BY : pronker
Category: +M through R > Penguins of Madagascar
Dragon prints: 1605
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this fanfiction set in Dreamworks' Penguins of Madagascar franchise. I do not own its characters, basic premise or settings.

Skipper could hold a poker face indefinitely, but this sitch had him smiling earhole to earhole.  He pursued his choice of tactic as he had planned in strategy meetings with himself many weeks ago.  His outline of Operation: Full Steam Ahead started with loving glances and soft romancing.  "Look at the stars, crisp and clear, aren't they perf--- " he began after sliding the food dish over the hatch.

"Skippa, I've waited and you've waited.  It's time we got down to brass --- "

"Go down on you?  Sure!"  Tactics were nothing if they could not be switched out at a moment's notice, as any good field officer knew in his gut.  Recalling inexactly how this tactic went, Skipper licked the corner of Private's beak before skimming his form in sure flippers to keep up contact as he trailed his tongue down the white chest and belly.  Kneeling, he found what he sought through an ocean of foam-white feathers.  He framed it with a circle of his flippers.

It was timidly adorable, filling slowly.  This would take finesse.  Private's cock lost what momentum it had as Skipper kissed it.  He pulled back to Pre-Stage One by circling its base with an attentive tongue before slicking from his flippers along its top to the cockhead and beneath on the way back to his flippers.  There was a little something to work with after that.

Spiraling licks from base to tip and back to base progressed the darling thing to half mast. Breathing on the cockhead made it to three quarters full, but Skipper foresaw that he'd need to go all the way to Full Stage Three with this first timer.  He was rested and ready for the delightful task.  "Lie down, Private," he said in a voice too soft for a command.  Private complied with a trademark giggle as Skipper settled between his thighs.

Skipper turned to with a will as Stage Two commenced.  He opened his beak wide enough to take in all of Private's cock and after a wild thrust set him to coughing, he had to withdraw.  "Easy, easy," he said when he could.  "We've got the whole night."

"Sorry, Skippa.  I won't do it again."

"Mmmm, let's rethink the, er, sequence.  No use risking a flameout."  He himself made sure his governor did its job to keep him hard but not bursting; yes, there it was, as well regulated as ever.  Private's governor was non-existent, as far as he could tell, and there was a real danger of a premature spend that would damage budding confidence.  Another way to success was to surge ahead into port so as not to tax anyone's control.  "Private, what would you like next?"

"I'm on fire!  Put it out please!"

"Roger that!"  Steam into port it was to be.  Skipper tossed away his outline except for Full Stage Three.  He hoisted Private's legs atop his shoulders and dove into his target as Private flailed his flippers.  He nuzzled aside feathers, as excited as he'd ever been.

"On deck, soldier!"  Oh yes, there it was, fully ready, willing and able.  Skipper chuckled.  "Aren't you just the cutest thing!"  Private's decent sized cock popped up as if spring loaded and Skipper squeezed it fondly before flattening it against an endearing rounded tummy.  It struggled against Skipper's flipper as would a fledgling of Kitka's who yearned to slip the surly bonds of earth.  The last time he had been a party to this, Kitka's wing held him hostage.  In his mind's eye, he waved farewell to her as they drifted apart forever.

Skipper pushed the flat of his tongue against the puckering strings at the top of Private's opening, which he laved like the most delicious snowcone ever concocted by Luigi The Snowcone Man.  When Private flowered like an anemone, he licked a circle before pausing.  At the impatient wiggle, Skipper grinned wickedly before he speared the relaxed hole true as a die with the furled point of his tongue.  "Gahhh, wot is this --- wot are you d-d-d-doin' --- oh that's good no that's bloody fantastic ---"
Cute and precious were the words that popped into the commander's mind at the darling that strove to break free from his flipper.  He reamed the quivering hole to gain and give the utmost pleasure without sending Private or himself over the edge.  "Oh Skippa, I can't stand it it's, it's too much.  Stop."

"Not happening."  Private would thank him later for being firm because now was the time.  Skipper shuffled onto his knees to get into position.  He invaded his beloved with a steely gaze and a sizable cock. 

"Gahhhh," said Private.

"Oh," was all Skipper could reply as Private welcomed him inside with trembles and shivers.  The rest of the young penguin was limp with the shock of the deflowering.  That was all right, too; there would be time later for cosseting.  Skipper thrust and withdrew, gritting his beak as he called upon all his discipline.  There was no way he would come too soon and spoil Private's first time as his first March had been spoiled by a rampaging sasquatch.

"Oh oh oh."  Were the sounds from him or from Private?  Skipper didn't know. 

After some minutes, the slow and careful ins and outs sped past anyone's control.  He flashed faster and then shaky flippers hugged Skipper's surging shoulders while a tiny grin bloomed on Private.  Could he be sure it wasn't an act?  "It, it's good, Skippa.  More, please."

There was passion in the response that he'd only felt from Kitka as Private's hole rippled around him and he knew he was split seconds away from coming. 

Skipper stopped and slid out.  He couldn't do it.  He couldn't destroy such innocence.  Private wasn't crying now but he might and the thought undid him.

"W-Wot's wrong?  Skippa?"

No, this part of their couplehood would go no further tonight or any other night.  Or day.  Or twilight or dawn or at that time just after sunset when everything looked grayish white --- he found himself blithering in a most unleaderly fashion, but thankfully only in his own mind.  "Er, I just can't.  I'm sorry, Private."

There was an uncounted stretch of time that he would always recall with shame as he expected Private to set aside his lust-dazed thoughts long enough to quote a platitude from a Lunacorns episode.  It would be If At First You Don't Succeed, Etc. from namby-pamby Prince Sharesalot in Season Two unless he missed his guess.

"Let me help you," Private said instead.  He reached down to coax a response from something that had shrunk into quietude.  It actually hurt when the young penguin's flippertip touched the cockhead.

"That's not going to work because I don't want it to."  Skipper brushed aside the caress and tried to wring success from this fiasco.

"Was it somethin' I did --- or said --- or didn't do --- or didn't say --- "

Frustration sharpened his tongue.  "For Van Damme's sake!  No!"

This was yet another case of Private's pure nature being tested and not found wanting.  Skipper cringed under the weight of having to explain his change of attitude.  He was not good with words.  It had never seemed so crippling as now.

Private sat upright and cupped his commander's face.  "Wot, then?"

All right, stick with what you know how to do:  secure a beachhead.  "I love you."

"We've established that."

Deploy strategy.  "I can't bear to hurt you."

"Skippa, I'm not afraid --- "

State tactics.  "But I am.  I just can't do this thing."  There was a sea change happening in Skipper's mind, a basic shift that he noticed but did not comprehend.  It was as if the whole zoo were listening in on this delicate conversation and weighing in with options.  Well, at least the animals; he shuddered to think of what Alice would say.

Accept feedback.  "Um, well, Skippa, I, um, want to do somethin' er, uh, after savin' myself for --- "

Finalize modified tactics.  "You do me instead."  Protectprotectprotect and sometimes, sacrifice.  Skipper took a deep breath.


"You heard me."

"Crikey, is that an order?"

"Of course not.  It's a suggestion.  I want to do something, too."

"Skippa, whenever I think wot would Skippa do this never comes up."  But there was a little bit of speculation in the words, a scintilla of suspense.  Skipper heard it and decided to pursue the subject because to his earholes Private would do it.  He would likely need coaching, though.

"I'll tell you what to do --- "

"I'll do wot you did to me."

"You don't have to go that far --- "

"Don't you want me to, honey?"

"Babe, I would love whatever you do.  It's just that what I did might be too advanced for you --- " 

Uh oh.  Now Private would feel honor bound to give the same pleasure in the same fashion when really, simple was the way to go tonight and in these circumstances.  He was humbled at Private's answer.

"I'll do wotever you like, Skippa.  I think the basics are straightforward enough."  And wonder of wonders, his love laughed and thrust a companionable flipper through his own.  "Honey, you called me babe."

There was hope for this night after all.  "Babe, you called me honey."

Private got straight to work.

Skipper had been wrong.  Now was the time.  Now was when their love would become real in the way of all birds.  The commander breathed in the rhythm he had observed with Kitka when she displayed her banded russet underbelly feathers before lifting her tail to drive him crazy.  Pant pant pant whooosh pause and repeat.  Private's eagerness betrayed his youth and soon Skipper found himself shoved to face towards their habitat's Fascinating Penguin Facts plaque on its kiddie-height post.  Bemused, he felt Private's deft touch as he splayed his commander's legs to the perfect angle and then time telescoped where everything happened at once.  A firm press to the back and Skipper went down to elbows and knees with rump presented to the starry sky.  Why, this wasn't so difficult. 

Then soft feathers slid from tail to middle of the back as Private's weight descended.  Skipper smiled in bliss.  A hard tipped something broke through the sheen of his coat and tapped his spine between his shoulder blades.  Confused by the sensations, he spun his head around.  Aw, it was Private's beak as the tip probed between vertebrae pleasantly enough and determined flippers settled on the points of his shoulders.  What sort of technique was this?

He was about to ask when his eyes popped wide at a decisive thrust from a matured hardness.  No timid moves here; Private steamed into port until fully docked.  A hnnnnnnn made its way up Skipper's throat until it became a whistle through his nostrils and his head snapped back.  Maybe he should have encouraged more preparation after all.

"You okay, Skippa?"

The sweet bird was worried about him.  "Erk."

"Wot?"  Private paused, thank Hannibal's elephant brigade.

"Stay still for a moment-t-t-t-tyeah.  Like uhn that."  Everything would adjust because it had to.  Skipper panted some more and thought about Kitka.  She wheeled overhead through the clouds in his mind while she defied banishment to his past, which was so like her.  He brought his head to its normal cant and then bowed it down to the concrete while his shoulders heaved.  He swallowed hard.  That had hurt a great deal.  Private would be in tears by now and the night truly spoilt.  Or would his careful preparation have made all the difference once he really turned up the heat on his love to turbo and beyond?  Ah buttermilk biscuits, the deed was done.

Private rubbed soothing circles on Skipper's back.  "There now, all in."

He'd always pitched and never caught, not that he'd had a chance because each partner had been female and his threatening rapist failed to make good his terrorizing plans.  He'd broken up with Kitka before she could bring out the toybox that she'd hinted at.  He clamped his beak shut around a groan.  So this is what catching felt like.  There must be something appealing in it if others thought so.  He'd be patient as if on a stakeout.  Where were the doughnuts and coffee?

Private trembled with the strain of not moving, poor kid.  "All right.  Follow through, soldier." 

Private did.

After three strokes, the newness faded and the experience transformed to Skipper's least favored maneuver, Routine Seventeen: Just Relax And Take It You Fool.  He had resigned himself to a pleasureless session when Private pulled himself back from frenzy and reached around to Skipper's front.  A fumbling moment later, something quiescent had straightened to half mast as feelings battled for dominance.  Skipper settled for a point between discomfort and the usual enjoyment when he beheld a sunrise.  By the way that Private luged to the finish line, all this would be over soon.  Kowalski and Rico would be wondering what had happened to the two of them.  Skipper's mind floated to presenting the scenario in the best possible light.  "Fate accomplee," he might say to be debonair or perhaps "Mission accomplished" like G.W. Bush never said but everyone assumed he did.  Maybe a simple, understated wink?

Private's beak drummed a staccato on his vertebrae, he shouted Skipper's name and then it was all over with.  That hadn't been too bad at the end, really.  Thinking about Kitka had helped.  Now he and she leveled up even more.  He mused on the best way to find her and tell her or if he even should and then the present circumstances zoomed back into focus.

Skipper slipped forward with a wince and knelt by Private to hold his flipper.  The young penguin lay on his side with his eyes closed.  "Worth the wait?"

The blue eyes that beguiled him slid open although of course mere moonlight did not illuminate color and Skipper had to rely on his memory.  "So much.  So, so much.  Mmmm, yeah.  So much."

Skipper allowed the moment to take its own shape.  A bit later, Private sat up and stroked Skipper's flipper in return.  "You didn't get anythin' out of it, Skippa."

Skipper shrugged.  "If you think first times are undiluted joy for both parties, Private, I've got news for you."

"So I see.  I tried to give back --- "

"--- and you did.  It's all right."  Skipper pecked Private's cheek and Private's best smile broke through.

"It was more than all right, it was bloody marvelous!  When can we do this again?"

Skipper waddled with a wider stance than normal as he made his way to the hatch.  "Uh, soon!  Let's not destroy the spontaneity, okay?"

"Soon, soon, soon," sang Private.  "Soon!"

"Er, yeah.  Soon.  Watch your step, here's the hatch."

Skipper decided on a sly wink to Kowalski and Rico and the night passed as one of the team's normally did.


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