Basco has been overindulging himself with the taste of Joe's blood - filling his pouch, filling his mouth from the perforations he's covered Joe's shoulder with. He's not sure if he's ever mounted an alien of Joe's species before, but the curiosity that has always meant he had one eye on Marvelous's first mate (and the other on Marvelous) is suddenly making a bit more sense to him. Joe's fucking delicious, and if he wasn't so attached to the boy, well--
But. Keeping this one around, Basco reminds himself. Mind the blood loss.
Joe is starting to buck under him, torn between his own biology's urge to rock and thrust, and the very potent motivation that Basco's biology has offered toward staying put. Basco knows what Joe needs, and he carefully detatches his maw from Joe's shoulder, because though it surprises him a little, he's willing to give it. Or, take it, depending on your perspective.
Basco wills up his humanoid guise, dragging it into place over his head and shoulders. His body fights him, resenting the glamour's presence in the middle of mounting a victim that has so addicted the bloodlusty hungry grabby hindbrain of his true nature.
But he needs a mouth rather than a maw right now, so he forces the issue, and slowly the mask flickers back into place. Black-red flames float lightly across his skin, wicking off of all the curves and points, as he has to expend a continual energy, like a drip-level electrical current, to keep the glamour from evaporating again, and the visible cold flame is a byproduct of the same.
"Joe," Basco growls, demanding his attention with the threat rumbling in the bottom of his voice. It's the monster's voice, and Basco's fake, sweet face, beautiful by human standards.
"Mine." Bracing his left hand on the floor beneath Joe, Basco wraps his other arm around Joe's body, from the bitten side, all the way across his shoulderblades. Joe's right arm still clutches Basco's shoulder tightly, palm probably bleeding from abrasion against the scaled callouses there. Basco's pouch tightens around Joe's sex in excitement, ripping a dangerous-sounding growl of possessive dominance from his throat; Basco buries his face in the crook of Joe's neck, biting like an animal claiming his bitch, with teeth that are now human-shaped and quite harmless by comparison to his real ones.
Basco's torso is as structured and reinforced as the rest of him. As Joe presses tightly against him, following either the chemical commands from Basco's come or his own instinctive desires, the third and final stage of Basco's sex becomes apparent. Dull yellowy ridges along either side of Basco's torso, where a human's ribcage would be, have been growing more defined and raised as his monstrous lust has risen over the course of his bodily contact with Joe. Now, three of them rise free of each side of his body, unfolding at their midpoints. Not ribs or colorations, these armored bars which protect Basco's torso while he fights are also part of his race's sexual ritual.
Like spider legs, but harder and sharper, they're little more than bones linked by flexible cartilage, with a single, unbelievably strong tendon running along their dorsal sides. The bones snap forward, closing around Joe's body like the fingers of a massive hand; the tendons' roots retract, pulled deeper into Basco's body by internal muscle, and the bones are locked terrifyingly strong around Joe's frame, pinning his left arm to his side. The chains on his wrists are tangled in and amongst this cage, but it doesn't seem to bother Basco, whose familiar - if unsettlingly out of place - crooked smile spreads wide as he pulls his head back from nibbling Joe's neck to meet the other's eyes.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-05-18 05:04 pm (UTC)But. Keeping this one around, Basco reminds himself. Mind the blood loss.
Joe is starting to buck under him, torn between his own biology's urge to rock and thrust, and the very potent motivation that Basco's biology has offered toward staying put. Basco knows what Joe needs, and he carefully detatches his maw from Joe's shoulder, because though it surprises him a little, he's willing to give it. Or, take it, depending on your perspective.
Basco wills up his humanoid guise, dragging it into place over his head and shoulders. His body fights him, resenting the glamour's presence in the middle of mounting a victim that has so addicted the bloodlusty hungry grabby hindbrain of his true nature.
But he needs a mouth rather than a maw right now, so he forces the issue, and slowly the mask flickers back into place. Black-red flames float lightly across his skin, wicking off of all the curves and points, as he has to expend a continual energy, like a drip-level electrical current, to keep the glamour from evaporating again, and the visible cold flame is a byproduct of the same.
"Joe," Basco growls, demanding his attention with the threat rumbling in the bottom of his voice. It's the monster's voice, and Basco's fake, sweet face, beautiful by human standards.
"Mine." Bracing his left hand on the floor beneath Joe, Basco wraps his other arm around Joe's body, from the bitten side, all the way across his shoulderblades. Joe's right arm still clutches Basco's shoulder tightly, palm probably bleeding from abrasion against the scaled callouses there. Basco's pouch tightens around Joe's sex in excitement, ripping a dangerous-sounding growl of possessive dominance from his throat; Basco buries his face in the crook of Joe's neck, biting like an animal claiming his bitch, with teeth that are now human-shaped and quite harmless by comparison to his real ones.
Basco's torso is as structured and reinforced as the rest of him. As Joe presses tightly against him, following either the chemical commands from Basco's come or his own instinctive desires, the third and final stage of Basco's sex becomes apparent. Dull yellowy ridges along either side of Basco's torso, where a human's ribcage would be, have been growing more defined and raised as his monstrous lust has risen over the course of his bodily contact with Joe. Now, three of them rise free of each side of his body, unfolding at their midpoints. Not ribs or colorations, these armored bars which protect Basco's torso while he fights are also part of his race's sexual ritual.
Like spider legs, but harder and sharper, they're little more than bones linked by flexible cartilage, with a single, unbelievably strong tendon running along their dorsal sides. The bones snap forward, closing around Joe's body like the fingers of a massive hand; the tendons' roots retract, pulled deeper into Basco's body by internal muscle, and the bones are locked terrifyingly strong around Joe's frame, pinning his left arm to his side. The chains on his wrists are tangled in and amongst this cage, but it doesn't seem to bother Basco, whose familiar - if unsettlingly out of place - crooked smile spreads wide as he pulls his head back from nibbling Joe's neck to meet the other's eyes.
"Gotcha."