Gideon lowered himself onto Kota's lap with the slow, deliberate grace. The moment his full weight settled, Kota's lungs emptied in a sharp grunt.
Gideon was tall, six foot eight of pale, femboy, and while his waist was impossibly narrow, the sheer size of his frame meant he was not light. Kota's thighs burned instantly, his knees pressing into the van floor as he fought to keep his balance.
The massive shelf of Gideon's ass spread across his lap like a heated blanket, the cleft already slick with lube and aligned perfectly with Kota's throbbing cock.
But Kota saw the flicker in Gideon's dark eyes. The barely perceptible wince of embarrassment. Gideon had felt the impact, felt the way Kota's breath had punched out of him, and that ancient, instinctive shame of being too big, too heavy, too much, was already creeping in.
Kota shifted before Gideon could apologize. He wrapped his arms around Gideon's corseted waist and lifted slightly, adjusting their angle until Gideon was leaning back against the van wall instead of sitting directly on top of him.
The move was smooth, casual, like it was what Kota had intended all along. "What's your favorite position?" Kota asked, voice steady despite the strain still humming in his thighs.
Gideon's pale cheeks flushed a deep, dusty rose. The color spread down his neck and disappeared into the collar of his frilled shirt, which he hadn't removed yet. His long fingers, still adorned with silver rings, twisted together in his lap.
"I... favor a carry fuck. But it has never been achieved. Due to my size. I am too tall. Too heavy. No partner has ever been able to hold me."
Kota sighed. It was a long, bone deep sigh that came from somewhere in his soul. If he was going to have sex, he was going to have to cater to his partners.
Fuck.
He had already pile drived Mort into another dimension. He had already let Corey use him like a living dildo for an entire car ride. He had already done things tonight that would make a porn star blush. What was one more impossible request?
"Lie on your back," Kota said, his voice flat with resignation but not unkind.
Gideon's eyes widened. "You don't have to do this. I am perfectly content with any other position. Missionary is acceptable. Cowgirl is acceptable. I do not wish to be a burden—"
"Fuck no," Kota cut him off. "I said lie on your back. I'm doing this."
Gideon obeyed. He unfolded his impossibly long legs and stretched out on the van floor, his pale body looking almost marble-like in the dim light. His corset was still on, cinching his waist into that dramatic hourglass, and his skirt was bunched around his hips, the dark maroon fabric contrasting sharply with his milk white skin. His cocklet was hard and flushed, bobbing against his stomach.
Kota squatted down and hooked Gideon's long legs over his shoulders. The position was awkward at first, Gideon's height making the angle difficult, but Kota adjusted until he had a solid grip. He wrapped his arms around Gideon's back, hands locking behind his shoulder blades, and took a deep breath.
And LIFTTT.
Kota's knees screamed in protest. His thighs, already sore from the pile driver and the fight with Davion and the endless hours of fucking, shook violently. He was a track kid, not a fucking powerlifter. His body was built for speed and endurance, not hoisting six foot eight gothic femboys into the air like they weighed nothing. But he did it. He lifted Gideon off the ground, the taller man's full weight supported entirely by Kota's arms and shoulders, his massive ass suspended in the air, his legs draped over Kota's shoulders.
"Holy shit," Kota breathed, his voice strained. "You're heavier than you look."
Gideon's stoic composure cracked. A genuine, trembling smile broke across his angular face, and his dark eyes shimmered with something suspiciously close to tears. "Thank you, Kota. Truly. You may proceed."
Kota didn't need to be told twice. He lined up his cock, still slick from Mort, and thrust upward into Gideon's waiting hole. The angle was perfect. The carry fuck position let him drive deep and fast, his hips snapping forward with the desperate urgency of a man who knew his arms were going to give out any second. He needed to cum quickly.
And fuckkkkk did he love Gideon's ass.
It was so soft. Softer than Toby's, even, and Toby's ass was legendary for its plush, cloud-like give. But Gideon's cheeks were bigger, wider, the sheer mass of them cushioning every frantic thrust. The flesh rippled and jiggled with each impact, the deep cleft swallowing Kota's cock to the root and squeezing with velvety, rippling pressure. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the van, a rhythmic wet plap plap plap that seemed to echo off the metal walls.
Gideon's moan was deep and resonant, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through his entire frame. It was unlike the high pitched cries of Toby or the shameless screaming of Corey. It was the moan of a man who had waited years for this exact moment and was savoring every second.
"Thank you, Kota," Gideon gasped between thrusts, his voice trembling with genuine emotion.
"Thank you for this. I will remember it for as long as I live. This feeling. This fullness. I have dreamed of it. I have written poetry about it. Never did I think I would experience it myself. Thank you. Thank you."
Kota kept fucking, his arms burning, his legs shaking, his breath coming in ragged pants. The plaps grew faster, wetter, the lube and precum mixing into a slick froth that dripped down Gideon's thighs. Gideon's cocklet bounced untouched against his stomach, leaking steadily, his dark red eyeshadow smearing slightly as his eyes fluttered with pleasure.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Gideon's voice became a mantra, a prayer, each word punctuated by another deep, pounding thrust. "You are a gift. A blessing. I will compose a sonnet about this. An epic. A ballad. Thank you."
Kota's climax hit him like a freight train. He buried himself to the hilt with one final, desperate surge of strength, flooding Gideon's insides with thick, heavy ropes of cum. Gideon let out a strongggggg moan, the sound raw and powerful, his head falling back, his entire body shuddering through an untouched orgasm. His cocklet spurted weakly across his own corset, the white streaks staining the dark fabric.
As the aftershocks rippled through him, Gideon wrapped his long arms around Kota's shoulders and pulled him into a tight, fierce hug. Kota was still buried inside him, still panting, still trembling with exhaustion. The embrace was warm and genuine, full of a gratitude so profound it bordered on reverence.
"Thank you," Gideon whispered one last time, his deep voice soft and sincere. "I will never forget this."
Kota caught his breath, his heart still hammering against his ribs. Slowly, carefully, he lowered Gideon back to the van floor. His arms felt like overcooked noodles. His legs were jelly. But he managed to set Gideon down without dropping him, and that felt like a victory in itself.
Gideon lay there for a moment, his pale skin flushed, his hole leaking cum onto the blanket, a small, peaceful smile on his face. He looked utterly content.
From the corner of the van, Mort had been watching. His face was unreadable, his arms crossed over his bare chest. He had pulled his crop sweatshirt back on but hadn't bothered with the parachute pants yet, his plump ass still bare and glistening with the remnants of his own session. There was a flicker of something in his dark eyes. Jealousy, maybe. But he didn't say anything. He just turned and crawled from the trunk space back into the front of the van.
Kota heard the crunch of glass. Mort was in the driver's seat, sweeping the shattered remnants of the window off the upholstery with sharp, angry motions. The shards tinkled as they hit the asphalt outside.
"Alright, Kota," Mort called over his shoulder, his voice back to its usual flat, unimpressed tone. "You've had enough femboy ass for one night. It's time to get your ass home."