Oktoberfest
Fandom: Gundam 00
Title: Oktoberfest
Genre: Humor, smut
Characters: Lyle, Anew, Lyle/Anew
Spoilers: Season 2
Rated: NC-17
Summary: Lyle gets hammered at Oktoberfest. He drunkenly hits on Anew. Sex happens. (AU where a certain someone survives, written for the post-season kinkmeme)
Oktoberfest
“Mebbe they’re over here.” Lyle didn’t quite slur, but the way he seemed to wobble with the breeze was proof enough. And the slowed reflexes. And the smell that rolled off of him in waves. Oh, God, the smell…
It wasn’t all bad, Anew supposed. She knew Lyle was going to get rip roaring drunk when he suggested they spend their vacation at Oktoberfest. He’d been admirably dry during his tenure as a Gundam Meister, but with the world changing; pretty much every Celestial Being agent was on indefinite standby. Lyle was tired of being the DM, short for designated Meister, even though Allelujah Haptism had been the only other one to so much as touch alcohol in his lifetime. (That comment drew a few wry comments from him about how Setsuna needed a stiff drink one day. Maybe it might be enough to get him to go for a roll in the hay with Feldt.) He had earned his right to get shit faced again. And with his Gundam so badly trashed it would take nearly a month to get back in working order, Lyle had taken it as a good time to call in a sick day (or week).
Celestial Being operatives didn’t actually get sick days, as Anew had helpfully pointed out, which earned her a flip of his hair and that infectious smile of his. She had already lost the war before he even fired the first shot. When he asked her if she wanted to come Earthside with him for some festival she only vague knew of, there was really only one answer.
Which was how she wound up in Western Europe with a very drunk boyfriend who had somehow talked her into wearing what he had described as festival-appropriate attire. Landhausmode, if she remembered correctly. She didn’t mind the attire in and of itself. She thought it was quite charming, really. Lyle had heaped no small amount of praise on her when she first wore it, with words like “cute” coming out of his mouth seemingly every five seconds.
Of course, between the beer goggles and the lack of any real filter, “cute” had quickly become “hot,” “curvy little thing,” “mein sexy Frau,” and even something half-muttered in a drunken haze that sounded suspiciously like “sexlicioius.” And it didn’t look like it was going to stop any time soon. She had been hoping the alcohol would overpower his sex drive, but it only seemed to be fanning the flames. (Contrary to popular belief, alcohol impeded erections more often than not, being a depressant.) It also had a way of cutting his attention span down to a sliver.
“They’re grown-ups. They can take care of themselves…out there…somewhere…” he waved at the throng of tourists all around, surging in and out of a sea of tents. He didn’t actually know where Sumeragi or Lasse had gotten off to, having decided to accompany the couple down to Earth for the event, but he was just vague enough that he couldn’t be wrong. Perfectly logical reasoning, he drunkenly concluded. And Anew was *still* looking unusually hot, so it only stood to reason that he have sex with her again.
It wasn’t as if they didn’t make love on a regular basis, but Lyle had developed a mild uniform/outfit fetish over the years. He couldn’t possibly let this chance pass him up. Even if he wanted to, his agonizing case of blue balls wouldn’t let him. Stupid fucking me, he chastised himself. Honestly, why wear blue jeans to an event that he knew would come with Anew all done up with a pretty little bow? She was even wearing bows in her hair! God damn!
“C’mon,” he muttered tactlessly into her hair as a hand snaked around her waist. Nothing more needed to be said, really. Not that he really had a mind for complex arguments, anyway.
“I’ve spoiled you,” she pointed out with a long-suffering sigh of faux-suffering. It was true. When he’d helped her discover the wonderful world of sex, Lyle had unknowingly flipped a switch. She’d gorged herself on the new sensation as frequently and as greedily as possible. Suffice to say he’d been pleasantly surprised. The two had shagged each other rotten. Just when it looked like they were actually about to have enough sex that they would both be satisfied for the next six months solid, they had broken past that silly barrier (as if it had ever existed) and had even more sex. That had happened about two months ago.
She could call him oversexed, but that would invoke a hypocrisy of such staggering proportions that not even VEDA could possibly outthink it. She also could have called him a drunkard, but she’d found the strong lagers to be a pleasant experience once she got used to the taste. Granted, her nanomachines filtered out the brunt of the strange, new chemical surging through her veins, but she was still a total lightweight. However much she tried to deny it, she, too, was very drunk and very horny. She felt it in the buzz in her head to the tingle in her toes.
She thought it might be somehow dirty to have sex with Lyle when they were both working their way toward passing out in a heap in the corner of a tent. But by the time his hand came to press into her hip with a comfortable, maddening, lovable weight that would have been ideal if it moved just a little to one side…
Anew spun on her heel and dragged her boyfriend through the crowd by the hand. She bumped some people out of the way, drawing harsh comments and dirty looks, but she didn’t care. They just needed to get laid. If you went to long without it, you ran the risk of getting stuck up and latching onto dangerous ideas-like sex with your gorgeous boyfriend being anything other than the sort of thing you told your friend and high fived about afterward.
Lyle briefly considered asking where they were going. He really wanted to know. But when Anew got that look in her eye, he knew better than to ask. He prided himself on his manliness but she had quickly learned it was all for show. Lyle Dylandy had no problem with strong women. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy it when Anew manhandled him.
Which was why he would have squealed in delight like a child on Christmas morming when he realized he was getting rough sex from his girlfriend if not for the fact that she was kissing him so hard he wondered if she was trying to stab him with her face. She had dragged him off beyond the hills surrounding the festival and into the tree cover beyond, where she found a nice, sturdy tree to use as a support and wrestled him against it. He wasn’t sure how long they spent on the “hard core” kisses or the shameless groping or all the other kinds of foreplay.
Lyle just knew there was a time when his penis suddenly wasn’t in his pants anymore. Okay, Anew was horny and took them into the woods for outdoors sex. That was fine. They were making out. Check. When did he wind up on his back, staring into her intense eyes as she mounted him? He couldn’t say, but then it didn’t matter because he was inside her and it was good and it was wet and it was tight and he realized he would probably come harder in this moment than at any other point in his life.
Anew, for what it was worth, rode him less like a lover and more like she was trying to shatter his pelvis. Not that he minded. He quite literally took it all and begged for more, even if they both knew they would probably come limping out of the forest like cripples. But, again, that went back to the whole overwhelming apathy bit. What fun was a roller coaster without a little risk?
Okay, so maybe that was a bad analogy but Lyle was sauced and Anew was hammered and there were having some of the best sex in your life so you can go fuck yourself in the ear, Mr. Asshole English professor.
Lyle groaned as his counter-thrusts finally began making some headway against her jackhammer pace. He clamped down on her hips, dragging her down onto his length as his thrusts grew more frantic. He was close. So close. So was she, if the kung fu grip on his cock and his shoulders (oh, those were going to be some wicked nail marks) were any indication.
“Gonna come…” he pointed out lamely. It seemed like a good thing to say at the time.
“Yeah,” she rasped back at him.
And if he thought she was wild before, then must have been trying to kill him now. And it probably would have been worth it. She could have slid her fingers up around his throat when her orgasm finally ripped through her body and his ghost probably would have thanked her for letting him go out on a high note. But it didn’t happen quite like that.
The sex ended on an expected but still-really-good note, with him ejaculating inside of her and her convulsing around him before she collapsed against him, both red as wine.
“We should do this next year.” He said this as he drew her into an awkward hug, his softening erection still inside of her, as he stroked her hair and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“We have a hotel with a Jacuzzi,” she pointed out after a pause, as if making a counter point (which she was).
Anew Returner was not a dirty girl and Lyle Dylandy was not a pervert. They just really liked sex.
That, and Anew-who still had enough presence of mind to realize they had copulated without protection-didn’t want to admit to herself they had conceived their first child in a drunken stupor in a forest on the edge of Oktoberfest. So she would fuck his brains out in a slightly more romantic setting later than night on the off chance anyone ever asked how they made a baby.
Plausible deniability, as they say.
Title: Oktoberfest
Genre: Humor, smut
Characters: Lyle, Anew, Lyle/Anew
Spoilers: Season 2
Rated: NC-17
Summary: Lyle gets hammered at Oktoberfest. He drunkenly hits on Anew. Sex happens. (AU where a certain someone survives, written for the post-season kinkmeme)
Oktoberfest
“Mebbe they’re over here.” Lyle didn’t quite slur, but the way he seemed to wobble with the breeze was proof enough. And the slowed reflexes. And the smell that rolled off of him in waves. Oh, God, the smell…
It wasn’t all bad, Anew supposed. She knew Lyle was going to get rip roaring drunk when he suggested they spend their vacation at Oktoberfest. He’d been admirably dry during his tenure as a Gundam Meister, but with the world changing; pretty much every Celestial Being agent was on indefinite standby. Lyle was tired of being the DM, short for designated Meister, even though Allelujah Haptism had been the only other one to so much as touch alcohol in his lifetime. (That comment drew a few wry comments from him about how Setsuna needed a stiff drink one day. Maybe it might be enough to get him to go for a roll in the hay with Feldt.) He had earned his right to get shit faced again. And with his Gundam so badly trashed it would take nearly a month to get back in working order, Lyle had taken it as a good time to call in a sick day (or week).
Celestial Being operatives didn’t actually get sick days, as Anew had helpfully pointed out, which earned her a flip of his hair and that infectious smile of his. She had already lost the war before he even fired the first shot. When he asked her if she wanted to come Earthside with him for some festival she only vague knew of, there was really only one answer.
Which was how she wound up in Western Europe with a very drunk boyfriend who had somehow talked her into wearing what he had described as festival-appropriate attire. Landhausmode, if she remembered correctly. She didn’t mind the attire in and of itself. She thought it was quite charming, really. Lyle had heaped no small amount of praise on her when she first wore it, with words like “cute” coming out of his mouth seemingly every five seconds.
Of course, between the beer goggles and the lack of any real filter, “cute” had quickly become “hot,” “curvy little thing,” “mein sexy Frau,” and even something half-muttered in a drunken haze that sounded suspiciously like “sexlicioius.” And it didn’t look like it was going to stop any time soon. She had been hoping the alcohol would overpower his sex drive, but it only seemed to be fanning the flames. (Contrary to popular belief, alcohol impeded erections more often than not, being a depressant.) It also had a way of cutting his attention span down to a sliver.
“They’re grown-ups. They can take care of themselves…out there…somewhere…” he waved at the throng of tourists all around, surging in and out of a sea of tents. He didn’t actually know where Sumeragi or Lasse had gotten off to, having decided to accompany the couple down to Earth for the event, but he was just vague enough that he couldn’t be wrong. Perfectly logical reasoning, he drunkenly concluded. And Anew was *still* looking unusually hot, so it only stood to reason that he have sex with her again.
It wasn’t as if they didn’t make love on a regular basis, but Lyle had developed a mild uniform/outfit fetish over the years. He couldn’t possibly let this chance pass him up. Even if he wanted to, his agonizing case of blue balls wouldn’t let him. Stupid fucking me, he chastised himself. Honestly, why wear blue jeans to an event that he knew would come with Anew all done up with a pretty little bow? She was even wearing bows in her hair! God damn!
“C’mon,” he muttered tactlessly into her hair as a hand snaked around her waist. Nothing more needed to be said, really. Not that he really had a mind for complex arguments, anyway.
“I’ve spoiled you,” she pointed out with a long-suffering sigh of faux-suffering. It was true. When he’d helped her discover the wonderful world of sex, Lyle had unknowingly flipped a switch. She’d gorged herself on the new sensation as frequently and as greedily as possible. Suffice to say he’d been pleasantly surprised. The two had shagged each other rotten. Just when it looked like they were actually about to have enough sex that they would both be satisfied for the next six months solid, they had broken past that silly barrier (as if it had ever existed) and had even more sex. That had happened about two months ago.
She could call him oversexed, but that would invoke a hypocrisy of such staggering proportions that not even VEDA could possibly outthink it. She also could have called him a drunkard, but she’d found the strong lagers to be a pleasant experience once she got used to the taste. Granted, her nanomachines filtered out the brunt of the strange, new chemical surging through her veins, but she was still a total lightweight. However much she tried to deny it, she, too, was very drunk and very horny. She felt it in the buzz in her head to the tingle in her toes.
She thought it might be somehow dirty to have sex with Lyle when they were both working their way toward passing out in a heap in the corner of a tent. But by the time his hand came to press into her hip with a comfortable, maddening, lovable weight that would have been ideal if it moved just a little to one side…
Anew spun on her heel and dragged her boyfriend through the crowd by the hand. She bumped some people out of the way, drawing harsh comments and dirty looks, but she didn’t care. They just needed to get laid. If you went to long without it, you ran the risk of getting stuck up and latching onto dangerous ideas-like sex with your gorgeous boyfriend being anything other than the sort of thing you told your friend and high fived about afterward.
Lyle briefly considered asking where they were going. He really wanted to know. But when Anew got that look in her eye, he knew better than to ask. He prided himself on his manliness but she had quickly learned it was all for show. Lyle Dylandy had no problem with strong women. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy it when Anew manhandled him.
Which was why he would have squealed in delight like a child on Christmas morming when he realized he was getting rough sex from his girlfriend if not for the fact that she was kissing him so hard he wondered if she was trying to stab him with her face. She had dragged him off beyond the hills surrounding the festival and into the tree cover beyond, where she found a nice, sturdy tree to use as a support and wrestled him against it. He wasn’t sure how long they spent on the “hard core” kisses or the shameless groping or all the other kinds of foreplay.
Lyle just knew there was a time when his penis suddenly wasn’t in his pants anymore. Okay, Anew was horny and took them into the woods for outdoors sex. That was fine. They were making out. Check. When did he wind up on his back, staring into her intense eyes as she mounted him? He couldn’t say, but then it didn’t matter because he was inside her and it was good and it was wet and it was tight and he realized he would probably come harder in this moment than at any other point in his life.
Anew, for what it was worth, rode him less like a lover and more like she was trying to shatter his pelvis. Not that he minded. He quite literally took it all and begged for more, even if they both knew they would probably come limping out of the forest like cripples. But, again, that went back to the whole overwhelming apathy bit. What fun was a roller coaster without a little risk?
Okay, so maybe that was a bad analogy but Lyle was sauced and Anew was hammered and there were having some of the best sex in your life so you can go fuck yourself in the ear, Mr. Asshole English professor.
Lyle groaned as his counter-thrusts finally began making some headway against her jackhammer pace. He clamped down on her hips, dragging her down onto his length as his thrusts grew more frantic. He was close. So close. So was she, if the kung fu grip on his cock and his shoulders (oh, those were going to be some wicked nail marks) were any indication.
“Gonna come…” he pointed out lamely. It seemed like a good thing to say at the time.
“Yeah,” she rasped back at him.
And if he thought she was wild before, then must have been trying to kill him now. And it probably would have been worth it. She could have slid her fingers up around his throat when her orgasm finally ripped through her body and his ghost probably would have thanked her for letting him go out on a high note. But it didn’t happen quite like that.
The sex ended on an expected but still-really-good note, with him ejaculating inside of her and her convulsing around him before she collapsed against him, both red as wine.
“We should do this next year.” He said this as he drew her into an awkward hug, his softening erection still inside of her, as he stroked her hair and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“We have a hotel with a Jacuzzi,” she pointed out after a pause, as if making a counter point (which she was).
Anew Returner was not a dirty girl and Lyle Dylandy was not a pervert. They just really liked sex.
That, and Anew-who still had enough presence of mind to realize they had copulated without protection-didn’t want to admit to herself they had conceived their first child in a drunken stupor in a forest on the edge of Oktoberfest. So she would fuck his brains out in a slightly more romantic setting later than night on the off chance anyone ever asked how they made a baby.
Plausible deniability, as they say.