Title: Take A Picture, It'll Last Longer Status: Complete Characters: Inco, Ben Rating: NSFW Classification: One-Shot Author: SurpriseVisitor Summary: Inco and Ben struggle to come up with an idea for their photography assignment. [PRE-NOTES] Play the "I Wani Hug That Gator!" Demo (or the full game if you are from the future) available on Steam, itch.io or the official website. https://store.steampowered.com/app/1895350/I_Wani_Hug_that_Gator/ https://cavemanon.itch.io/i-wani-hug-that-gator-demo https://hugthegator.xyz/ [/PRE-NOTES] “Got anything?” “Nope. Still nothing.” The blue parasaur sighs, adjusting his glasses and fiddling with his camera again. This is the third day in a row that we’ve sat around my room trying to figure out this assignment. It’s gotten to the point where we’re not even spitballing ideas anymore; the artist’s block is simply that bad. Mr. Iakadan’s class can be great when he’s going over the technical aspects of photography and how to enhance the shots you’re taking, but sometimes he goes way into the weeds about philosophy, and I completely lose him. This week’s assignment was to submit something that showcased the ‘form’ of something, which is some vague philosophical concept cooked up thousands of years ago. I forgot half of it by the time he finished explaining it, and the other half by the time the bell rang. “It’s due tomorrow,” Ben mutters. “I know,” I reply. More and more of our free time was being slotted to try to get anything flowing, and now Thursday afternoon was becoming evening. We needed something good, and soon. Of course, it couldn’t be as simple as taking a nice picture of some random object or dinosaur, as the teacher threatened a poor grade for doing it. “Forms… forms… forms…” I groan, rolling the word around my mouth, as if it could help with an idea. “The forms… the forms...” It doesn’t. I lie back on my bed, reduced to making popping noises. Ben slams a fist into my desk hard enough to make my monitor bounce. I launch back up - either he has an idea or he put a hole in my desk for no reason. Ben turns to me, eyes wide and full of inspiration. “Take your shirt off!” he blurts. There’s a split second where the only noise around is his bizarre request echoing off of the walls. “WHAT?” I shout back. He flinches, seemingly not understanding either what he asked or why I’m yelling at him. He then rapidly turns a dark shade of blue. “Wait- wait, let me back up!” he stammers. “Yeah, you fucking better!” “Okay, I- I promise this is a good idea.” “I don’t believe you.” “No, wait, listen!” He takes a moment to collect his thoughts as I begrudgingly allow him to continue with this bone-headed idea. “Okay. Forms. The first mental image that comes up when you think of something; its most basic essence of thought. Not all chairs have four legs, but you probably think of something with four legs when you think of the word ‘chair’.” “You’re just re-explaining what Iakadan said,” I interrupt. At least, I’m fairly certain that’s what Iakadan said. “Yes, I’m getting to the idea, shut up. Anyway, everyone has their own idea of what a ‘dinosaur’ or ‘person’ or whatever is, because we’re all so different. But you… you’re like… you don’t have any of the… bits that the rest of us have. “The bits?” “Yes, the bits! Feathered or membranous wings! A tail, long or short, feathered or not! Claws! Spikes! Frills! Flippers! Hell, you don’t even have hair!” “Rude, and what’s your point?” “My point is that you’re like - and I mean this in the nicest way possible - a template. In a completely abstract sense, you’re like a dinosaur without all the dinosaur stuff, but you still have all the basic limbs and functions of one. Take away my crest, or Liz’s long neck, or Damien’s frills, and you’re left with something that looks kind of like your head. Please tell me I am making sense here.” “Okay… let’s say I agree with this whole ‘template’ conclusion of yours. Why does my shirt have to come off? Iakadan said that just taking a picture of someone wouldn’t be good enough, but it sounds like you’re just taking a picture of me. Shirtless.” “He said that just taking a picture of a dinosaur wouldn’t be good enough,” Ben says, crossing his arms smugly. “Nothing about humans.” “That’s a technicality. You really think that’ll fly?” “Even if it doesn’t, do you know how many people in our grade have even spoken to a human, much less had an opportunity to photograph one? This shot will be completely unique. He’ll give points on that alone.” “You still haven’t explained the whole shirt-come-off thing.” “That’s- that’s the whole ‘forms’ thing. The base essence, and… I… it’s in my head, let me get the shot and I’ll show you what I mean!” “I don’t know if I’m buying it, man.” “Do you have a better idea?” I try to protest, but no coherent sentence makes itself heard. I sigh in defeat. “Fine. Fine! Get your fucking shot. This better be worth it.” Ben awkwardly fumbles with his camera, surprised that I’m actually going along with this. I hesitate for a moment, then yank off my shirt. Unfortunately, my pale chest doesn’t blind the photographer. “Stand up,” Ben grunts, finding a comfortable stance. I reluctantly comply. He scuttles around, trying far too many different angles for whatever shot he thinks is worthwhile. “Would you take those things off? We’re inside.” With great pain, I remove my sunglasses and idly toss them onto the bed behind me. “Can you hurry up?” My face is so goddamned red right now. “Don’t you have Coach Solly? I figured you’d be used to this.” “Completely different setting. Mainly, no cameras. Just take the damn picture already!” “What are you complaining about? You look fine. Solly’s conditioning definitely did its job.” Sweet Raptor, he did not just compliment me. Thanks, but no thanks. “Put some life into it! Stop looking like you’re in a hostage situation, jeez.” Not giving a response, I cycle through a few generic ‘action poses’ that Iakadan excitedly went over last week. Ben gives a dismissive grunt or head shake to the first few, but a flexing pose elicits the snap of a camera. Finally! I put my arms down. “Nonono, keep going!” my impromptu warden barks. God- “You never take just one, you know this!” Damnit! A lot more poses, a couple more snaps. At some point, I run out of ideas and start posing at complete random, but after a few more clicks, Ben looks up from his camera. “Okay, that should be enough.” He sits down at my computer and plugs in his camera as I put my shirt back on. He looks through the freshly imported pictures while RockoShop™ loads in the background. You know, I tried to brush it off earlier, but Ben’s… kind of right. I don’t look terrible. Physically, at least. “I don’t think I could look any more embarrassed in those,” I comment. “He won’t notice. I can edit it out in post, anyway.” Fair point. RockoShop™ finally pops into the foreground, ready for use, and Ben slaps a photo into it. “Alright, see?” “No. I still have no idea what your plan is.” “You’re the template, right? Abstractly, of course, not literally. Using your form, we can represent… really, any kind of dinosaur as… this.” He motions to the image on screen. “Just with more stuff on it. An example to compare it to and some image compositing and we’ve got an easy A.” “And where are we going to find an example? Iakadan was very clear about plagiarism-” Before I can finish, Ben stands up and yanks his shirt off. “Raptor Jesus, what the fuck?” I sputter, looking away. “Right here. Quit whining and get your camera.” “I- ugh, fine. You owe me for this.” I grab my camera and flick through modes and options, settling on something suitable for… shirtless dinosaurs. “For what, exactly? This was my idea. Unless you don’t want the grade, that is.” “Alright, alright,” I groan. “Calm down.” I crouch down and look through the viewfinder. A light blue parasaur’s chest takes up the majority of my field of vision. Too much nipple. Zoom out. Better. Alright, just… focus on the shot. Ben mimics my earlier poses, and I snap a couple of pictures. “Wait, wait,” Ben says. He takes off his glasses and gently places them on the desk, then shakes his head around, his wavy brown hair flicking around before settling with a bit more volume than before. “Okay, go.” I fail to see why that was necessary, but go off. Starting over. Pose, click. He’s a bit more muscular than I figured. Pose, click. Nothing crazy, but still. Pose, readjust, click. His red-violet eyes are a lot clearer without those glasses on, too. Pose, thumbs down, pose… click. That was a good one. “Alright, I think that’s good,” I declare, pulling away from the viewfinder. “Let me see,” Ben says, shifting over to me quicker than I was expecting. He leers over my shoulder, his bare chest pressing against my arm. “How are you going to see without your glasses?” I ask, hoping he’ll at least reconsider his positioning. Does his face really need to be this close to mine? “I’m nearsighted, you bozo.” He peers into the camera, clicking through the new pictures with his other hand. “Yeah, I think these are good.” My grip on the camera is unexpectedly loose, and Ben takes it out of my hand and over to the computer without even thinking of asking. If it were anyone else, I would’ve killed them. He swaps the plugs and imports the fresh material at breakneck speed. Before I can ask him to at least put his shirt back on, he’s leaning in intently and messing with RockoShop™. I won’t interrupt his train of thought. I look closer and watch as Ben’s proposed piece comes together bit by bit. The workflow stops abruptly. Ben cranes his head around, hmming and hmphing and the unfinished product. Every action is followed by a hasty undo. He sighs. “Something’s missing,” he mutters. “The big statement, the boldness, the pièce de résistance…” He almost gasps, his eyes widening again. Another idea. Here’s hoping… “Inco?” he asks in a strange, almost ominous tone, not turning to me. “Yes?” “I take my academics very seriously. I’m not saying that you don’t as well, but I need you to take it as seriously as I do, at least for this last part.” I’m scared. “What are you thinking?” “This right here is… a start. The right idea. We just need to follow it further. It needs more of the template. More of… you.” I’m extremely scared. Ben stands up and grabs his camera. I move to a clearer part of the room. “What exactly are you asking me to do?” Even from across the room, I can see him violently blushing. A completely different meaning for ‘blue in the face’. “Shirt off… pants off, too.” “Ben-” “It’s art, Inco. It’s art. And that’s all it’s going to be. Just stick with me on this. Please.” There are plenty of pretty dino ladies I would prefer to have asking me to take off my pants, and today… It's Ben. Purely for academic reasons, sure, but… It’s Ben. “I don’t think this is what people mean when they talk about ‘dropping their pants for a grade’,” I say. Ben offers a pity chuckle in response. I’m not getting around this, am I? “Alright. Fine. And not a soul learns about whatever happens here today.” “Not a soul,” Ben concurs. I take my shirt off again. Ben gets into his stance and readies his camera. Holy Raptor, forgive me. I undo the button on my pants and they drop to my feet. I shake them off to the side, leaving me in only my briefs. Ben clears his throat. Right, the poses. I recall what poses I did earlier as best I can, trying to make this go as quickly as possible. Is it hot in here or is it just me? Trick question, of course it’s me. Ben’s shaking, struggling to keep himself steady as he snaps pictures of my almost bare form. “Alright, I- I’m done,” Ben pants. Wordlessly, we swap places. I don’t bother trying to redress. I want this over and done with yesterday. He slides his pants off and tosses them away, and starts awkwardly posing. I look into my camera’s viewfinder and- oh no. Don’t- just- just take the pictures. Get a grip. Click-click-click. Whatever you do, don’t- no, don’t even think about it. Just keep going. Click-click. It’s art. It’s art. It’s. Click. Art. Click. “Okayyupthat’senough!” The words fall out of my mouth, barely managing coherence. “Cool. H-how do they look?” Ben asks. “Yeah, they’re, uh…” I don’t remember. I don’t think I ever knew. He strides over, crouches down next to me, and takes a look as I click through the recent photos. Oh shit. Oh no. Oh God, oh fuck. Kill me. Smite me. Bring that giant asteroid back around and wipe me from existence. There’s no fucking way. I took seven pictures. Of those seven pictures, every single one of them is zoomed in on Ben’s underwear. An erection is plainly visible in all of them. Our heavy breathing is the only sound in the room. I don’t want to look, but… I glance over to Ben. He’s staring right at me, but instead of being angry or upset or confused, he seems… understanding. “Maybe we should… take a break,” he whispers. “Yeah…” I whisper back, gently setting down the camera. Despite his suggestion, neither of us move. I can imagine the burning question on his mind. I’ve got one too. What is he waiting for? What am I waiting for? Surely there’s nothing to be gained from just sitting here. Ben leans towards me. I see it coming… and let him continue. He closes the distance. A single thought flashes through my mind: I’ve never kissed a dinosaur before. Our lips meet. It’s such a short and simple gesture, but I can feel the meaning behind it. Though…the fact that we’re sitting next to each other in nothing but our underwear with raging hard-ons isn’t exactly supporting a romantic atmosphere. He pulls back a bit, and I lean towards him. Another kiss, this one not so short. For the first time today, it feels like we’re on the same page. I can feel his breath on my face. I’m sure he can feel mine on his. Ben wraps an arm around me and pulls me closer. He pulls a little too hard, and I collapse on top of him. His light blue scales are smooth and cool to the touch, outside of one particular part lower down. I swear I can feel him absorbing the heat from my body. I lean in for another kiss. “Inco…” Ben says, stopping me short. “Yeah?” “Your floor is really uncomfortable.” Have I still not rolled out that rug? Oops. We push ourselves off the floor and upright, and Ben finishes the kiss he interrupted. He tilts his head one way, and I go the other. I’ve never tongue-kissed a dinosaur bef- holy crap! I had almost forgotten Ben was a herbivore, which means his tongue is much wider and flatter than a carnivore or omnivore. That, on top of having more space in his face, means a lot more than I was bargaining for. The wet muscle barges into my mouth and makes itself at home. Whether it’s the smell, the taste or the situation at large, I completely lose it. I throw my arms around him, forcing as many points of contact between us as possible. If my eyes weren’t closed, Ben would see them rolling into the back of my head. I instinctively thrust against him, moaning into him while our still-clothed rods brush against one another. He pulls away, my lungs filling with oxygen I didn’t realize I needed while we gaze into each other's eyes. Neither of us say it, but we’re both thinking it. He grabs my arm and pulls me towards the bed, practically throwing me onto it. He clambers over and settles down on top of me, pushing his tongue against mine again. We thrust against each other clumsily, hungrily, chaotically. I need more. My hands slide down his back, straight to the base of his tail. I undo the little button keeping his briefs up, then pull them down, freeing his desperately throbbing member. With much less grace, Ben digs a hand into my waistband and yanks, freeing mine in turn. He resettles, our most sensitive parts pressed against each other. Rubbing together, after our thrusts form a vague rhythm, jolts of pleasure rewarding better movements. Ben sits up, interrupting our crude dance. He looks down, opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out. A glob of saliva falls down, and he smears the makeshift lubricant onto our cocks. He lies on me again and our dance continues. Scale against skin and skin against scale. I can’t help but moan as mine glides against his, hitting all the right spots on the way up and down. Our thrusting aligns and speed increases. We don’t have the breath to spare for making out anymore, nuzzling into each other’s necks while we pant and moan and hump. I can’t think, and I wouldn’t if I could. I’m filled with a single overriding directive: cum. “Ah, fuck!” I shout, soaring over the edge. Rope after rope shoots out, painting stripes onto my chest as I twitch and thrust uncontrollably. “Gah! Haah!” Ben moans, climaxing and adding some stripes of his own to my canvas. He collapses, coating both of our torsos in our essence. “Ju… huh… oh, shit…” I murmur drearily. “Mmm… you’re so warm…” I’ve got plenty of heat to spare… The mind fog starts to clear, little by little. “Are we… gonna finish…?” I ask. “Already did…” Ben mutters. “The assignment…” “Oh… in… in a bit…” Never thought I’d hear that from him. Not that I’m complaining. Man… This is gonna be a pain to clean up.