Snake Man Mirror Breath
by phantomas
Rated: A-- PWP smut, and uhm, a snake. Erm.
Warning: as I said. Smut. Snake.
Pairing: Philip Padgett (The Burning Zone)
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Philip never thought about snakes, before. Now it's all he can think about.
Hours, minutes, they all tick away in his mind, one after the other, as he smiles at his guests, as he discusses business with his partner, as he imposes his hands and heals...but really, each hour and minute counts only in as much as how long it will be to the next time he'll be free, and alone and able to do this.
The slow shape of the snake moves sinuously. How can people be scared of this? Philip wonders, looking at it. It's a ripple of power, an overload of sensuousness...the cold, alien skin under Philip's fingertips, a ghost touch that has the hair on his body rising.
He can't often indulge like this. There is never time. But now and then, he needs it. He needs it to recharge himself, to wash away from his body all those other scents, those touches, human skin and hands and saliva and sweat and warm and disgusting.
He just lies there, his eyes closed, in the middle of the huge bed. The snake knows him well. It comes to him. Slowly, slowly, Philip can feel the cold, dry skin sliding onto his own, over a knee, under the other, finding its way, called close by the warmth of Philip's flesh and blood, bringing its own coolness to the man.
Philip's hands rest in mid-air, inches away from his body, blindly waiting for the first contact with the snake, the first shy hiss of its tongue. The snake keeps wrapping itself around Philip, up to his thighs now, as thick as a grown man's bicep, heavy, massive. Philip has forgotten to measure it, these past few months. He knows it's still growing, not the little baby snake he chose in the exotic animals shop almost a year before. They know each other, well.
The snake hisses, low, and his head bumps against Philip's cock. He's hard already. Well swollen and thick with blood, cock-head exposed. Philip fists the sheets in his hands, toes curling. The snake likes it better when he doesn't touch it, doesn't push it. His cock bobs slightly, tapping his stomach, asking, needing. At times Philip thinks he can hear the blood pumping along the vein on the underside. Snakes like warmth. Philip's cock is so hot, right now. The snake ripples forward, slowly, his head bumping against the engorged cock.
Philip has to bite his lips, hard. It wouldn't be the first time he draws blood, because of the snake. His bottom lip is sore already. But he has to be quiet, not trash around, not be loud. Not because of others, but because he doesn't want to upset the snake, who's very sensitive to the vibrations that sounds might produce. "Yes," Philip whispers as the heavy coils start dragging along his groin, and the snake's head insinuates itself between his cock and thigh. "Yes," he whispered again, and then Philip hisses as the thin reptile tongue ghosts along his cock's length.
His eyes open, staring up at the mirror strategically placed on the ceiling. His heart jumps in his throat, because there's no doubt about how beautiful this is, himself, spread naked on the pearly-silk sheets, and the darker shape of the snake wrapped around and between his thighs, cautiously tasting Philip's cock. There's always that frisson of animalistic, dark hunger, that tension of survival, because the snake could very well one day decide to tighten his grip on Philip, around his chest, his torso, his throat, and breathing would become so difficult and his cock so hard, and it would be the best and maybe the last orgasm of his life...
The snake curls around his cock, coiling and tightening and then moving over, as Philip's lower body, groin and thighs become a part of the snake's long coils, one mass of pale, trembling flesh and cold, dark scales. He sees the snake's advance on his body in the mirror, lifting his arms when the snake incuneates itself under his back, then around one shoulder, then slowly across the collarbone.
Then it starts, that sort of humming through the snake's body, once it's settled to its content, once all his coils are firm and heavy and contract and retract, like a wave, rippling from head to tip of the tail.
Philip still has a free arm that he can move about; he always tries to end up like that. His hand can finally caress the animal lying all over and around him, as heavy as ever, Philip's breathing coming in harsh gasps and strangled moans. His hand skims along the cold length, reaching down to dip his fingertip in his cock's slit, back up to his mouth and sucking noisily on the precum there, dipping his finger in it again, forcefully, then offering it to the hissing snake's tongue close to his cheek. "There, there," he murmurs, soothingly.
His hips are rubbing against the snake's bulk, but he wants more. So much more. His hand moves away, reaching down again, sliding along the snake's length, his balls closer to his body, half crushed by a cold, living coil... and he finds it, the tail of the snake, its very tip. A smile curls Philip's lips, as he see himself forcing his thighs apart, the snake hissing angrily in his ear.
"Shhh." His grip on the snake's tail-tip is firm, sure. He'd spent long, long minutes lubing his ass, stretching it with his own fingers, four of them, all but stopping before he was too close to coming, heart thumping madly in his chest. Like it is now as Philip's hand forces the snake's tail tip up inside his hole, forcing it past the first ring of muscles, groaning loudly, a spray of spit on his lips. The snake's tail is cold, the scales alien and so, so smooth around its hardness.
"Oh, god, yes. Yes..." the groan sounds more like an imprecation, a curse, louder than Philip intended, and the snake reacts briefly, a rippling of muscles that runs along its body, all around Philip's body, pushing and so tight, soaking up Philip's warmth, leaving only chilling shivers behind. Philip ignores it, his hand's grip determined. He starts slowly, then faster, fucking his ass-hole with the snake's tail tip, filling himself with the snake's cold flesh. His groans start to be faster, rhythmical, louder. The snake hisses more, twisting and shifting, the source of those vibrations so close to it. There's sweat pooling underneath Philip's neck, the sheets soaked with it, so the snake thrusts its head under and around, coiling around Philip's neck, smoothly, Philip's blood pulse pumping erratically at the contact.
Annoyed, the snake goes tense, all along its coiled body. Tense and hard, slowly cutting off Philip's breathing. His fingers go lax, but the snake's tail is firmly lodged up his ass, and it only takes a few convulsions and arching of his back for Philip to start coming, on his stomach, on the snake's cold scales, as his eyes look up at the mirror, his vision darkening slowly, his breath forced out of his lungs.
The End
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