parallaxparilis | 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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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.

The ongoing adventures of Blonsky/Chris: Part 4

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