Bangkok Butterfly Part 6
Going back to work slowed me down, but here is the next part of Bangkok Butterfly. For once, I'm not going over it with a fine-tooth comb, stressing over every word. So please forgive any mistakes in my eagerness to post.
Bangkok Butterfly
Part 6
Spendiferous manip by the darling, talented blondebitz
There was something green and wiggly on Spike’s arm. It was humping along in cheerful oblivion to its imminent demise. Sort of the story of Spike’s life, what with the humping and the clueless bubble he had lived in before a hurricane named Angel battered its way into his life, and knocked him on his ear.
Spike opened his mouth to shout the disgust that unfolded in his belly as the thing with too many legs used him for its own personal highway, only to find a beefy hand clapped across his lips, stifling him.
“Sssssh.”
The sibilance tickled his ear, making him squirm in protest. Indignation at being effectively gagged brought a few choice curses to his tongue, but before he could spit them out, the weight on his back shifted, flattening all the air from his lungs. The grip around his jaw curled tighter.
“Visitors.”
Angel’s whisper came just as Spike heard the low rumble of voices approaching the place where they lay, concealed from any but the most diligent of searchers by the surrounding thicket of reeds and an overhung brow of ferns that masked the cave’s entrance. In finding them a hidey hole, Spike had done far better than he ever could have hoped.
The men passed by within twenty feet. There were four of them. Spike could track their movements through the sheltering screen of plants. White men, not Thais, dressed in civilian clothes, sweat-stained shirts and dirty pants, wearing boots and carrying rifles. A shiver of fear passed down his spinal column, ending in his toes. When he heard what sounded like Russian tossed back and forth between them, he came near to pissing himself.
All Angel’s stories, the one’s Spike had only half-believed, despite the gunshot wound, took on force and reality. They were hunting the overgrown boy scout, and if they found him, they’d kill him. Spike lay very still, Angel breathing softly on the back of his neck.
They’d been waiting for two bloody days for Angel to get strong enough to make a stab at crossing the river. Seemed more like two years. Every improvement in Angel’s body lead to a corresponding drop in his mood. Their tempers flared, and they scratched at each other like a pair of randy tom cats. The whole of it made that much worse by the fact they couldn’t shag due to the severity of Angel’s injuries.
Massive boredom nearly drove Spike insane. He wanted to claw his skin off at being forced to stay in one place, a bitty hole in the ground, and nothing to do but eye-fuck the healing toss keepin’ him company. Angel was a shitty patient, too. Like it was all Spike’s bleeding fault.
Course, there was nature, Angel kept telling him. Look at the pretty....fill in the blank, he’d say. It was entertaining for about half a day. Even Spike could appreciate the soft breeze that rose as darkness suffused the twilight sky, and the last daubs of sunset pink faded into night. The beauty of the pale, green-ribboned river ruffling into frothy waves drew a reluctant silence from deep within his gut. Made him ache, for what, he didn’t know. He only had to turn his head to see Angel’s quiet face and the ache intensified.
Ibis and Kingfishers, bright blurs of color grabbed Spike’s attention for whole seconds at a time as they flashed through the reeds in search of frogs and small crustaceans. Yeah, yeah. All pretty like the pouf said. But not Spike’s milieu.
He found himself longing pitifully for the smoky back rooms of Ju-An’s, the raw stench of liquor and the sharp stink of sweaty bodies mixing it up in damp sheets. There was something unhealthy about breathing too much fresh air. ‘Sides. He was running out of cigarettes. The glands in his throat had kerneled in self-pity at the thought.
This morning had been better. Spike was grateful to have Angel talking again in what passed for a relatively good mood compared to yesterday. They’d been making plans to cross the river at nightfall when Spike had gone all bug conscious, followed by Angel manhandling him into bondage games, but not the fun kind.
They watched together, barely breathing as the trackers passed out of sight, their voices lingering on the still air. They were heading north along the shore, evidently having lost the fugitive’s trail, but still hopeful they could pick it up.
“They’ll be back.” The whisper tickled across Spike’s bare neck.
He nodded in understanding, and then sudden relief, when Angel’s massive weight rolled off his fractured spine. Flipping onto his back, Spike mirrored Angel’s pose, enjoying the sensation of being able to breathe again, side-eyeing his silent companion. The big man stared upwards at the cave’s rocky ceiling for a few minutes before turning his head to regard Spike with a thoughtful glance, eyes as dark as molasses.
The insect and the KGB agents that had so concerned Spike a few seconds earlier were suddenly forgotten, drowned by the erratic thump of blood that flooded into his ears. Angel was touching him. Spike was long past horny, and a finger tracing the crinkled indent of his belly button made his vision blur with lust.
“We could give them another hour or so to make sure they’re gone and cross now.” Angel shifted onto his elbow, his face only inches above Spike’s. “Or we could do like we planned. Wait for night and go then. What do you think?”
Spike was having trouble thinking at all. The fingers that had been teasing his navel were now inside his pants, resting on the trail of downy hair that led to his groin. His cock and balls were avidly interested in the unexpected development. He wiggled his backside, lifting it off the ground to press his belly against the exploratory hand.
“Don’t tease if you don’t mean it, prat.”
“Did I forget to mention how much better I feel today?” A palm flattened on Spike’s tense abdominal muscles and rubbed back and forth, making them clench tighter. Angel hummed his appreciation. “Gets me hot when you do that.”
“Do what? This?” Spike grasped Angel’s wrist, pushing his hand lower. The immediate tug on his pubic curls made his eyes clamp shut. “Pick your bloody times, don’t you, mate?”
“I might have forgotten to tell you, I’m turned on when shit gets...dicey.”
“Dicey? Fuck.” Spike tried to shove his brain in gear. They needed to be on top of things or.... Oh, Jesus. Why did he have to think that-Angel on top of him. Doin’ things to him. He opened his mouth and pushed a few random words out, surprised when they made any sense at all. “Don’t’ think we ought to do this with them....”
Unfortunately, Angel wasn’t listening. He was too busy eating Spike’s husky murmur with lips and tongue, working the soft mouth open to fill every nook and cranny of it in panting supplication. The erotic shush of heavy breathing filled the small cave for a time as they writhed against each other, prick to prick, only their pants separating naked flesh.
All the pent up sexual energy, suppressed for far too long, rose in crackling, electric waves, engulfing reason.
“Can you just....”
“Right.” Angel hushed speech into the pale curve of Spike’s arched throat.
He caught Spike under the arms and heaved him up so that they were laying chest to chest, the feel of sweaty skin, sticky against his own, driving him nearly crazy. Spike’s thighs slid to either side of Angel’s hips. The thin material of his pants gaped at the back. It was a matter of seconds for Angel to insinuate his hand inside the flimsy barrier and fill his palm with the moist, rounded curve of one cheek
“Christ. You’re so.....”
Spike didn’t let him finish, didn’t let Angel spill all the adjectives that exploded inside his head at the feel of silk, plump, maddening, wanton, sensual Spike ass in his hand. Spike responded wildly, tearing Angel’s lips to shreds with biting kisses, preventing further speech. Angel rolled them over, pressing the smaller man ferociously into the unyielding ground, ripping at the zipper of his pants, while Spike tried to help, curving his hips up so that Angel could strip him.
Spike tore his mouth away, rasping out the urgency of his desperation. “Hurry! Hurry! Need it now, Angel.”
Naked, Angel hefted Spike’s legs over his shoulders. It was obscene, that position; the way it exposed everything he had from rigid cock and taut, flushed balls, to the place that was Angel’s heaven. The too small dimple of flesh, a little fist of puckered brown, blushed to rosy excitement as Angel breached it with his thumb, the ring of muscle clamping eagerly around the intrusion.
“Do you know how pretty you are here?” Angel pressed his face into the parted cheeks and mouthed a kiss where his thumb disappeared. The crinkled little flower jumped at the contact.
“Yes!” Spike gasped at the sensation, the lick of tongue, the soothing saliva on his burning arsehole. “Now stop being a pouf and get busy.”
Spike’s head fell back limply at the way his stomach sizzled, full of molten lava that had seeped into his balls. The fingers pulling at his pucker were making spurts of that same lava leak from his too-tender slit, drenching his cock head. He moaned. It felt good to moan, the vibration coming from deep within his chest, spilling past his kiss-swollen lips.
He eyed the dark head examining him, Angel, even in the throes of passion, always careful to see to him nicely, opening him wider and wider until Spike wanted to howl at the way it felt to be so shamelessly spread. Wanting Angel’s cock to fill him up now. Now. He mouthed the word aloud. It burnt his lips as it tumbled out.
“Now!”
The fast plugging of his emptiness drove a harsh grunt from him. Bam! Bam! The thrust and the upward hitch that was Angel’s special technique, the one that had Spike’s hot spot on fire, clogged his throat with pleasure.
Angel dug his hands into Spike’s hair, concentrating on going as deep as possible, his prick thickly eager, driving in and out of the muscled rump with a force that rattled his teeth. It had been torture being interred in the cave together, a sepulcher of thwarted desire that nearly drove them both nuts. They’d fought like a pair of five-year olds...through no fault of Angel’s. It was Spike who couldn’t contain himself.
Angel was feeling so much better, he had planned to fuck Spike that night, before they left to cross the river. But now was good. Now was fine. His shoulder only twinged a little, from the weight of leaning on his elbows. And the dull ache of his hip and thigh were insignificant compared to the bliss of being in Spike’s beautiful ass again. The way he rode Angel’s prick, so wantonly intent on his own pleasure, his face a gorgeous mask of lechery, made Angel wild to skewer him harder. Pin him to the ground and hump an orgasm of gigantic proportions into the pliant, welcoming body.
He lowered his forehead to the curve of Spike’s shoulder, closing his eyes to enjoy the musical flood of sexual sounds he was fucking from his captive. Spike’s body was folded almost double, his knees banging the ground as Angel worked himself into a heavy sweat. He palmed the spread cheeks, pulling them a little wider for a better view. His root, flushed red, plowed the open hole repeatedly, the sight so intensely erotic, Angel couldn’t look away. He cupped a handful of cushy balls and worked them firmly, Spike’s closed eyes popping open at the vise clamping him tightly.
“Talk to me.” It was a demand, not a request.
“Ummm.....ahhhhhh. Like it, don’t you? Lookin’ at my hole taking it deep. Seein’ your fat prick burning up my bum. Cause you are, pet. Burning my insides. Gonna spill soon. All over you. Drench you in hot cream ‘n you’ll lick it up. Like always. That right, love? Right?”
Spike convulsed under the sweet torment, toes curling, fighting to hold back the boil of spunk, halfway up his cock. Talked himself into it, he did. The release. Shouldn’t listen to himself. Had him by the bollocks now. Shook his belly, gritted his teeth. It came on in a blistering wave of thick spurts, one after the other, Angel too close over him to avoid getting some of it in the face. Not that he minded. The man’s expression was one of concentrated delight as he licked at the gooey spray that clung to his mouth.
Tasting Spike’s cum did it for Angel. His balls heaved a flood of sperm into the twitching channel that clenched feverishly at the fullness pumped high inside. Angel felt Spike go limp, beat a few more necessary strokes into the heated rectum, then collapsed onto the sticky body sprawled in languor beneath him.
His ears vibrated with the harsh roar of his debilitated gasps for air. He lay blinking, his heart struggling to slow, when the voice penetrated him, the way he had penetrated Spike.
“Out, comrade. Or we’ll come in and get you.”
Bangkok Butterfly
Part 6
Spendiferous manip by the darling, talented blondebitz
There was something green and wiggly on Spike’s arm. It was humping along in cheerful oblivion to its imminent demise. Sort of the story of Spike’s life, what with the humping and the clueless bubble he had lived in before a hurricane named Angel battered its way into his life, and knocked him on his ear.
Spike opened his mouth to shout the disgust that unfolded in his belly as the thing with too many legs used him for its own personal highway, only to find a beefy hand clapped across his lips, stifling him.
“Sssssh.”
The sibilance tickled his ear, making him squirm in protest. Indignation at being effectively gagged brought a few choice curses to his tongue, but before he could spit them out, the weight on his back shifted, flattening all the air from his lungs. The grip around his jaw curled tighter.
“Visitors.”
Angel’s whisper came just as Spike heard the low rumble of voices approaching the place where they lay, concealed from any but the most diligent of searchers by the surrounding thicket of reeds and an overhung brow of ferns that masked the cave’s entrance. In finding them a hidey hole, Spike had done far better than he ever could have hoped.
The men passed by within twenty feet. There were four of them. Spike could track their movements through the sheltering screen of plants. White men, not Thais, dressed in civilian clothes, sweat-stained shirts and dirty pants, wearing boots and carrying rifles. A shiver of fear passed down his spinal column, ending in his toes. When he heard what sounded like Russian tossed back and forth between them, he came near to pissing himself.
All Angel’s stories, the one’s Spike had only half-believed, despite the gunshot wound, took on force and reality. They were hunting the overgrown boy scout, and if they found him, they’d kill him. Spike lay very still, Angel breathing softly on the back of his neck.
They’d been waiting for two bloody days for Angel to get strong enough to make a stab at crossing the river. Seemed more like two years. Every improvement in Angel’s body lead to a corresponding drop in his mood. Their tempers flared, and they scratched at each other like a pair of randy tom cats. The whole of it made that much worse by the fact they couldn’t shag due to the severity of Angel’s injuries.
Massive boredom nearly drove Spike insane. He wanted to claw his skin off at being forced to stay in one place, a bitty hole in the ground, and nothing to do but eye-fuck the healing toss keepin’ him company. Angel was a shitty patient, too. Like it was all Spike’s bleeding fault.
Course, there was nature, Angel kept telling him. Look at the pretty....fill in the blank, he’d say. It was entertaining for about half a day. Even Spike could appreciate the soft breeze that rose as darkness suffused the twilight sky, and the last daubs of sunset pink faded into night. The beauty of the pale, green-ribboned river ruffling into frothy waves drew a reluctant silence from deep within his gut. Made him ache, for what, he didn’t know. He only had to turn his head to see Angel’s quiet face and the ache intensified.
Ibis and Kingfishers, bright blurs of color grabbed Spike’s attention for whole seconds at a time as they flashed through the reeds in search of frogs and small crustaceans. Yeah, yeah. All pretty like the pouf said. But not Spike’s milieu.
He found himself longing pitifully for the smoky back rooms of Ju-An’s, the raw stench of liquor and the sharp stink of sweaty bodies mixing it up in damp sheets. There was something unhealthy about breathing too much fresh air. ‘Sides. He was running out of cigarettes. The glands in his throat had kerneled in self-pity at the thought.
This morning had been better. Spike was grateful to have Angel talking again in what passed for a relatively good mood compared to yesterday. They’d been making plans to cross the river at nightfall when Spike had gone all bug conscious, followed by Angel manhandling him into bondage games, but not the fun kind.
They watched together, barely breathing as the trackers passed out of sight, their voices lingering on the still air. They were heading north along the shore, evidently having lost the fugitive’s trail, but still hopeful they could pick it up.
“They’ll be back.” The whisper tickled across Spike’s bare neck.
He nodded in understanding, and then sudden relief, when Angel’s massive weight rolled off his fractured spine. Flipping onto his back, Spike mirrored Angel’s pose, enjoying the sensation of being able to breathe again, side-eyeing his silent companion. The big man stared upwards at the cave’s rocky ceiling for a few minutes before turning his head to regard Spike with a thoughtful glance, eyes as dark as molasses.
The insect and the KGB agents that had so concerned Spike a few seconds earlier were suddenly forgotten, drowned by the erratic thump of blood that flooded into his ears. Angel was touching him. Spike was long past horny, and a finger tracing the crinkled indent of his belly button made his vision blur with lust.
“We could give them another hour or so to make sure they’re gone and cross now.” Angel shifted onto his elbow, his face only inches above Spike’s. “Or we could do like we planned. Wait for night and go then. What do you think?”
Spike was having trouble thinking at all. The fingers that had been teasing his navel were now inside his pants, resting on the trail of downy hair that led to his groin. His cock and balls were avidly interested in the unexpected development. He wiggled his backside, lifting it off the ground to press his belly against the exploratory hand.
“Don’t tease if you don’t mean it, prat.”
“Did I forget to mention how much better I feel today?” A palm flattened on Spike’s tense abdominal muscles and rubbed back and forth, making them clench tighter. Angel hummed his appreciation. “Gets me hot when you do that.”
“Do what? This?” Spike grasped Angel’s wrist, pushing his hand lower. The immediate tug on his pubic curls made his eyes clamp shut. “Pick your bloody times, don’t you, mate?”
“I might have forgotten to tell you, I’m turned on when shit gets...dicey.”
“Dicey? Fuck.” Spike tried to shove his brain in gear. They needed to be on top of things or.... Oh, Jesus. Why did he have to think that-Angel on top of him. Doin’ things to him. He opened his mouth and pushed a few random words out, surprised when they made any sense at all. “Don’t’ think we ought to do this with them....”
Unfortunately, Angel wasn’t listening. He was too busy eating Spike’s husky murmur with lips and tongue, working the soft mouth open to fill every nook and cranny of it in panting supplication. The erotic shush of heavy breathing filled the small cave for a time as they writhed against each other, prick to prick, only their pants separating naked flesh.
All the pent up sexual energy, suppressed for far too long, rose in crackling, electric waves, engulfing reason.
“Can you just....”
“Right.” Angel hushed speech into the pale curve of Spike’s arched throat.
He caught Spike under the arms and heaved him up so that they were laying chest to chest, the feel of sweaty skin, sticky against his own, driving him nearly crazy. Spike’s thighs slid to either side of Angel’s hips. The thin material of his pants gaped at the back. It was a matter of seconds for Angel to insinuate his hand inside the flimsy barrier and fill his palm with the moist, rounded curve of one cheek
“Christ. You’re so.....”
Spike didn’t let him finish, didn’t let Angel spill all the adjectives that exploded inside his head at the feel of silk, plump, maddening, wanton, sensual Spike ass in his hand. Spike responded wildly, tearing Angel’s lips to shreds with biting kisses, preventing further speech. Angel rolled them over, pressing the smaller man ferociously into the unyielding ground, ripping at the zipper of his pants, while Spike tried to help, curving his hips up so that Angel could strip him.
Spike tore his mouth away, rasping out the urgency of his desperation. “Hurry! Hurry! Need it now, Angel.”
Naked, Angel hefted Spike’s legs over his shoulders. It was obscene, that position; the way it exposed everything he had from rigid cock and taut, flushed balls, to the place that was Angel’s heaven. The too small dimple of flesh, a little fist of puckered brown, blushed to rosy excitement as Angel breached it with his thumb, the ring of muscle clamping eagerly around the intrusion.
“Do you know how pretty you are here?” Angel pressed his face into the parted cheeks and mouthed a kiss where his thumb disappeared. The crinkled little flower jumped at the contact.
“Yes!” Spike gasped at the sensation, the lick of tongue, the soothing saliva on his burning arsehole. “Now stop being a pouf and get busy.”
Spike’s head fell back limply at the way his stomach sizzled, full of molten lava that had seeped into his balls. The fingers pulling at his pucker were making spurts of that same lava leak from his too-tender slit, drenching his cock head. He moaned. It felt good to moan, the vibration coming from deep within his chest, spilling past his kiss-swollen lips.
He eyed the dark head examining him, Angel, even in the throes of passion, always careful to see to him nicely, opening him wider and wider until Spike wanted to howl at the way it felt to be so shamelessly spread. Wanting Angel’s cock to fill him up now. Now. He mouthed the word aloud. It burnt his lips as it tumbled out.
“Now!”
The fast plugging of his emptiness drove a harsh grunt from him. Bam! Bam! The thrust and the upward hitch that was Angel’s special technique, the one that had Spike’s hot spot on fire, clogged his throat with pleasure.
Angel dug his hands into Spike’s hair, concentrating on going as deep as possible, his prick thickly eager, driving in and out of the muscled rump with a force that rattled his teeth. It had been torture being interred in the cave together, a sepulcher of thwarted desire that nearly drove them both nuts. They’d fought like a pair of five-year olds...through no fault of Angel’s. It was Spike who couldn’t contain himself.
Angel was feeling so much better, he had planned to fuck Spike that night, before they left to cross the river. But now was good. Now was fine. His shoulder only twinged a little, from the weight of leaning on his elbows. And the dull ache of his hip and thigh were insignificant compared to the bliss of being in Spike’s beautiful ass again. The way he rode Angel’s prick, so wantonly intent on his own pleasure, his face a gorgeous mask of lechery, made Angel wild to skewer him harder. Pin him to the ground and hump an orgasm of gigantic proportions into the pliant, welcoming body.
He lowered his forehead to the curve of Spike’s shoulder, closing his eyes to enjoy the musical flood of sexual sounds he was fucking from his captive. Spike’s body was folded almost double, his knees banging the ground as Angel worked himself into a heavy sweat. He palmed the spread cheeks, pulling them a little wider for a better view. His root, flushed red, plowed the open hole repeatedly, the sight so intensely erotic, Angel couldn’t look away. He cupped a handful of cushy balls and worked them firmly, Spike’s closed eyes popping open at the vise clamping him tightly.
“Talk to me.” It was a demand, not a request.
“Ummm.....ahhhhhh. Like it, don’t you? Lookin’ at my hole taking it deep. Seein’ your fat prick burning up my bum. Cause you are, pet. Burning my insides. Gonna spill soon. All over you. Drench you in hot cream ‘n you’ll lick it up. Like always. That right, love? Right?”
Spike convulsed under the sweet torment, toes curling, fighting to hold back the boil of spunk, halfway up his cock. Talked himself into it, he did. The release. Shouldn’t listen to himself. Had him by the bollocks now. Shook his belly, gritted his teeth. It came on in a blistering wave of thick spurts, one after the other, Angel too close over him to avoid getting some of it in the face. Not that he minded. The man’s expression was one of concentrated delight as he licked at the gooey spray that clung to his mouth.
Tasting Spike’s cum did it for Angel. His balls heaved a flood of sperm into the twitching channel that clenched feverishly at the fullness pumped high inside. Angel felt Spike go limp, beat a few more necessary strokes into the heated rectum, then collapsed onto the sticky body sprawled in languor beneath him.
His ears vibrated with the harsh roar of his debilitated gasps for air. He lay blinking, his heart struggling to slow, when the voice penetrated him, the way he had penetrated Spike.
“Out, comrade. Or we’ll come in and get you.”