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gross xeno fuckathon post

♥ hey how u doin lil mama

lemme whisper in ur ear ♥

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[He's never really seen someone take off their clothing with that much haste before. Assisted, yeah. Two people going at outfits tended to get clothes on the ground pretty fast. But that it's the Doc stripping like that has him staring for a few moments.

Then his attention is turning back to what's going on in this moment, because that's a little more important. Both of their hands are on Thane's cock, playing with it, sliding over the vivid colors, grey and now red-brown making the length seem all the brighter. It doesn't help that he'd been deep in Thane, kissing and biting the drell. Or maybe it does help, and that's why he's actually enjoying the look of things instead of getting as physical as his body craves.]

Easy way to find out, even.

[As if it's a bonus. But it's not like he's really sharing Thane. They're helping Mordin. It's semantics but he finds comfort in it anyway as he nudges Mordin's hip with his, encouraging the salarian to get more in contact with Thane. And Garrus follows suit, pressing his forehead to Thane's. They've got this. And they've got the Doc. And, wow, Solus is apparently really into this already.

Very aware of how awkward someone can feel, partly because he's been there on a very regular basis, Garrus doesn't stare, doesn't draw attention downward. Instead he runs his talons carefully up the doctor's long back. Then he's releasing Thane's cock to do the same to his lover. It takes a little reach, but he's got that. Skin and scales, both beneath his talons. It's definitely a contrast and he likes it.]

Edited (allllllllllllll the errors) 2014-06-03 06:51 (UTC)

[Thane is patient, respectable when Mordin pulls off his clothing, eying the curve of his body with great interest. He knows salarian anatomy in great detail, much like how he knows that of many other species -- it's different in this context. But isn't it always?

Their joined hands on him has Thane gasping for breath, perhaps a bit more sudden than he'd expected. Garrus and Mordin are both so warm and so much of it is drawn into his flesh. He glances down as well, eyes lazily-lidded, watching the interplay of fingers as they move along his length. Both palms slide over him easily, slick and nearly dripping himself with so much hunger, need that slides through him. It would seem that whatever Solus has is contagious; compounded by the lust he'd held before he and Garrus tore into each other today in the first place. A soft noise rolls from the drell's throat, something like a breathy grunt, and then he's drawing an arm up to extend the odd little triangular circle that they've all formed together.

Garrus' forehead is on his, and Thane's eyes close, albeit briefly. The removal of a hand, his hand, already leaves him yearning; Thane pushes forward a little against Mordin's fingers, seeking more of the encompassing touch that had faded. Garrus' hand feels hot against his back, though, and he likes that. Thane reaches out again, drawing his fingertips down the length of Mordin's torso, and his eyes are wandering over him a second time. More shades of pale brown, burnt-orange... scars, like himself, plain for both of them to see. Like they all carry, just as much on their insides if not out-- and if not more. Thane is curious to a degree that is almost heinous, even if he does not immediately reach out for the undergarments, or allow his gaze to travel beyond. He knows what's beneath them, and yet he doesn't in a lot of ways.]

In terms of skin, I don't believe you'll have much need to worry, Dr. Solus.

[In saying this, Thane's fingertips traverse the curved hollow of Mordin's sternum, easing down toward his waist.]

[ Somehow, even under the stress of being impossibly horny, Mordin's attention is distinctly curious, exploratory. He lets the gentle sting of Garrus's talons usher him closer to Thane, pressed against him pressed against the table Garrus had him bent over scant minutes ago. There is intimacy between the two of them, Mordin knows, and is happy for them. It's not in a salarian's nature to hold onto doubt where reassurance has already been provided—certainly not in Mordin's nature—so he chooses ultimately to give them both the respect of accepting that this is neither imposition nor inconvenience. Thane's body feels mercifully cool against his own, its texture less finely-scaled than an asari's but compellingly smooth all the same.

He glances back toward Garrus briefly, the heat rolling off him a heady contrast to Thane and his comparably temperate fingers playing at his waistband. His first instinct is to shuck them off, take Thane by the cock, and go for broke. But... well, maybe he would just like to believe that there's still room for a measure of subtlety here. For what it's worth, Thane's cock finds a rather lovely temporary home nestled into the hollow of his clothed hip, a delicious pressure. He's addressing them both when he speaks next, hushed, gaze flicking over the powerful muscles of Thane's stomach. ]

Don't—necessarily wish to rush things. Salarian sex quite, ah, direct by other species' standards, even outside of breeding situations. Will endeavor to [ a deep breath, said like it's the hardest thing in the world to say: ] go slowly.

[He doesn't get the need to not rush. They're all turned on, he'd just been buried balls-deep in Thane's ass, Mordin came here in need, and now not only is Garrus not being touched, Mordin wants to go slowly. Garrus closes his eyes and tries to get a slight handle on himself. It's not easy. The air is filled with the scent of a certain turned-on drell.]

There's nothing wrong with, uh. Direct. If you... change your mind.

[Garrus is about as subtle as a krogan. His thumb goes up Mordin's spine, up the back of his neck and head, and then Garrus strokes the intact horn. He's getting the impression that Solus is sensitive there, and if so he has every intention of making that work for him. In the meantime, Thane gets talons dragged roughly down his ass. Mordin's ass gets a turian cock against it, for good measure.]

Nothing to worry about.

[Like bashfulness. Which is a big word when you've got some venom in your veins and you really want to fuck the two people in front of you. At the same time. Somehow.]

[A soft huff of breath suffices for a chuckle, from Thane. He reaches over Mordin's shoulder to trace Garrus' scarred mandible with his fingertips.]

You were here once. You can handle a bit of patience.

[It's endeared, perhaps even a touch amused; not scolding at all. Interspecies connections, he means -- whether Garrus would pick up on that is another story. But regardless, even if Mordin had experienced either of them before--memory and universes notwithstanding--these things still take time to settle. Especially when dealing with two completely different anatomies at once.]

We'll move as slow or swift as you'll have us, Dr. Solus.

[A hand settles on Mordin's hip. Even in spite of the gentle reminder, Thane cannot help but arch his back at the press of claws on his ass, muscles flexing beneath the scaled texture of his skin. His want, though passions have cooled in the transition, has not died off. And Mordin is a curiosity. He presses a bit closer into the salarian's personal space, nose brushing against a long curved throat.

With his face half-tucked there, Thane tilts his head slightly, dark eyes meeting Garrus' blue.]

And I want to watch you handle him.

[ And somehow that's pretty much all the permission he needs. Ask anyone on the Citadel about the sexual assertiveness of a salarian and (with the probable exception of Sha'ira), chances are all you'd receive in return is a blank stare. But even though Mordin feels plagued to distraction by this frenzy, this fever, and even though it's been really quite a while (and never with a male with a dick), it's like some sort of primordial switch gets flicked in his brain and he gives Thane just a few seconds more to enjoy nuzzling at his neck before he's shoving him back onto the table with deceptive strength. And he's right there with him, too, one hand encircling the one still tenuously at his hip, the other planted square in the center of Thane's chest.

The Normandy crew values many qualities in their home furnishings and it is fortunate that stability and load-bearing capacity are two of them. ]

Hm. No.

[ Sometimes the quirky little doctor makes it a little easier to remember that he's the quirky little doctor who strung up merc corpses in the corridors of Omega as a warning. ]

Interrupted before. Looked important. Hate to deprive you.

[ Which "you" he means could be up for debate. Maybe both. Probably both. His fingers leave Thane's wrist to tug Garrus closer by the cock. There's a kind of laser focus to his intent, now that he's given himself over to it. It's kind of scary. Clearly, he's had his fill of patience. ]

Should continue; impolite otherwise. Can watch you handle me instead.

[ Thane's flushed cock now pokes rudely at the damp ache between his thighs. The underwear has to go at some point, he knows, but for the moment he'd much rather see Thane ready to go on this table. He imagines Garrus concurs. ]

Able to take that, I'm sure.

Edited (I DON'T LIKE USING WORDS TWICE) 2014-06-14 07:23 (UTC)

[Even if he'd particularly wanted to argue with Mordin the tug on his cock would have been compelling. Garrus finds himself more than a little surprised by the change in the dynamic here... but he has no objections. If he's following Solus' train of thought, he gets to fuck Thane into Mordin, and spirits, that's hot.

Garrus keeps his eyes on Thane's, wanting to see the drell's reaction as he circles back closer to Thane than Mordin, sliding his fingers back down the cleft of Thane's ass.]

I can handle anything... anything you throw at me.

[And he's even getting better at talking. For now, though, Garrus puts his hand on top of Mordin's, using both of them to guide his cock to bump back against Thane's cloaca, waiting to see if Thane's instead going to flip the tables again and turn this around. Garrus prefers to have some control in most encounters, but right now he's too turned on by the way this is going to try to change anything up.

...But he still intends to handle Mordin some. Thane's not the only one who will be doing that.]

[He's definitely caught off-guard by that: suddenly finding himself against the table, half on his back, a mostly-naked salarian pressed up against him. For a second, Thane stares up at Mordin, eyes slightly widened, grip having tightened in his skin. (It's a good thing that, unlike Garrus, he has no claws.)

And Garrus is drawing near, he's entirely too vulnerable, mixed feelings churning in his gut. Excitement, curiosity -- but there's strong tension there, instinct. Still holding onto Mordin's hip, Thane shifts slightly, bringing himself upward a little more. Garrus is nearby, his cock is edging between his thighs again; for whom is this truly moving too fast, now? But Thane is also glad to be rid of patience, his own prick hard and aching between his thighs, rubbing stiffly against Mordin's dampened undergarments. If he was a little closer again, perhaps he might even catch his scent ...

He urges up against Mordin's lean form, legs parting, hips pressing against Garrus' in turn; the movement rubs that flushed blue length along the crevice and against the pinkened slit of his cloaca, eliciting a shiver. Thane's hands fall against Mordin's waist then, dipping lewdly past the border of his remaining garment and pressing in, urging him further against him, in the hopes that he'll actually straddle him. Tempting though it might be, Thane keeps from drawing his hands in too far, half-hoping the respected doctor will whip the rest of it away with the same gusto he had the other things. There's a predatory hardness in his eyes as he grinds his hips against the fabric, letting his cock nudge up against the hole of Mordin's cloaca, further soaking the cloth with his own fluids as well.]

As you will it.

[ Mordin looses a soft, rough grunt, almost pained. But it isn't pained, oh no, and it's like water the way he rolls his hips forward and tighter against Thane, at the perfect angle to work him inside if not for the fabric stretched slickly between them, and Mordin's had enough patience, enough... he's had enough. His hands skid over Thane's strangely numerous digits hooked into his waistband and he shoves them off and kicks them away somewhere in a fell swoop. Wish granted, apparently.

He's tall enough, his whole body long and lean enough that to take Thane standing just like this would be a fairly simple task. It's instinct, maybe, that calls for him to clamber atop the solid form before him, splay his knees to either side, grind slow and fast and hard—but then instinct logically shouldn't account for the desire to take on two alien men at all, so maybe it's not worth rationalizing just now.

It's speculated among some salarian evolutionary biologists that the male orgasm itself is vestigial and somewhat redundant. Particularly in light of modern mating practices, the amount of seminal fluid produced during arousal alone should technically be more than sufficient for the purpose of fertilization. Over the course of his career, Mordin has been inclined to tentatively agree with this theory, though there's still less evidence to it than he'd like. But not anymore. Not now, when the first slide of textured drell cock nudges past the outside of his vent and it lights up his nerves like the perma-day Omega skyline, hand stuttering on Garrus's molten-hot prick behind Thane's shapely ass. The closer it comes to his hole the more fervently he realizes that it is so necessary to come, and without coming soon he's sure he's going to find a way to crawl out of his own skin.

Transfixed by the sight of violet-red nestling into orange-green, Mordin stares and swallows and then chokes on his own voice as a bump of Garrus's body against Thane sees him breached just slightly. Even this is tight, stinging sweetly, but if Mordin has any logical objections they get drowned out with the shaky, needy sound he makes as he tries his best to push him all the way inside. The anemone-like flare at the tip of Thane's cock sinks into him, moving, fits so strangely inside of him. Although it's already too much too fast he finds himself gasping out a little laugh tinged with hysteria, suddenly, helplessly frustrated that he's not riding Thane until he's stripped the bark off him. ]

[There is a small part of him that, no matter how many times Garrus forces it down, rises hot and jealous and possessive any time Thane and sex with someone else comes up. This time, though, it's surprisingly easy to push aside. Maybe it's because it's Mordin and he knows Solus isn't interested in Thane in any emotional way. Or maybe it's because he's the one taking Thane and Mordin can't.

Whatever it is, Garrus is satisfied and yet still wanting. Leaning forward, Garrus bites Thane's shoulder, hard, as he watches Thane's cock being lined up with Mordin's cloaca and then start to slide in, ever so slightly. He growls, losing some of his self-consciousness as he starts to push back into Thane. Thane's still warm from their previous activities, from Garrus' cock. His hand leaves his cock to go to Thane's hip and dig in tightly, talons breaking the scales ever so slightly. He can smell Thane's blood in the air, taste it on his tongue, all of it blending with the heightened scent of arousal filling the room, and it's got his blood heating up all over again.

And, since he has two partners here and two hands, he resumes toying with Mordin's horn, using a bit more talon than finger now, watching the way the colors shift on the salarian's body, especially as Garrus keeps pushing into Thane, and thus into Mordin.]

[There is so much stimulation at once, the shaft of him disappearing into the salarian's body, slick wet muscle closing around him. It's different than anything he'd experienced. Anything he's felt around him -- this is the first cloaca he's slipped into, and it's a thought that makes his toes curl, intrigue and pleasure intermingling. Thane struggles to keep his composure, watching the spread of colourful flesh as Mordin slides against his hips, draws him in.

The broken laugh cuts through, and Thane's gaze first lifts toward Mordin's face, at the haze in his expression. It's the most undone he's ever seen the doctor and it sends a prickle of excitement through his lower body. More base parts of himself that revel in how deeply he can pull another being apart. And then he lifts his head, glances back over his shoulder at his lover. A glimpse of him is all he's afforded before the very familiar sensation of Garrus' cock presses up against his backside, the taut hole made damp and soft from their union only moments ago.

Thane tips his head forward again, teeth grazing his own lip as Garrus works into his body, and the momentum has him arching up into Mordin's as well. A sharp breath, the shudder of a tensed spine, the way his eyes slide shut -- it's all on the surface, and his hands are quaking slightly as he grasps at Mordin's form. There is so much assaulting his senses at once that he can scarcely breathe, and on the second exhale a breathy noise he hadn't intended falls just as easily from his throat. So much of it beckons him to lose control, to rock his hips forward and drown, feel himself speared at the same time, filled to the point of bursting. Not yet, he has to remind himself. It's the anticipation that he knows that free reign will come soon -- that's what leaves him struggling for a mental foothold.]

[ Inconsiderable though it may be compared to Thane's dense musculature, Mordin's total weight sinks into the solid support of both men before him; braced against Garrus, Thane will be either a bulwark or a domino as a sinewy leg stretches past them both, hooking at the sole on one of Garrus's spurs. The degree to which Mordin feels full of Thane continues to take him by surprise, but call him nothing if not a fast learner. He squirms down hard, impaled further with a filthy sort of determination, and even Garrus's hot clawed fingers are cool relief against his horn when his forehead falls against Thane's shoulder and it ends up pointing at him accusingly. There's something of a blind grope for Thane's hip to lock him in deeper, wanting, and then he finds Thane's skin is serpentine-smooth and ever-so-slightly numbing at his neck where he's—completely by virtue of instinct, mind you—dragged his tongue over just shy of the beginning of his frills. ]

Probably inadvisable. Will alert in the event of [ nngh— ] hallucination. Onset. Onset of hallucin—ah...

[ A ragged breath, a roll of hips that pulls Thane's cock partly out only to push back in, to punctuate. His toes flex restlessly over Garrus's spur. ]

Recommend more [ comfortable ] practical position.

[ Beware, gentlemen; seems the good doctor is in real danger of swooning. Not from the venom, either. ]

[He can hear that Thane's already seriously into this, feel the shudder of his lover's body, and Garrus can't help but feel a bit smug. Of course Thane's getting shaky. He's between the both of them, wrapped up in this quite literally. And then Mordin's stumbling talk, the way he's responding as well... Oh, it's satisfying, all right. As is the thought of Dr. Mordin Solus getting high off of Thane. Though none of that is quite as good as the way it feels to push himself into his lover and his lover into the doctor. Thane is so warm thanks to him, slick and easy to push into, and Mordin's heated as well, both of them feeding into the drell.

Garrus groans as Mordin's foot drops down to rest against his spur. His leg twitches to try to help with the hooking there, to rub against it as shamelessly as he's pulling out and sliding back into Thane. The doctor's comment gets another groan, but that's more of protest even as he tries to be patient. Garrus had just gotten back inside Thane and Mordin wants to shift? There was no desire whatsoever in the turian to pull out again, but the salarian was their guest.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, to remember how to talk before attempting it.]

You got something in mind?

[Of course Mordin does. Probably fifty things in mind, all going to spill out at the same time and leave Garrus' foggy brain in the dust. At least Garrus can mess with the Doctor's mind right back and trail his talons not-so-lightly down the back of the salarian's head while he laps at the newest mark he's left on Thane.]

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