SHADOWSMUT - Hired Muscle

Hired Muscle [Shadowrun setting, m troll x m elf, size difference, muscles, reluctance, oral, fingering, anal, prostate orgasm, creampie, kissing]

	Sledge kicked his combat boots off by the front door. Now shoeless, the troll trudged through the safehouse, shedding equipment as he walked. A drenched trenchcoat was tossed on a hook, a duffel bag and some bandoliers were stuffed in a closet. He draped his gunbelt over the back of a low couch, then collapsed backwards onto the weathered faux leather, still wearing his ballistic vest. The furniture groaned beneath the sudden addition of Sledge’s bulk.
	Fingers laced behind his head, Sledge stretched out fully. The titanic, muscle-bound troll was well over eight feet tall. As such, his legs extended far beyond the arm of the couch, to the point that his sock-clad feet were touching the floor. His long horns, sharpened and gently curved, poked out from a black buzzcut and over the couch’s opposite arm. He exhaled heavily. After a hard night’s work, it felt good to finally be home.
	Deacon followed close behind Sledge, palming the door closed behind them. The elf stooped to wipe the murky rainwater from his wing-tipped dress shoes before placing them in the safehouse’s front closet.
	“You made yourself comfortable right away,” Deacon chided, unfastening the slender shoulder holster beneath his cobalt blue suit coat.
	Sledge chuckled, a low, hearty rumbling of breath. “The job’s done. We’ve been paid. What more do I have to do?”
	“Well, you could attempt to keep this place half-decent,” replied Deacon, “You do share this space with several others, you know. And they may not share your taste in… decorations.” He hooked Sledge’s gunbelt onto a clothes hanger, then squinted at the troll. Truly, the safehouse was a wreck. The coffee table was stacked with empty fast food containers and aging soykaf cups. An ashtray in danger of overflowing rested precariously atop a lopsided stack of takeout menus. A ceramic combat knife pinned a calendar several months out of date to the wall. Deacon suspected Sledge’s couch was clean only because the troll took up every square inch. There was simply no room left for filth or clutter.
	“Hey, I try. Sometimes.” Sledge opened his eyes as he began the process of unlatching the straps of his ballistic vest. The ceiling bore a spreading damp spot, formed sometime during the near-torrential rainstorm. He closed his eyes again. “Look. Lighten up, chum. The run is over. You got a fat stack of nuyen. Try to act like it.”
	“Fine, fine. I’ll get off your back,” huffed Deacon. He walked into the small bathroom and began to towel off his hair. It was slicked back into a professional bun when he left this evening. Now, after a sprint through a Seattle rainstorm, it was a mop of damp blonde locks that extended past his shoulder and laid plastered to his tanned skin. “I just prefer to not eat and sleep and live in this filth. Just because we’re criminals, doesn’t mean we need to live like scum – certainly not with how much money we make. You grep?” Deacon called from the bathroom. He slinked out of his suit and into comfortable gym clothes, hanging the soggy garments up to dry.
	“Yeah. I grep,” rumbled Sledge. He lifted his torso just enough to pull his body armor up and over his head. The composite polymer plates thudded on the scuffed wooden floorboards, and Sledge slid the armor under the couch. He now laid in only a stretched-out olive tank top and his pants.
	“Anyhow, what are you going to do with your cut?” Deacon made tracks for the safehouse’s cramped kitchen, a towel still wrapped around his hair. The kitchen was an oasis of cleanliness and organization, as Sledge seldom attempted cooking.
	“Gonna finish this sleeve. Maybe start on the other,” said Sledge, extending an arm like a tree trunk. An intricate geometric design adorned the pale skin. Tessellated polygons stretched from his exposed shoulder, over his massive bicep, to his elbow. Because of their thicker, rougher skin (and larger surface area), tattoos for trolls are greater investments of time and money. Aside from his arm, Sledge was untattooed, but he sported other body modifications. His chest and limbs displayed rigid, statuesque musculature from shaped subdermal plating, and his troll-tusks were artificially large and sharp. The bones in his hands were laced with Kevlar, so that he could punch bare-knuckled without injuring himself. Enough piercings laced his ears that their pointed tips were prone to drooping.
	“Or maybe get that wiz Ares pistol. You know. The huge one that shoots slivers,” Sledge continued. The scent of brewing soykaf began to emanate from the kitchenette, filling the room. “Dunno what else. How about you?”
	Deacon fished two mugs out of a cabinet. “Well, I’ve had my eye on some new threads,” he began. Deacon was the face of the operation, and the tools of his trade didn’t go bang. “DiMarini has a new line of synth-silk suits with integral armoring. They’ve been marketing it for those CEO types worried about getting geeked at work. But the amount of ballistic protection they’ve added without spoiling the lines – it’s incredible.”
	“Heh. Paying to look corp. Imagine that.”
	“Whoa, hold on,” chortled Deacon, “Looking corporate pays off. The more professional I look, the fewer kneecaps everyone else has to break.”
	“Didn’t say it wasn’t worth it. Just seems you enjoy it too much,” replied Sledge. Even off-run, Deacon was a sharp, clean dresser. Unless he chose to wear something adventurous or eye-catching, he was indistinguishable from any other salaryman on the street. Unlike the other runners in the team, Deacon had no chrome, and not so much as a piercing of ornamentation. Not that he needed it – Deacon was one of the few elves that could pull off the “natural beauty” look convincingly. Even in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, he was two braids and a longbow away from looking like some Prince of the Forest. “I swear. One day, you’ll be our Johnson.”
	Deacon poked his head out into the common room. “Impossible. I’d know better than to hire us. I mean, hire you.”
	Sledge guffawed. “Fuck you, keeb.”
	“Fuck you, trog.”
	“Seriously, though. Fancy clothes are all you want?”
	“Not at all. I have other things in mind,” began Deacon. “For example, I was thinking of paying you to fuck me.”
	Sledge chuckled again, but it was a single, uncomfortable laugh, and more of an expression of incredulity than mirth. “What was that, omae?”
	“I said, I want to pay you to fuck me,” repeated Deacon.
	“Hah. Uh. Why?” Sledge’s eyes were open again, and wide.
	Deacon half-strolled, half-sashayed from the kitchen, unwrapping the towel from his hair. “Well, I’m horny now. And even though I could find a cheap street joyboy in five minutes, he wouldn’t be a troll. If I had enough patience and an evening to spare, maybe I could find an orc. But that’s not a guarantee. And, whoever I found – well, they just wouldn’t be as handsome as you.” Deacon let the damp towel fall to the floor.
	Sledge didn’t know where to begin after a bombshell like that. He was being objectified based on his metatype, however complimentary it was phrased. “Why do you think I’d do it?” he said. He pushed the words from his mouth one at a time.
	“You’re a-”
	“I’m straight, anyways,” appended Sledge, before the elf could fully answer.
	Deacon grinned, taking a seat on the arm of the sofa that supported the troll’s legs. “So I’ve heard,” he said, unconvinced. “Anyways, you’re a runner. You’ve put your well-being and your very life on the line for a few thousand nuyen. And not just multiple times. This is your chosen field of work. And what you do to your body, you do it to make you better at risking your life for cash. So, for a few hundred nuyen, surely you’d slot a good chum, mmm?”
	Sledge was slow to acknowledge the amount of sense that that argument made. His mouth hung ajar for a few seconds before any words could spill out from between his tusks. “A few hundred?”
	Deacon beamed and rested a warm, smooth palm on the troll’s knee. “My base offer is one hundred-fifty nuyen. However, I would be inclined to triple your payment, if you earn it.”
	“And how do I earn it?” Sledge asked. The two made lingering eye contact now, the elf’s glinting cerulean gaze meeting the troll’s softer hazels.
	“Oh, you already know how,” purred Deacon, his hand sliding upwards along the troll’s inner thigh. “After all, you’re used to roughing people up.” He patted the soft troll-bulge twice, then began to unfasten Sledge’s belt. “Think of all the people that couldn’t walk after you were done with them.”
	“Fine. You want it that much, alright. You’ll get fucked by a troll. Let’s just do it before the others come back,” Sledge grumbled to the hands on his groin. He sat forward and yanked his tank top off over his head, ripping a stitch in the cheap fabric. Though its shape and definition were the product of cosmetic augmentation, his muscle mass was naturally earned. Now, the alabaster slabs were on full display. His nipples perked in the cold safehouse air.
	“Fraggin’…” breathed Deacon, looking up from Sledge’s undone belt to his majestic chest.
	“What?” Sledge hooked his thumbs under the waist of his boxers and pants. “We’re doing this, yeah? Move out of the way.” Deacon stood and stepped away from the couch, giving Sledge space to swing his legs off the creaking arm and finish undressing. The troll’s shins bumped the coffee table, and he shoved the grimy wood back across the common room.
“You’re just…” murmured the elf, shedding his gym clothes like a chrysalis. Within seconds, he stood naked before the troll. Elves seldom grow much body hair, and all of Deacon’s bronzed physique was as clean-shaven as his face. Between his slender legs, his half-mast erection was swelling.
	“So big?” Sledge kicked his pants from his ankles and under the couch, then leaned against the sofa’s high back with his legs apart. Like his arms and chest, Sledge’s legs bulged with cosmetically-enhanced natural might.
	Deacon’s widened eyes fixed on seven thick inches of still-flaccid cock. “Oh, god yes. You’re immense,” said the elf. Wasting no time, he knelt between Sledge’s knees, and began ministering to the member. His left hand fastened around the base of the shaft and aimed the cock upwards, while his right hand stroked and pulled. As was typical for trolls, the skin on Sledge’s legs was rough and rigid, dotted with bumps of calcification. The warm, rough texture was novel to Deacon as it pressed against his arms, and it sent a shiver sizzling through his nerves.
	Sledge hummed contentedly, producing a rumbling bass tone in his throat. “You move fast,” he declared.
	“And you get hard, fast,” replied Deacon, looking up from his work and returning his partner’s relaxed gaze. The skin on Sledge’s penis was as soft as any metatype’s, although it bore a finer texture of the characteristic troll bumps. “Are you absolutely sure you’re straight, big guy?” jibed Deacon, using his right hand to retract the troll’s foreskin.
	“I’m positive.”
	“So it’s all pure coincidence that you’re this turned on? It has nothing to do with another man fluffing you?” Deacon pulled a few damp locks of hair away from his face.
	“Heh. Elves don’t coun-”
	Deacon slipped the swelling head into his mouth, then began to suck.
	Sledge exhaled heavily. “Hhhhnngh. Frag…”
	Deacon responded with a muffled moan and flattened his tongue on the frenulum. The member was salty with sweat, emanating masculine musk directly into the elf’s nostrils. This was when the second thoughts began to brew in Deacon’s mind. Feeling how completely the cock filled his mouth simultaneously excited him and frightened him. He had not been with a troll before, nor had he taken any toys this large. For Deacon, most sex was the indulgence of simple hedonistic lust, but this time it was tinged with the thrill of a radical new experience. Sledge wasn’t even fully erect yet.
	Deacon, however, was. With his left hand still fixed on the base of Sledge’s shaft, his right hand moved to his own cock, stroking the underside in time with the bobbing motions of his head. A hand like a lead-filled catcher’s mitt came to rest on his scalp.
	“Mmmph?” Deacon looked up from the troll’s pubic stubble.
	Sledge was running his tongue over the point of an augmented tusk, eyes fixed upon his partner. He wasn’t trying to force Deacon’s head downwards, but the weight of his hand alone provided enough force that the elf’s upward motions became slower. Each down-stroke pressed incrementally more of the troll’s throbbing dick deeper into his mouth.
	Once Sledge’s length was hard enough to stand on its own, Deacon slipped his left hand downwards and cupped the troll’s hefty sack. Another deep exhalation rumbled through Sledge’s chest, and the taste of precum began to grace Deacon’s tongue.
	“Hhhnnn. Yeah, keep doing that,” Sledge instructed.
	“Mmmph.” The elf moaned. The member in Deacon’s mouth twitched with Sledge’s quickening pulse. Deacon’s head and hand fell out of synchronicity, each moving as fast as was comfortable. The fingers of his right hand were wrapped around his dick, shaking wildly, stimulating the entire shaft. Meanwhile, his left hand stroked and squeezed the furrowed skin of Sledge’s scrotum. The elf’s mouth bobbed with enthusiastic abandon on the firm flesh lodged inside. There was no room for gentle or delicate motions of his tongue. Glottal noises and garbled pleasured mumbles punctuated each end of the reciprocating motion. Hot saliva and precum trickled down Sledge’s cock and coated Deacon’s fingers.
	“You fuckin’ know how to fluff,” grunted Sledge. It was praise, of a sort.
	Deacon accepted the compliment, though “Hmnk huuu,” was all he could manage at the time. He extricated Sledge’s cock from his mouth, then ran his tongue from base to tip and kissed the head. With Sledge’s full length outside of his mouth, Deacon could see just how massive it was. The feeling of the thrill renewed, the potent cocktail of lust, excitement, and anticipation. “Thank you,” the elf panted. Fluids dribbled from his mouth as he spoke. “Are you getting close?”
	“Mmm. On my way.”
	“Lovely,” replied Deacon. He spread his lips wide once more, and resumed his sloppy work at the same pace. Well-lubricated, the troll’s cock slid easily back into his throat.
Sledge sucked cool air in through his teeth, looking once more around the filthy room. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m getting there.”
	“Mmmphmm.” Deacon kept up his ministrations, and began to feel more force on his scalp. Sledge was starting to hold him down, but made the mistake of getting too vigorous. He bucked his pelvis upwards and forwards, nearly hilting his cock in the elf.
	“Hmkkkk!” Deacon gagged. He pulled his mouth back off the penis with a pop, straining against Sledge’s hand to do so. He sat on his haunches to catch his breath, no longer stroking himself.
	“Uhm. Sorry about that.”
	“No… no… t-that’s… fine,” gasped Deacon. He climbed to his feet, severing a rope of saliva that connected his mouth to Sledge, then leaned over to plant a wet kiss on the troll’s cheek. “Keep yourself hard. I’m going to clean myself out,” he instructed, trotting into the safehouse bathroom. His erection lead the way.
	“Yeah. Take your time.” Sledge watched Deacon leave, then looked down at his pulsating, slippery phallus. Deacon had stopped just at the brink of his orgasm, and now his humming nerves yearned for release. He closed his fingers around the dripping cock hesitantly, as though it were a sleeping snake. Raw biochemical pleasure shimmied through his loins. Sledge shivered and released the organ. His right hand was now wet with saliva and precum.
Deacon withdrew an enema bulb from the medicine cabinet, and as he began to fill it with warm tap water, he regarded his reflection in the grimy mirror above. His hair was still damp, though now with a combination of sweat and residual rainwater. The subtle coat of makeup he used to even out his complexion and accent his cheekbones was fading and smudged by bodily fluids.
The daunting thrill of the troll-cock awaiting him kept Deacon erect.
	“Hey, trog – I’m ready. Let’s do this,” called Deacon, minutes later. He leaned in the doorway, one hip cocked to the side, and gestured towards his quarters.
Sledge stood. “Oh, you’re gonna get fucked. So hard,” he rumbled. The safehouse’s aged floorboards creaked under his bulk as he advanced on the elf. His dick was still firm, and swayed with each weighty stride.
	“Less talk, more cock,” shot back Deacon.
Deacon’s small room was spartanly furnished but impeccably clean. A thin Japanese-style mattress took up most of the floorspace, covered in crisp and folded sheets. Sledge swung his soiled palm forward to slap Deacon on the ass, and the impact knocked the elf off-balance. Deacon stumbled forwards and fell to the bedding on all fours.
Sledge kneeled behind Deacon and kneaded each tanned ass cheek in a calloused hand, the firm flesh having no choice but to yield to the fingertips. The elf exhaled and shifted forwards. He propped himself up on his left arm, and fished a bottle of lubricant out of a bottom desk drawer with his right.
	“Yeah, pass that back here,” directed Sledge, still massaging the ass.
	Deacon complied and adjusted himself into a more comfortable position. “Here, but don’t fuck me just yet – you need to get me warmed up, stretched out first. Lube is only half the equation.”
The troll spurted a dollop of lube onto Deacon’s smooth crevasse and rubbed the fluid over the waiting hole with a thumb. The directed stimulation made Deacon twitch in anticipation. “Stretch you out?”
Deacon looked backwards over his shoulder. Though Sledge was kneeling, he loomed especially high over the prostrated elf. “If I take your dick right away, you’ll split me in half, big guy. Start with a finger, please.”
Sledge lubricated his right index finger and inserted it into Deacon. It was a single jabbing movement, without hesitation or warning. “How’s this?”
	“Hnngk!” Deacon gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. “Slower next time, but yes. That’s a wiz start. Now, can you curve your finger down just a bit?”
	Sledge obeyed, wordlessly. His digit prodded against Deacon’s prostate.
	The elf opened his eyes again. “Lovely. Whatever bit of you is inside me, just aim there, okay?”
	“Got it.” Sledge’s first digit withdrew, then reentered with the middle finger.
	Deacon didn’t mention the lack of warning this time, but simply moaned aloud. “Oh, fuck. You’re so eager for this.”
	“Yeah. I am.” Sledge curved his knuckles down and forward, and wormed them slightly deeper into Deacon. A tusky grin spread across the troll’s face as the elf writhed and gasped beneath him.
With just two fingers in, Deacon was already being stretched as much as a lover his own size would do. Every ounce of pleasure that Sledge created for Deacon was tinged with discomfort from the troll’s size and brusque demeanor. But this same discomfort made the experience feel primal and exciting, a constant reminder of the virility and brawn of who would be fucking him. Deacon dropped a hand to his dripping member and began to stroke, then turned his head back forwards. “More lube,” he instructed, “And give me another finger.”
	“Right.” Sledge complied. His digits pistoned into and out of the elf, curving at the end of each reciprocating motion.
	Deacon dropped his hand from his cock and gripped the side of the mattress, fearful that he would cum too soon. “Hhhah! Okay,” the elf panted, “That’s enough. Just fuck me now.”
The troll slid his fingers out of Deacon, gave his cock a few strokes to renew its erection, and pressed the head against the elf’s waiting, slightly parted hole. He began to push the rod inside but felt enough resistance that he should wait for Deacon’s instructions.
	“Go. Do it.” The elf breathed heavily, trying relax his muscles as much as possible.
	Sledge didn’t so much thrust as lean forward from the knees, using his bulk to drive his penis into Deacon, going halfway down the shaft in one movement. He winced and stopped the movement there, as he could feel Deacon’s passage clenching and tensing. “You, uh – you good there?” he said.
	“Hhhhaa… fine. Keep going,” replied Deacon, out of breath.
	Sledge bent over Deacon, setting his massive palms on the mattress on either side of the elf. “Relax,” he whispered, the command delivered in a low, breathy basso.
	“I’m… trying…”
	“Don’t try. Just do it.”
	Deacon felt the tip of his pointed ear held between a tusk and a tongue, and began to melt. For being a hired hunk of goblinified muscle, Sledge was surprisingly tender when the time came to be, and knew how to work a nerve cluster.
	“You relaxing down there?” Sledge’s whisper now was almost inaudible but delivered directly into Deacon’s left ear.
	“Hmmmmmngh, yes…”
	“Good.” Sledge shifted his hips forward, hilting himself in the orifice with ease, then withdrew almost all of his length. He repeated the motions, sliding his cock in and out at the same gradual rates.
	“Is this worth that bonus?” rumbled the troll, his hot breath prickling the back of Deacon’s neck.
	“Aah! I – ungh…” moaned Deacon, in time with each pump.
	Sledge wrapped his slickened right hand around Deacon’s waving penis. His large, rough digits easily enveloped the elf’s organ, but the pace of fucking was slow and steady enough that the troll could stroke the cock with some degree of tenderness and care.
	“Is this worth that bonus?” repeated Sledge, but he held still once after he finished his question, pausing to savor how the elf quivered around him and throbbed in his grasp.
	“Hah,” Deacon wheezed to the bedspread, catching his breath, “Not if you stop like this again.”
	“Pff. Alright, I’ll keep going,” chortled Sledge. He slapped Deacon’s ass once with his left hand, then resumed fucking, but faster now. At the zenith of each complete forward thrust, his sack swung into that of the elf.
	“Oh fuck, that’s better,” breathed Deacon. He could feel his passage dilating and contracting with every pump, and hear the squelch of lubricated flesh on lubricated flesh. His prostate sang the hot, tingly dial tone of pleasure that echoed in his limbs. He grasped Sledge’s right hand with his own, and tugged slightly.
	“Problems?” asked Sledge, still thrusting into Deacon, but no longer stroking the elf’s dripping rod.
	Sledge’s coarse, calloused fingers felt okay on his dick at lower speeds, but at this vigorous pace, the sensation was less than pleasant for the sensitive skin of the glans. Furthermore, Deacon knew that at this rate, he wouldn’t need to have his dick stroked to cum. He simply panted, “I’m close,” to Sledge. This was also true.
	Sledge dropped both hands to Deacon’s hips for extra control of his thrusts. “Then go for it,” he said, “I’m right behind you.”
	Deacon turned back over his shoulder to look up into Sledge’s face. The troll was grinning down at him, tusky mouth ajar, soft brown eyes enraptured by the elf. Deacon whimpered in time with several ball-slapping pumps, then came. The orgasm lasted several quick breaths, prolonged by Sledge’s unceasing thrusts. A supernova of pure white-hot ecstasy erupted from the fire in his loins, thundering up his spine and down his legs. A ragged cry shuddered through his dry throat. His twitching cock shot ropes of semen onto the puddle of precum already collecting on the mattress, and his body slumped forward.
	Sledge was still thrusting, however. The elf’s semi-limp body jostled in his muscled grip still bouncing with the motions.
	“Fraggin’… fill me up…” pleaded Deacon into the pillow.
	“Yeah, I’m gonna,” rasped the troll. A low, deep moan began in his throat, ending in an abrupt grunt as his own climax washed over him, and he let loose a troll-size deluge of cum inside Deacon. Sledge stopped thrusting and caught his breath, idly rubbing the elf’s ass.
	Deacon beamed with pure contentment. “Job… well done…” he exhaled.
	“Eh, it was a team effort,” said Sledge. He gave the elven ass a playful slap before withdrawing his length from it, a strand of semen trailing from the organ to the orifice. The troll sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall of the small bedroom to watch the elf recover from his ordeal.
When Sledge pulled out of him, Deacon had winced at first. But while he certainly didn’t feel quite so full anymore, he also certainly wasn’t empty. He could feel Sledge’s load inside him, promising to leak from his stretched hole at any moment. Deacon wobbled to his feet and said, “I’d better get to the bathroom so I don’t drip on anything.”
	“Too late for that.” Sledge pointed a finger at the puddle Deacon already made on his mattress. “Anything else you want while I’m still on the payroll?”
	Deacon smirked, a globule of cum running down his thighs. “Hmm. How about you give me your tuskiest, tongueiest kiss, and I’ll pay you for all services rendered?”
	“Deal.” The troll got to his feet, looming above Deacon.
	The elf looked up into Sledge’s eyes, licking his lips expectantly.
	Sledge took Deacon’s ponytail into his right hand and clenched, holding the elf’s head still while he stooped to bring their faces together. The elf smelled of sweat and sex, and his mouth tasted like his own cock. Sledge’s tusks pricked at Deacon’s lips while a broad tongue pushed between them and against his own. Halfway through the kiss, Deacon brought his arm up to wrap it around the troll’s neck, an embrace that lasted several seconds.
	Deacon was the one to pull away from the kiss first. “Mm! Ah, the rest of the crew is going to be back here any minute now. Let’s get cleaned up, uh, together, yeah?”
	“Fine by me,” shrugged the troll.
	Deacon turned and waddled towards the safehouse’s bathroom, droplets of semen and lube running down his legs. “You know, if you fuck that good, we ought to find a fixer who can get you more work like this,” he remarked. “There’s definitely demand for your supply.”
	“I don’t really wanna be an oversized joyboy.” Sledge was flattered but unconvinced.
	“Don’t think of it that way.” Deacon smirked. “You’d be… well, hired muscle.”