Play On, Piano Man

BY : Omnicat
Category: Gundam (all others) > Het - Male/Female
Dragon prints: 28
Disclaimer: I do not own Mobile Suit Gundam: Thunderbolt, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Play On, Piano Man

Daryl’s music is still playing, his hands and feet aren’t screwed on yet, and his normal suit is bunched around his thighs, but he still has one intact appendage left and Karla is bouncing on it. The squelching is obscene; she’s so slick her fluids are floating all around them. It’s a heady feeling, to see the arousal he’s causing a woman glistening like a wet halo, like rain on their skin. While she clutches his shoulders and clenches her legs around his waist to set her pace, he licks some off her chin, and her clavicle, and the swell of her breast, the stumps of his arms loose around her back in a cloud of hair as he buries his face in her tits and just goes to town. A strap around his thighs is the only thing keeping them anchored, and he’s all but helpless to take the rhythm of her gyrating hips.

But she’s good to him – too good for zero gravity sex. Her juices are relatively harmless, but they probably shouldn’t be getting his everywhere. Daryl really doesn’t feel like getting assigned cleaning duty over this. So when he’s come and slips out, and she’d done petting his hair and murmuring nonsense, he slides his prosthetic-that-should-not-have-been snugly between her lips to contain the mess a little longer.

Karla gasps, and stills, and stares.

And then, slowly, her eyes never leaving his, she takes his metal rod of a wrist, tilts his arm up, and sinks down on it as easily as she had his cock.

If he’s crying and his chest is filled with something hot and indescribable by the time she comes – pinned to the hull with one half forearm across her stomach and the other pistoning mercilessly into her, his mouth hard against her clit, making her howl and sob harder than any woman he’d ever brought off with his fingers and tongue when he still had any fingers – well, his face is wet anyway. The air is already riddled with moisture. He’s got as good an excuse as any.



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