Fic: The Hollow - Part 5 (Gunn/Lindsey hustler!verse) NC17
Title: The Hollow - Part 5
Pairing: Gunn/Lindsey
Rating: NC17
Note: So very A/U, people.
Written for: moosesal, who made a donation to Katrina Relief, and wanted this installment of The Hollow to include a kiss. Word count is 2620.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
*
In the days and nights after seeing Lindsey at the shelter, Gunn feels lost and confused. As much as he wants to deny the things he says and feels and does when he's with Lindsey, it's kinda impossible to do that. Gunn isn't sure he knows himself anymore and can hardly stand to look at the face in the mirror whose eyes shine and hiss damn near all the time lately.
He feels too big for his skin, his body. Or maybe too small. He feels like he doesn't fit, one way or the other, in himself anymore, and he doesn't know what to do about it.
Right after Lindsey walked out, Gunn had a few hours of being settled. Everything had shifted and slid for him and the whole world fucking clicked into place, fit together perfectly. Gunn moved easily and he spoke smoothly and it was like the world made room for him instead of him fighting for a place in it.
But it faded all too quickly and now Gunn wishes that he hadn't seen Lindsey at the shelter, because the twitchy restlessness he felt before that encounter was a fuck of a lot better to this unsettled misplaced sensation he's got going on now.
Wesley persuades him to go out for drinks a week after the shelter, and Gunn goes because it's something they usually do and maybe if he acts like everything's the same then everything will be the same. Maybe Gunn will go back to being his old self.
They sit at a table in a bar just a few blocks from the Hyperion and they order their usual drinks--whiskey for Wes and beer for Gunn--and they talk about work and themselves and the sliming that Cordelia was subjected to on the last mission, and it's business as usual, all around.
Except that by the third round Wes is smiling softly and his eyes are dimly lit with possibilities that Gunn spent almost a year looking for but never found until tonight. Possibilities that he can't think about now because he feels like he's too much for Wes, like he couldn't ever be what Wes needs. Gunn cuts the night short by pleading exhaustion before the fourth round arrives and he pretends not to notice the disappointed look on Wes' face.
A month ago the night would have gone differently and Gunn knows it. Gunn would have invited himself over to Wes' place when he saw that look in Wes' eyes. Once there, he would have wrapped a hand around the nape of Wes' neck before the door was even closed, pulled Wes in and kissed him, quietly and firmly, and let things go where they would on their own.
After he leaves Wes sitting in that bar, Gunn goes home and jerks off to disjointed images of Lindsey under him--under his body, his hands, his mouth, his dick, under everything that Gunn is. And in Gunn's fantasy, Lindsey fights him, refuses him, and Gunn has to tie down swinging fists and kicking feet. Lindsey struggles against the ropes until Gunn's dick presses against his ass, and then he goes boneless under Gunn, surrenders, gives it all up. Gunn reaches under him and wraps his fist around Lindsey's hard cock, and Gunn tilts his head and sets his teeth into the back of Lindsey's neck. He fucks Lindsey hard and fast, and his jaw closes tighter and his teeth dig deeper with every thrust, and Gunn comes when his teeth break Lindsey's skin and so does Lindsey.
Gunn's hands are shaking when reality returns. He's on his bed, completely naked, and he's got a handful of his own come. Something's got to give but Gunn isn't sure what. Anything has to give but Gunn's not sure how that works. Gunn's got to give but he doesn't really want to.
Ten days after the shelter, Gunn hits an ATM and then makes his way to Lindsey's spot near Hollywood and Vine. Lindsey stiffens, like he's ready to run, when he sees Gunn, but Gunn figured that would happen so the cash is already in his hand, out for Lindsey to see. And it's a big bundle of twenties, twice as much as Gunn's ever given Lindsey before, and business can't have been so good for Lindsey that he can afford to turn away money like this.
Without saying a word Lindsey leads Gunn down a side street and into an alley. Gunn remembers the first night he saw Lindsey and realizes that the arrogance is gone, has been stomped out of the other man by the reality of Los Angeles, by the reality of what he unleashed in Gunn that first night with his cocky words about what Gunn wanted and needed that were truer than maybe even he knew at the time.
Lindsey holds out his hand for the cash but Gunn steps closer, right up in his face, and tucks the money in Lindsey's pocket himself. This close, Gunn can see that that the bruises from Lindsey's run in with the vamps are gone and his lips are whole again.
"I'm not sorry," Gunn says harshly.
Lindsey's eyes flicker before he looks down and hides what's in them. "You wouldn't be," he rasps. "That's not how it goes."
And Lindsey sounds like he knows all about this, knows what the dark thing in Gunn's stomach is, knows why and how Gunn isn't himself, knows everything there is to know about the sharp and bruising energy that's thrumming between them right now. Gunn wonders if Lindsey would explain it all if he asked, or if Lindsey would just give him hooded eyes and leave him to figure it out on his own. But Gunn's not going to ask because there's something else he wants, needs, to hear.
"Say my name," he tells Lindsey, and Lindsey's still lowered eyelids twitch like his eyes are darting here and there.
When Lindsey doesn't reply Gunn feels a tension seep into himself that feels distorted and uncomfortable. "My name," he whispers and it sounds too little like a command and too much like a plea. "My name, Lindsey. Say it."
Lindsey licks his lips and seems to be vibrating in place. "You have no idea, do you?" he says, his voice incredulous and awed. "You just--shit, man. You ain't got a clue."
With each passing second Gunn is wound tighter and tighter in on himself and it feels like every muscle he has is standing out in sharp relief against his skin. No, he doesn't have any idea, any clue. All he knows right this second is that Lindsey has to say his name, he needs to hear Lindsey say it, and even that he can't explain. It just is.
Lindsey looks up again, finally, and his eyes aren't shining silver and glittering sharply; they're clear blue-green and they're hard and flat.
"You're changing things with this, blurring the lines," Lindsey tells him soberly.
Maybe Gunn is but it doesn't really matter when he can't understand any of this at all. He can't imagine the situation getting messier, more confusing. This is the pinnacle of chaos and nothing can add to it. Not from where he stands.
Lindsey stares at him a while longer and Gunn's not sure what he sees on Gunn's face, just that whatever it is makes Lindsey sigh and curse harshly under his breath, and the sound of his voice makes Gunn's skin prickle.
And then Lindsey seems to ease down, ease back, and he looks up at Gunn and he says Gunn's name in those rolling vowels and softened consonants of his that have been dipped in whiskey and molasses, and Gunn's head falls back and he gives a full body shiver.
"Jesus Christ," Lindsey whispers, and Gunn's head snaps up again before he surges forward and obliterates the small distance between them.
Whatever Lindsey was expecting, Gunn doubts it's what happens, because he damn near jumps out of his skin in surprise when Gunn's dips his head down and kisses him.
Gunn wonders if he's changing things even further, blurring things even more, to Lindsey's way of thinking. Even if he is, Gunn doesn't care, because Lindsey's mouth opens, and Lindsey's tongue gives way to Gunn's, and Gunn is lost. Lindsey's mouth is a hot, steamy place that's smooth as silk and tastes like something spicy; it's like Lindsey, but a hundred times more so.
And Gunn did something like this once before, but it was different, and even as he did it Gunn knew it wasn't a kiss that he was giving Lindsey up against the gate around the corner from where they are now.
Lindsey reaches out and grabs fistfuls of Gunn's shirt to pull him closer so that more than their mouths are in contact. Gunn's hands tangle in Lindsey's hair, which is oily and caught back in a tie of some kind, and Lindsey simultaneously winces and leans into the pain when Gunn yanks the tie off and tightens his fingers. Against Gunn's thigh, Lindsey's cock is as hard as Gunn's is against Lindsey's abdomen. In Lindsey's mouth, Gunn's tongue is caught between Lindsey's pursed lips so that he can suck on it. Gunn's hips jerk and stutter forward and he wants to hook his ankle behind Lindsey's, knock him to the dirty ground and follow him down. He wants to grind himself, every part of himself, down on Lindsey, grind Lindsey into the concrete.
But Lindsey makes a noise, this growl at the back of his throat that sounds like a prayer, and Gunn's hand moves to Lindsey's jeans and wraps around his cock in a too-tight grip that has him pulling his mouth from Gunn's to choke out a garbled scream. Lindsey's eyes roll back in his head and his hands tumble away from Gunn's shirt, and he falls back until he's damn near hanging from Gunn's grip on his dick, his head tilted back and his neck stretched out.
It's...beautiful, fucking gorgeous, Lindsey giving himself over like this, and Gunn wants more of it, all of it.
He pulls Lindsey's threadbare t-shirt off with his free-hand, steers Lindsey a few feet to the left where a rickety wooden crate sits next to the back entrance of some store. Gunn tosses the shirt onto the crate, shoves Lindsey onto it so that he's perched there, his bare back against the alley wall and his hips pumping his dick into Gunn's hand. Gunn works Lindsey's jeans open, parts the material and pulls the jeans down to his knees.
Gunn stills his hand on Lindsey's dick until he's just holding it, and he brings his other hand to Lindsey's chest, and pulls and twists and tugs at his nipples until he's wild-eyed and gasping, until he's no longer entirely in the building that is his body, until he looks as displaced as Gunn feels nowadays.
Except that, right now, Gunn doesn't feel displaced. He fits himself perfectly again.
"Gunn," Lindsey groans and Gunn's dick twitches in his pants. "You fucking bastard, don't stop. Don't fucking stop, you piece of shit!"
Gunn slides his hand down Lindsey's dick to his balls, twists them sharply and watches Lindsey's mouth snap open in a silent scream, watches his back arch and his hands scramble for purchase on the edges of the crate.
"You pretty little bitch," Gunn breathes, and Lindsey hears him. Gunn knows he does because Lindsey's balls draw up tight in Gunn's grip and Lindsey starts straining against his own muscles. "Pretty pretty whore," Gunn whispers, awed by the sight in front of him.
Lindsey makes this wordless groan and shoots all over his stomach and chest, and his face goes slack and peaceful, and there's nothing glittering or hooded in his eyes, and Gunn thinks that this is what he was after: Lindsey split wide open, Lindsey bare.
Gunn wipes his come-splattered hand on Lindsey's jeans to clean it off and stares down at Lindsey's docile form. Things shift and slide, the world clicks into place, and Gunn can feel himself breathing, can feel muscles pressing against skin when he moves.
Lindsey fumbles at his chest with a clumsy hand, flinches when he prods at one of his nipples, then presses the swollen flesh and seems to ease further from his own skin.
And Gunn is starting to get a niggling sensation at the back of his neck, a bit of understanding of what Lindsey meant when he said that Gunn was going to blur the lines. Gunn starts to back away, his own hard on forgotten. Lindsey grins up at him with a nasty twist of his lips that doesn't match the genuine amusement in his eyes.
Gunn frowns and twitches, and Lindsey sits up and shuffles off the crate, steady hands going to his jeans to pull them up again. Gunn's breathing is a distant sensation again, already, and Lindsey calmly reaches for his t-shirt, slips it on and runs a hand through his hair before looking at Gunn with a piercing stare. And Gunn wants to turn his back and just fucking go before...before...before something.
"Starting to get it now?" Lindsey snorts.
Gunn shakes his head in confusion, because he was wrong before. Things could get worse, they have gotten worse, he just doesn't know how it happened, what it means for him.
"Tell you what," Lindsey murmurs, and his amusement slithers into something else. He dips his head, looks up at Gunn from beneath his lashes, and in two steps he's right in front of Gunn.
Lindsey licks his lips then drops to his knees, and his mouth is hot against the denim that covers Gunn's dick. Gunn sucks in a breath, waits for Lindsey to do something else, anything else, but Lindsey just stays there until Gunn fists a hand in his hair and shoves his face harder against Gunn's dick.
"Suck me," Gunn says, and his voice is harsh and rough, and things are clicking into place again as Lindsey opens Gunn's jeans, pulls his dick out and slips a condom on with clever fingers.
It's just about the dirtiest, nastiest blowjob Gunn's ever gotten. Lindsey's mouth is so wet that Gunn's latex covered dick is dripping saliva after the third downward rush of that hotter than hell mouth. Gunn lets it go on until he's right at the edge, and then he holds Lindsey's head still, shoves his dick in and fucks Lindsey's mouth. The angle is bad and he hears Lindsey choke, sees the tears that spring into his eyes, and feels his dick bump against Lindsey's throat with too much force.
But Lindsey's hands scramble to Gunn's hips and pull him further in, deeper and harder, and he loses it. His hips slam forward and then freeze, and his orgasm is pulled from him at ninety miles an hour, leaving him shaking and gasping for breath. Now Lindsey pushes him away, then leans to the side to cough and fight for air, and Gunn knows he has to leave now while he can still feel himself breathing.
So he does, and Lindsey is still on the ground, damn near heaving, and a part of Gunn is starting to understand what this is all about and he knows that Lindsey was right--everything has changed. Gunn just doesn't know if it's good or bad.
*
.End
Part 6
Series Listing in Memories here.
Pairing: Gunn/Lindsey
Rating: NC17
Note: So very A/U, people.
Written for: moosesal, who made a donation to Katrina Relief, and wanted this installment of The Hollow to include a kiss. Word count is 2620.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
*
In the days and nights after seeing Lindsey at the shelter, Gunn feels lost and confused. As much as he wants to deny the things he says and feels and does when he's with Lindsey, it's kinda impossible to do that. Gunn isn't sure he knows himself anymore and can hardly stand to look at the face in the mirror whose eyes shine and hiss damn near all the time lately.
He feels too big for his skin, his body. Or maybe too small. He feels like he doesn't fit, one way or the other, in himself anymore, and he doesn't know what to do about it.
Right after Lindsey walked out, Gunn had a few hours of being settled. Everything had shifted and slid for him and the whole world fucking clicked into place, fit together perfectly. Gunn moved easily and he spoke smoothly and it was like the world made room for him instead of him fighting for a place in it.
But it faded all too quickly and now Gunn wishes that he hadn't seen Lindsey at the shelter, because the twitchy restlessness he felt before that encounter was a fuck of a lot better to this unsettled misplaced sensation he's got going on now.
Wesley persuades him to go out for drinks a week after the shelter, and Gunn goes because it's something they usually do and maybe if he acts like everything's the same then everything will be the same. Maybe Gunn will go back to being his old self.
They sit at a table in a bar just a few blocks from the Hyperion and they order their usual drinks--whiskey for Wes and beer for Gunn--and they talk about work and themselves and the sliming that Cordelia was subjected to on the last mission, and it's business as usual, all around.
Except that by the third round Wes is smiling softly and his eyes are dimly lit with possibilities that Gunn spent almost a year looking for but never found until tonight. Possibilities that he can't think about now because he feels like he's too much for Wes, like he couldn't ever be what Wes needs. Gunn cuts the night short by pleading exhaustion before the fourth round arrives and he pretends not to notice the disappointed look on Wes' face.
A month ago the night would have gone differently and Gunn knows it. Gunn would have invited himself over to Wes' place when he saw that look in Wes' eyes. Once there, he would have wrapped a hand around the nape of Wes' neck before the door was even closed, pulled Wes in and kissed him, quietly and firmly, and let things go where they would on their own.
After he leaves Wes sitting in that bar, Gunn goes home and jerks off to disjointed images of Lindsey under him--under his body, his hands, his mouth, his dick, under everything that Gunn is. And in Gunn's fantasy, Lindsey fights him, refuses him, and Gunn has to tie down swinging fists and kicking feet. Lindsey struggles against the ropes until Gunn's dick presses against his ass, and then he goes boneless under Gunn, surrenders, gives it all up. Gunn reaches under him and wraps his fist around Lindsey's hard cock, and Gunn tilts his head and sets his teeth into the back of Lindsey's neck. He fucks Lindsey hard and fast, and his jaw closes tighter and his teeth dig deeper with every thrust, and Gunn comes when his teeth break Lindsey's skin and so does Lindsey.
Gunn's hands are shaking when reality returns. He's on his bed, completely naked, and he's got a handful of his own come. Something's got to give but Gunn isn't sure what. Anything has to give but Gunn's not sure how that works. Gunn's got to give but he doesn't really want to.
Ten days after the shelter, Gunn hits an ATM and then makes his way to Lindsey's spot near Hollywood and Vine. Lindsey stiffens, like he's ready to run, when he sees Gunn, but Gunn figured that would happen so the cash is already in his hand, out for Lindsey to see. And it's a big bundle of twenties, twice as much as Gunn's ever given Lindsey before, and business can't have been so good for Lindsey that he can afford to turn away money like this.
Without saying a word Lindsey leads Gunn down a side street and into an alley. Gunn remembers the first night he saw Lindsey and realizes that the arrogance is gone, has been stomped out of the other man by the reality of Los Angeles, by the reality of what he unleashed in Gunn that first night with his cocky words about what Gunn wanted and needed that were truer than maybe even he knew at the time.
Lindsey holds out his hand for the cash but Gunn steps closer, right up in his face, and tucks the money in Lindsey's pocket himself. This close, Gunn can see that that the bruises from Lindsey's run in with the vamps are gone and his lips are whole again.
"I'm not sorry," Gunn says harshly.
Lindsey's eyes flicker before he looks down and hides what's in them. "You wouldn't be," he rasps. "That's not how it goes."
And Lindsey sounds like he knows all about this, knows what the dark thing in Gunn's stomach is, knows why and how Gunn isn't himself, knows everything there is to know about the sharp and bruising energy that's thrumming between them right now. Gunn wonders if Lindsey would explain it all if he asked, or if Lindsey would just give him hooded eyes and leave him to figure it out on his own. But Gunn's not going to ask because there's something else he wants, needs, to hear.
"Say my name," he tells Lindsey, and Lindsey's still lowered eyelids twitch like his eyes are darting here and there.
When Lindsey doesn't reply Gunn feels a tension seep into himself that feels distorted and uncomfortable. "My name," he whispers and it sounds too little like a command and too much like a plea. "My name, Lindsey. Say it."
Lindsey licks his lips and seems to be vibrating in place. "You have no idea, do you?" he says, his voice incredulous and awed. "You just--shit, man. You ain't got a clue."
With each passing second Gunn is wound tighter and tighter in on himself and it feels like every muscle he has is standing out in sharp relief against his skin. No, he doesn't have any idea, any clue. All he knows right this second is that Lindsey has to say his name, he needs to hear Lindsey say it, and even that he can't explain. It just is.
Lindsey looks up again, finally, and his eyes aren't shining silver and glittering sharply; they're clear blue-green and they're hard and flat.
"You're changing things with this, blurring the lines," Lindsey tells him soberly.
Maybe Gunn is but it doesn't really matter when he can't understand any of this at all. He can't imagine the situation getting messier, more confusing. This is the pinnacle of chaos and nothing can add to it. Not from where he stands.
Lindsey stares at him a while longer and Gunn's not sure what he sees on Gunn's face, just that whatever it is makes Lindsey sigh and curse harshly under his breath, and the sound of his voice makes Gunn's skin prickle.
And then Lindsey seems to ease down, ease back, and he looks up at Gunn and he says Gunn's name in those rolling vowels and softened consonants of his that have been dipped in whiskey and molasses, and Gunn's head falls back and he gives a full body shiver.
"Jesus Christ," Lindsey whispers, and Gunn's head snaps up again before he surges forward and obliterates the small distance between them.
Whatever Lindsey was expecting, Gunn doubts it's what happens, because he damn near jumps out of his skin in surprise when Gunn's dips his head down and kisses him.
Gunn wonders if he's changing things even further, blurring things even more, to Lindsey's way of thinking. Even if he is, Gunn doesn't care, because Lindsey's mouth opens, and Lindsey's tongue gives way to Gunn's, and Gunn is lost. Lindsey's mouth is a hot, steamy place that's smooth as silk and tastes like something spicy; it's like Lindsey, but a hundred times more so.
And Gunn did something like this once before, but it was different, and even as he did it Gunn knew it wasn't a kiss that he was giving Lindsey up against the gate around the corner from where they are now.
Lindsey reaches out and grabs fistfuls of Gunn's shirt to pull him closer so that more than their mouths are in contact. Gunn's hands tangle in Lindsey's hair, which is oily and caught back in a tie of some kind, and Lindsey simultaneously winces and leans into the pain when Gunn yanks the tie off and tightens his fingers. Against Gunn's thigh, Lindsey's cock is as hard as Gunn's is against Lindsey's abdomen. In Lindsey's mouth, Gunn's tongue is caught between Lindsey's pursed lips so that he can suck on it. Gunn's hips jerk and stutter forward and he wants to hook his ankle behind Lindsey's, knock him to the dirty ground and follow him down. He wants to grind himself, every part of himself, down on Lindsey, grind Lindsey into the concrete.
But Lindsey makes a noise, this growl at the back of his throat that sounds like a prayer, and Gunn's hand moves to Lindsey's jeans and wraps around his cock in a too-tight grip that has him pulling his mouth from Gunn's to choke out a garbled scream. Lindsey's eyes roll back in his head and his hands tumble away from Gunn's shirt, and he falls back until he's damn near hanging from Gunn's grip on his dick, his head tilted back and his neck stretched out.
It's...beautiful, fucking gorgeous, Lindsey giving himself over like this, and Gunn wants more of it, all of it.
He pulls Lindsey's threadbare t-shirt off with his free-hand, steers Lindsey a few feet to the left where a rickety wooden crate sits next to the back entrance of some store. Gunn tosses the shirt onto the crate, shoves Lindsey onto it so that he's perched there, his bare back against the alley wall and his hips pumping his dick into Gunn's hand. Gunn works Lindsey's jeans open, parts the material and pulls the jeans down to his knees.
Gunn stills his hand on Lindsey's dick until he's just holding it, and he brings his other hand to Lindsey's chest, and pulls and twists and tugs at his nipples until he's wild-eyed and gasping, until he's no longer entirely in the building that is his body, until he looks as displaced as Gunn feels nowadays.
Except that, right now, Gunn doesn't feel displaced. He fits himself perfectly again.
"Gunn," Lindsey groans and Gunn's dick twitches in his pants. "You fucking bastard, don't stop. Don't fucking stop, you piece of shit!"
Gunn slides his hand down Lindsey's dick to his balls, twists them sharply and watches Lindsey's mouth snap open in a silent scream, watches his back arch and his hands scramble for purchase on the edges of the crate.
"You pretty little bitch," Gunn breathes, and Lindsey hears him. Gunn knows he does because Lindsey's balls draw up tight in Gunn's grip and Lindsey starts straining against his own muscles. "Pretty pretty whore," Gunn whispers, awed by the sight in front of him.
Lindsey makes this wordless groan and shoots all over his stomach and chest, and his face goes slack and peaceful, and there's nothing glittering or hooded in his eyes, and Gunn thinks that this is what he was after: Lindsey split wide open, Lindsey bare.
Gunn wipes his come-splattered hand on Lindsey's jeans to clean it off and stares down at Lindsey's docile form. Things shift and slide, the world clicks into place, and Gunn can feel himself breathing, can feel muscles pressing against skin when he moves.
Lindsey fumbles at his chest with a clumsy hand, flinches when he prods at one of his nipples, then presses the swollen flesh and seems to ease further from his own skin.
And Gunn is starting to get a niggling sensation at the back of his neck, a bit of understanding of what Lindsey meant when he said that Gunn was going to blur the lines. Gunn starts to back away, his own hard on forgotten. Lindsey grins up at him with a nasty twist of his lips that doesn't match the genuine amusement in his eyes.
Gunn frowns and twitches, and Lindsey sits up and shuffles off the crate, steady hands going to his jeans to pull them up again. Gunn's breathing is a distant sensation again, already, and Lindsey calmly reaches for his t-shirt, slips it on and runs a hand through his hair before looking at Gunn with a piercing stare. And Gunn wants to turn his back and just fucking go before...before...before something.
"Starting to get it now?" Lindsey snorts.
Gunn shakes his head in confusion, because he was wrong before. Things could get worse, they have gotten worse, he just doesn't know how it happened, what it means for him.
"Tell you what," Lindsey murmurs, and his amusement slithers into something else. He dips his head, looks up at Gunn from beneath his lashes, and in two steps he's right in front of Gunn.
Lindsey licks his lips then drops to his knees, and his mouth is hot against the denim that covers Gunn's dick. Gunn sucks in a breath, waits for Lindsey to do something else, anything else, but Lindsey just stays there until Gunn fists a hand in his hair and shoves his face harder against Gunn's dick.
"Suck me," Gunn says, and his voice is harsh and rough, and things are clicking into place again as Lindsey opens Gunn's jeans, pulls his dick out and slips a condom on with clever fingers.
It's just about the dirtiest, nastiest blowjob Gunn's ever gotten. Lindsey's mouth is so wet that Gunn's latex covered dick is dripping saliva after the third downward rush of that hotter than hell mouth. Gunn lets it go on until he's right at the edge, and then he holds Lindsey's head still, shoves his dick in and fucks Lindsey's mouth. The angle is bad and he hears Lindsey choke, sees the tears that spring into his eyes, and feels his dick bump against Lindsey's throat with too much force.
But Lindsey's hands scramble to Gunn's hips and pull him further in, deeper and harder, and he loses it. His hips slam forward and then freeze, and his orgasm is pulled from him at ninety miles an hour, leaving him shaking and gasping for breath. Now Lindsey pushes him away, then leans to the side to cough and fight for air, and Gunn knows he has to leave now while he can still feel himself breathing.
So he does, and Lindsey is still on the ground, damn near heaving, and a part of Gunn is starting to understand what this is all about and he knows that Lindsey was right--everything has changed. Gunn just doesn't know if it's good or bad.
*
.End
Part 6
Series Listing in Memories here.