Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12908046.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Other
  Fandom:
      Pocket_Monsters:_Sun_&_Moon_|_Pokemon_Sun_&_Moon_Versions
  Relationship:
      Guzma_(Pokemon)/Reader, Guzma/Protagonist_(Pokemon)
  Character:
      Guzma_(Pokemon), Protagonist_(Pokemon_Sun_&_Moon)
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Breathplay, Coming_Inside, Violence, Penetrative_Sex,
      Gender-Ambiguous_Protag
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-04 Words: 3124
****** Ready (Or Not) ******
by rottensinner
Summary
     "You come here to fuck or what?" Guzma asks.
Notes
     This is a work of fiction, and is not intended to condone literally
     any of Guzma's actions. In particular, breath play is very dangerous.
     Set a handful of years after Sun & Moon canon.
You're in Guzma's room, at the Team skull mansion. He's not there. Not there
yet, rather. You expect he'll be back at some point.
He doesn't know you're here. You'd like to say you snuck in. That had been the
plan. You bought an outfit to blend in. You'd been planning to find the
passwords, and go about it properly.
But the Skull Grunts had scattered as soon as they saw you. You probably should
have expected it, really. You've personally beaten more than half of them,
you're pretty sure. And even the ones who haven't battled with you are sure to
have seen your picture: in the newspaper, on TV, in the tabloids, on the
internet. You've almost become sick of your own face, since becoming the
champion of Alola.
You feel like Guzma is probably sick of it, too. Or rather, he's been sick of
you since you met, maybe since before you met. He's surprisingly protective of
the Skull Grunts, and he hates to lose. And you think that maybe to him, you
represent something more than just one kid. You're the glowing idol of the
island challenge, the perfect picture of success that he either couldn't or
didn't pursue. You're never really sure which.
You're a bit lost in thought when the door opens. The sound of it thunking
solidly against the dresser brings you back to the present.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Guzma asks, squinting down at you. "Do you
always make yourself at home in other people's beds?"
"I try not to make a habit of it," you reply. "I just didn't think you'd take
so long coming back."
"Well pardon fucking me," he snarls. "Didn't think I'd have company."
"Well, here I am," you say, shrugging. You're still sitting on his bed.
"Yeah, what the fuck is up with that?" he asks. "Get out."
"You don't want to know why I'm here?" you ask.
"Not in the slightest," Guzma says flatly. "Get out or I throw you out."
The threat of physical violence sets your blood racing, and solidifies your
resolve.
"Try it," you say, smiling.
His eye twitches, and then he lunges at you. You scramble back on his bed,
getting your body out of his reach but unfortunately not your legs. He grabs
your ankle and yanks.
You fall off the bed and land directly on your tailbone. He doesn't let go of
your ankle. You throw a punch at him. You hit his chest, and he doesn't even
flinch.
"Feisty motherfucker aren't you," he says, and starts dragging you towards the
door. You grab onto the leg of his bed.
He turns towards you, growls, and kicks you in the ribs.
You whine.
Guzma raises his eyebrow at you.
He lets go of your ankle, and stands up to his full height. You stare up at him
from the floor as he draws back his foot again.
The second kick nails you in the soft part of your side. You make a noise
somewhere between a cough and a moan. You're sure you'll have bruises tomorrow.
"You enjoying this or something?" Guzma asks you. You can feel yourself flush a
bit.
"And if I was?" you ask, after catching your breath. The situation is already
wildly outside of your expectations, but somehow that feels better than if it
had all gone according to plan.
"I'm only gonna ask once, so listen the fuck up," Guzma announces. You stare up
at him. When he doesn't continue, you nod to show that you understand, you're
paying attention.
"You come here to fuck or what?" he asks.
If you were embarrassed before, you're dying now. That basically is what you
came here for. Actually, that's the only thing you came here for. Which was
very presumptuous of you, since he has not shown anything like that kind of
interest in you, ever.
"Answer the damn question," he snarls.
"Yeah," you say. You can't quite look at him, so you end up staring past his
hips and out the still-open door. There are two Skull Grunts staring at you
from around a corner, trying to be subtle about it and failing miserably. When
they notice you looking at them, they vanish quickly.
"I said answer the damn question," he says, louder, and kicks the platform his
throne is on, a few inches away from your head. You startle and look up at him.
Maybe it's your imagination, but he seems slightly pinker than usual.
"I did," you say. He glares at you and draws back his foot again. "I came here
to fuck, sir!" You exclaim.
"Do you understand what you're getting into?" he asks. "I ain't gonna hold you
like some lovesick pansy."
"Does that mean you're interested?" you ask, and you almost forget to be
embarrassed by how hopeful your voice sounds.
"I'm the one asking the damn questions here," he growls, and you're sure now
that you're not imagining him being a bit flustered.
"I'm not expecting you to be gentle," you reply, and surely your expression
must be giving away how much you're looking forward to this, but you figure
you've already tipped your hand now.
"Once I close this door, I'm not going to open it again until I'm good and
satisfied. No one else is gonna come for you either, even if you scream."
"I know," you say. "So close it already."
He stares at you for a moment longer, as if expecting you to change your mind.
Then he shrugs, and a vicious lopsided grin spreads across his face.
"You've got guts, kid," he says. "I'll give you that."
The door slams shut. He walks towards you. Places one foot on the center of
your chest, and slowly lets his weight bear down on you.
Your breathing gets faster, shallower as his weigh compresses your ribs. You
pant lightly.
He reaches into his sweats and slowly pulls out his dick. You sort of have a
bad angle on it, but you're very ready to get closer. You lick your lips
without thinking about it.
He laughs, low and mocking. "You that eager to choke on my cock, kid?" he asks.
You try to answer him, but end up coughing shallowly instead. He laughs again,
and finally lifts his foot, planting it firmly on the other side of your body.
"Yeah," you say, still catching your breath.
He reaches down and grabs your hair, pulling you upwards until you're kneeling
between his legs.
His cock presses against your cheek. He's not hard yet, but it's warm and heavy
against your face. You rub your cheek against it.
"This ain't cuddle hour," he says. He lets go of your hair and puts his hand on
your other cheek, pries your mouth open with his thumb. "Open up."
You open your mouth obediently, and let your tongue hang out just a bit. He
guides his cock into your mouth. The scent is almost overwhelming.
"Suck it," he orders.
You close your mouth around his cockhead. You swirl your tongue around it a
couple times, and then start sucking in earnest. You bring your hands up to
rest just above his thighs.
His hand on your cheek slides back into your hair, and the gesture would almost
have been tender if it hadn't been followed by his fingers tightening around
your hair again, tugging you in closer to him.
It hurts. You love it.
"You been practicing, kid?" he asks you. "I always thought you were so
cleancut, never would have guessed you're a filthy cocksucker."
You whine quietly around him. He laughs.
He's starting to swell in your mouth. The idea that you're having this effect
on it gets to you, gets your blood running hot in your veins.
Your fingers twitch and curl against his hips. He pulls you down farther on his
cock, until your mouth is full with it, until it's pressing against your
throat. You take a breath and try to prepare yourself.
He lets you back off, just slightly, and then pushes into your throat. You
swallow against him, you can feel tears stinging your eyes. You glance up at
him and find him smirking down at you, focused and sadistic. You whine, lose
your concentration, choke a little.
He laughs and lets his grip on your hair loosen.
"Make sure you're ready, this time," he says, and it's more of a warning than a
request.
He grabs your hair in both fists and pulls you down onto his cock. You do your
best to swallow around it. He lets you back off, just enough to pull in a
breath, and shoves his cock into your throat again.
He falls into a rhythm, and that rhythm quickly becomes brutally fast. You gasp
and splutter, tears trickle down your cheeks.
"You look good like this," he tells you, voice mocking. "ON your knees, my own
personal cocksleeve." You moan.
He thrusts against your face. His pubes brush against your nose. "I'm gonna
mess you up so good," he tells you. "I'll fuck you until you have to be carried
out of here."
You whine. He pulls his cock out of his mouth and then strokes it a couple more
times before coming messily across your face.
You spend a moment catching your breath, and then lick your lips.
He laughs harshly. "Seems like you were pretty into that," he accuses.
"Yeah," you admit easily. "Yeah, that was hot."
He laughs louder. "Well we're just getting started, kid."
He turns around and rummages around behind the chest of buginum z.
"Get on the bed," he orders. "And get your pants off."
You quickly do as you're told, heart beating fast. This is really going to
happen. Guzma is going to fuck you. While he's turned around, you wipe your
face with his sheets. You figure they're probably about to be ruined anyway, so
it's probably fine.
Or maybe it's not fine, and he'll punish you for it.
He tosses a small bottle at you, and you barely manage to catch it before it
hits your face. It's lube. It looks a bit more expensive than you would have
expected from him.
"Get yourself ready," he says. "And give me a good view of it."
You flush, pause for a moment, and then nod. You kneel upright, knees spread
wide apart. You pop the bottle open and pour some onto your fingers.
Your hole is already sensitive, when you reach down to it. You shudder
slightly, running your fingers over your entrance.
Guzma is watching you. He sits on the edge of the bed, cock still out but
otherwise fully dressed, watching you. His expression is somewhere between
amused and judgmental, like you're the butt of his joke.
You slide one slick finger into yourself, and whine quietly. You're normally
pretty good at keeping quiet when you jerk off, but this is different. His
gaze, his intentions, have you revved up to eleven already.
You slip another finger inside yourself. You're trying to be thorough, careful,
because you're sure he won't be. But you're already aching for it, aroused
almost to the point of dizziness.
You slide a third finger in maybe a bit sooner than you should have, and wince
slightly. You take a break to pour a bit more lube onto your fingers, and slide
them back in. You're almost used to it when Guzma decides he's seen enough.
"You seem ready," he says. "Turn around, get on your hands and knees."
Again, you do as you're told, pulse racing. You can't see him, but you can feel
him crawl towards you. He presses his cock against your slick hole, and ruts
against you a couple times. You whine and rock back against him.
"Slut," he mutters, and then grabs your hips tightly and pushes into you.
It's bigger than you were ready for.
Your hands fist in his sheets, you try to squirm away, but he has a firm hold
on you. He pushes in further. You gasp and moan, try to find the words to tell
him to slow down, but you can't quite manage to get your thoughts together.
"Damn you're tight," he tells you.
He pulls back slightly, and then slams back into you. You don't quite suppress
a scream, and fall onto your elbows, back arched taunt.
"You better not be regretting this already," Guzma tells you, thrusting again.
"Because I'm only getting started."
He slams into you, again and again. You can feel sweat start to bead on your
shoulders. The friction of his movements, his bruising grip on your hips, the
sore spots from where he kicked you earlier, your acute awareness that the
skull grunts can hear you moaning and keening... It's all too much, too fast.
You come before you're ready to, legs straining against the bed. Guzma growls
something out above you, but you can't parse it, orgasm rolling through you
like a tidal wave.
He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down. You squirm and try to pull away from
him. You let your chest fall to the bed so you can reach back and pull at his
hands.
"Fuck off, I'm so close," he says.
"-ease, stop, let me catch my breath, please, Guzma, I can't," you realize
you've been talking to him, gasping out the words between stuttering moans.
He doesn't listen to you. Or at least, he doesn't take your words into
consideration. You think he might be getting off on hearing you beg for mercy.
"You're so hot like this," he says, confirming your suspicions. "I'm close, I'm
gonna-"
He presses deep inside of you, and you feel something hot and slick. You
realize with horror that he's coming inside you. You wail and scramble at the
sheets, still trying to get away.
He finally lets go of your hips, and sighs with satisfaction. You feel his come
drip down your thigh. You shudder. You wish it wasn't turning you on again.
You flop onto your side and glare at him. "I can't believe you did that," you
tell him.
He laughs harshly. "I don't know what you were expecting," he replies. "But you
enjoyed it, didn't you?"
You pause.
"I've never heard anyone scream like that," he tells you. You flush. You're
sure everyone in the mansion has heard you. You're sure the tabloids will have
heard about this by morning.
You wish you could regret it.
You zone out for a moment, finally starting to leave over-stimulation behind
and enjoy your afterglow.
"Hey," Guzma says, and pushes you slowly onto your back. "You don't think one
round would be enough for me, do you?"
You freeze.
"Come on, you want more, too, right?" he asks, but it's not really a question.
He's already pushing your knees apart. He's naked now. You didn't notice him
get undressed. You're still wearing your shirt, damp with sweat and riding up
to expose your stomach.
It seems like he's into that. Kneeling between your legs, he runs his hands up
your sides. You try not to squirm. You're embarrassingly sensitive from your
recent orgasm, its lingering effect still making you feel warm and drowsy.
You're not sure how he's so ready to go again already.
But it looks like you're along for the ride, whether you're ready for it or
not. You're not exactly complaining.
"Hey, stick your tongue out," he tells you.
You do it, curious. He leans in close, and licks your tongue before biting it.
You wince slightly. He starts kissing you in earnest, as fiercely as everything
else he does. His tongue in your mouth, his weight hanging over you, his broad
hands on your ribcage... You can't sense anything but him.
When he pulls back, you're left aching for more.
He's hard again. You're pretty turned on again, too, but you're still not
really sure if you can handle another round this soon after the last one.
He doesn't ask about it. He slicks his cock and grabs your hips with his still-
damp hands, pulling you half onto his lap. You wonder if he expects you to sit
up and ride him.
But it doesn't seem like he does. He pushes into you, and you're still
stretched out from the last round, so this time it doesn't hurt. You can hear
yourself moaning. He grins down at you, shark teeth and wild eyes.
He thrusts into you a few times, finding his pace.
"Fuck you feel good," he tells you. "I wanna keep you here, like my own
personal sex pet."
You flush and whine, caught off guard both by him saying it and by how much
you're into it.
"You'd like that, huh?" he asks. "The great and mighty champion of Alola,
reduced to nothing but another slut by big bad Guzma."
You're rolling your hips against his, now. His hands slide up your body again,
over your bunched-up shirt. His thumbs brush roughly over your nipples as they
pass.
He stops when his hands are at your throat. You stare up at him, and you know
you should be asking him to stop, you should be trying to get away, should have
some level of self-preservation.
But all you can think is, "do it."
You're not sure if you said it out loud, but either way, it seems like he heard
you loud and clear.
His fingers tighten around your neck. Slowly, slowly, but the firm pressure has
its effect on you. Your breath comes short, turns shallow. You gasp, try to
keep yourself from wheezing, from doing anything that might make him stop.
Your hands twist and curl in the sheets. Sparks dance around the edges of your
vision. He's still fucking into you, not as fast as the first round but hard
and persistent. Your hips stutter. You can feel pinpricks of sweat forming on
your forehead. He says something to you, but your blood is rushing in your
ears, and you can't hear him.
It occurs to you that you could die like this.
Orgasm washes over you in a wave of pins and needles, slowly and then all at
once. He lifts his hands from your throat and places them back at your hips,
thrusting into you a couple more times before reaching his own orgasm, deep
inside you.
You cough and pant, damp with sweat, mind hazy, limbs weak. You've never felt
more satisfied in your life.
Guzma thumps down onto the bed beside you.
"That was awesome," he declares.
"Yeah," you murmur. You're half asleep already.
"You better not be falling asleep in my bed," he tells you, but you're not
listening.
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