare for this last statement. For someone like Chris he knew this was almost an impossibility.

With the car stopped, he reached behind Chris for the bag full of the genius's collected junk. In the side pocket was the one thing he knew they'd packed, as he had put it there himself: a wallet discovered in that broken down home they'd stayed in. Two neatly folded twenties were handed to Chris, with the rest of the wallet disappearing into Blonsky's back pocket. If he hadn't tracked Banner for so long, he might've been tempted to use the credit cards.

"Seems simple enough, right? Out you go."

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He went with the subtle direction, moved closer, allowing Chris to reach all he dared to touch. There was a breathy moan against his lips when he finally obeyed. Those almost desperate, and certainly clumsy, hands would find him already hard, needy but not yet out of control.

Chris's movements practically screamed his inexperience for the entire motel, but that wasn't good enough. Blonsky released his wrist and at the same time moved easily between those inviting legs and pressed himself down against him. Only the thin material of Chris's boxers kept them from completely touching. Just how he wanted it.

"You will answer me, Chris." An insistent thrust against him to emphasize his point.

Chris groaned in response, both hands reaching for Blonsky's back and clawing at the sensitive skin along the soldier's spine as he tried desperately to pull him closer, hips grinding up in an involuntary stutter against the heat of Blonsky's erection through the threadbare material between them. Nowhere near enough to satisfy, it left him wanting; wanting to be touched the way he'd been kissed, leaving no room for argument. The intensity of that desire sent a shiver through him, tension having once again found its way into every line of his body.

"No," he managed at long last, the admission revealing far more than its words alone, "I haven't."

He half-growled, half-moaned and surged forward, practically fucking Chris through his boxers, but forced himself to slow down. He set his free hand on Chris's knee, inching it slowly closer to the heated center. But he held back until after the reply. After, he captured Chris's lips again in a kiss that demanded everything, least of all submission.

At the same time he nearly tore the flimsy waistband as he shoved it away, and soon gripped their erections together in his strong grasp, rubbing and moving and working his fingers over them both. Once again the kiss lasted past the point of needing air before it ended.

The force of Blonsky's kiss was all that kept Chris from crying out, a guttural moan smothered by teeth and tongue with an intensity that claimed him, owned him completely. It left him lightheaded; practically sobbing for breath when at last they parted.

The rest of the sensations didn't stop with the return of oxygen, however, and he could only thrust helplessly, desperately into the soldier's firm hand. His fingers drawing red lines with the path of his nails across Blonsky's back, fading almost as quickly as they could be made, Chris groaned, his head falling back so that he wasn't looking at the other when at last he found his voice--ravaged though it was--to speak: "Blonsk-- Blon... Fuck," syllables just weren't cutting it, "fuck me, please-- Just..."

His own rough sounds of pleasure escaped him as the harsh scratching continued. The white-hot flare of pain lingered even as the healing took over.

He watched Chris, savoring the sight of him so completely undone beneath him, at the razor's edge of desperation and need. There were no limits, and he could do anything he wanted to him. What Blonsky did was grab a fistful of his hair, and force Chris to look at him.

"No." He replied. His voice was steady despite his breathy moans, and how close he was getting. His hand movements increased, intent on putting them both over that edge at the same time.

The harsh pull of Blonsky's fingers through his hair forced Chris's scattered senses into focus, making certain that when the reply came it was at the very epicenter of his universe: No.

No. Something in him sheered in two; even at wit's end he'd felt certain this was something it would only take so much provocation for Blonsky to do-- to take, to have. It curled his toes, drained the tension out of his very bones, until his arms were draped loosely around the soldier's neck and shoulders, reticent and yielding in place of his earlier brash tenacity, all at once the picture of inexperience he'd railed against.

It took a few false starts--breathless, bitten off sounds of mounting pleasure, almost in spite of himself--before Chris could find his voice again, as vulnerable under Blonsky's piercing gaze as under his weathered hands: "Why?"

Edited 2013-01-17 07:55 (UTC)

This close and still wanting to know why, wanting an explanation for everything. That youthful innocence betrays him. If only Chris knew how Blonsky so badly wanted to flip him over and fuck him into the matress, into a blackout where the kid couldn't remember his own name...

A variety of responses come to mind, all with the same meaning, though some more eloquent than others. He uses none of them. What he whispers in Chris's ear, firm and commanding, is a simple sentence in Russian. Its meaning isn't permitted time to discover.

He kisses him, surprisingly gentle this time, while his eyes were everything but. There's an almost punishing, teasing thrust of his hips against him, and his hand was just as merciless.

The curt whisper of Russian, hot and intimate against his ear, sent a shiver through him, stealing what remained of Chris's breath before he could put a voice to further question or protest. The kiss he clung to like a drowning man would salvation, finally--finally--giving back, slow and tender and still so wanting, a perfect contrast to the rest of Blonsky's established demanding pace.

When at last he came undone, it was with a breathless murmur into that kiss, cut short by a hitching gasp as his arms pulled tighter around Blonsky's shoulders, knees pressed against the soldier's waist in a desperate, involuntary bid to bring him closer still.

He held off until Chris came before joining him, softly moaning against his lips. Their fluids mix and pool together on the smooth stomach. Blonsky's hand falls to the bed, while his other moves to Chris's back, both to support him and press them closer together, sharing heartbeats, breath, easing down from the rush of hormones. Neither will be ready for another go tonight, nor would he want to. But that doesn't stop him from languidly moving his hips against the other, teasing the heated and sensitive skin there.

"We really should get some sleep, you know." He still hadn't moved out of his double embrace.

Chris gave a tired sound that was nearly a whimper in response to the other man's continued teasing of overstimulated flesh, his hands falling from Blonsky's shoulders like dead weight back onto the mattress. He felt boneless, moldable.

His eyes were still dark with arousal, quick mind rendered muzzy with post-orgasmic fog. What he needed to do was get up, clean himself off; he made it as far as hooking an ankle around Blonsky's leg, murmuring sleepily.

The teasing tapered off until he was just holding the exhausted, pliant young man. He lowered him onto the mattress and slowly moved his hand out from beneath him. Clearly clean-up duty was left to him. He eased away and off, long enough to locate some tissues. The chore was managed with quick, gentle efficiency, then he was back by his companion's side. Blonsky's hand wormed its way back to its previous location, just resting there between Chris's shoulder blades, his thumb massaging him absently.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep.

Slinging an ankle across Blosnky's leg the moment he was once more within reach, Chris curled against the soldier's side, nestling against him as though he intended to fold himself completely into that strong, warm body. The pillow that would have originally served this purpose was left entirely forgotten, far inferior to this new arrangement.

He murmured something else into Blonsky's chest, a whisper of breath rendered unintelligible by fatigue and proximity-- and slept.

Blonsky awoke with a start. Soldiers, he could hear five of them, perhaps more on the way. He held Chris closer to him, instantly protective, his arm tight around his shoulders.

They walked right past their room to the main office. Even around the corner, it was still only six doors down. He shook Chris, first lightly, then more insistently, to rouse him from sleep.

"Soldiers outside," he said, quiet and tense, once the other showed any semblance of being conscious.

Being something of a deep sleeper, it took several moments for Chris to process a thought much beyond that he'd been warm and comfortable and that burrowing more snugly against Blonsky's side was just about the best idea in the world. Blonsky's tone forced him to furrow his brows in unease before opening his eyes, blinking into wakefulness.

Soldiers--? Oh. Right.

He yawned, dragging a hand through his wild hair and attempting to force his sluggish thoughts back into some semblance of order. "Nobody's seen you," he stated, establishing a point from which to work from, though it would take a few extra seconds before he found his way over to 'how did they get here?'

"It won't matter if they check the rooms, will it?" He moved off the bed quickly, hand lingering on Chris's back as long as it could, then strode quickly to their heap of clothes.

His shirt was picked, considered, then stuffed it into the bag. Shoes and socks too. Chris's scattered items were tossed over to him.

"Got to get out of here." But, how was the question. Hotwire another car? That was the plan before, but now time wasn't in their favor. He peeked out between the blinds, but that didn't offer much assistance. "If you've got any ideas beyond the direct approach, I'd like to hear 'em."

Chris pulled on his shirt before moving off of the bed, pants tossed over one shoulder while he straightened his boxers, looking off into middle distance as his mind began to catch up.

"So I tell them I haven't seen anyth--" He paused in the motion of rubbing a sore spot where neck met shoulder, realizing abruptly that there were almost assuredly bruises beneath his fingertips. Whether they jumped immediately to the conclusion that he was harboring a fugitive or not, denying that he'd been with someone would definitely raise numerous unanswerable questions. He didn't just look like a morning after, he looked like the morning after a hurricane.

When he snapped out of his ruminations, it was apparent that Chris was finally running at 100% again. He pulled on his pants, stepping purposefully over to the window and giving the view through the blinds a cursory glance before pulling them out of the way and throwing the window open wide. "Can you keep them inside?" he asked, leaning out of the open window to survey the nearby parking lot. Without being seen came implied.

Emil shoved Chris away from the window immediately after he finished speaking. He gave him a look over his shoulder, 'Really? Are you that dense?' before he simply listened. They were still by the main office. Good.

"They see me, they won't see anything ever again." Said immediately, low and dangerously. He took a deep breath, flexed his shoulders and neck. PROTECTFIGHTDESTROYKILL repeated over and over in his head and he couldn't tell anymore if it was his voice or Abomination's.

Was there any difference?

"I can handle them just fine, Chris, don't worry." Much too calmly, with an eagerness beneath that, barely in check.

Chris blinked back at him, an undercurrent of worry clear to see in his expression before he reigned it in, back on task. "Okay," he conceded, glancing back at the window before quickly moving to grab their bag of supplies and putting it through to the ground outside.

"Make sure they stay out of the parking lot." He hoisted himself through the open window frame as well, glancing back and hesitating only momentarily before picking up the bag and heading off beyond where the side of the building obscured the view from inside the room, not saying anything more.

"Yes, sir," Blonsky said, grinning, as he closed the window after Chris. He moved back to the door, pressed himself to the wall.

How he wanted to simply punch the door, race after them, rip some heads off. He could do it before Chris even reached their car.

But he didn't. He resisted. They had a plan, a very good one, and he would follow it. Besides, it would be far more challenging this way. Limited cover, a single room, the whole group together...

Blonsky took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. They were checking rooms now like good little toy soldiers. He could wait.

Meanwhile, Chris hurried over to the edge of the parking lot in search of where they'd left the car. He found it, much to his dismay, boxed in by two large military vehicles.

He slung his bag more securely over his shoulder before taking a deep breath of his own and making his approach. Even as it became apparent that one of the Humvees wasn't as empty as he might have liked, he walked up alongside it with calm, purposeful strides. The soldier who'd remained behind got out to intercept him before he could speak, but Chris talked over him anyway: "Hey, that's a real nice car you've got there," he showed his empty hands in a placating gesture, continuing uninterrupted, "You're just a little bit in the way, though. You might want to move it just an inch..."

"This your car?" the soldier demanded, gesturing to the stolen vehicle.

Chris looked at it as though he was only just then noticing its presence. "No," he answered. "I don't have a car. But that guy--"

"What guy?"

"I don't know, this guy. He got all bent out of shape about my bike being in the way--" As he explained, Chris reached into his bag, pulling out the bike pedaling mechanism he'd taken with him from the wreckage in Harlem. The soldier's eyes widened in response to the implication of the dismantled bike piece in combination with the young man's disheveled appearance, not waiting to hear the rest of Chris's story before he dashed off after his comrades, already in the building.

Chris glanced from the direction the man had gone to the two-way radio mounted inside of the Humvee. Well then.

The smart soldiers split up, wanting to get the work done faster. Two per room, the last to stand guard. By the third room, they were starting to let their guard down, bored of the task.

And Blonsky waited. Tranquil and perfectly still. The door opened, and the first guy popped his head in. Emil watched him until after he saw his eyes widen, recognition on his features, then he pulled him inside.

Guy 1 flew into the opposite wall, went down, fumbled for his comm. Blonsky was faster, reached it before he could, broke it in his hands. Crouched above him, got him in a choke hold, permitted him to shout for help. In the furthest corner, his victim struggling beneath him, he held on until the rest of the units had him surrounded.

"You all they sent?" He asked them with a wide grin. "Bet you don't even know what you're up against, do ya?"

Assault rifles. Tranquilizers or had they switched to live ammo yet?

"You stole military secrets, you've betrayed-"

"Save it." Blonsky snapped Guy 1's neck as easily as one would bat a fruit fly and stood up. "Borin' me already."

A flood of bullets then - so it was live after all - from all of them. They tried to fan out in the limited space, but couldn't. He was everywhere at once. Grabbing the gun from one, swinging it at abdomen, before bearing it down like a club on another's shoulder. He broke it, tossed it aside, went back to using his fists.

Blood poured from every new wound, seemed to linger with the orgy of bullets and dust. Something about the blood, something important, but he didn't stop to think. He was too busy having fun with this pinball dance between the remaining four.

A direct link to intercepting the communications of their pursuers was far too good a lucky break for Chris to pass up so easily; he threw his bag between the seats, climbing into the light tactical vehicle and allowing himself the briefest of moments to drum his fingers against the steering wheel. ...Radio. Right, that was a thing he was doing.

At first glance it appeared to be mounted into a bracket that was in turn bolted securely to the frame of the vehicle itself. Chris dug into his bag for the utility knife he'd picked up shortly before they'd first hit the highway, trying to work the radio out of its bracket. It held fast though, and then abruptly the muted sound of gunfire from inside the building cut his already limited time limit short.

Keys, maybe they'd left the-- he turned his attention back to the dash, where a convenient 'start' switch was conspicuously located. You had to love the military.

Out of bullets and all of the well-trained soldiers fearfully begin to reload. An amusing sight and Blonsky just watches. Fingers are slipping, hands are shaking, sweat dripping from their brow. It was glorious. Rookies, the entire lot of them. Probably thought they had an important job with this assignment. That it might make them into something. They were just canon fodder and nothing more.

His heart is beating too fast, and he can feel everything kicking into overdrive. The change is there, and he's tense, so close like an orgasm, and it would be so easy to become his other form. Tear everyone from limb to limb. Paint the room red, crimson droplets draining down from every surface, unknown chunks on the walls... and there in the center, he'd take Chris from behind, set a brutal pace, like the kid needs. Stain the perfect skin with blood, fingers grasping at his hips, leaving bruises, grabbing that necklace of his like a leash...

Blonsky moans, deep and low in his throat, ignoring the worried looks surrounding him. He looks out the window after him, so far away, yet he could drag him in by his hair when he's done here... There's a pause, a mental refocusing from primal to logical. Even as the rapid firestorm of new bullets pierce his flesh, and new wounds open and splatter everything (it was significant, he had to remember, but why?), Blonsky still did not move. Just stared through the medium frame.

Then like a bomb going off, everything happened in rapid succession. No more playing around with broken bones, now it was time to finish this off. It was remarkably easy. Snapped necks, nose shoved into the brain, a punched out heart, and a disinterested headshot. All done within minutes.

He leaped through the window in a shower of glass, rolled and landed in a crouch on the concrete. A few shards caught his eye and he stared, his reflection out of focus, and picked up a larger piece. It was held in his palm, and he squeezed, soon watching the blood flow down his arm. Starting to remember now why he should be worried about it.

Edited 2013-01-23 20:34 (UTC)

The Humvee's engine roared to life at Chris's behest, tearing out of park like an animal that wanted to run. He promptly backed into what had previously been their car, the behemoth of a vehicle wheeling into a 90 degree turn before he caught up with the position of the steering wheel. Chris didn't waste time worrying about it, though, simply wrenching the Humvee into drive and taking it off of the parking lot pavement, around the corner to the outside of the room they'd stayed in.

"Blonsky!" He called out over the idle of the engine, nearly tripping in his haste to get out of the driver's seat and reach his companion, quite understandably alarmed by the sight and state of him.

By the time his younger companion joined him, he'd stood up, and the blood had already dried on his skin. The glass was still held in his hand, now just grazing the skin. Its damage was done.

With his free hand he gripped Chris's neck and pulled him forcibly forward. He met him halfway with an intense kiss. It began with a growl and ended with pliant lips held by pointed teeth. Blonsky forced Chris to remain still even when his knees went weak and he started to lean into him. That's when he pushed him off, but still close enough to share breath.

"Got to burn it down." He said. Softly, the way another might say 'I want to fuck you against that wall'. It was an option not far from his mind. Blonsky licked his lips. "The blood. We can't leave any traces of it. Got a match?"

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The ongoing adventures of Blonsky/Chris: Part 4

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