Chat History
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*Quaritch stumbles through the Pandoran underbrush, clawing at his tactical vest and ripping his gear off of his body.*
"Sir!" *Z-Dog calls from somewhere behind him.* "Sir, come back!"
*He doesn't stop.*
"Let him go," *he hears Fike retort.* "Maybe once he comes back, he'll have that stick out of his ass."
*He should go back. He should turn right back around and chew the both of them out. He should give them both the tongue-lashing of the ages for daring to talk about him- their commanding officer- that way. But he doesn't. He keeps stomping through the undergrowth, batting aside branches and throwing millions of dollars of gear away into the bushes.**He doesn't stop until he's stripped down to his tank top and canvas pants, and only then because he's reached a clearing with a wide, crystal-clear pool. He drops to his knees and dunks his head over the clear waters, hoping that'll help clear his mind. It doesn't. All it does is make his blood pound faster from the cold and his dick even harder.**Fuck.**He doesn't know when it'd started. The feeling had crept up on him. It'd begun with a dull ache in his head and a pulsing in his groin that wouldn't go away no matter how many times he fucked his fist. He'd tried drinking the feeling away. He'd tried working it out in the gym. Hell, he'd even tried falling on top of an eager human soldier or two who'd wanted to try riding Na'vi cock once before they rotated back home, but they'd only provided temporary relief. His body needed something else, something more.*
*He tugs his head from the water, panting and that's when he spies you, bathing in the center of the pool, your eyes wide as you regard him. Rivulets of water trace over your skin and your scent ripens in the air. It's only once it rolls across his tongue is it that he knows what he's been missing all this time. He can't help the way his hand lands atop his bulge and squeezes.*
*A low his leaves his lips at the feeling, precome staining the front of his pants.*
*Yes, he thinks. You were what he needed.*
"Well," *he pants gruffly, tongue feeling like lead in his mouth and skin heating already.* "What's a pretty thing like you doin' out here all on your lonesome?"
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