Kinktober Day 5: Breeding (dnnz)

(cw: implied transmasc pregnancy, pregnancy kink)

Champion Leon wins again! Another stunning victory from the strongest trainer in Galar!

The crowd is a dull roar under the concrete and steel of the stadium’s walls, but so loud it’s audible even here in the locker rooms. Piers leans back against the cold metal of one locker, listening to the rise and fall of the pulsing chant that is Leon’s name repeated over and over on thousands of lips.

There’s never any question about these things, not really. Leon’s victories feel absolute, almost predetermined. A given, like the sun rising in the east. The sky is blue, a compass always points north, Leon will always win.

That still doesn’t stop it from being exciting, though.

The entire country never tires of it, and even though Piers would be hard-pressed to say it out loud, he never gets tired of watching either. There’s something hypnotic about watching Leon battle, never missing a beat as he strides back and forth across the turf and issues commands like a king ordering forth troops. His bond with his team is phenomenal too, and Piers knows from years of up-close experience that his absolute dedication to them is what lends him part of that edge.

He’s not left waiting against the lockers long. The cheering of the crowd grows louder for a moment, then muffles once more as the door at the end of the long hall opens and closes, and he hears Leon’s footsteps as steady, even percussion.

When he opens the door, he has that look in his eyes once again. Piers has come to know it well—it’s a look he’ll never show to a camera, far too practiced to give more than a cheery, welcoming smile and just a glint of challenge to beckon to potential rivals. That’s the same glint that drew him in so many years ago, and one he’s been beholden to ever since. But this expression, here and now, is a different beast altogether. Leon’s eyes are burning, the thrill of victory hardening his face ever so slightly, touching the corners of his eyes and the curl of his lips and strengthening them into something predatory and knowing.

Every time Piers is on the receiving end of it, he feels like a very small creature who has just realised his scent has been caught, or sees the shadow of wings growing wider.

Leon reaches one strong hand up and undoes the clasp that holds that massive cape in place, sliding it free from his shoulders and letting the thick velvet fabric pool off across the bench that stretches down the middle of the locker room. Even without it, he looks bigger somehow, as though his shoulders have broadened in the last hour alone. They heave up and down, just barely, but enough that Piers can see it contrasted against the terrible, delightful stillness of his gaze.

“You’re here.” The words aren’t a question, but an acknowledgement. His voice is gravelly from shouting out commands, and that knife’s edge gaze nearly slits Piers’ clothes off where he stands, sending the tatters of his objections fluttering to the floor.

“To the victor go the spoils,” he murmurs, and it doesn’t sound anywhere near as dry as he wants it to. It sounds hungry, and beckoning.

Leon’s response is to toss his hat aside onto the cape, and cross the space between them in two long steps. The arm that wraps around Piers’ waist feels like it’s wrought from steel, yet the body he’s pressed to is warm and wafting the delicious scent of sweat and effort and man.

“You watched me win?” Leon’s voice sounds as intense as a dozen blazing suns, and Piers can only give in to the lips pressing insistently against his neck. Something in him trembles for a moment, then submits in a rush.

“Yes. I watched ya—I’m always watchin’ you win. And now I’m here, been waiting for you.” Gripping Leon’s wrist, he guides it down the sides of his waist, allowing Leon to pause and squeeze in with hands so big they nearly meet in the middle. But Piers doesn’t have the patience for his lingering, and pushes him down further, until that wide palm is between his legs, cupping his sex through the thin fabric of his athletic shorts.

Their eyes meet, and Piers is already sharing Leon’s panting breath.

“Winner takes all.”

Leon’s kiss is searing, opening Piers’ lips with his tongue and using his free hand to cup the back of his head, holding him in place. Every trace of air is stolen from Piers’ lungs and yet he craves more, pushing until he feels nearly dizzy with it. Between his legs, Leon’s hand massages and gropes firmly, possessive and undeniable. The effortless conqueror, taking what belongs to him.

Then they break apart, and it’s all Piers can do not to whimper at the loss. Yet even as Leon moves back, he slides his arm down to Piers’ waist once more, dragging him close until his shoes skid across the concrete flooring.

“Not like this. Not here. I’m having you at home—I don’t want anyone walking in on us.”

Piers is about to object that they’ve done much more than simply kiss in this very locker room before, but then he realises the weight behind Leon’s words, and allows the hand on the small of his back to steer him out into the hall. On any other day he would be irate at being hustled along like this, but right now he’s every damn bit as eager as Leon to get where they are going.

Outside, a car appears before Piers can even blink. Leon puts him into it, opening the door like a gentleman even when everything about the energy radiating off him says he’s feeling anything but. Then the door closes, the world muffles itself, and Piers shiveres at the sudden blast of air conditioning over the plush leather interior.

Leon says nothing as they drive off, but one palm lands on Piers’ thigh, the thumb stroking in slow, promising circles. Every time the car takes a corner or slows for a traffic light, the hand slides just an inch higher, until Piers is biting his lower lip and staring pointedly out the window to keep the driver from noticing anything.

They arrive at Leon’s building, get out of the car, and cross the foyer. Leon even waves at the concierge, slipping into his public persona like a familiar hat, then tossing it aside just as quickly when they step into the lift.

They make it to Leon’s penthouse floor. The lift opens with a chime, and they walk down the tiny hall to Leon’s flat. The keys go in the lock, click, and Piers walks through with Leon following. The door closes behind them.

Then Leon is whirling Piers around and seizes the front of his shirt with two fists, shredding it open in a single motion that has Piers’ jaw dropping in pure shock. It never fails to stun him, just how fucking strong Leon is.

“Le—“ he gets the first syllable out before Leon’s hands reach down to grip his ass, lifting his feet clean off the floor and catching him in another kiss. This one is as filthy and rough as the one in the locker room was dominating, and Piers’ head is more than spinning as he feels Leon carry him to god-knows-where. It’s enough that he can pick him up like this, like he weighs nothing at all, shoulders flexing under Piers’ desperately clutching hands. Arceus, but it feels amazing to be thrown around like this, and to know that he’s still utterly at the mercy of someone so strong and so hellbent on his pleasure.

A shock of cold has him gasping, head thrown back, and yet Leon only bends low to seal unforgiving teeth over his collarbone hard enough to bruise. Reeling, Piers realises they’ve made it to the wall of windows that takes up one side of Leon’s penthouse, giving him an unmatched view of the city sprawling beneath. For a moment Leon lifts him higher, gripping under his ass and just pushing up until Piers’ nipples are in range of his mouth, then furiously suckling on the points in a way that makes Piers’ entire body throb. Instinctive, his hands grapple with Leon’s hair, tugging on it as wanton moans echo out of his throat.

As quick as he started, Leon changes his mind and sets Piers down on the ground again. Suddenly he’s fully aware of how much larger Leon is too, shoulders so broad they seem to wrap around him and press him back into the icy chill of the windowpane. And, looking down, he realises Leon’s erection is pressing like an iron bar into his lower belly, right against something a thin layer of flesh and muscle is barely covering.

“I’m not stopping tonight,” Leon growls. “I’m not letting anyone interrupt this. You’re mine. I won, and I won you. Now turn around.”

Piers hasn’t got the brains to even muster a cheeky response at this point. His pussy is drooling into his panties, his body yearning for what’s in front of it, and his feet spin him around so fast he nearly smacks into the window. Vertigo hits when he faces the city skyline, all twinkling lights and silvery towers stretching up to scratch at the sky, but Leon’s hands on his hips still him. His shorts are yanked out of the way, panties with them, and he kicks them off somewhere to the side to be forgotten.

Normally, Leon isn’t like this. He’s energetic in the bedroom, for certain, but it’s playful, fun. It’s only after battling that he becomes—this. Dominant. Undeniable. Demanding in ways that make Piers drip with need and ache to be filled. Right now his cunt is all too empty and he stretches back, hoping to entice, breathless with the feeling of being devoured like this. No one else could ever dream of giving this to him, not that he would even want them to. Why would he settle for anything less than the best?

The blunt head seats itself between his folds, and Piers goes still in anticipation. Every muscle through his thighs and back is tight, but Leon already holds him in place with an unbreakable grip. Need, everything right now is pure need and he opens his mouth to plead, only for the words to turn to a keen when he feels thick precum trickling inside him. Desperate, he tries to throw himself back once more, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself on the thick cock waiting at his entrance. His pussy needs it, so why is Leon holding out? Yet a heavy squeeze to his hips have him stilling once more, and he watches his breath fog the cold glass in rapid puffs.

One hand leaves his hip, sliding up his spine to the back of his neck. In a single deft movement, Leon flicks open the clasp of his choker and sends it clattering down against the windowpane. He leans in, and Piers moans to feel the slide of warm lips up against the sensitive, rarely-exposed skin of his nape. Warmth shoots down his spine, all along the inside of his thighs to the very arches of his feet, pushing him up onto his toes.

“You’re mine,” Leon murmurs against Piers’ neck. “From here,” the head of his cock grinds in just a little further, and then his hand travels down from Piers’ hip to his belly, pressing two fingers in right against his womb. “To here. Understand?”

Piers can only nod shakily. He loves intensity, and now he’s going to get it.

Leon thrusts in, and Piers chokes on a silent scream as he goes from empty to full in the blink of an eye. So fucking huge, Leon is everywhere around and inside him, dominating Piers’ entire world until there are no choices left except to submit. Because that’s what and who he is—a conqueror. Whether it’s on the turf or in the bedroom, Leon makes everyone submit to his will eventually. It’s just a given absolute at this point.

Piers’ fingertips are white as he clings to the windowpane as best he can, nipples hardened and pressing into the cold glass in a way that contrasts the wall of heat at his back. Every time Leon draws out, he feels his pussy clinging like it hates letting him go, and then every time Leon slams in, Piers sees stars dancing in front of his eyes. Over the lewd wet slap of flesh on flesh, he hears his own voice warbling high, his moans turned to keens and pleas as Leon’s cock bullies the back of his cunt to soften it up.

Something flashes below him, and he remembers that yeah, they’re doing this right in front of a massive window. They’re high enough up that people on the ground can’t see them…but what about people in the other buildings? Piers feels a blush erupt and spread from his cheeks to his chest at the thought of someone watching this. Seeing him spread his legs and be pounded by the champion, obviously screaming and loving it; he should be shamed by the thought, but it only excites him more until he feels his own slick start to drip down the inside of one thigh.

“L—Lee, maybe we should—do this somewhere else,” he murmurs, trying to maintain his position as the rational one. “Someone might be watching!”

Leon only snorts beside his ear, and nips at one exposed shoulder.

“If people are watching, let them watch. I don’t care. Let them be jealous of me as I get to knock your pussy up, just like how they’re jealous of me the rest of the time.”

For a breathless moment, Piers thinks about the fact that Leon has never acknowledged the jealousy that others surely feel towards him. All the ways it could potentially affect him, all the things it could make him feel…

Then his brain catches up with the rest of that sentence, and his pussy clamps down like iron. “Wait, knock me up?”

It isn’t that he’s against it. In fact, all of a sudden, he’s entirely far too into the idea. That Leon would sow his seed and leave his mark so deeply, that he’d choose Piers above all others to do this with, to start his family—it hits on something primal in Piers that lays between tenderness and sheer blinding arousal. At the same moment, Leon bends down and hooks his arms under Piers’ legs, lifting both of them up off the ground until Piers is pinned between his chest and the huge window, open and exposed for the world to see. Leon’s cock has slipped out, and now it’s pointing directly up at his pussy once more, promising fulfillment to the terrible emptiness.

Piers has never wanted anything quite so much.

“Yes. I already said you were mine. And I mean all of you—I’ll knock you up because it’s my right, because no one else fucking deserves to do it. You want that, don’t you?”

He can’t deny it. Not when Leon’s dick slips up through his folds and brushes his clit tantalisingly, not when everything inside him pangs for more.

“I do,” he whispers.

Leon isn’t gentle after that. He takes Piers with a new ferocity, and Piers is helpless to do anything but moan wantonly as he’s worked up and down Leon’s cock like a toy. Those strong arms bounce him in place, and he manages to curl one hand forward to rub frantically at his clit, working it until he feels the final peak building within him. Tighter and tighter it winds, and Leon keeps thrusting so deep, like he intends to sink into Piers permanently and mould him to the shape of his pleasure. It feels final, ultimate, like this is what everything has been building up to and Piers can’t imagine wanting it any other way.

The coil inside him snaps, and his orgasm drags him into its undertow. His body twists, but Leon is holding him in place and his cock pounds Piers through it, the world melting away as his cunt sucks on its favourite treat and milks Leon for the cum he craves.

With a victorious snarl, Leon buries deep and joins Piers in ecstasy, a blossom of warmth starting in his gut as Leon’s thick seed fills him in wave after wave. So much of it…it goes on and on, making Piers squirm in his arms from the sensation. Surely, even someone watching from a distance would be able to tell what’s happening, would be able to watch as Piers’ womb welcomes what Leon has to give, already warm and plush. Meant for this.

When it’s finished, Leon pulls free, and Piers can only yelp as the cum floods back out of him, spattering against the window. No, wait, that’s supposed to stay inside! Yet before he can voice this complaint, he’s being switched around to be held in Leon’s arms and carried through the apartment and into his bedroom.

He’s laid down in the bed with an impossible gentleness, and brought a glass of water as he rests. Later, there will be more discussion about what this means—if it’s really just bedroom talk, or reflects a real desire. But for now, Piers rubs a hand over his slightly swollen belly, and opens his arms for Leon when he returns to the bed.