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Archive-name: Samesex/huntretn.txt

Archive-author: A Han Solo Story

Archive-title: Hunter's Return

You precede me up the stairs to the bedrooms I keep for rent above

the saloon, and I can tell from the sag in your shoulders and the

unusual lack of spring in your step that you have *really* been

ridin' hard and steady for a long time. The curve of your fine ass

in those dark brown rawhide trousers--dusty, worn, fragrant--

reminds me of past pleasures and my need to renew them. I'm more

concerned right now, however about taking care of your trail

fatigue and enjoying one solid night of quiet old-buddy lovemaking.

I know that tomorrow your animal spirits will be back and there'll

be hell to pay with complete, continual uproar, but tonight is


When we reach the head of the stairs, I gesture to the big room at

the end of the hall, through which you can see my sturdy four-

poster. When we enter, you look around and give a tired smile at

the things you old, familiar saddlebag hanging on a peg,

an indian blanket we used many times, the books, pipes, guns,

bottles you've come to expect around me, and on the wall in a

frame, the badge I gave up wearin' after I hadda shoot down that

last young stud who challenged me to a senseless duel, long after

the last time you saw me. And then your eye falls on the bedside

washstand, where--next to the pitcher and basin--a tintype in a

leather case shows two smilin' boy-men staring stiff with pride in

their new-grown whiskers and store-bought suits.

The younger one, you, sits with a bowler hat in hand (the camera

man had to loan it to you) and knees apart, a view that guy with

the camera knew would please much and often, later, even if his

subjects hadn't yet caught on. Your whiskers drift down both sides

of your mouth and overhang your chin, and though you're tryin' to

look stern, a relaxed pleasure shows in the curve of your mouth and

in the glint and happiness in your eyes. The other guy is older,

but not much, and stands with a hand on your shoulder, bowler in

hand at the other side, and the light glints off his dark hair,

parted in the middle and slicked back. There's only a shadow where

the beginnings of a beard sprout, but his bushy mustache sets off

a half-smirk and the musculature of his cheeks accents it even

more. In his eyes are pride and an earnestness, and not a little

humor at the situation that put him there. There's a noticable

bulge in his rough trouser material where it's brought tight

against the top of the thigh of his forward leg.

The older guy, you well know, is me--and always will be, podner--

and my hand is not just lyin' on your shoulder casually, but

graspin' in a gesture of possession, need, and protection, just

like it has been ever since both sets of our parents died on the

wagon ride from the east and the party decided we'd have to

continue the trek in each other's company, me in charge. The watch

on my vest in the photo catches your eye.

Your hand instinctively goes to that same watch in your pocket.

With a look of relief and familiarity, you pull it out, wind it,

and place it on the bedside table. Then you turn to me.

"I'm a mess," you say, "I'd better wash some of this range dirt off

me, and pheeee-yew, I smell!"

I take you gently by the shoulders and, turning you around, guide

you into sitting on the bedspread. You're too tired to resist.

"Lie down, Hunter, and let me worry about that."  I take your

stetson and place it on the chair, then bend to lift your legs onto

the wide bed, forcing you into a prone position. Your left hand

rises to your stomach and scratches lazily.  I pour some water from

the pitcher to the basin and wet a linen towel, which I bring back

and start wiping your face gently. The sunburn and windburn have

taken their toll over the years: there are lines at the corner of

your eyes that weren't there the last time I looked into them, and

I can sense that not all of them are laughlines. Your lips are

parched, cracked and split, parted a bit. Your damp hair clings to

your head in sweaty ringlets where your hat was. I look into your

eyes while I work, and see a combination of exhaustion, relief, and

want. You bring your right hand onto mine as I wipe your brows and,

gently, your eyelids. I tell you quietly, "Don't talk...there'll be

time for that later." Then I balance myself by putting my arm on

the bed on the other side of your waist and--eyes open and looking

warmly into yours--lean down to your face. My tongue gently wetting

your dry lips first to keep from hurting you, I press more firmly

then, feeling the give in your soft lips and listening to the small

sounds you begin to emit, a quiet combination of whimpered need and

exhaled tension. You move your big hand up to the back of my neck,

brushing the hairs there, and press me down into a deep, satisfying

kiss. We lock there, eye to eye, and I try to force my strength

through that contact into your tired body.

When we break our kiss, we're both a little breathless. I know your

strength and can tell by the way your hand has pressed me into the

kiss that your fatigue means I'll lead tonight...just as I want it

to be. As I sit up, I drag my fingers across your face and chin,

down over your adam's apple and into the silky hairs below your

neck. Your bandanna gets in my way, so I slowly untie it and push

it aside. My hands stray down the front of your shirt, feeling the

bulk of your muscles underneath. I open the top three mother-of-

pearl buttons and lean forward to lick lightly at your warm, dusty

skin. While I'm doing that, my hand moves lower, over your gunbelt

buckle and on to the rougher leather of your trousers. No foolin'

around; I find what I'm searching for and cup my hand firmly to it.

It's obvious that our kissing has caused some arousal. Me, too.

Your equipment is ridin' high in there, and as I press my palm and

fingers against it, I feel it swell a little more and stir,

starting to stretch. I tenderly press my fingers against the

rounded bulge of your balls, not wanting to hurt, though we've

played that game, but wanting to assure myself that, yes, you are

really here, lying before me.

I walk to the foot of the bed, your eyes following me, and grab one

of your heavy boots. "These have got to go first." I pull it down

and after some struggle get it off. A smell of leather and dampness

greets me, and as I throw the boot aside, I lean forward to kiss

your instep, then drag my tongue across the hairs on the top of

your foot. After I get the other boot off, I take your feet one at

a time and massage them in my two warm hands. I watch as the

tension starts to flow out of your body.

"Shirt next" I order, and help you to a sitting position as I

unfasten the last buttons, pull the tails out of your waistband,

and help you slip the damp cloth down your shoulders and off your

arms. The heat from your shoulders is tremendous, and the scent of

your body, a combination of warm flesh, sweat, and lust, is the

scent of honey to my nose. A tangle of wet hairs sticks out of each

of your armpits. I loosen and remove your holster and the top

fastening of your trousers. "Roll over."

I always have loved this view of you. Wide, massive shoulders, not

overly defined, but tight enough that as you turn over the play of

the muscles beneath the skin is an erotic animation I could watch

forever. I can trace the veins beneath your skin and the stories in

each of the old scars and bruises you've collected, but instead I

start at first gently, then more forcefully, to knead and rub,

feeling your skin yield, your muscles give up their tension. This

is when I always get my hardon, and there it is, right on schedule,

full up and straining at the scratchy wool of my trousers.  I press

it against the side of your leg. Your wavy blond hair surrounds

your profile against the pillow, and your eyes are only partly

open. I climb up to straddle you, sitting on the firm round stool

of your butt. I'd trade this for any hundred fine stallions. This

one's enough for me! As I knead upward towards your shoulders, your

back arches and  your buttcheeks press upward against mine, making

my cock rub against wool. I rise up and lower your waistband, and

the tops of two white, warm mounds show, with a dribble of shining

hair patched just above them and extending down into the cleft they

make. I could stay here all night and be content, but....that's not

what you or I need tonight. I rise off and return to the foot of

the bed: "Roll over." Slowly you do....

Our eyes lock for just an instant, and there's pleasure written

deeply in yours. I notice that your response to the backrub is the

same as mine: a bulge is pulsing at the front of your trousers, and

it's even bigger than I had remembered.  You reach to adjust it,

but the subtle look in your eyes sends a message I was hoping to

read. "No, you don't, cowboy, that mustang's mine to tame!" I say,

and, grabbing your soiled red bandanna, I join your hands over your

head, elbows bent at your face, and tie them together to a small

thick metal ring in the headboard. Your look has turned to relief.

Did you really believe I'd fergit the nuances of our needs? Fergit

'em? Hell, I've played each one over a thousand times in detail as

I pleasured myself in this bed! I grab at the legs of your trousers

and you raise your hips as I tug. The leather grabs at the sweat of

your body and it's difficult to pull them off, but slowly they

yield, and your dark blond thatch of pubic hair comes into

view...the pants are caught on the jut of your asscheeks, but a tug

there frees them, and now all that's restraining them is your hard

tentpole. Before I finish my task, I have to stand back to look at

you...deep blond stud, dark wet hairs curling out of your pits,

vulnerable in this position and crying for my tongue. A look of

pleading in your eyes, and gratitued, your nipples standing up

hard, surrounded by occasional blond hairs which look darker

against the pure whiteness of your skin and trail down to gather

around your navel, then spread to the darker bush below. I tug

hard, and you wince, but the trousers at last are off and in my

hand. Your feet and legs look immense--hell, they are!--but more

commanding are the fencepost thrusting up at the center of your

groin and the large, deep pink skinsac below it, bulging with your

nuts like a full wineskin.

Kicking off my boots, I crawl up onto the bed between your legs

and, kneeling, lower my suspenders and remove my shirt. I see your

eyes shift to study how the curly reddish-brown of my beard blends

into a thick mat of the same, burying my nipples and extending

across the flat muscles of my stomach into my trousers. I open the

fly and my hard sex swings out, trailing a thread of clear precum

from my stomach hairs out to its purple, bobbing head. When I reach

in to free my ballsac, your eyes lock there, and a faint, happy

smile crosses between the two furry trails of your swooping

mustache. A deep sigh escapes your lips. Your relaxation is now

obvious! I gently take each leg in hand and, raising them, begin to

move forward between them, trailing my tongue against both calves

and up the inside of your thighs, running it against the lie of the

hairs there and savoring the salty tang of your sweaty skin. I

begin to smell the scent of your crotch, and like a critter in

heat, I have no resistance. I lean forward, putting your legs down,

spread widely, and support myself on my hands while I stab a deep,

probing tongue kiss into your throat. You moan this time, more

loudly. I move to your right armpit, burying my nose and mouth

there and eating it out like a lover's pussy.  Your scent is all

over my beard after I've dived into your left pit as well. I move

my tongue down the smooth expanse of your pecs to where a dark

nipple is sticking straight up.  I put my lips around it like it's

a virgin's dick and begin to tug gently, laving it with my tongue

like a miniature blowjob, repeated on the other one, where I begin

to nip and chew lightly at the tenderness of your skin there and

feel your tit, unbelievably, extend even further. You're squirming

now. I continue nipping and biting lightly, and when I reach your

flanks you thrash beneath me. "I can't take this long, please,

please help me shoot off," you gasp. I continue moving down your

damp, tight skin into your navel, where I do a wet, rhythmic tongue

fucking. "Please, please hurry! My nuts! Oh, my dick!" you're

crying. I sniff the damp patch of hair above that last muscle,

catching its head in the tangle of my beard and feeling its weeping

stream wet down my beardhairs. I raise slightly to begin long,

lapping strokes with my tongue up the creases where your legs join

your abdomen. You raise your legs and clamp them to my shoulders,

pulling me forward and raising your crotch into my face

"Pleassssse," you hiss, "Oh, Han, I want you, I can't wait!

Please!" But I have one last preliminary to attend to. Raising you

with your asscheeks in my hands and forcing your legs back further,

I lick slowly down the thick dark rope running from your nuts to

your puckered and pungent hole, then start plunging just the tip

into the folds of that dark secret place where my mind has traveled

with you. I lick and tonguefuck every saddleweary inch of that ass,

returning to its secret center to plunge ever more deeply with my

tongue each time. My own dick has never been harder, and I can feel

my balls drawn up tight against my dick's base as they squeeze out

precum all over its purple cap and in a river down the shaft.

You're emitting sounds now that aren't words, just hisses and

"ah!"s and grunts. The tight ring of muscle loosens around my

tongue, and as I press it more deeply in with long, vibrating

strokes, I bring up my thumbs to spread it, my nose still buried

right up into the wet backside of your ball pouch. "Now!" you

shout, "Oh, god, Now, Han!" ...So I relent and kneel upright. Our

poles cross like swords, and I grasp them together briefly, milking

more thick clear liquid lubricant onto mine. Then I lock eyes with

you one last time and place the plumhead of my cock, painful in its

hardness, against your wet opening. "Yes! Do it! Come into me,

dammit, Han!" you whisper so softly I am not sure you said it, but

your eyes give the same message. My hands on your waist, I thrust

forward against the resistence of your hole, but feel the wet of my

tonguebath and the dicklube of my cockhead slide against each

other. You start to groan. I press more insistently. You groan

louder and start to strain against the bond holding your arms up as

if to protect yourself. At last I watch my big dickhead disappear

inside and feel the clenching of your asslips around my shaft just

below, where it's most sensitive. I pause. Your eyes have never

broken contact with mine. I can feel you adjusting. I thrust

slowly, persistently forward in one long stroke as I lean forward

to untie your arms and gather you into mine. At last, Bear Hunter,

at last! We are together and nothing in the deep, jealous stars

above or the violent scrappings of men below can seperate us. I

have you fully impaled upon me and begin a slow withdrawal,

dragging the deep ridge of my cockhead across your cumtrigger,

feeling the click. I thrust forward again, and your head falls

backward on the pillow, mouth open, soft gasps and grunts escaping

outward as your fingers grasp and play in my chest hair and pull on

my aching nipples. I rub my abdomen against yours, grinding your

stiff, dripping pole between our hairy mats, and can feel the

throbbing and straining your crotch makes as it rises to reach my

thrusts, which are coming faster now, much faster, almost, but not

quite beyond my control. I lean to plant one deep kiss on your open

mouth, whispering at last what you've ridden these long miles and

months to hear: "I love you, Hunter! I love yoouuuuuu!" There's no

space between our glances, we're united; then I feel the fucking

take hold and know I'm going to the edge and over.  I rise, only to

plant my wet hot mouth around your fuckpole, licking what I can

reach in this doubled over position, and, feeling each of my

thrusts force your dick deeper into my mouth, I begin to spasm deep

inside and feel the flood rise from my nuts up my thick, deeply

buried pole into you while you erupt wildly into my mouth, on my

face. Yes! Ah! Hunter! Unnnnnnnnnnnnnngh! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! YEESSSS!


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