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Blitz hit the mattress in a flurry of limbs and rustling fabric.
His guest loomed over him like a horny gargoyle, grinning as his gigantic claws groped around for his waistband.
Blitz leered in kind as he shucked his trench coat and tossed it to the floor.
Then, without preamble, Shark Guy (…Chad? Charlie? Crab? Eh, he’d find out from M & M later when they bonded over the whole thing!) reached for Blitz’s ankles.
He snatched two fistfuls of pantsleg and yanked.
Something tore.
“Hey!” Blitz barked, “Watch it! Those’re tailored —“
“Oof, my bad, Doll,” replied Sharky McFuckface, holding his huge hands up innocently.
Blitz grumbled. He shot him a befuddled glare as he struggled with his boots. Jesus, give a guy a minute! He ditched the socks first, then reached for his fly.
As Blitz examined his waistband, he realized the zipper’s teeth had been forcibly separated. Well, no time to fix that now. He carefully worked the waistband down his hips, wincing as he noticed a run along the inseam.
“…Y’at least could’ve waited for the shoes to come off,” he muttered. He tossed aside his poor, poor pants, frowning as they crumpled sadly to the floor.
Blitz startled as talons gripped his shirt, yanking it over his face.
“— Whoa, hey!” he yelped.
He threw his arms up, praying the stretchy fabric wouldn’t snag on his horns.
Well, Blitz thought, getting your clothes yanked off was generally pretty sexy. It wasn’t not doing anything for him, he supposed! Annoying as fuck, though…
Once he’d wriggled free, he paused to catch his breath. Blitz blinked until the shark came into focus. He looked just about ready to pounce.
Nope, not just yet! Time to get your head in the game, thought Blitz.
He rolled his shoulders, then stretched his arms above his head, making double sure to flex his abs.
“Geez,” he chuckled, taking hold of his annoyance and twisting it into amusement, “Looks like we got ourselves a real eager beaver over here!”
“Oh, I’m ‘eager’ for that ‘beaver,’ alright.“ said Shark-Boy.
Blitz froze, arms above his head. Eugh.
Before he could voice his distaste, Sharky plopped onto the sheets. It was less sexy-pounce and more cannonball, rattling the bed frame. Blitz’s skull, too.
Now, at least, Blitz could actually appreciate the fact that Sharky had ditched the boxers — and boy, he wasn’t kidding about having a big one.
Blitz, of course, wasn’t either.
He made a point of meeting those weird, spirally eyes as he pulled his own underwear down, tail whipping around showily.
But Sharky barely seemed to notice. He just kept eyeing Blitz like a sitting duck. Or maybe more like an injured pony. Yeah, a really sick, weak one. Straggling along behind its herd, all sad and alone…
Blitz felt his brows crease in abject confusion. The fuck was that metaphor? He shook the image from his head. Whatever! Point was, the shark was wrong.
Blitz was not easy prey.
By the time he’d recovered from that mental rabbithole, Sharky, Blitz realized, had already started going to town on himself.
Blitz’s face screwed up in disbelief.
This guy really expected Blitz, in all his glory, to just sit around and get Jackson Pollock-ed? What a waste! And to add insult to injury, this was not the intel he’d been promised. Not unless Millie and Moxxie were the two most easily impressed perverts in all Seven Rings (unlikely).
“Well?” Blitz huffed, eyes snapping from his crotch to his smug, toothy face, “You gonna give me the goods, or what?”
“Ooh, I like when you beg for it!”
Blitz grimaced.
“Could you stop jacking off?”
“Alright, alright! Sorry to keep you waiting. Just warmin’ up,” smarmed Shark-ass. He reluctantly released his dick, then moved in for the kill.
Blitz startled as he took a horn in each hand like a pair of fucking bicycle handles.
He raised a brow, unimpressed. The message didn’t seem to translate, though. Sharky only got handsier, claws scraping heedlessly against keratin as he fondled his horns. Blitz hissed in annoyance. That sensation was never fun — like nails on a chalkboard, except the chalkboard was attached to his own fucking skull.
When Sharky started shoving his head down toward his crotch, Blitz gasped, then scowled. He braced his hands on his thighs.
“Hey, asshole!” he yelled, jerking his head back up to look him in the eye, “I didn’t ask you to shove your raw fuckin’ fishstick down my trachea!”
Sharky froze, blinking dumbly. After a second, he released Blitz with a beleaguered sigh. Blitz tossed his head as if to shake off the memory of those scratching claws, then drew back, glowering.
“Damn, really? For a bj?”
“Yes,” Blitz hissed, “For a motherfucking bj.”
“But that’s not nearly as fun!” he whined.
Blitz could feel his own dick losing interest. He fixed him with a disdainful glare.
The shark frowned.
“C’mooon, you know it feels like crap with a wrapper! Y’know, Mox and Mills both loved it when I —“
“Yeah, well, that,” Blitz gestured forcefully at Sharky’s dick, “…ain’t this. I don’t know where you’ve been, and you don’t know where I…”
Blitz trailed off, eyes widening.
Wait a damn minute. Why in Satan’s ever-loving Hell was he explaining this shit to a grown fucking man?
“— Just, Jesus! Get your shit together, Jaws, I don’t got all night.”
Chad/Charlie/Crab (okay, it probably wasn’t that last one) shrugged.
“Whatever you say.”
“Check the drawer. And grab me one, too,” Blitz snapped. His emergency condom was somewhere on the floor, buried in the linty recesses of his jacket.
“Extra-large.” he added pointedly. He’d brought a variety, and it was a good thing, too. You never knew who might be around.
Chad(?) gave a noncommittal grunt.
Blitz watched as the shark clambered across the bed and opened the drawer. He groped around, grumbling under his breath.
Blitz pulled his legs up to his chest, spaded tail flicking as he waited. He tried to enjoy whatever glimpses he got of the slim gray butt beneath that big, clunky tail. It wasn’t bad. He could still salvage this.
“Alrighty!” said Fish-Dick, “Got the sock on, now let’s get our cock on!”
That was horrible, but Blitz could make it work. Conspicuously, Sharky seemed to have forgotten the one for Blitz. Whatever.
Blitz leered, leaning forward. Forget the bj!
“Don’tcha mean… Let’s get your cock in?” he husked, stretching a leg out enticingly.
The shark’s face fell, surprising Blitz. His gaze wandered to the wall behind him as he rubbed the back of his neck. What was even happening right now? The guy looked more thoughtful than Blitz had seen him all day.
“‘In,’” he echoed, “Damn, that’s a lot better than mine.”
His gaze snapped back to Blitz.
“Well, whatever. You get the gist!”
After a pause, the light seemed to return to his corkscrew eyes.
“Gist…” he repeated, grinning, “Heh. Like jizz… but in the past-tense! See, hotstuff, I’ve got a gift!”
“Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ hilarious,” snapped Blitz, “I’m creamin’ my pants over here.”
Sharky laughed, sizing him up with an intensity Blitz’s dick didn’t necessarily hate.
“Mm, not if I cream ‘em for ya.”
Ugh, never mind, said Blitz’s dick.
Then Sharky pounced, shoving Blitz against the bed. Blitz felt a whoop of surprise squeeze out of his lungs.
The shark proceeded to smush Blitz’s face against his sandpapery chest as he reached for the nightstand, tailfin flopping all over the place in anticipation. He groped around ‘til he found a half-empty bottle of lube. It clicked open. Sharky chuckled triumphantly.
Blitz startled at the cold as he was unceremoniously drenched.
“Ass-up or tits-up?” asked the shark.
Blitz’s mouth fell open.
“—Fuck are you saying to me?”
“D’you wanna get reamed from behind, or what?”
“Oh. Sure.”
Blitz flipped onto his stomach.
“But warm me up first!”
Sharky grumbled.
“Hey, I ain’t some beta fuckin’ virgin.”
Blitz furrowed his brow. “Beta” fucking… huh? What, like the fish? People fucked those??
“So don’t you worry your pretty, little horn-havin’ head. I know just what you need!”
Somehow, Blitz doubted that.
Sharky yanked Blitz’s tail aside, and Blitz grunted at the abrupt sensation of a tongue in his hole.
He tried to relax as he gripped the pillow. When the tongue disappeared, he tossed a glance over his shoulder.
“Well?” he prompted, wiggling his hips.
He regretted it. Sharky’s grin was unbearably smug.
“That desperate for my pocket-rocket, are ya?”
Blitz rolled his eyes.
He whipped his tail out of Sharky’s fumbling claws, holding it up himself as he widened his stance.
A big dick was a big dick, Blitz told himself. Hard to ruin that.
Then the big dick was inside him, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure.
Blitz’s world narrowed to the musty scent of the sheets and the sting of claws clumsily gripping his hips as the shark began to move.
Blitz hissed, pressing back to ease himself along.
He’d better not start jackhammering away like in a bad porno, thought Blitz.
A few moments passed before he started jackhammering away like in a bad porno.
Sharky seemed to be having a grand old time! Blitz, however, was not.
His body jerked with the force of each thrust, not a single one hitting anything fun.
“C-chill the fuck out!” he yelled.
As Blitz lay on the mattress, cold and coverless and sore with an absolute dipshit snoring beside him, he took stock. Sharky had come. He had not.
Blitz frowned. His mind turned to softer sheets, better lays.
It was hard to picture those rough, selfish hands having ever made Millie or Moxxie shiver with anything but disgust. How’d he even kept them around? What kinda underhanded shit was he capable of?
Something wasn’t adding up.
Quietly, Blitz placed his hooves on the floor and made his way over to Sharky’s crumpled jacket.