A disgruntled Han ran a hand through his brown mop, and blew air through his lips, causing a curious noise. Chewie glanced over at the rubbery exhalation. Solo met the gaze and with a flip of his hand grunted simply "I hate owing creds" . "Hrruuughhh, ruuugh!" Chewie supplied, his head lifting with each syllable for punctuation. "Yeah I know I'm good at it, too good. That's the problem pal." "Wrrrghhh..." After a moment's consideration Han sighed and kicked his feet down off the console where they'd lingered. "I can't, Chewie, I just can't." Chewbacca shrugged, began to suck on a Sioran Swizzler, and instead of turning away as Han had hoped, continued to study his friend's face. "What!?" snapped the human, testily, not appreciating the pressure. "There is no way I am doing... that... with Jabba the... Slutt." "Rrh!" "Listen," Solo's voice lowered to a velvet growl. "I am not paying off my debts by sleeping with a giant slug, now can we please change the topic?" He rested his elbows on his knees and bowed his head, the hair flopped downwards. In Chewie's opinion the little human looked wretched, uncharacteristically depressed. Chewie had observed that debt could take its toll on even the most stolid or laid back of individuals and it came out in different ways in different people. Han felt like there was a bag of gravel in his belly, what the hell was he going to do? It's not like he'd wanted to drop the contraband, that's what-- A gentle purr caught his attention and he glanced up, double-taking at the sight of Chewie with his arms extended. Solo chuckled awkwardly, it kinda looked like the wookiee was coming in for a hug. "Uh.." The noise had no effect, the large hairy one had launched himself with frightening swiftness, and Han now found himself being held firmly. For a moment he tensed, not out of fear but embarrassment, then his face twisted into a lopsided smile and he relaxed into the embrace. It sure did feel good to hug someone, it seemed to relieve some of the tension. Chewie's hair felt soft. Han felt smug. I knew a deal with Selzar (the 'Conditioner King') was a good idea. Han's fingers tangled gently in his copilot's fur, automatically twisting it like they used to the fluff of his (probably a bit insulting, he now distantly reflected) stuffed wookiee toy which he'd found and loved, and secretly harboured, as a child. He still had it somewhere... Wait, what was that? Something was pulling at his pants! And... spreading joy throughout his loins. The something was his own body reacting to the wookiee's touch. "Oh damn" he mumbled into the fur, his brain catching up with his body. He hoped Chewie hadn't felt it pressed against him, but Chewie pulled back and looked down, directly at the trouser bulge which instead of diminishing now grew as if basking in the attention. Han thought he was going to die. Of embarrassment, of wookiee rage, of blood loss to the brain - any or all of those. Whatever it was that was gonna wipe him out, he hoped it happened soon because it felt like this moment of torture was lasting a thousand years. At last Chewie moved. Han's face screwed up, squinting one eye as if he could hide himself behind his own eyelid. Both eyes soon widened however, when the Wook's big hand suddenly enclosed Han's bulge. Not such a 'little' human Chewie considered. Till now he'd only experienced Solo's member when flaccid, while washing or changing and when the smuggler was caught short with no clothes during jobs, which happened strangely often. Clearly, Han Solo, was a grow-er. "No, Chewie, back off. I'm not sendin' you any signal here pal..." "Mmmmrrrrrrrgh..." "Oh... No, I, ohawwhhh..." The wookiee had started to caress Han's penis through his pants, and boy did it feel good. Han didn't know what was up with him, he'd never thought of Chewie in that way, maybe he'd just not had sex in too lo-ho-ho-hoong... He noticed part of Chewies fur was rising and realised something was emerging from a shaggy, furry sheath. "AARGH!" He yelped loudly and leapt back in shock and disgust. "Chewie! What the hell?" Chewbacca threw back his head and let out a mournful "HHhuurrgh!!!" Han - whose previously stubborn erection was now, thankfully, rapidly waning - pulled a face and gestured weakly towards the proud, tall, Wookieerection trying not to look at it. "No" he managed to say. "No, thank you." His distant subconscious teased him that he'd never been so polite. He scowled, wondering how any part of himself could find this amusing. Chewie turned away, as if hurt. His shoulders were slumped, and Han supposed he'd bruised his feelings. His own overwhelming feeling was one of relief that the tense moment was over. He looked over at Chewie's back, and the sad slope of his shoulders. Biting a thumb he thought he should go comfort him, or at least say something to break the sad silence, but right now his own comfort was more important to him so he stayed quiet. And looked. And heard... heard a strange little sound. A strange, wet, regular little pumping sound. Han gawped stupidly as he realised Chewie wasn't sad, he was masturbating! He couldn't find the words even mentally to describe how he felt about this, so he just continued to gawp at his friend's furry back. It was possibly the most surreal moment he'd ever experienced, and this was coming from a man who'd consumed flameouts on a regular basis. In the space of ten minutes Han felt like his world had altered completely, and it was something he felt ill-equipped to cope with. He sat back down, a little light-headed. He had so many questions, like: Why did he get hard from an unexpected Wookieehug? Why did Chewie grope his crotch? Why did he like it? And more pressing than all of this, why was his erection creeping back? His lips slid into a sneer of confusion and self-disgust. To be continued... “This is NOT what I thought you meant by weapons practice…”
Gimli grunted as the grip on his Mighty Axe increased. “Shhh” came the gentle scolding. “I’m just saying,” the bearded one managed to grump (somewhat hoarsley if truth be told) “… that nobody tosses a—“ His voice choked off and his eyes rolled in pleasure “… Dwahahaaarf” he finished. For a moment there was nothing but a lazy rustling of formerly pristine bedsheets and the forlorn call of a wild bird echoing around Rivendell. Gimli let out a shuddering sigh. “Oh, I quite disagree” smiled Legolas, with the kind of serene smugness that only elves are capable of projecting. “You’re lucky you’re so fair” Gimli told him, admiring his companion's almost unnaturally even features which seemed to glow, through his post-ejectory haze. “Or I might have to teach you a lesson or two.” “Yes” Legolas unceremoniously dropped the ‘weapon’ he’d been weilding and stretched. “that’s what you always say, and yet I do believe you’ve yet to teach me anything.” Gimli began to half-heartedly re-dress himself. “Anything at all in fact” the blond elf added with infuriating calm. He was perched on the edge of the bed and made to stand, but Gimli was suddenly behind him. “Is that so?” Before Leggers knew it, the dwarf had brushed his hair to one side and placed lips 'pon neck. “I think--” Legolas’s voice quavered and Gimli smiled to himself, and into the elf’s fragrant skin. “Mmm? Come now *kiss* princeling *kiss* you were accusing me?” “Well perhaps just one or two things” Legolas conceded, voice and legs tremulous at the sturdy one's soft kisses which always took him by surprise. “That’s what I thought” said Gimli with a touch of smugness now himself. “Now get those britches down laddy, it’s time for your next lesson.” --- “You know” commented Legolas whilst his smooth buttocks were revealed by Gimli’s tuggings, “for someone so gruff and hairy you really are a tender lover. More tender even than Eahrian the Gentle.” Gimli was unbuckling his belt again, ready for stage two of the ‘training session’. His face screwed up, unimpressed. “Oh shut up and bend over,” he gestured irritably, pointing out the height disparity “I’m not a giant you know.” Legolas obediently dropped to his hands and knees with an amused smirk. “Well, not *everywhere*.” Much elven fondling and dwarven grappling came to pass, but before long, these pleasant activities were disturbed by the shrill shriek of a hobbit. The two lovers looked over just in time to see Pippin keeling over backwards in a dead faint. “What’s the matter?” Gimli gruffed. “Never seen two friends compete at love-making before?” "Fool of a Took" murmured Legolas, echoing Gandalf's occasional sentiment. “I daresay he hasn’t.” The unexpected voice was firm, strong, regal, the accent not quite pure, a peculiar but not unpleasant twang giving away many years of travel. Aragorn was leaning in the doorway with his arms folded and a knowing smile on his face. “By the-- How long have you been there?” A somewhat surprised Legolas enquired, with all the dignity he could muster upon his hands and knees with a hairy dwarf sticking into him. “Quite long enough I assure you.” Legolas blinked. Gimli thrust. Aragorn smirked. “Are you horny?” “Uh..?” “Not nearly horny enough!” “I'm sorry. (Uhh! Harder Gimli.) Sorry what are you saying?” Aragorn smiled warmly “I am simply suggesting that I take this little one to Gandalf,” he waved an unconcerned hand towards Pippin, “then return for us all to spar.” “An interesting proposition.” Legolas craned round to look at Gimli to see what he made of all this. The regularity of his lovemaking thusfar indicating that he wasn't at all perturbed. His training partner shrugged as if to say why not? “Then it is settled!” Aragorn swiftly scooped Pip into his arms and disappeared, his long strides bearing them wizard-ward. “I wonder if he’s any good.” “Only one way to find out” *thrust* --- Return of the King. Some time later: Aragorn lie between an exhausted Gimli and an astonished Legolas. Over the last three hours, after dropping poor Pip off with Gandy (who'd had to revive the flustered halfling with some very strong tea), Strider had shown the boys who really was lord of the rings. Gimli murmured something in his sleep, something about gold. Or was it something about being tied up? It was hard to tell, his beard was in the way. 'Longshanks?' Mused Legolas, more like Longshaft. The sweet Rivendell air drifted through the open window. Little did they know it, but tomorrow there would be much to discuss, for Elrond had been taking an early evening stroll around the 'dell and been quite taken aback to find Gimli, Legolas, and the Dúnadan engaged in carnal activity... When Galadriel informed us she beheld startling images in her mirror, I didn't expect this! ... But for now, they slept. Captain Dylan Hunt blinked in confusion at his anomalous reflection. For some reason it was a younger, longer-haired version of himself.
“Damn, did Rommi slip somethin’ into my morning coffee?” he murmured, squinting again at the bulkier variant. Without warning The Reflection waved. Dylan swallowed, hard, but kept his cool. “All right. You’re not a reflection, are you?” He ran a hand through his hair and it slipped silkenly through his fingers, settling perfectly back into place. The Reflection smiled warmly. “Nope!” The Reflection stepped casually from the glass, which rippled back behind him with a blorp. Despite his shock Dylan found himself raising a judgemental brow at the skimpy clothing and overly bronzed, overly pumped, arms. He cleared his throat politely. “I’m ah… guessing there’s some kind of rift in the space-time continuum which you’ve slipped through?” He questioned, prodding a bulging bicep curiously. “That's right,” shrugged the "other" guy, grabbing an apple from Dylan’s fruitbowl, before throwing it into the air, catching, and chomping it. “If you mean did I walk through a magic door, that is.” He swallowed a mouthful of the glistening fruit then gave a small apologetic chuckle. Dylan noticed his voice was low and velvety and wondered if that was how he sounded. “Oh sorry" The Reflection was saying, "where are my manners? I’m Hercules.” Dylan frowned and shook the proferred hand, somehow recognizing the touch, and introduced himself. “Captain Dylan Hunt. Huh, I gotta say you don’t seem very surprised to see… Me…” “Ah,” smiled Herc “well that’s because this isn’t the first time I’ve run into other Me-s.” He frowned himself, causing furrows to appear on his godly brow. “They’re usually bigger though. And younger. And they don’t look like Widow Twanky stuck a bowl on my head and cut round it. Also,” he rambled on, “… they, or I, tend to become di-sa-ppointed…” Dylan blinked in bafflement at the verbal diarrhoea. Herc shot the other Him a friendly grin and put the apple's remains - now just a core - on the side, then swept his hand along it. He sat heavily onto a metallic chair. “Huh… what kind of place is this anyway?” he enquired, only now truly noticing the clean lines and minimalistic nature of the future-room. “These are my quarters” Dylan informed him, flat tone, quirked brow. He appraised the other man with a suspicious gaze, and felt unsure whether to be insulted or amused by the comments. He pursed his lips and swept a lock of hair behind an ear. “Well how do I know you’re really me?” Herc looked directly into his eyes with his own eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be you?” I look like you, I sound like you, I smell like you… Though, maybe not as… floral. Dylan sniffed himself and his frown deepened at the insult to his cologne. He took in the rest of the sentence and hesitated at the simple logic. “Um. Perhaps you’re an enemy. It could be a trap, a lure.” Hercules stood up and in a smooth movement suddenly spun Dylan around. Again the touch felt familiar. “Hey!” Dylan barked, his tone less mellow than it had been up till now. “Do NOT make me stun you with my force lance.” Hercules laughed easily. “That sounds fun. Is it big?” “Hmmm.” “Relax I just wanna stand back to back.” The two men – or one man, depending on your point of view – stood back to back and let their gazes glide to the mirror. They were exactly the same height. “Interesting” admitted Hunt, “but it doesn’t prove a thing”. “Okay” sighed Herc. “There is only one other way I can think of to prove it to you.” Before Dylan could suggest DNA samples, bioscans, truth serum, or a probing interview, the demi-god’s hand was on his crotch. “Unfh!” He made to push it away, but then he realized something... ... He didn’t want to. Some time later: Romi, Becca and Trance strode into Dylan's quarters to inform him of the nearby wormhole they’d spotted. They halted in their tracks at the startling scene before them. Captain Dylan Hunt of the Andromeda Ascendant was kneeling before a muscular long-haired man who was completely naked, and standing unashamedly buns-towards them in all his barbarianesque glory. “Mmm!” Becca gave a naughty grin as she took in the tanned hindquarters. “Was not expecting that.” Dylan’s eyes widened and he slid the saintly sausage of his otherworldly self from his mouth. “Hi… Damn. Guys… This isn’t what it-” Unlike the mammoth man-meat before him, his words were cut short, as Hercules interrupted, craning round to reveal his face to the crew. “Oh hi there. Pleased to meet you, I’m-“ Becca’s confused gaze zipped between them both. “Dylan?" *Blink* "... Dylan?” Trance’s eyes became saucers. Romi sparked a little about the lower torso, and the upper legs, then began convulsing wordlessly on the spot. Three thuds sounded as the female forms hit the floor. Hercules tilted his head like an inquisitive pup. “Hm. Overstimulated I guess. They’ll be fine.” “They will?” Dylan was using the sausage-break as an opportunity to click and rub his aching jaw. Herc shrugged “Uh, sure." Then he smiled again, and guided Dylan’s hungry mouth back to its feast. The man in the cowboy hat gazed across the snow at the shorter, brown skinned be-dredlocked man, and the tall rangy man with the flared nostrils. He shot them a smile, a good smile, a smile which had been described as a "Dennis Quaid grin".... which was pretty appropriate, because he was in fact Dennis Quaid.
Some time later, behind a nearby snowmobile. Dennis spanked the double-domes of Lister's tanned rump. He marvelled at the way the light reflected off it. "Don't get this kinda light in England, huh?" he drawled in his Norwegian-American accent. Lister's face creased into a slow frown. "Eh? What ye talkin' bout? Just geddon with it wouldya?" "Well excuse me," chuckled Quaid as he applied the lube and entered the hot cross buns with a precisely measured thrust "... this is my first time you know...", he lied. "It is?" shrilled Rimmer from behind - his voice a little muffled as he lived up to his name. "Me too mffrfrfrrf." "Oh yeah" agreed Dennis. "Oh... yeaaaahhhhh!" The sound of another snowmobile approaching caught them off guard. It skidded sideways to a halt and the man riding it raised his goggles. "Hello" said the sheriff, stroking his beard and not bothering to react to the erotic scene before him "... you do have a rifle?" "I'll say!" Rimmer piped up again, rubbing his knees as they were getting a little cold now. "No..." droned Dan "I mean an actual rifle... You need one if you're all the way out here. Polar bears are very dangerous here in FORDITOOD." The End? |
Imagining hilarious, beautiful
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