by
Fandom: Tigerland
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Bozz/Paxton
Author's Note: Written for Dawn, Emily, and especially Mia who shamelessly planted the seeds of slash snippit goodness.
This story was also a bit of a departure for me because normally I see the relationships between guys on screen as give and take push me-pull you. This is the first time I've actually thought of relationship as "X is the top and Y is the bottom."
Copyright and Disclaimer: Tigerland and the characters from it are copyright 20th Century Fox. I make no claims to ownership or creation. This bit of not for profit modern folklore (thank you Prof. Jenkins) is mine.
The deuce and a half disappeared over the top of this long low hill they're running up about five minutes ago. Paxton can still taste the last of its dust. He takes a swig from his canteen and offers it to Bozz who takes a long guzzle.
He's barely got it re-slung when Bozz grabs his arm and is hustling them both off the road and into the brush.
Paxton doesn't have to ask why.
He doesn't say anything except for a couple of shits and fucks as the ferns and the underbrush (ohgod he hopes none of it's Poison Ivy) slap against them and he nearly breaks his ankle in some critter's burrow and Bozz damn near takes a header when he catches his foot in a half rotten log. But finally they're far enough off the road and in a small hollow with thick pines all around them.
Bozz just looks him dead in the eye for a moment and then flips him around to face the biggest tree in the bunch. Paxton just grips the bark, glad for the handhold offered by its craggy texture, glad that it's not dripping pitch everywhere or home to a million red ants.
There's no preamble. They're not girls.
Bozz's hands expertly unbuckle, unbutton, unzip (is there anything he's not a natural at?) and in a second Paxton's got his trousers and jockeys around his ankles. He's so hard he feels that all it would take is one good thwack from his dick to split this tree down the center. He spreads his legs as wide as his regulation dungarees will let him.
Paxton fights back the insane urge to giggle as his daddy's line about "The army makes one a man, but you never know which one" flitters through his mind. He's not quite sure this is what dad had in mind, but maybe it is.
He hears Bozz working his mouth a bit, gathering saliva, and then the spit, and then the sounds of tongue and teeth and lip working again and then there's the second spit. And the fingers are a bit cool and not as slick as he'd like as he feels them brush up against his ass. He can't help the hitch and grunt in his breath as Bozz drives two of them in and starts pumping them in and out.
It's ...
It's hard to describe really. Because on the one hand, it hurts. But on the other, it feels — it's what he wants, and he wants more.
Paxton hears Bozz's mouth working one more time, gathering moisture, and the fingers jerk out of his ass (and the sudden sensation caused by their loss leaves him wanting, wanting so badly) and he hears Bozz spit. There's a pause, and Paxton assumes Bozz must be slicking himself up.
He feels a more insistent probing and before he can complete the thought of 'This is it', Bozz bucks his hips hard and he's in and Paxton can't hold back the groan that wrestles its way out of his mouth. Because fuck, it hurts as much as he thought it would, and fuck, it feels twice as good as the fingers did.
Bozz still doesn't say anything, just thrusts a few more times until he's all the way in and then stops, and Paxton realizes he's waiting for the go ahead.
"It's cool," he says.
And Bozz goes for it. Not like they do with the girls they take back to their hotel room, because the unwritten rule there is to see who can hold out the longest without shooting his load, plus it's fun to make her come two, possibly even three times before you're down for the count.
But right now, they don't have time for that. They've got a 15 minute window of opportunity.
Paxton's cool with Bozz fucking him. Really. Bozz is the alpha, he's the beta and he's known that all along. It's the natural order of things between them and this is all about affirming that, making it deeper, richer, more real somehow.
And when Bozz nails something deep inside, he totally understands why queers like getting fucked up the ass. Hell, if this is anything like what women get from a deep dicking, Paxton completely understands why he and Bozz never have any trouble finding companionship.
A callused hand reaches around and grabs him, jerking and milking Paxton for all he's worth and he's also pushing back into each of Bozz's thrusts because until now Paxton never realized that pain and pleasure could be wound up into one glorious thing and every stroke is bringing him closer to this amazing, insurmountable something and he's fucking got to get there.
Bozz bites him on the back of the neck, damn near breaking the skin — but careful to hold back just enough — when he comes, and two strokes of his hand later Paxton's spraying come so hard the world fogs out around the edges, and he sags up against the tree, Bozz limp and panting and trembling ever so slightly against him, and Paxton doesn't think he could stand up right now if his life depended on it.
They stay like that for another two or three minutes, and Bozz wipes him down and then gives him a clean enough kerchief to stuff in his jockeys, but they don't have time for anything more than that, and they don't need words.
Pushing back through the underbrush they find the road again and sing cadence to ease the miles by and each step sends a sweet burn through Paxton's ass.
And if anybody thinks Paxton's kind of walking funny when they get to camp, well, he can blame that on the 10 mile run.
Last Updated: 1/23/06