Crossdressing To Survive An Apocalypse [BL]

Skyy cried out—a raw, startled sound—his nails digging into Chen’s shoulders as the head slipped past the tight ring of muscle. It burned, stretched, ached in a way that was somehow both terrible and perfect.

”Breathe,” Chen gritted out, holding himself still, sweat already beading on his forehead. ”Skyy, ’breathe’.”

Skyy sucked in a ragged breath. Then another.

”Okay,” he gasped. ”Okay, okay, keep—keep going.”

Chen pushed in further.

Inch by inch. Slow, so fucking slow, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. Skyy was hot and tight and wet with his own release, and every fraction of movement sent a bolt of pleasure straight up Chen’s spine.

”Halfway,” Chen managed. ”Skyy, you’re doing so good—”

Skyy’s eyes were wet. His cheeks were wet. He was crying—not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming fullness of it, from being split open on Chen’s cock, from finally, ’finally’ having him.

”More,” he whispered. ”Chen, more, please—”

Chen pushed the rest of the way in.

Bottomed out.

They both groaned—Chen’s low and guttural, Skyy’s high and shattered—and for a long moment neither of them could move. Chen’s hips were flush against Skyy’s ass, his cock buried to the root, and Skyy could feel every pulse, every throb, every inch of him stretching him open.

”You’re inside me,” Skyy said, dazed. ”You’re really inside me.”

”Fuck,” Chen exhaled, forehead dropping to Skyy’s. ”Fuck, Skyy, you feel—you feel like you were made for me.”

Skyy’s arms wound tight around Chen’s neck, holding on for dear life. His body was trembling all over, tiny shivers running through him like aftershocks, and Chen could feel every single one of them clenching around his cock.

”Move,” Skyy begged. ”Chen, please move, I can’t—I need—”

”Shh.” Chen kissed his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his tear-wet eye. ”Give it a second. Let your body get used to me.”

”I don’t ’want’ to get used to you,” Skyy said, and it came out petulant and desperate all at once. ”I want you to wreck me.”

Something snapped behind Chen’s eyes.

”Wreck you,” he repeated slowly. ”You want me to wreck you?”

Skyy nodded, quick and frantic, and Chen pulled back.

Almost all the way out—slow, dragging, letting Skyy feel every inch of the friction—until just the head was still inside him.

And then he slammed back in.

Skyy screamed.

The sound ricocheted off the concrete walls, sharp and high and utterly shameless, and Chen groaned like it had punched him in the gut.

”Again,” Skyy gasped. ”Do that again—”

Chen did it again.

And again.

And again.

The rhythm built fast—too fast, neither of them had any patience left—Chen’s hips snapping forward with hard, driving thrusts that punched little punched-out sounds from Skyy’s lungs every time he bottomed out.

The storage room filled with noise. The wet slap of skin on skin. The creak of the old wooden floor beneath them. Chen’s ragged breathing, hot against Skyy’s throat. Skyy’s voice—God, his voice—breaking apart into moans and whimpers and half-formed words that didn’t mean anything at all.

”Oh—oh—oh god—Chen—”

”Yeah?” Chen grunted, gripping Skyy’s hips hard enough to bruise, angling him up. ”That good?”

”So good—” Skyy’s head thrashed side to side. ”So good, so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Chen shifted his angle.

And hit something.

Skyy’s whole body jolted off the floor like he’d been electrocuted.

”’THERE’—” he shrieked. ”Right there, right there, do it again—”

Chen did it again. He did it again and again, aiming for that spot with brutal precision, watching Skyy come apart beneath him.

Skyy was a mess. Sweat-slicked and flushed, hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks wet with tears, mouth open and gasping. His cock was leaking against his belly again, untouched, smearing wetness between them.

His eyes were rolled back.

Chen thought he might actually lose his mind.

”Look at me,” he demanded, his voice wrecked. ”Skyy. ’Look’ at me.”

Skyy’s eyes dragged down, dazed and unfocused, and found Chen’s.

”Good,” Chen rasped. ”Stay looking at me. I want to see you when you come.”

”I can’t—” Skyy’s voice cracked. ”Chen, I can’t last, it’s too much—”

”Then don’t.” Chen drove in deep, grinding hard against that spot, staying there. ”Come for me. Come on my cock, Skyy, let me feel it—”

Skyy came.

He came with a scream—a broken, wet, whole-bodied scream—his back bowing off the floor, his nails raking down Chen’s shoulders, his whole body clenching and shuddering and wringing around Chen’s cock.

It was a tighter, wetter, messier orgasm than the first. His release splashed hot across his own stomach and Chen’s, and he kept crying out in little aftershocks, body pulsing, eyes streaming.

”Chen—Chen, I—”

”I know.” Chen’s hips stuttered, rhythm breaking apart. ”I know, I’m close—Skyy, fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—”

”Inside.” Skyy’s voice was barely a whisper, but it stopped Chen dead.

”What?”

”Inside me.” Skyy’s eyes were wet and wild. ”Come inside me. Please.”

Chen made a sound like a wounded animal.

He fucked in harder—short, brutal, grinding thrusts—his breath coming in harsh, animal pants against Skyy’s neck.

”Gonna—”

”’Yes’—”

And then he was coming.

He buried himself to the root and spilled, groaning low and long, his whole body shuddering over Skyy’s. Skyy could ’feel’ it—feel the hot pulse of him, the twitching of his cock, the way Chen ground down into him like he was trying to push every last drop as deep as it would go.

”Fuck,” Chen breathed. ”’Fuck’.”

He collapsed.

His weight came down on Skyy and pinned him to the floor, and Skyy didn’t even care. He wrapped his arms and legs around Chen and held him there, breathing in the scent of his sweat, feeling his heartbeat thundering against his own.

For a long, long time neither of them said anything.

The room was quiet except for their breathing—slowing, softening, settling into something human again.

Chen lifted his head.

Skyy’s face was a disaster. Tears and sweat and messy hair and flushed cheeks and the world’s most ridiculous, satisfied little smile.

Chen stared at him.

And then he laughed—a real laugh, hoarse and disbelieving.

”What?” Skyy mumbled, embarrassed.

”You’re smiling.”

”So?”

”So you just had sex for the first time on a dirty floor in a storage room while a wounded guy slept ten feet away, and you’re ’smiling’.”

Skyy’s face went red. ”Stop it.”

”Didn’t even last thirty seconds the first time.”

”I ’told’ you it was my first—”

Chen kissed him, cutting him off. Soft and slow and fond, mouth curving against his.

When he pulled back, Skyy was blushing again, but he was also smiling—smaller this time, shyer, eyes soft.

”You okay?” Chen asked quietly.

”Yeah.” Skyy’s voice was small. ”Are you?”

Chen thought about it. About how he’d just fucked his best friend—his ’charge’, the man he’d sworn to protect—against a wall and then on the floor. About how he was still inside him, softening, and how he didn’t want to pull out.

About how he was probably, definitely, catastrophically in love.

”Yeah,” he said. ”I’m okay.”

Skyy tucked his face into Chen’s neck and hid.

Chen’s hand came up, fingers carding gently through his hair.

”Round two in ten minutes?”

Skyy’s muffled laugh vibrated against his throat.

”Make it five.”