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allanonxmareth · 8 months

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Fic excerpt

Here's a part of an unfinished fic, PWP, written a while back, a bit weird. I think this was originally for the prompt "size kink" but it ended up having other stuff too. Again set in that nebulous fix-it future where Allanon is back and they're in a relationship.

Fandom: The Shannara Chronicles (TV) Rating: Explicit Relationships: Allanon/Mareth Tags: Porn Without Plot, Parent/Child Incest, Size Kink, Mind-Reading, Crying In Bed, Erectile Dysfunction, hangups about sex, emotions all over the place

It was odd, but not in a bad way. Allanon took things slow; Mareth could tell he was easily affected by her, but he never rushed, seemingly happy to enjoy just having her near.

It took days for them to fuck. He didn't seem to have much interest in it, no more than her hands on him - he seemed to prefer that, even, her touching him with thorough curiosity, mapping his body with her fingers and mouth, the plains and valleys.

But she wanted it, on some base level, his hard, silky, hot flesh inside her where it ached to be filled.

He was sizable as well, growing more so when turned on. She didn't remember bedding anyone, even human, with such a big cock. Having slept with humans before, it was all the odder to have him so apprehensive, so clearly afraid of hurting her. Often her elf side was what turned humans on, her perceived frailty and overly sensitive body - not anything she cared for, and not the truth, but she expected it. That she had to fight to get what she wanted. But her father touched her so attentively, almost with bated breath. He seemed so utterly happy just touching her skin, just tasting; going down on her got him so worked up that it took little more than rutting against her to burst all over her belly or back or hands.

"We don't have to," she said quietly, pressing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. His member was an enticing length against her belly, trapped between their bodies when she had settled in his lap, astride his hips. It made her run wet and slick to have all that so close, but he seemed to enjoy the squeeze such as it was enough. But -

"I don't want to hurt you." His words were hot, his hands light and hot on her thighs.

"You won't." She brushed his cheek with her thumb, across the little scar there. "I want you," she whispered, unable to hold back all the desperation pooling inside her. "All of you. But -" she swallowed the rest when her instinctual rocking of her hips sent a shiver of pleasure through her, her parted flesh rubbing against his length. So much of him, right there. She knew he would find his release like this, come all over between their bodies, and she would love it, want it - always a little wonder to feel what she too was made of.

But if there was any desire in him to push his gorgeous, thick cock inside her, she was aching to have him. And he had to know that, had to sense her dreams, the ache deeper inside her where his fingers couldn't reach. The yearning. There was no danger here, just a want to get him as close as possible

And yet it warred with her need to not hurt him. She didn't want to push, no matter how odd it was (and yes, she never thought a man might not want this) - she just wanted him to know.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," she murmured, rubbing her swollen flesh against his hot, giving body, tangling fingers in his hair, licking along the seam of his soft lips.

It didn't happen then, both getting too much into the kiss again.

It took them a few nights still, and dark of the night; a late return from a party, candles bathing her bedroom.

She had already come to love how it started. Him undressing her, unhooking, untying, fingers finding the little knots and clasps of a dress she wasn't accustomed to. And she probably wouldn't, given her aide.

When she was in her underwear, she asked him to derobe as well. A ritual, until they were both mostly nude, just clothed enough there was plausible deniability (for whom, she didn't think about). That it was just this side of chaste when she threw her arms around him, and he lifted her up, and carried her towards her royal bed where they finally crossed the threshold.

Her hair was completely loose - his fingers pulled out the pins - and it fell down her back in a way she wasn't used to. She bent down to kiss him, and his fingers carded through her locks carefully, one hand on her hip. This was familiar, already, frotting against each other slowly, the friction deliciously light, not yet frustrating. She'd started to think of this as her fucking him, pushing her hardened clit against his giving flesh, moving her hips on a wave, astride him. Wound up, he would finally ask her if she wanted his mouth, or fingers, and in which way - so breathtakingly eager that it alone made her insides flutter - if she wanted to move up and sit on his face - and so far she'd managed to hold back any commands otherwise.

But everything in her wanted, so so much, a please echoing through all of her being.

He didn't spook when she lifted her hips and took the base of his cock, not looking, wanting to keep the eye contact, fingers still not used to his girth and length after all these weeks - oh - so much more than anyone else she had known. The touch of the slick head of his cock over her lower lips made them both gasp.

"Do you - can I -?" She wasn't sure how to continue, if the simple f word would break some spell, but still needing him to say it out loud.

"Yes." His voice was rough with pleasure, with that tinge of uncertainty still, but it was more wonder than reluctance.

"Me too." She smiled, spreading her legs just a bit and -

It did hurt, just the head pushing past her entrance, and she couldn't help the air escaping her lungs with a moan, hands clamping immediately over his when he threatened to stop her movement downward. "No no no," she whispered feverishly. "It's good - so good. Just new."

So, yes, she wasn't unfamiliar with well hung men, but it had never been like this. Her fingers couldn't quite reach around him at rest, swallowing him down her throat was hopeless, and she felt each of those inches now intimately. No one had ever filled her like this - not just the size, but the pace - he let her take him as she wished, his eyes squeezing shut and mouth parting to let out a moan.

Mareth wanted to enjoy the first slide in, but she gave up and let gravity do its work, setting her palms on his rapidly rising chest. He slid his hands up her thighs slowly, cupping her waist, but not pushing or pulling, just tight enough she felt the delicious pressure of his fingertips.

Mareth. She felt it like a caress inside her head. How fondly he said and thought her name. Inside and out. A common human name, but he made it feel like an endearment.

Every inch of his cock filling her sent sparks all over her. She felt him everywhere, his cock leaving no space for her muscles to flutter, desperately tightening around him.

Allanon groaned, clearly feeling her body's desire around him. He said her name out loud, stroking her thighs slowly.

"If it hurts, please -" he forced his eyes open, "- we can stop - ah."

She laughed, causing everything to feel even more intense. "It's good," she said, and meant it - it did hurt, but it was perfect, a sweet kind of hurt; now they knew how their bodies felt together, and she was filled to the brim and not halfway there. It was crazy.

It wasn't like any other time - it couldn't be. Once she was done - almost - she didn't try to raise her hips, just felt. Her insides twitched anyway, like she could find her crest just from this, no need for any more friction, just this amazing fullness, heat on heat. She squeezed experimentally, and gasped - it sent shocks of pleasure through her - making him moan again. Like he was the one being filled, fucked.

If this had been like any other time, with any other man, if this was him throwing her on the bed and slamming into her, she would have cried out. But the sounds leaving her throat were soft, escaping when his gentle touch made her tremble. They rocked slowly against each other, working his cock deeper into her just so - it felt impossible that he would fit, and that thought made her heart beat harder. Part of her wanted to sheathe him in full, part knew it was physically impossible.

"You feel amazing." His whisper, reassuring, was a low rumble that caressed her skin everywhere. He rarely spoke these things out. "Mareth -"

His thumb touched her inner thigh, making her answering sounds a little desperate. She knew in a flash she was too close to edge - and she wanted it and didn't, wanted to come so badly, and also for this to never end -

Then it was all too much - everything inside her exploded with pleasure and she lost track of all thoughts --

She managed to lift her hips and move; even that stimulated her aching entrance more.

She glanced down, panting, seeing his cock had softened as it slipped out of her, glistening with her juices.

"Oh -" her cheeks burned, though the pleasure still echoed inside her. "I'm so sorry -" She climbed off him, still fuzzy and unsteady, cautiously laying next to him.

The thought that he had not liked it, really, made her ache, a confusing mix with the remains of her orgasm. She had pushed him, after all, forgetting to keep her head in check. But it had felt so good, so right, his eyes had had that look as well, she had thought he wanted it as much as her - her cheeks burned. It was like forgetting to keep her magic leashed at times, knocking him down.

"Oh, no." He quickly rolled to his side so he could look at her. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss her curled fingers. "I did enjoy it. Very much. I just - I can't quite keep up with you. I apologize."

The words were awkward, his voice quiet, but his eyes were as intense as ever when they met hers. She saw the storm of emotion there: shame, but also, still, desire. "I want you," he said, before she had the time to answer and tell him he had nothing to be sorry for--that it was the other way around--his voice low and so serious it made her shiver all over again. "I just - I couldn't do more than that. It's not -" he paused, fingers on her elbow. She wanted him to press his thumb on the vein there and to feel how her heart beat. But he brought his hand up to brush her cheek, tears she didn't realize were pouring out, weird, because she wasn't sad.

This was not her feeling.

She felt his emotions like a wave lapping against the shore of her mind. Worry above all, worry for her now. And something warm and aching, mirroring her. It was so weird to untangle his feelings on the subject. He had enjoyed it - until he didn't, worried she was only doing this because she thought he wanted it. Thoughts that perhaps his other skills weren't enough, that he wanted her to feel nothing but pleasure but perhaps he was too inexperienced for her.

It all crashed over her - so this was what it was like, wasn't it? How it felt to read minds.

Above all, she felt his adoration, utterly overmeasured, echoing inside her bones, and it made her chest ache. It was one thing to hear spoken words and feel his touch, and one to dive into his head and heart like this. But she couldn't stop it, unused to navigating this form of the power. It washed over her. His lo-

Did he not know no one had ever touched her so thoroughly before? Didn't he read that in her head? No one had ever gone down on her like he did, like he wanted to learn everything, wanted to map her like the most eager explorer - and he thought himself selfish of all things, wondering how much he fell short, aching to learn more (she deserved the world and more). And then there was the shame over his touch, his rough fingertips, as if it did nothing but thrill her, as if it wasn't a mark of years gone by, filled with history that made him who he was. History she wanted to learn, whatever he was willing to open up for her.

It was overwhelming - her own emotions mirrored back at her hundredfold, the sea of love (that's what it was) around her - it was too much to take in when she couldn't look away or escape, when she was still aching between her legs, skin glued to his, sticky and sore. Yes - she had wanted this - all of him - and it nearly hurt to finally have it.

"Dad," was all she could say, tearfully, grasping his hand again, twining their shaking fingers, pushing her hot face into his neck, out of any thoughts except him and her and them together.

They made love again, almost without meaning to, bodies slipping back into it as they clung to each other. He spooned her carefully against his chest and touched her still hot and sticky flesh, rubbing his waking dick against her lower back, nosing at her tangled hair and licking up the rim of her ear, comforting her. She reached back to grab his thigh, to guide him, to feel the flex of muscle. Little animal touches that grounded them both.

"It'll pass," he murmured soothingly into her ear. You can block me out soon, everything else too. "I'm sorry it had to happen now -"

Don't be. She rocked her hips. "It's just too much," she whispered in turn. "But it's good, I mean -" I wouldn't have it any other way. It was hard to keep track of where words ended and thoughts began.

He came between her thighs, face buried in her hair, hot breath on her ear and cheek, pulling her along with the desire she was flooded with, a breathtaking wave of lust that he was partly ashamed for (she wanted to scrub all that shame away; how could he think it was wrong or selfish -).

And it probably happened again, and again, she lost count and became detached from reality, became nothing but her body and her father, her everything right now, and this wasn't even desire, it was just being, existing together like they were supposed to, always always always.

#the shannara chronicles #shannara #my fic #allanon #mareth #allanon x mareth

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