Chapter 9: Inside and Out

That day in Spreadings experienced a cold front, but George still drove them home with the windows down. For Gila, he cranked the heat, but had to drive home on state roads because the highway would be a deafening tornado.

When they got some wind cover from buildings, the gecko turned the fans down. “Baby—I mean, my dearest husband to whom I am vowed—”

“You don’t have to tiptoe on eggshells,” said Gila. George was moving slower because of the cold, and the cat had his arms wrapped tightly around himself. “Call it for what it is.”

“Well, that’s what I’m saying,” said George. “I don’t even know what it is. Can you … break this down for me? I mean, was it a bad burrito, or…”

“Darling, you know full well what I ate. You were there.”

“I don’t know! Maybe you found a funny kiosk at the mall.”

“It doesn’t work that fast.”

George sighed and gripped the steering wheel. He was glad it was heated, because the cold of Spreadings and of Gila was turning his blood into jelly. “Dear, I don’t want to play 20 questions and figure out everything it’s not in order to make some sort of silhouette of what it is. Now things today and yesterday have been different when I’ve been away from you. I showered until we ran out of hot water, and I had a nice long conversation with the underwear men, and I got to stay in bed a little longer after our fun-time, but … I just don’t know. Why are you scurrying off, is it drugs?”

Gila jolted in his seat. “Oh God, you sound like my dad.”

“Well, he’s a nice fella, too.”

“God, is this our generation gap?”

That one made George jolt. “I’m just thinking it’s a person gap. Why do you smell like shit and took too long in the bathroom? Do we need to see a doctor?”

Gila stuck his paw out the window and felt the cold air on the pads. It wasn’t freezing, but it sure felt like the sweat was crystallizing. It cooled his very core. “I shat myself.”

George felt cold for a second, but launched right into problem-solving. “Well that makes sense. They say never trust a fart after thirty-five but that’s not your problem. I guess in Bulge’s, too?”

Gila, for his part, felt like a drunk driver stepping out of his wrecked car into a sea of red and blue lights. Nowhere to go but the naked truth. His eyes felt hot. “And downstairs, and next morning in the bathroom.”

“They gotta have medicine for that,” said George. The gecko tried to keep his expression normal, but his husband pooping his pants four times in recent history was somehow a number he could not properly picture. It felt like a fairytale or a movie.

“I don’t know if it’s medical or not,” said Gila. He shivered, but when he went to wipe the moisture from his face, he caught the faint whiff of his explosive adventure. “Like, a lot of those hit pretty hard. But maybe there were just, normal impulses beforehand—y’know, when you feel it and you make a note for the next bathroom you find—that I just ignored.”

“Ignored?”

“I dunno,” Gila said, throwing up his paws. “Maybe I’m just letting stress and poop build up inside me.”

“Stress?”

“I dunno.”

“Everything going all right with us?”

Gila blew air through his lips. They’d had this conversation, eggshells and all, a hundred times over the years. “Just the normal stuff. Feelings of insignificance, shortcoming.”

“Like I said,” sighed George, “I wanna grow old and die with you, m’kay? So we accept the things we can’t change and change the things we can.”

“That’s the alcoholic’s creed.”

“It’s the prayer of serenity, dipstick,” said George. “It’s not in the bible, but even better, written by an American.”

Gila snorted. “You sure the bible wasn’t written in America?”

“All the best books are. Tale of Two Cities, Count of Monte Cristo, Hunnert Years of Solitude, Crime n’ Punishment…”

The cat’s eyebrow pulled at his skin, raising to meet his ear. “Did … did you purposely get all those wrong?”

The gecko’s eyelids and snout creased into a squished, childlike smirk. Gila smiled as well and gave his husband’s marbled muscular arm a shove. George’s expression then returned to normal. “So, honey, if it’s stress that’s causing these … oh, that’s why the washer was on, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, cleanup was a bit of a mess.”

A little bile rose in the gecko’s throat. He’d never changed a diaper, not even his brother’s kids when they were younger, and wiping his own vent was done out of necessity. “I can imagine. So if stress is causing it, love, please help me help you.”

Gila’s own throat knotted. He caught a whiff of himself, a light twinge of the old, potent mess, and remembered the logs and lumps stacked up in the back of his briefs. His pouch tingled, growing a bit in his shorts. He didn’t know if he was ready to admit that it felt incredible.

“Thanks, dear,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” George said. “Now let’s get you home and showered.”

“You wanna join?”

“No offense, but I think I’ve had enough of that smell.”

The two smiled at each other and George reached over to squeeze Gila’s paw. As a gift, the gecko even rolled up the windows halfway. The drive home was tranquil, even though the cabin smelt like a creeping fart. There was just a finger on the surface of George’s mind, scratching its wrinkles.

Four times…? he wondered. You do that once, you change your whole deal.

George decided not to press the issue.

They got home and Gila stripped in the kitchen. He tried for a kiss with George, but even getting close made the lizard’s snout scrunch. Still, George afforded him a peck, and bundled up Gila’s new clothes for the wash. Gila ran upstairs and right into the shower, and George unloaded the dryer. He found Gila’s briefs in there, and while at first glance they seemed to just be an older pair—faded off-white—he found a patch of beige along the leg elastic.

“Oh God,” George said, feeling his stomach turn. He went to put them back in the wash, but then shook his head and threw them in the trash. “And they say older men have skidmarks.”

He decided to distract himself by cleaning out his truck. He had a spray bottle for the Trailblazer suede, another for the dashboard, and another for the windows of his Huge package. He vacuumed and shampooed the carpets, then scrubbed them until the fabric around the Fjord logo stood up like from static electricity. Then, just like a laundry commercial, he stood with his hands on his hips and took a big, long sniff.

Fresh and clean.

He went back into the house and the water upstairs actually shut off. There was the fluffy sound of towels scrubbing, then the whoosh of a hair dryer.

“Don’t forget to vacuum!” George called upstairs.

“I don’t shed that much,” called back Gila, and then there was a pause. “Aw, shit.”

George took his laptop to the living room and went through some emails. There were normal issues at the shops, with a couple of managers copying him on customer complaints.

“Deny, deny, accept, correct,” he declared, sending responses. “Oh God, this lady again.”

“Transmission is old; we have no records of servicing it, have her get a receipt if she insists we ruined it,” he typed.

The response was immediate. “She said our tire rebalancing was off-kilter, which wrecked the transmission,” the tech mailed, attaching their work order.

“That doesn’t … only if the wheel is sideways,” George started, then realized he was talking to himself.

“Off by a few fractions; this is within shop margin of error. Did we correct the balance?”

“Better, just to be safe. Took forever, but verified to be Furoti spec.”

“Excellent work. Ball’s in her court.”

He shut the laptop and heard the pit-pat of a cat down the stairs. “Where’s my new briefs?” Gila asked. “The ones they didn’t take.”

“I put them in the wash; still had a little stank to them.”

“Oh, I didn’t think it’d be enough that…” Gila started, then ran back upstairs to put on a regular set. He came back down, then hopped into the couch right next to George, snuggling up tight. They watched a movie and then it was time for dinner; Gila suggested that maybe George should try on his new undies and let him see.

The excitement of a new “toy” is never lost on a man, regardless of his years, but the fatigue of the day was really getting to the lizard. “You know what, I’ll wash them, too,” said George, then he thought of what was in the washer. “After this load.”

“The drum’s not gonna be full; we’re not washing towels—oh,” said Gila, with sudden realization. The cat’s fur rose with embarrassment.

George sprang to the rescue. “Hey, the impressive cleaning power of Tied™ is for all of life’s messes,” he said, then cringed as the last word left a foul taste in his mouth. “I mean, dirt washes out and crashed cars get fixed. Life goes on.”

Gila’s ears fell. “You’re forgiving me for making a mess.”

George was struck speechless by the number of arguments he had to make. Was Gila implying that George accusing him was an incorrect thing to do? This was how Gila’s mind must have worked; a lot of “if-then” statements that put him seven counties away from George in conversation. It wasn’t a generation gap; it was just a person gap. Instead, George shrugged at Gila with a wordless look of, “Yes? Am I wrong? I’m sorry?”

This let Gila settle down, even if it was into a pool of his own shame. George couldn’t control that, and better yet shouldn’t try to retroactively negate Gila’s authentic mistakes.

“Y’know,” the gecko said, “let me check with the store.”

“Bulge’s, why?”

“Most clothing has those factory chemicals from some child concentration camp in mid-Asia.”

“Mid-Asia is Arab.”

“Right-Asia.”

“East-Asia?”

“You should work for our detailing team with your microscopic vision. When’s your next shift?” asked George.

Gila was doing okay for himself. He was now a Team Vanguard at Wally World, managing a bunch of overworked, underenthused high schoolers and seniors at a corporate big box store. His own pay was five bucks above what his slaves made. Would he make manager, then he’d be making … what a mid-level office drone would make. Still seemed low for the work done.

The cat’s paw went to his hip, but he wasn’t wearing any pants. George, like the Depression-Era caveman he was, wrote their schedules down on a calendar on the fridge. Gila observed it. “Looks like tomorrow.”

“You, uh, gonna be okay, with what happened today and yesterday?” asked George, having found the number for Bulge’s. “They got underwear there that—and it’s not you know—”

“They’re still endorsed by Kioga and no, I don’t need diap … or their adjacents. I actually met the guy.”

“Who?”

“Kioga Davis. Nice guy.”

“And he didn’t stink to high heaven?”

“He smelled like Persian cologne. Actual Persian, not that crap that I bought.”

“Fancy. Well, if he didn’t smell…”

“I’m not wearing old-man pants.”

“Well, you’ll just have to get used to me wearing them once I’m that age,” said George.

The gecko dreaded the day his body would start to fail and he’d involuntarily wet or soil himself. But he reassured himself that tens of millions of Americans—Kioga Davis included—suffered the ailment with dignity and productivity. His parents were doing okay. “And don’t get fired,” he added, which was the end of that conversation.

George dialed Bulge’s. A familiar voice picked up, and the gecko swallowed the knot in his throat. And found himself adjusting his pants.

“The best of evenings is ones spent in our underwear. This is Jacko; how may I help you?” his voice was smooth as butter.

“Jacko, buddy, it’s George Stronghold.”

“George Strongho… oh heyyyyyy!” went the voice, pitching up several notes. “Enjoyed our boxer briefs, looking to get into something more sheer? We have these excellent pouch scouts—common stores call them thongs—that are just strings and a dream, yet manage to support, lift, and accentuate. We have many team members at the ready to help fit you into one today.” The tabby was not inconspicuous with his emphases.

It tickled the back of George’s brain, as well as the front of his loins, to think about himself marching in front of Gila in just a banana hammock, looking like he’d just attached a fabric ball to the front of a flat pelvis, but he was still annoyed by Jacko’s brazen assault.

“I’m just asking about your chemicals?”

“I’m sorry, excuse me?”

“Do you recommend washing before wear?”

“Absolutely not. They’re pre-treated and ready for a fun night between two or more.”

George rolled his eyes. Did Jacko even remember their conversation from earlier?

“Look, Jacko, is this the spiel you give all your customers?”

There was a sigh on the other line. “It’s a slow night and you were the highlight of my day.”

“Well, let’s keep it that way,” said George. The gecko noticed Gila was watching.

“Who’s on the phone?” Gila mouthed.

George shrugged at Gila. “Why?” he mouthed back.

“Are you still there, Mister Stronghold?” asked Jacko.

“I appreciate your information. Have a good day, Jacko,” he said, then hung up the phone.

Gila’s arms were crossed and he was slumped against the kitchen island. “Honestly, let’s shop at the competitor’s from now on. I’m not sure I want my new briefs anymore.”

George’s expression crinkled. Was Gila suspecting George of … Gila couldn’t have heard the conversation he and Jacko had; he was busy with a load in his drawers. Or was he?

“...why?” the gecko asked.

Gila stood from the island, measuredly marching toward George. Even when mad, he looked amazing in his briefs. “One of their employees, Marvin Mallomar, ratted me out. Honestly, I think you got it in pretty good with Jacko,” he said.

Now the suspicion dial was moving the other way. No wonder Gila felt so tripped up and stressed out, even if George hadn’t done anything. The suspicion of cheating, or deceit, was a devilish, burrowing earwig. “I think I’ve established a good relationship with an employee at the store. Why?”

“I want Marv fired. Or at the very least, I want you to complain to Jacko that Marv followed me to the restroom, just so he could snitch to the Stasi, and get in with their socialist fascist regime!”

The gecko’s jaw fell. “The Spreadings Treasure Trail Mall jacks off on capitalism.”

“But what about the Purple Diaper Fascists, the Praetorian Polypropylene Police?”

George’s mine spun. Maybe Gila was on drugs … or maybe he was. “Look, I know you hate Pendrael—if he even exists—and Davis was ‘a nice guy.’ Funny mustache man was also very charismatic, I know. But … what about druggies in the park? Weren’t you agreeing with my … admittedly mean idea … of kids with water balloons? Ain’t those like the brown shirt kids of before?”

Gila put his fingers to his temple, pacing back and forth. He did look really sexy when mad. His slight gut jiggled, and his black/white legs moved tantalizingly around his small white pouch. “The problem with public spaces is that it’s open to the public.”

“Very true,” said George. The gecko got to clearing the table. Half of him was horny, and the other half was tired. “And you get all sorts.”

“Can you complain to Bulge’s?”

George shook his head. “If it wasn’t Marvin, wouldn’t it have been someone else?”

“Maybe! What if everyone just minded their own business?”

“The ‘business’ you did, did not mind its own.”

Gila sighed, flopping on the couch. The washer buzzed and George automatically transferred the laundry. The gecko cracked a beer and sat next to his husband, and the two cuddled in front of some TV until the dryer buzzed two shows later.

At this point, Gila’s head was on George’s stomach and the cat was purring.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” said Gila, thumbing the buckle on George’s belt.

The gecko uncrossed his legs. His husband could be very warm when he wanted to be; honestly if he just did more of that perhaps his worries might go away. George didn’t remember himself being this neurotic, but then again his dad was much more strict. “Only nancy-boys and women worry about that kinda crap!” he’d say.

“It was a different time,” was sometimes a very flimsy excuse. There was a time where people poured their chamber pots right out on the street, with horses freely crapping up and down the cobblestone. George smirked to himself; Gila would have fit in there.

He stroked his husband’s head. “Well, just have your emergencies at home,” he said. “Or rather, let’s try to avoid them, okay?”

“Yeah …” Gila said. “...those were some really short shorts you bought me.”

“Because I want to see you in them.”

“Oh,” Gila giggled, “Did you play basketball in the seventies? Maybe a little role-play?” he teased, untucking the bottom of George’s shirt and pulling it up. He stroked George’s larger, fairly muscular stomach, enjoying its ribbed smoothness.

“Now c’mon; I ain’t that old,” chuckled George. “You eyeballing older men?”

“God, you’re so young…” moaned Gila, slipping George’s belt tail backwards.

“You strip ten years right off me, baby,” said the gecko, letting the cat slowly undress him. Next came his fly, and George could already feel himself rising to attention.

“Not twenty?”

“Nah; seems like twenty’s the new teen. You’d swear they let kids on the social media.”

“So I’m a teen?” Gila asked, opening the flaps of George’s jeans like a magazine. The gecko’s mound prominently emerged, doing some of the work.

“Sometimes, what can I say? You’re a wild child sometimes.”

Gila nuzzled against George’s side, his own bulge cutely squeezed in front of his legs. This seemed to make him pause.

George reached around and rubbed the cat’s back. “Let me see you in them shorts; the dryer’s done.”

“The shirt was a little big.”

“That’s fine! Now go on; you’re getting me thirsty.”

Gila perked right up, hopping off the couch and running to the laundry room. He was there for a couple minutes, and George got nervous he’d start hearing rude, bodily sounds, as if Gila was recreating his catastrophe.

But then, Gila came back in his short gym shorts and oversized tee and posed in front of George, with his hands behind his back. The gecko could already see a ripple in the front of the shorts, and was thrilled his cat was excited, too.

Gila swayed back and forth, grinning and licking his lips. “Well, whatcha wanna do?”

George snapped his fingers and pointed down at the large, round dome sticking out of his jeans. “I want you to finish what you started.”

The cat grinned and got right to work, slipping in between George’s legs to kneel before him. He gently parted the double-fly of the gecko’s boxer briefs, then extracted his heavy, half-hard member into the moody, dim light. One paw cupped the gecko’s balls, and the other maneuvered the cool shaft into his warm, welcoming mouth.

George sighed as Gila’s raspy tongue glided over the underside, moving all the way from the base up to the tip. He didn’t mind that his undies would get a little saliva on them. The cat smoothly wrapped his maw around the sizable, firming rod, and every wet bob of his mouth coaxed the gecko toward full hardness.

“Shiiiiit,” George sighed, sinking back into his couch. His body was in full relaxation, which amplified every intimate caress. Soon, the most prevalent sound was the slick, subtle gulps as Gila’s head went down and down to envelop the gecko’s cock, and the rhythm was so perfect George didn’t even have to thrust. Gila’s wonderful, enthusiastic attentiveness made every nerve in the area dance.

A thick pulse through George’s shaft issued its first rope of pre, which didn’t touch anything but the cat’s insides. The gecko found his balls also extracted from his boxers, and caringly cradled and tugged so they didn’t scrape against his jean’s zipper.

“Fuck, fuck; this is magic,” sighed George. He stroked his husband’s hair. “Do you want me to finish like this, or…?”

Gila managed to grin around George’s big dick, then slid his head off it. When his lips reached the tip, he gave it a kiss, then he stood fully upright. The gecko’s eyes traced his husband’s lovely form, then practically tripped as they got past the waistband of his shorts.

“You know, they usually wore jocks to keep things from falling out,” the gecko huffed.

Gila’s small, but feisty prick was sticking proudly out from under the high hems of his gym shorts. The curtain having been lifted, the gecko got a full view of his pretty, packed white sac. “Something tells me my normal undies would get in the way,” he said, then turned around and lifted his tail.

George bit his lip as the small, perky mounds of Gila’s butt clenched the fabric between them. Between his legs, the gecko saw the cat’s sac and cock hanging freely. In a motion almost as quick as a fireman, George shucked off his pants and undies, leaving the bottom half of him free, naked, and precariously sprung. “How ‘bout you take a seat, then?” he gruffed.

Gila looked back and grinned. His tail went up and he walked backwards, parting one of the legs to reveal his pink, winking slit. George’s member pulsed, pouring pre all over the tip, and he leaned forward to grab the cat’s hips. He pulled Gila back, but when the cat’s rump was hovering over the thick, round head he tugged a little further.

“Get your knees on the couch,” he rumbled, and when Gila awkwardly started to straddle the gecko’s stomach, he pulled even more and Gila fell on top of him, belly-to-belly, with his small, taut rump right in the gecko’s face. “You clean back there?” he asked.

George’s heavy shaft jutted straight past the cat’s face, and his balls permeated an enthralling musk that made Gila’s body writhe, his own, smaller sac clench, and his tailhole twitch with anticipation. “Y-yeah,” the cat gasped, unable to stop himself from diving into the gecko’s plentiful crotch. “Made sure in the shower,” he said, dragging his tongue down the cool, reptilian sac. George was a big man in every way besides height, so it took multiple licks to properly coat his mouth-stretching sac.

“I’mma make it dirty again,” the gecko growled. He pulled the fabric away until it was tight, then dove in, lathering Gila’s taint, sac, and hole with ravenous saliva. He dipped down and put his petite sac in his mouth, rolling the orbs over his tongue, then gently pulled Gila’s cock backwards so he could suck on the whole package.

“Oh shit,” Gila gasped, “oh shit.” His privates pulsed as they were lavished by the gecko’s maw. That tongue danced around his balls and his member with the slickest, most graceful of attention, slithering around his nethers like it was its own slimy snake. Gila felt himself leaking pre generously into George’s maw, building toward climax with startling speed.

He distracted himself again on George’s big cock, but as soon as his lips were around the girth and his maw was full of his malehood, he felt the gecko deeply growling into his crotch. The thought of George bursting into his mouth, flooding his cheeks and throat with delicious lovespunk pushed Gila even further, and he popped off the tip and rapidly tapped George’s thigh.

“You wanna finish like this?” he gasped, his cock throbbing against the larger tongue.

“Thanks for looking out,” George said, then returned to the cat’s tight, puckered asshole and started licking. Gila returned to licking and suckling George’s balls. It kept the fire stoked, but didn’t threaten a blaze.

“Mmmh!” the cat moaned, his jaws stretched around one of the gecko’s fat eggs. He felt the gecko’s tongue enter his bowel—it was the first presence there after his … experience … at the mall—and all he could do was lustily whimper against George’s crotch as the reptile penetrated and filled his rectum with tongue, then use the tip to rub his prostate. George groped and tugged at Gila’s cheeks, keeping his shorts pulled up to retain full access.

“Ohfuck; ohfuck,” he gasped. His prick frotted and leaked against George’s chest, soaking his shirt with hot, slick prelude fluid. The wet, firm rubs against his lovestone sent all his nerves on overdrive: the tingle of moist fabric against his cock head made it pulse and zap with need. If he humped George’s chest, he feared and yearned that he could burst right there, anointing his husband’s chest with his gooey blessing.

“You’re finding all the spots on me,” Gila huffed, dotting kisses up and down George’s shaft. His lips went dry from the trip.

“And like any good vacation spot, it’s worth visiting multiple times,” George said. The gecko gently tapped Gila’s rump and the cat obediently crawled forward. The gecko left his tongue in, and widened the tip like a plug, and watched with lusty amusement as it stretched like chewing gum between his mouth and his husband’s stuffed rump.

“Ah, oh you stoppit,” Gila grunted, feeling the tug of the tongue’s thickness on his ring. He clenched and it brought him memories of earlier, of being full and not wanting to let go. Both brought him feelings of deep vulnerability, and the beautiful flipside of that, the lascivious and liberating feeling of fully experiencing his body.

George stiffened his tongue, tightening the pink rope, and Gila’s moan pitched up into a whine as his hole grasped and gripped, then started to tremble as fatigue set in.

“Aaahhh!” he yelped as the tongue popped free with a loud slurp, then Gila quickly covered his slit as air escaped with a flurt. “Phew, heh; you did that.”

The gecko smacked his rump and pushed him forward. “That I did,” he said with pride, then lathered up his other palm to slick up his tall shaft. He kept his grip on Gila’s cheek, thumb pushing the shorts up to reveal his more relaxed, pinker and wetter hole, and angled the head of his cock right against it.

“Mmmhf, yeah…” Gila sighed as he pressed against it. He felt his rump unknot and stretch around it, then a slight bolt of pain indicated he needed to keep stretching. His husband was big to the eye, and even bigger on the inside. “Hoo. Ah,” Gila gasped. He reached back and George took his hand. The cat’s legs wobbled as he kept himself hovering, penetrated only by the first couple inches. “Hello, love,” he said, looking back at the gecko mating him.

George smiled and squeezed his paw. “Hey there, darling,” he said, then smoothly, firmly, pushed down on Gila’s hip. The cat took a slow, long breath as the gecko’s thick inches entered him. His love-band conformed around the shaft and slickly slid, stretched and smooth, down the moist length. George spread one cheek and he spread the other, squatting down on the dominant, cool expanse occupying his rump. His silky, warm rectum walls greeted and gripped the gecko with loving hunger. The underbelly slid against his prostate, rubbing it and making his cock jump under the curtain of his shorts. The head penetrated deeper and deeper, exploring his bowels until they found the first bend and nuzzled the inner sphincter.

“Oof, just like that; hello, dear,” Gila gasped. George lent both his paws as a seat for his rump. The gecko’s toes curled and cracked as his lover grasped him, every mating instinct firing within his body as his cat took his precious member into his rump.

“Hey, baby,” George purred. He lowered his paws and Gila grunted as he accepted the final, immense inches of his husband’s shaft. The cat’s legs quaked as his velvety inner walls relaxed and conformed, occupied fully by his mate’s firm, pulsing person. Thus the intimate ritual began, with George and Gila lifting the cat up along the throbbing, prominent length, then settling back down with the same soft gasps and moans as if every thrust was the first.

The cat used George’s thick, naked thighs as a brace, taking measured breaths as his insides stretched around and enfolded the hard, twitching presence. His body felt as if it was traveling all the way to his stomach, but Gila’s love and need and desire for his husband kept him limber despite the cat’s slim form and George’s daunting size. Up and down they went with pleasing huffs and grunts and purrs from them both, exchanging little whispers of lust and love and reverie.

Eventually, they attained a rhythm which allowed George’s hands to explore Gila’s hips and tail and sides of his torso, and Gila for his part gave happy, meditative squeezes to his husband’s thighs. The rubbing of his prostate kept the cat’s exposed cock at tingling, dripping electric hardness, and his smooth, warm walls kept George’s shaft drooling lubricative, loving precum. Their breaths and groans matched each other in tone, accelerating with their pace until George found himself on the edge of sizzling epiphany.

“H-honey, I’m close…” said George “I think this is the spot…”

“On or in me?” Gila gasped. It sounded like a demand because it was. He needed his husband’s gooey benediction.

“You know my choice,” growled George, and a soft, but firm, hand wrapped around his bicep and pulled him down. Gila slid down, body still startled by the sheer girth, and he gasped as the fat, firm head pressed deep into his bowels. Gila bounced as George’s hips jolted, and then he felt a cool, thick, sticky deluge flood his insides. It rushed deep into his innards, filling them and making them swell, and it streamed down into his rectum, pooling around the base of their seal, their covenant. The pulsing and the twitching and the spurting made the cat go off himself, and he gasped as, without hands, his cock jolted and spouted long, thick ropes all over the ottoman and their carpet.

There was a precious, intimate feeling of vulnerability as he watched his dick jump under the hem of his shorts and between his thighs, helplessly squirting all over the floor. Then again, Gila was invincible, as he was anchored to George’s lap and filled not only with his hard, generous person, but his love.

“Phwoo…” Gila said, leaning back in his husband’s lap. His belly, under his oversized shirt, bowed slightly outward. “God … hey, love,” he said, rubbing his thigh and turning his head.

George leaned forward and kissed him. Carefully, he wrapped a strong arm around the cat’s waist, and sliding forward, stood up. His tongue entered Gila’s mouth as he lifted the cat with him, and Gila returned the deep kiss as they stood in the cat’s gooey mess, with George’s own deep inside them.

Gila gently leaked, which only grew his afterglow lust for his husband as they traded tongues. He felt George’s gorgeous fluid run between his cheeks, and over the large pair of balls that had filled him. The gecko reached forward and teased Gila’s spent head, which made the cat jerk and gasp at the lightning sensitivity.

“Ah! Ah stoppit!” he giggled, then they returned to their intimate embrace, the limber cat turned half-backwards as their muzzles deeply intertwined.

The afterglow eventually let them cool, and George and Gila stood there for a few moments longer, rocking each other side-to-side with the gecko’s intimate organ nestled fully in the cat’s intimate canal.

“I love you,” moaned Gila, pressing himself firmly against George’s hips. The gecko slid easily within him; everything was open and relaxed and perfect back there.

“I love you, too, darling,” George said.