L U S T - Top Chef
Jan. 22nd, 2007
05:00 am - L U S T
Written by dylanx
Summary: The day before the elmination challenge, but after they recieve their Sin; Marcel wants to show Ilan he has a sex drive, and cherries won't reduce it.
Has not been betted. Sorry.
Lights shined; sheets unfolded and flew. His body, that was heavy and need of deep sleep, was numb, but apparently, his arms weren’t, because they shot up like pistols in attempt to block his face from any damage. His arms shifted and jerked, his body shaking the mattress, until he realized the person was only trying to remove his American Idol T-shirt. Succeeding, the man continued to move the victim like a rag doll that had sparked his anger side. The man only continued to succeed by jumping on the victim like a cop to a thief, and had removed his blue and white pajama pants with ease, the victim’s hairy legs coming contact with the cold air. The victim was just a victim: he couldn’t find his voice to scream for help, or to start moving the man off his body. He couldn’t even speak out to ask why he was on him. But he knew the man wouldn’t stay long; within seconds, the man had jumped off, grabbed some bottle off the end table, and began stripping off his clothes. Time passed as the man pulled his white Beach Boys sleeveless shirt over his lock of brown hair, moved down his ‘favorite’ pair of red and blue pajama pants, exposing the red boxers he had almost fought the laundry cleaners about. The lights clicked off, but Ilan could still see as the man came back aboard the mattress.
“You say –” Ilan could tell he was out of breath, but the way his breathing came across Ilan’s face like a jet taking off, and how hesitant he was. “You say I’m–I’ve never–sex before.” He knew he said that often, but only because how angry he had made him. “You say I can’t be–enough.” He knew he said that, too, because he had said he had never had sex before. “I’m sick–tired–it.”
“Marcel, stop.” Ilan’s hands flew up to grip Marcel’s cold arms, stopping the shaking in the process. For once, the silence of the room was heard, instead of the constant snores from either boys, or the loud ruffling of moving about the room. For once, Ilan could look up at the ceiling, and not have to imagine Marcel on top of him, but know he was there. For once, he would have Marcel’s lips–
Somehow, Marcel broke free, and it was back to step one. Pairs of boxers went flying through the air, as a gasping breath sliced the silence. Ilan continued to move up and down, like an innocent girl being fingered by her nineteen year old boyfriend for the first time. He moaned and groaned, twisting and taunting–oh, how that felt good! His hands, shaking and twisting among the bed sheets, were now reaching for the back of the brown set of hair, trying to push him further and faster. But, it was as if Marcel was as sly as a thief, and broke Ilan’s grasp by going down. But instead of an anger rushing out of Ilan from the immediate stop of pleasure, he continued to gasp and moan and whine twisting his legs continuously: “Oooh-ahhhhh-mmmm.” Marcel’s lips sliced and cut the gaping hole like it was all he ever had wanted to do. However, the pleasure ceased quickly.
The taller man moved up, and they were now face-to-face. In the darkness, Ilan could see the rugged outline of his jaw, as well as his nose. Faster than ever, he could see his eyes and his mouth and his ears. But, rather than smiling, Marcel was full of anger and nervousness: his eyes were twitching back and forth like a paranoid stupid Chihuahua, his mouth was making all sorts of movement and shapes, but none of them resembled a simple kiss. “I’ll prove you wrong. I’ve had sex. I have lust.”
Ilan couldn’t help but chuckle at how wrong this sounded, but he was rudely interrupted. “I’ve had sex.”
“I believe you,” Ilan seemed to mutter unintentionally.
“No, sex. Actually sex.”
Now it was annoying, and Ilan wasn’t sure to believe it or not. But, his sex drive couldn’t pass up the opportunity, no matter if Carolina wouldn’t mind. Ilan was sure there weren’t any camera around now. “Prove it.”
It seemed that Marcel had planned this; he jumped over Ilan’s face, and came cheek-to-penis with Marcel’s manhood. When, at first, Ilan disagreed, Marcel seemed to force it in when he reached over for the lube. Ilan didn’t want a penis in his mouth. This was his first time, and he had to force his teeth to open widely. He had to force his tongue to come back up his mouth and licked the sides. A shot of pre-cum came flowing down his throat, and he had coughed out Marcel’s cock.
“Not bad, I’d –”
“I don’t want this,” Ilan protested. His sex drive immediately dropped when he had felt the sticky substance coming down and sticking around his throat like peanut butter, only worse.
“You always say I don’t have lust. I do, Ilan. It’s pretty high and –”
“Marcel! Stop!” He tried to move his body, but he couldn’t, and the brown truffles of public hair came back towards his mouth. This time, Ilan felt the head almost go down his throat, and his nose sniff in the public hair. It was disgusting, and the once hardening sexy scene of Marcel’s nipples was out of Ilan’s mind. The sexy scene of seeing Marcel on top of him was now somewhere in Elia’s mind, because he found this utterly revolting. It seemed for eternity until Marcel had pulled out, but that was it.
He couldn’t exactly see it, but he felt it: the cool whip of lube being wrapped around his ass hole like a pussy, and the moaning of Marcel when he prepared his own cock. Ilan jumped up in protest, sitting up to hide his ass from any more preparation. But the free hand came slamming down of Ilan’s chest, and, while one hand pushed Ilan down, Marcel’s other hand positioning his cock in front of Ilan’s –
“OOOH!” Ilan let out a horrid scream, as the pain sinked in; the pain of a little cock didn’t seem so little anymore. It was scissoring its way through the tissues and whatever other crap hung around his hole. Hands – one more slippery than the other – held down onto Ilan’s shoulders, but Ilan was so tense that he didn’t need any holding. He was about to collapse on the bed, when the pleasure took place of the pain. The feeling of a cock move its’ way in and out, slowly, but surely, was entertaining. Ilan felt the ooze from the lube sinking in and out, and around his butt cheeks. He felt the climax of himself almost churn; tears busted from his eyes, his forehead producing sweat faster than a bunny could produce its’ babies, and his body shaking allover. Marcel came with a hard climax, twisting and ranting while still inside of Ilan. He felt it go through him, and wanted to slap Marcel over with a condom – over and over. He imagined the feeling of the shooting go across his stomach, and stick there for years; but he did feel the cum shooting inside of him. He soon felt the cum shoot up against his stomach, and Marcel’s as well. It didn’t stop there; it seemed Marcel had more of an advantage and continued to pump in and out; even through his cock was obviously deflating. But soon, the tears were wrapped, and the sound of sheets folding was heard over the silence. “Asshole,” Ilan muttered, crawling back into his bed, tucking the sheets just enough to hide his cum-covered stomach, tears still falling from his eyelashes.