Just the skin of his back, hot and smooth under your hands, knocks you stupid. It's like a baseball bat to the back of your head. "Wow, hi," you garble, just about drooling. It's been so long. If you don't kiss him you'll die. "Get inside the sleeping bag, get warm --" You wish you'd stripped naked before asking. Now you're going to have to somehow undress without letting go of him. Letting go of him is simply not acceptable.
You laugh and burrow into the sleeping bag, but attempting to curl up at the bottom results in punching the underside of your jaw with your knee. Which is absurd, because you hardly have any jaw at all, like this, but you suppose you do have quite a lot of extra knee, humans are practically kangaroos in the leg department, it's stupid. By the time you stop being mad at your own proportions Bel's naked. You stick a hand out of the bag and pat his butt. Butts are alright, good job humans.
"Don't curl in a ball, you dork, I wanna make out. Unless you don't wanna make out." That seems unlikely. For one thing, he's patting your butt. "Erskin, please, it's been so very long."
You snicker and grab his leg, intending to pull him into the bag with you, but however optimistic your simian brain processes are, physics turns out not to work like that. You pull yourself and the bag into a heap on top of him. You give up on the bag entirely and kiss his face.
Yes, good, kissing achieved, you may live after all. You both probably have terrible breath and smell like goats. You honestly do not care. You do eventually start to care about the fact that it's really cold in this tent, and break the kiss long enough to flatten out the sleeping bag and unzip the side enough so you can both get in, but after that your environment totally ceases to be important. He's so beautiful by the light of the tiny wind-up lamp. As soon as you're warm enough for normal bloodflow to resume, it all goes directly groinwards, leaving you lightheaded.
Sex is a lot more important in this shape: less like considering something that could be fun and more like a ravenous hunger. You press with rapidly increasing enthusiasm against Bel's front, kissing him as best you can without smashing anyone's nose, and work your hand down between you to where his cock is just about boring a hole against your thigh. You are very nearly distracted by a detour to your own cock, but it turns out you are actually just gracious enough to want to get him off first. He sounds like he'll probably die if you don't, anyway. It's ridiculously endearing.
You're making all kinds of stupid noises and babbling his name like an idiot, which you figure is perfectly understandable, it's been weeks. His hand feels so good, so very good, he definitely deserves to have the favor repaid but you keep getting distracted and clutching at whatever skin you can reach, and then basically your head explodes. When you're done whimpering against his neck, you're a little disappointed with yourself; you had something more in mind than a two-minute hand job. You got overexcited. Oh well, you'll do better in round two. Oh, but round one isn't over, is it? He's got hold of himself now, and that's just not right, you should be helping out. You smear your hand through the warm mess on your stomach and take a slick grasp on his cock. "Let off some tension," you suggest, a hoarse whisper in his ear, "and then we can take our time."
You make a sort of squeak at that, then a long appreciative sigh, and melt against him. Your tongue's as clumsy in your mouth as the words are in your brain, so it's about all you can manage to hang on and go "yes" at him, but you do, and passionately. You come shouting and scratching at him, feeling very nearly mad with wanting. Afterwards you cling, panting hard and shivering from the intensity. Sort of baffled by it. You don't quite know what to do with yourself right now.
It makes your heart ache in the best way, how thrown he is, and how he clings to you. You wrap him in your arms and hold him close, nuzzling and kissing lazily at his face and hair, until he relaxes. Then you free a hand from the sleeping bag to find your dishcloth, a bit damp still and smoky-smelling from being dried by your cooking fire before you turned in for the night, but the best option for cleaning up sex muck because you know you'll be boiling it with the dirty dishes tomorrow morning. You use it on yourself first to let it warm up. Once you're both a bit less sticky, you're content to just hold him as long as he likes; if the way you sketch lines of kisses along his shoulders doesn't get him revved up again, you'll deal. It's just so good to have this side of him back again. "I had some elaborate fantasies," you admit. "For when you could change. But I pretty much went off as soon as you touched me. I probably should've guessed that'd happen."
"Mmn. Well. It's... not as if there's, there's a finite amount of sex. You can have. Is there?" You lick your teeth. "Wait, is there?"
"Well, I suppose we can't spend more than a day or two rolling around in this sleeping bag before we'll have to get moving or hunt some food or both." You lick his teeth as well. It's more interesting than you expected. You try licking the back side of his teeth to compare, and by the time you're done with the ensuing tongue tangle, you've forgotten what you were talking about. "Being quadrepeds with you is hella relaxing, but god I missed kissing you."
You arch happily against his palms when he pets you again. "I— it's strange, isn't it, being this— raw, peeled. Open. It's good. I like it too." You brush your finger pads over his face-speckles, just barely visible in this dim light, then kiss them.
"I... mm... I didn't appreciate it before. But it's really good." He kisses in a careful pattern across your face, from cheekbone to cheekbone across the bridge of your nose -- you realize he's kissing your freckles, and abruptly feel terribly soppy. People are always doing that to girls in stories, but no one ever thought to do it to a musclehead like you. You wonder if he'd let you kiss his scars. When he pauses in the freckle-chasing, you begin with a short white line that bisects the sharp edge of his jaw, and see how it goes over.
You pause, a little confused, and then when he presses his mouth to another spot you laugh. "Tickles a little," you explain. "Can't feel it directly, but around the edges—" you lean in and get his cheek while he's busy aiming for yours. Things quickly devolve into a messy smooching contest. "Hey, tell me— those fantasies. Elaborate," you order, between breathless rounds. "Fancy fantasies. Ha!"
"Mm, well, my favorite of the bunch is the one where I tease you with my mouth while I get my ass ready with this little thing of lube I brought, and then I ride you like a rodeo cowboy." Since you doubt there's any way to sound sultry saying a thing like that, you just give him a big honest grin. You've never done butt stuff with another person before, but you can't think of anyone more perfect to try it out with, if he's into it. And if he's not, you're confident he won't make you feel gross for bringing it up.
"I—hmm." You expected him to want to play around with leads and collars, so now you're actually at a loss to visualize what his sexual proposal would even look like. "My back? You want to sit on my back?" you hazard, doubtfully. "I don't... think I quite understand the allure...?" What happened to one person on all fours and the other one introducing themselves from behind, like regular? If this is more of that kama sutra nonsense you're going to be downright miffed.
You laugh. "No, no, the riding is metaphorical. Sort of. I want --" You roll him onto his back, straddling his hips, and grind down a little in demonstration. "I want you to fuck me. Like this. If you're into it. I know not everyone's interested in anal sex. I've never done it with another person before, only played with myself. But the thought of it, with you, it really gets me going. Kind of to a surprising degree." You lean down and kiss the point of his nose. "What is your opinion on the matter?"
"T-this is a lot less likely to break my spine, so, I'm, hff, I'm all for it," is your opinion. You pet his thighs and try not to get slobberingly distracted by the way your cocks rub together. "I, it's—strange, like this, lying flat, but— nice, you're nice, it's good."
"Yeah," you say softly. Nibble his lips a little more, then grab the tube of slick from your pack and wriggle down inside the sleeping bag. He won't be able to watch you prepare yourself, but you're pretty sure if you did it out in the cold air of the tent you'd be too tense from cold to go through with it. He whines when you lick him, and you pause to murmur a caution. "Don't come from this. Tell me if you 're too close." You want to tease him crazy, tease him so once he's inside you he loses his goddamn mind.
"Well, then— how— but if—" he does something else hot and wonderful with his mouth and you give up all questions in favor of moaning and pulling his hair greedily for more. You don't know how you're going to last, like this, let alone with him riding you, but that is definitely a problem for the future.
