Beast

It was also during this period that the poet and the lover really went for a walk in the rainforest together.

They were inspecting the rainforest of Saga. To be honest, the poet had to admire that it was much better managed than the territory under Cuenca.It's not that the scale is bigger than Cuenca's, but that they will make the hut more delicate, and the wood used is also painted with a layer of moisture-proof oil to prolong its use.

The rainforest factory buildings in Cuenca basically just cut a few pieces of wood at will, and they can be used to support them. One day the storm collapsed, and the next day they were rebuilt.

Every time he came to inspect, the poet ate with other peasants on the first floor, worried that the beams of the house would slam on him.

He has talked to Cuenka countless times, but Cuenka has always said that - just make do with it, why make such trouble, maybe one day it will have to be transferred.

Transfer a fart, after so many years, it is still not the same place.

"Our house needs to be replaced with wood." Lover walked to the wooden house, touched the little man's good wooden stake with his hand, and then squeezed his fist to knock it, "You have to tell Kunka later, it will last longer .”

You see, now the lover said the same thing.

But recently, it seems useless to talk to the owners. They are immersed in the thrill of rushing forward, and these insignificant problems are not in their consideration.

"You can bring it up with him yourself, it's useless if I say it," said the poet.

He called other people to remove the new boiler from the car, and then carried it into the house to set it up. Then he grabbed a small bag of powder, walked out of the house, dipped it in his mouth with his finger, and handed it to the lover.

Love Saint still shook his head not to.

He walked around the small area twice before finally returning to the poet.

This is the No.20 factory they renovated - and this amount is only the amount of the first half of the year.In the past five years, their factory buildings have grown exponentially, so that Love Saint is not sure if every one has been carefully inspected.

In terms of security, it must be admitted that Love Saint is very vigilant and responsible.

He cares about the ventilation, moisture-proof, concealment, and firepower of the factory building.Sometimes I even sit in a helicopter and circle in the air to make sure that there is no trace of the factory building from above before giving a passing grade to a certain location.

"Then let's not talk about it, let's change it ourselves." Lover wiped his nose and walked out of the factory.

Over the past few years, his power has grown stronger and stronger, not to mention hundreds of security guards under his command, and dozens of fighting beasts are all within his dispatch range.

In fact, according to his current status, he could already be as high as a poet, and he no longer has to personally participate in those tasks such as assassination, but only needs to stay in the command room and listen to the report.

But the lover is not happy, he can't stay idle.According to his words, if you don’t move, you feel worthless.

His fear is hidden deep, but the poet can see it.He was worried that one day Perot would make some omissions and eventually lose everything he got.

He has to help Perot defend the country.

"They're too relaxed," Lover still couldn't help complaining, "I'm going to order the wood tomorrow, do you know where Saga ordered it? If I order it in the morning, can it be delivered in the evening?"

The poet didn't know whether to laugh or cry and didn't answer him.

Love Saint didn't care, and continued to arrange, "Go back tonight and ask them to give me all the data of all the factories. You can count how much wood Cuenca needs. I will order it together tomorrow, and then we will reinforce it together."

The poet nodded, but remained silent.

Love Saint took two steps back, took a more comprehensive look at the surrounding environment, and then said—"I think this ammunition warehouse is too close, and there is only one. Have you seen it in a helicopter? At least two are needed." Alright, if it blows up directly, there's no way to fight back—"

"Sacred Love," the poet interrupted him, dipped a little more powder on his gums, swallowed, and raised his chin toward the other party—"You are very insecure, aren't you?"

Love Saint froze for a moment.

The poet shrugged, "For example, when you sleep, you have to hug the pillow and hold the quilt. You don't like to close the curtains. You always have nightmares. You sleep very lightly. The ratio between the REM stage and the slow eye movement stage—"

"I don't cover the quilt." Lover retorted a little funny before he finished listening.

But the poet is still right about something, the love saint is indeed insecure.

Whether they survived Fukang's deployment by chance or completely wiped out Yushan now, Love Sage did not feel absolutely safe. This may be the shadow brought to him by his past experience.

The end of one war is followed by the next one, the transfer of a firefight zone immediately blows up the truce zone, one order makes them allies, and the next order turns each other into enemies-the turmoil and rapid changes of the situation are all important. Let Lover know that wars are never really over.

Now that Pu Saiwan has become Qinglan's largest drug company, it goes without saying that countless eyes will be watching their every move in secret.So instead of taking it lightly, they should be more cautious.

Just as after capturing a strategic location, instead of drinking champagne to celebrate immediately, it is necessary to re-arm and defend the spoils harder than in the previous attack.

He had nightmares a lot, he admitted.From being tortured by drugs and guns in childhood, I can't distinguish between dreams and reality, and now I always wake up inexplicably when I don't touch drugs.

He's shown to be more likely to mingle with his people than a poet, and he spends almost all of his time in alcohol—including now that he's got another bottle off the car seat, not to mention that he's drinking even while driving ——But only he himself knows that if he can't relax a little with alcohol, then his spirit has long been broken.

He drank half of the bottle in one gulp, perhaps to better refute the poet, he also dipped a little powder into his mouth.

He actually prefers heroin to cocaine.Cocaine would give him a high, and heroin would give him stability.That's why he never used meth either—god, it'd be better to let him drink a few more bottles of wine with meth.

What's more, his mighty energy in that respect doesn't need the help of methamphetamine at all.

"Do I look nervous?" Lovelord asked, "I'm just taking precautions."

"You look like you're trying to get out of your nerves," the poet said sharply.

Love Saint wanted to refute something, but couldn't find the words.The poet has a strange ability to say things that don't sound right but are indefensible.

Love Saint can't tell whether he likes or hates this.

The poet beckoned the Lover to follow him for a walk in the woods, before the dark clouds in the sky were dark enough to rain heavily in the next second.And he also wanted to have a good talk with Love Saint about something they both had a premonition about.

For example—"The owner told me that within ten years the clouds will definitely move. So no matter how we defend, Qinglan will also conduct a carpet sweep of drugs just like Taeyong."

"I know," said Love Saint, "this is the question I asked my owner. I don't mean anything else, but you should also understand that the downfall of Fukang and Saga is not entirely due to our owner's credit." .Sometimes the reason we do things that don’t meet with greater resistance is because some people acquiesce.”

"Destroy each of them." The poet answered.

"That's right, so Pu Sai Wan is now the dominant family, and we're the only target left." Lover made it clear.

In fact, what the two of them can see is the same result, except that one chooses to let nature take its course and respond to all changes without change, while the other chooses to resist stubbornly and make every effort to build a fortress.

"So how do you think the owners will choose their way out when we all see this ending?" the poet asked.

Love Saint sighed.

Yes, that was what he was most afraid of.The owner chooses the fighting beast, and the fighting beast also chooses the owner.He and the poet can have completely different coping mentalities, and so will the owner.

The fighting beast's sense of smell and vision are always sharper than the owner's, so even though Kunka and Pero are still immersed in sweetness and victory at this moment, the fighting beast has already noticed the possibility of falling apart.

"You and Cuenca will leave," Love Saint said this cruel speculation, "and I... probably will stay and fight with Perot to the end."

This topic was really uncomfortable, and the two of them didn't continue after talking.They walked in the woods in silence until they were far away from the factory building, only the sound of wind and some faint insects were left around.

The poet looked up at the sky, and the sky was getting darker.He found an open space and used some cocaine. After smoking a cigarette by the way, sporadic rain fell from the sky.

He felt that he and Lover really shouldn't discuss this issue, otherwise they would be very embarrassed.They are comrades who have just shed blood together, you save me and I save you. Saying this is like denying the previous intersection and sacrifice.

The poet wanted to go back, but after he walked a few steps, the lover stopped him from behind.

At this moment, the lover had already drunk the wine and found an empty seat to put down the bottle.He leaned towards the poet reeking of alcohol, and asked an endless question - "Does what you said before still count?"

The poet thought for a moment, and asked back—"You mean...when I fight you, do I let you do three tricks?"

Love Saint laughed dumbly, he shook his head, and continued to approach the poet.

Now the poet can smell the other party's wine, as well as the smell of sweat after it dries up, which is mixed with the strong smell of rain.

The poet stepped back a little, and lightly touched the tree trunk behind him.And the lover continued to approach him, and the two were almost stuck together.

The poet is not nervous, he is just curious about what the lover is going to do.At that moment he didn't think about it at all, after all, they just ended a too serious conversation a few minutes ago.

But Lover doesn't need him to think clearly, because he directly changes the atmosphere with his movements.

He grabbed the poet's wrist, clasped the back of the other's head and kissed him.

This time the poet remembered that he had said that he would have sex with the lover in the woods.It's a pity that there are too many things before, and this promise has been left behind.But he doesn't think it's a good time now, because—"It's going to rain, isn't it right now?"

"What's not suitable, have you tried it?" Love Saint put his arms around his neck, and the smell of wine from his mouth sprayed into the poet's nasal cavity.

To be honest, poets can't stand this.

The lover's eye sockets are black and deep, and the stubble rubs against his face. It hurts, and the lover especially likes to keep such a face-to-face distance after kissing, because he can stick out his tongue to lick provocatively from time to time. Touch each other's lips.

Of course the poet has never tried to make love in the woods where the rain is pouring, but since the request is made by the lover - it doesn't hurt to try.

Facts have proved that the love saint really has experience, and that sex has left the poet with a long aftertaste.When he touched the other's lips and teeth again, he didn't even need to caress, he was already aroused by the current thought.

The rough bark rubs against the poet's back, but in front of him is the thick and strong chest of the lover.Love Saint's hand was very strong, and before the poet could react, he forcefully turned him over and pressed him against the tree trunk.

They didn't even take off their clothes, they just released their genitals, which were already in full swing.When the love saint digs into the body forcefully, the poet is so painful that his hairs stand on end.But for some reason, he felt very comfortable at that moment.

Love Saint's attack was very direct and violent. He put his arms around the poet's waist, pressed his chin against the other's neck, and then inserted it to the deepest point, and then slowly withdrew a little.

The poet felt that his nipples and acupuncture points were probably bleeding, he clenched his teeth and panted heavily, his fingers dug into the bark, and the skin was worn out with the rhythm.

The sky also increased the number of raindrops at the right time, and the rain splashed down and wet the clothes of the two of them.

The lover slammed violently, causing the rain mixed with blood to flow down the thigh.The tattoos on his arms intertwine with those of the poet, making them look like beasts prostrated by a tree mating.

No, they are beasts.

Only beasts can make themselves so messed up, so dirty.Only beasts can release excitement and sexual desire at any time.Only beasts don't care about the future and don't want the past, and only enjoy the present cloud and rain.When their bodies are joined together, the only thing they think about is orgasm.

They didn't talk much during the whole intercourse, only the prodding of the genitals and the moaning of the throat.The heavy rain played the best cover for them, and it also allowed them to roar, pant, demand, and attack unscrupulously.

In the end the lover didn't even ask the poet, he came hard inside, then he pulled out his penis and turned the poet over to kiss again.They were all drenched, covered in sweat and rain, reeked of wine and cigarettes, and muddy from their movements.

But the kiss was so deep and so hysterical, as if using a crowbar to violently open Pandora, which had been sealed for too long.

The love saint kissed all the way, after ejaculating, kissed from the other party's mouth to the collarbone, then from the collarbone to the wet shirt that was close to the body, then the waist, and then the crotch.

He held the poet's penis until the poet suddenly pulled him up, gnashed his teeth and clamped around his back, and then released it fiercely in his palm.

Then they hugged hard, even if the aftertaste of the orgasm had all faded away.

The rain washed quietly, trying to wash away the sludge from the herd.

The forest is quiet and noisy, the noise makes the ears buzzing, and it is so quiet that only the heartbeat of each other can be heard.

They hugged like this for a long time, until the lover said-"I like you... oh, I like you."

"I've said it before, but you don't believe it." The poet smiled, and he stroked the back of the lover as if comforting, and responded softly.