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Renegade [NSFW] (ThenThereWereNone & MoldaviteGreen)

Fair.

A bubbling laugh of incredulity fizzled and popped in the Keeper's chest. The very suggestion of it used in the current context was ridiculous at best; woefully naïve at worst. Fuck fair. The world wasn't built on fair and one didn't survive it by playing as such. There were very few things Bellamy wouldn't do to get what he wanted. Fairness be damned.

Speaking of fair, Eishrin was anything but. He'd not only forced Bellamy to wait, but he now had the gall to snap and bark—no doubt he'd have already bitten if he weren't muzzled—beneath Bellamy as he burned with a feverish heat, slick skin pulled taut over quivering muscles. The man's unfettered vocalisations, his choked off plea for patience did not speak of an expectation of fairness.

And there was no space for fair as Bellamy fucked into the man's tight hole, blind and deaf to all but the man whose body he laid claim to. Slick, wet, constricting heat. His cock plunged into the spongy softness of the man's inner walls. Driving forward with a relentless, feral urgency. A punishing fastidiousness that belied thought or reason. He did not wait, did not allow Eishrin to flinch away from him, his claws pressing into the man's hips.

He took the man apart, one punctuated thrust at a time. His mind a humming silence, his ears kissed with Eishrin's grunts and moans of conflicted sensation. Pain. Pleasure. Shame at what it meant. What it could mean.

And then Eishrin stopped fighting it. A gradual bleeding away of tension coiled tight. Defiance shattered.

The man's hand in his hair, drawing him closer caused Bellamy to inhale a lungful of awareness, and he slowed the vicious intesnsity of this thrusts. Gums aching, he pressed his lips against the man's shoulder before parting them just enough to drag his fangs across Eishrin's skin, fighting the instinctual need to bite down. The Guardian didn't make it any easier to resist temptation as his large hand cupped the back of the Keeper's neck.

Losing himself to the bliss of the larger man's tight hole clenching around his pistoning shaft, Bellamy murmured senseless words of praise into the man's feverish skin. The contracting of muscle, shifting beneath dark skin as Eishrin begged with his body. Taking as much as he was giving. The absence of his hand replaced with the honeyed purr of pleasure that rumbled from deep within his chest.

A huff of amusement at the eager thrust of the larger man's hips chasing after withdrawing length. And who was it that said he wasn't eager?

What did it matter that it was never like this.

Never this urgent. Never this mindlessly needy. Never this violent. Painful. It was as if his very soul trembled; tripping and stumbling before plummeting into the sensation of it all. Clawing, inhaling, drawing it all in until the Wendigo became a brand on his soul. Carved himself so deep, he could never be cut out. Though one couldn't deny he very damn well tried to fuck away the Wendigo shaped brand that seared itself into the very fabric of his being: his muscles quivering, sweat prickling across his skin, the water sloshing up and around his waist, splashing up to hit his chest and chin.

The second time Eishrin drew him forward, his hand a clasping weight at the back of his neck, a nonverbal urging of more, Bellamy's own spirit echoed the plea. He bit down then, hips stuttering as he slowed his desperate rutting. Achingly slow, maddening. The bordering on gentle press and slide into the man's contracting channel a stark contrast to the violent clamping of his jaws into the crook where shoulder met neck. His mouth filled with the ambrosial perfection of his Guardian's blood. It flowed thick and warm over his tongue, past the press of his mouth, bright red rivulets staining his lips, chin, chest, dribbling down Eishrin's back, droplets slipping over the curve of his biteable rear, swirling pink into the thrashing water.

Never like this.

The answer came unbidden as Bellamy sucked harder guzzling by the mouthful. Lost in a thick fog of sex and blood. Of tight embrace and sweet sweet life force. His hips picked up speed, intensity. Sharp, brutal thrusts as his balls drew tighter and tension gathered along his spine. Pleasure climbed, electric in its intensity, a whorl of silver and gold, shame and need, desperation, a pleading denial. He felt it. Felt it as if it were all his own, and it was. But it wasn't. It was theirs. Colliding, transforming into a monstrous thing that neither could claim. It doubled, tripled, multiplied itself by an unquantifiable vastness that raked hot claws of deep loneliness and such wholeness through him that he was lost to it. On the periphery of his awareness, a sphere of the purest gold shone through the impenetrable darkness of his tightly shut eyes. A beastly growl brushed against his ear. The unmistakable feeling of being watched. Stalked. Hunted. So close, he could reach out and tou—

The building pleasure crashed over him with a suddenness that snatched the last whisper of breath from his lungs. Fractals of light scattered across his vision, and his body trembled. His hands clutched at Eishrin, hips, chest, abdomen, anyplace he could dig his claws in and anchor himself to the larger man as his cock pulsed spurt after spurt of hot cum into the man's squeezing channel. The wrecked groan that tore out of him cracked on a whimper that was pressed, muffled into Eishrin's shoulder.
 
It should have been something grand that broke him. It should have been something extreme, something violent, something so raging that it would have felt like he was being consumed by a thousand suns. Eishrin was a man crafted from cruelty and shaped by ruthlessness. It should have taken something far, far more to have his mind finally fracturing, and his world turning into a kaleidoscope of colour.

All it took was the slow press of Ghost's shaft within his hole; a near-gentleness in the wake of the cruel rutting. Forced to feel every inch of that cream length glide through his channel. Made to feel every ridge, every bump, every spongy and swollen vein. Withdrawn until the last, plush inch of his shaft held Eishrin's quivering sphincter wide, when Ghost had rolled his hips forward to spear deep into body, Eishrin was left feeling everything all at once. As Ghost drew himself close, hilted within the Guardian draped over the edge of the pool, and left Eishrin's rigid abdomen to swell a little above his left hip, that had been Eishrin's final undoing.

Nothing else existed but them. No person, no space, not even time, itself, existed. Eishrin went blind with his madness as his heart stuttered, his body shivered, and his mind collapsed in on itself. He could feel everything and, yet, nothing besides his Ghost. Where they touched burned so hotly that it felt like a hot poker, a lick of fire, the smoulder of poison all at once. Eishrin could not make sense of where he was being held, nor what held him, only that it burned and it ached and it throbbed. Be it claws or tendrils, Eishrin registered no gentle pressure, too consumed by the heaviness lain within his belly, filled so very deeply.

It took only a second more before Eishrin dissolved into primal nature and pure instinct. To have, and to give. To fuck, and to please. He was consumed with nothing more than what his body demanded, and it demanded his Ghost. Unseeing, Eishrin's hand still clasped the nape of Ghost's neck, not registering how the silken threads of pale hair had become caught between the thick of his fingers. He lost all sense of his own body—unknowing how tight he gripped, how rough he yanked, and blind to anything committed against his flesh that did not come from Ghost, himself.

The shattered tile of the pool's edge had dug deep into his palm, split his skin, and left it bleeding; yet to heal. Eishrin, blind to it, shoved his hand among the sharp pieces and pressed himself upwards. Spine bent sharply, hips rolled and pressed backward until thick-muscled rear pillowed and bounced against narrow, cream hips. The small of Eishrin's back dimpled with the sharp arch of it, the enigma of a man drawn like a magnet to the man at his back. He contorted himself, with his arm held over his shoulder and the corded muscle at his bicep and forearm tensing hard as he drew Ghost's face closer, still.

With the shift in his lean, Eishrin now upright and curved backward, Ghost's long withdraw dragged heavily against the plush, front wall of Eishrin's channel. It ground hard against a place so very deep, that had his toes curling, his unseeing eyes fluttering closed, and a long moan leaving him. Upon the shattered tiles, Eishrin clawed at the floor, shoving his hips backwards as he so desperately chased Ghost's cock. He wanted to feel full, to feel plugged, and hated every second where Ghost did not make him bulge.

Those words, salacious and teasing, came but where never entirely registered. Eishrin had lost his comprehension, and his vocabulary, and held no sensible piece of his mind that would have been able to string something legible together. Ghost's tease received nothing but a hungry, backward thrust as response, Eishrin's rear clapping hard against milky thighs, sending the water sloshing between them.

Eishrin was no longer passive. He was driven, by furious need, towards a goal he didn't completely understand. All that Eishrin knew was that he needed more friction, more pain, more touches of Ghost's mouth, and he thrust himself, wantonly, backward upon swollen, alabaster cock.

In all of his years, sex had never been like this. In all the bodies he'd taken, trying to chase away the heat that had lashed at him from under his skin, it had not felt like this. What consumed Eishrin now—making him dizzy, making him senseless and blind and so very debauched—was something entirely unknown to him. Embraced, it was given utter rein over him, and Eishrin was not quiet in his pleasure.

A whimper stole from him as he pressed back onto Ghost, grinding the firm globes of his rear against the thick root of Ghost's shaft before rising and plunging back down. If he'd been sane, Eishrin would have realised that he'd begun to fuck himself upon Ghost's cock, but he was too lost to it all. A low snarl as he lifted, felt the plush tip nearly pop free, before it choked as he plunged himself backward, and rooted Ghost deeply. The water sloshed, burning. The steam was coaxed to churn, curling. The sounds of their fucking echoed about the chamber, uncaring of the ears it would reach and unashamed in whom watched on. Each swift thrust of his Keeper's hips was met with a backward shove of Eishrin's own; the need between them bleeding and mutual.

And as those sharp fangs pierced Eishrin's shoulder, he tipped back his head and moaned; velvet and wanton. The hand upon the back of Ghost's neck tugged harder, encouraging those teeth deeper, even as he felt the warm trickle of his blood spill across the slope of his shoulder, the arch of his back and dribble to pool within the curve of his collarbones.

The warmth that began to flow through his veins was something wholly different. Potent, it quickened his heart, pooled low in his loins, and saw the faintest tint of colour blush into his cheeks. Eishrin knew this feeling. It had been injected into him, artificially, more times than he cared to remember. More times than he could even possibly remember. But this, what flooded through him now as Ghost's sweet saliva mixed into his veins, was so incredibly intense it left Eishrin's mind floating in a high.

He could no longer tell what pleasure was his, and what was Ghost's that bled through their bond. A shiver tore through him, his hand raking through the tiles and shoving harder to press himself back against the cool of Ghost's body. The thick of his fingers slipped, cupping the back of Ghost's head and holding him tight to his shoulder as he felt his flesh rip beneath fangs. More. Eishrin wanted more.

With another, deeper plunge of that thick shaft, Eishrin was edging so very close. The heavy swell of his sack, the aching throb within his own fat shaft that had begun to pulse, heavy, all told that he was a man balancing upon a knife's edge. So close. So very close. The electricity that fired through his synapses and rushed through him felt so akin to every climax he'd had before and yet it wasn't entirely whole. It lashed at him, but felt like nothing. It felt meagre. It felt premature. It felt like something simple when there was a promise of something else, unknown.

It began like the universe.

A sudden explosion that shot outward. Energy thrust in every direction, chaotic and nearly violent. What was Eishrin's pleasure lashed outward, throwing itself into the dark weight he knew to be Ghost's mind. It grew, multiplying, until, suddenly, it all imploded. It rushed back in on itself, stealing Ghost's own pleasure with it. When it slammed into Eishrin, it did so right as the man inside him found his release; jolting Eishrin with such power that his eyes went wide up at the ceiling, his own hips stuttered, and his heart slammed against the phantom of Ghost's own within his chest.

Rope, after hot rope was released within him, as Ghost held himself tight to Eishrin's back and buried himself deep. It washed through Eishrin's clenching, quivering channel, as his sphincter tightened and trembled. The thick syrup of it warmed his belly, sloshing a little as Ghost thrust hard, punctuating his groan.

That climax that had been building within Eishrin finally crashed upon him; a tidal wave. It swallowed him whole, as he cried his Keeper's name, and shook. His hips jerked, driving wildly upon Ghost's pulsing shaft, churning the cum within his belly. The thick ebony of his own shaft throbbed, twitching with each rope of white seed that shot free. It grew milky within the water by his thighs, sloshing up against his skin.

Eishrin could no longer keep himself upright. He fell forward over the edge of the pool, bracing his fall with a forearm, while he drew Ghost with him. Together, they collapsed, a heaving, slick mess, as Eishrin rode the high that was their combined bliss, and the sweet poison of Ghost's venom. The sting of fangs still within his flesh had Eishrin wincing, his hand loosening a little within that fine hair to clasp the back of Ghost's neck.

With the ebb of his climax, but the continual swirl of that heat, Eishrin blinked as the world about him fell into focus. The torn and shattered tiles. The blood. The milky water by his hips. The blood over his chest. The thick shaft held deep within his body, holding open his tight hole, and the soft swell that told of the seed plugged within him.

Eishrin's blood ran cold.

"Fuck…"

He tried to push himself up, his grip snatched from the back of Ghost's neck to instead shove at his hip. What was that? What the fucking hell was that?! He'd lost all inhibitions, every sense and every piece that had been his rebellion and revulsion. Eishrin felt a wave hit him and it was unlike the last. This one was sour, was bitter, and was laced with confusion.

"Ghost." The name was snarled, Eishrin holding himself rigid where he'd once moved so graceful and fluid. "Remove yourself from me." He couldn't bring himself to move. Eishrin couldn't bring himself to pull himself forward, fearing that Ghost would simply chase him and bury that spilt seed deeper. What the fuck have I done?
 
Bellamy didn't know where he started and where Eishrin began. The world was a warm, fluffy light that stripped him of vision, thought, and reason beyond the ricocheting pleasure that swallowed its own tail. An endless loop he floated upon. His chest vibrated with a low purring hum. The sudden sensation of falling causing him to cling onto Eishrin tighter, afraid of the other slipping away from him too soon. Distantly, a cold flush panic tumbled towards his blissed out consciousness and he shoved it away. Didn't care for it. Not then. He just wanted to sleep now.

The warm body beneath him grew rigid, a hand at his hip attempting to dislodge him and he whined into Eishrin's skin, arms tensing as he squeezed tighter.

Stay here a little longer.

He did lift his head slightly, withdrawing fangs from the angry raw wound of the man's shoulder, that continued to weep red. "No," his voice came slow and drawn out, "Not yet." And he'd have been content to remain as they were for an indeterminate length of time.

A little longer.

Only Eishrin's demand to remove himself forced Bellamy's consciousness to resurface, slow and sticky and with great effort. He blinked, slowly, as the world came back into focus. His senses returning to him one at a time.

In increments, he loosened his grip on the other, claws withdrawing as the soft pads of his fingers smeared blood down the hard planes of Eishrin's tense abdomen, pausing to press against the soft swell of the man's stomach where he remained filled with his Keeper's seed.

His own body heavy and weighted with an orgasm that defied reason, Bellamy licked at his lips, willing himself to move. And move he did, giving into the aching need with a lazy roll of his hips. His cock twitched, half hard as he slowly withdrew—though not completely—from the constricting grip of the man's hole, now slippery slick with release. Peeling himself from Eishrin's back, his eyes dropped to where their hips met as he fucked into the man, slowly, once, twice, captivated with watching his shaft slide inch by infuriating inch into Eishrin's body.

"Such a greedy hole." A breathless huff of amusement, thick barely sated arousal. It was startlingly easy to lose himself to it, to lose himself to sensation. Now that that gnawing beast of primal need was soothed, he could take his time. Fuck his Guardian for the simple pleasure of claiming the man's body. Driven by nothing more than his own hedonistic desires.

But he slipped free of Eishrin's body with a stifled sigh, pale eyes drawing across the taut lines of his Guardian's rigid form.

You try to run, you won't make it very far.

Turning away from Eishrin, he made his way to the stone stairs where Jesper stood waiting at the top. Still feeling somewhat outside of his body, he shrugged into the bone white fluffy bathrobe the Guardian held open for him as he turned to observe Eishrin in thoughtful silence. Gentle fingers gathered up his hair and rang water from the dripping strands.

"Should I…" Jesper's hoarse whisper broke his concentration. Bellamy turned, causing Jesper’s hands to fall away.

He was a kicked pup, cheeks streaked with tears that continued to pool in amber gaze, clinging to his fiery coloured lashes.

"He stays with me."

As if he could be hurt any further than he already was, Jesper's expression splintered and for a moment, Bellamy wondered if he'd collapse to his knees from the weight of it. But the Guardian only nodded, bowing low before retreating. Sparing a parting, scathing glance in Eishrin's direction before making himself scarce.

Wet bare feet slapped across the tiles as Bellamy rounded the perimeter of the heated bath, the steam curling thick and fragrant over its surface as if it hadn't been disturbed in their feral rutting.

"You'll sleep with me tonight. Rest now, existential crisis later, hmm?"
 
There were no words to describe it. The world had been kept from Eishrin, concealed behind a hazy curtain that he hadn't been able to breach. His senses had become dull to the outside world and, instead, turned sharply into himself. Too aware of everything within him, Eishrin had appeared more like a dazed creature, than a sane man. The pain had only intensified, growing too great, and it had seen more of the hazy world slipping away.

What struck him now, as he remained bent over the crumbled edge of the pool with his breaths shallow and quick, was ice-cold clarity. That scorching, hellish fire had fallen away, when Eishrin had been too consumed by the pleasure and the sharp sting of pain as he was taken. Its absence wasn't noted, Eishrin too high on the bliss, until his dark eyes had snapped open and he'd seen the space about him as if for the first time.

Everything was sharper, clearer. He noted the scent of a young man off to the side, lingering. A Guardian, but one unbonded. The salt of tears was unmistakeable, as was the like of shameful arousal that was neither Eishrin's own nor his Ghost's. The soft trill of the young man's heart was there within Eishrin's ears, just as the hauntingly slow beat of Ghost's own remained within both Eishrin's mind and his chest. These things did not crash into him with the same brutality as his realisation of what he'd just committed with the man so lazily draped over his back.

I've let him inside me. I begged for it. Eishrin squeezed his eyes closed, sinking his teeth into the inside of his cheek until it split and bled. He sought the pain, as he'd done earlier but been refused, for it was the only way he knew how to ground himself.

Guilt. Shame. They were cousins of feelings and swirled thickly through Eishrin as he held himself still. He shouldn't have done what he did. He shouldn't have moaned, shouldn't have begged, shouldn't have so eagerly drove himself backward and met each of Ghost's hard thrusts; fucking himself upon the pale cock buried so deeply in a place once so virginal. Eishrin should have fought harder. Should have killed the Keeper, his own life be damned. He should have—

A little whine against the skin of his shoulder and the wrap of lean arms about his middle had Eishrin's heart stuttering. Tender, almost, if this entire thing between them wasn't so monstrously wrong. Ghost, in all of their encounters, had been so coldly callous. Calculating, sharp, with words always tainted with poison. There was not a single gentle nor tender thing about him, and the sound that slipped free, paired with the words Ghost pushed into Eishrin's mind, had the Wendigo wondering if he wasn't the only one driven mad by what had just happened.

The hand at Ghost's hip became a little less insistent. Instead, Eishrin curled his fingers into smooth, milky flesh and squeezed; wishing that he could have shifted those blunt nails into claws and watched the poison of Ghost's blood trickle over alabaster skin. Not yet, Ghost had demanded, and Eishrin nearly conceded. Disgusted at himself for what he had done, the smallest, darkest piece of himself yearned to keep their bodies flush, his hole full, and their warmth shared. Wrong. So very wrong. But felt nonetheless.

Ghost withdrew his fangs and it had Eishrin hissing a breath through his clenched teeth. It stung, those puncture wounds, but the lavish heat that swirled through his veins remained. Eishrin's orgasm was over, but something so very similar still warmed his blood; like the blanketing warmth of the sweetest drug.

For what felt like forever, Eishrin was sure his Ghost would not move. Perhaps, tangled as they were, they'd remain within the pool until the end of time. They'd perish together, bound and entwined. The sweep of a cool hand over his chest to settle over the soft swell of his abdomen tore Eishrin from whatever calm had captured him. Ghost, the monster that he was, pressed his palm in against the subtle bulge and a growl rumbled low in Eishrin's throat.

Was Ghost's intention to humiliate him? Because that was what saw the slight colour in his cheeks turn a little more ruddy; barely visible across the ebony of his smooth skin. Humiliation, as he felt the shift of that cum within him, held high by the cock that remained plugged within him. It was tainted by the electric ripple of pleasure as he felt Ghost draw himself free, to the very last inch, before sliding himself deeper.

"Hmmnn…" Eishrin groaned, pressing his face back to the corded muscle of his forearm, laid across the shattered tile. Back arched, the thick ropes of muscle beneath ebony skin tensed.

Eishrin became rigid, holding himself stiffly, as if he couldn't bring himself to relax out of fear of how he'd so keenly press backward. That was precisely why, even if it was only subconscious. For the withdraw of Ghost's length had his warm seed weeping through Eishrin's channel before being smeared and pressed deeper, once more. Slow, it was no longer a ruthless fucking, but a reminder of how well Eishrin's body had taken his Keeper, and how his channel was stained with the proof of it.

The loss of Ghost's body heat across his back felt like a lash of cold. It had the hand upon his Keeper's hip squeezing, but not drawing him close or away. Eishrin simply held him, his thick fingers dimpling cream flesh, as he felt the flex of those lean muscles as Ghost moved slowly; fucking lazily into him. Eishrin wanted it to stop. He wanted this to be over with. But when Ghost spoke bemusedly, a heat flushed through Eishrin, settling deep at his groin within the thick of a half-hard shaft.

Ghost pulled himself free, and Eishrin had to sink his teeth into his lower lip to keep himself from moaning. The sound was debauched, the soft squelch licking at his ears. There came a single second where Eishrin felt the tight pucker of his hole quiver, winking at Ghost, before it began to tighten. It wasn't quick enough to keep himself from weeping Ghost's seed. The pearlescent white of it drooled free, falling in a stream over the swell of his dark sack before mixing with the water. Eishrin, swearing beneath his breath, clenched hard. Is it better to wash it out? Should I leave it?

Eishrin let out a huff as he fell to the side upon the ledge, sitting for the first time. Where Ghost's claws had sunken into the globe of his rear stung, but the pain was welcomed, oddly. It gave him something else to think about than how he felt his hole quiver, seed slipping free, and how he'd felt it slosh a little when he'd rolled to sit.

Ghost had left him, drawing himself out of the pool, and Eishrin was grateful for the distance. He swept a wet hand over his face and leant back against the cracked tile, letting out a shaky breath as he stared down at the surface of the water. What transpired between Ghost and the other Guardian wasn't entirely caught, but Eishrin's eyes did sweep to their corners as he followed the man's sudden retreat. He wondered how many times that Guardian had been rutted by Ghost, and wondered why he felt a sudden stab of envy.

"Fucking insane." That's what it all was. Not a single thing had gone according to Eishrin's plan or will, and he was suffering for it. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Eishrin let his head fall back and his eyes close. He felt where his Ghost lingered—a string between them forever pulling—and felt his sudden approach. Eishrin kept his eyes closed, even as he felt Ghost draw near and stand over him, and even as he spoke.

Existential crisis, indeed. The very mention of it probed the proverbial beast, and it flared a little too hotly within him. Those dark eyes snapped open, cast upwards in a sharp glare, as he looked to the Keeper standing over him.

"Sent your pet to his kennel?" Eishrin meant that redhead. He meant the young Guardian who, so very clearly, saw Ghost as his own—as if having a Keeper was something to aspire for. "You think he won't try something again after you made him watch that?" 'That' not 'us', because if Eishrin spoke it aloud, he'd dissolve into dread and panic; the two brewing so very close under the surface. "I'm not going to be nice if he comes at me again."

From how he was leaning, Eishrin's throat was curved and bare. The throb at the juncture between neck and shoulder had settled some, but flared as he set both elbows atop the pool's crumbled edge. Ghost spoke of rest, but another question bubbled within Eishrin. And beyond tonight? I sleep with you tonight, but what then? Eishrin didn’t dare speak them out loud, instead sighing a little through his nose.

"The pain is gone," he said a little lowly. Dark eyes searched icy pale, as if the answers were there within those glacier-gems. "Why?"
 
Ignoring the dark glare turned up at him upon his approach, Bellamy simply raised a pale brow at the mention Jesper. “You still have my seed leaking out of you and your thoughts are on the pup?” He tilted his head, “If he does come after you again, perhaps I’ll have you fuck the fight out of him.” His pale gaze dropped to the arch of Eishrin’s bared throat, a slight twitch catching at the corner of his mouth. The man appeared woefully unaware of how he presented himself: the nonverbal offering that spoke louder than words ever could. Bellamy clasped his hands behind his back, his skin flushing with the sudden feverish need to cradle the man’s head in his lap as he bit angry marks into his bared skin.

The mention the pain having gone away snapped him to the moment and he inhaled, slow and deep through his nose. Mouth instantly watering at the sticky spiced scent of their mixed released thick on the already choking steam of the room. Senses muddled and mind heavy with fog, he met those searching eyes, his expression impassive. “You came begging for relief and I gave it to you.”

“A little gratitude is not beneath you, surely.” Standing over the other man, he had an infinite amount of patience when it came to waiting for Eishrin to dig up what pitiful excuse for manners the man surely had buried somewhere within himself.
 
It erupted so suddenly into his mind that it came paired with a heartbeat; barely sheltered from slipping across the ether that connected their consciousness. I no longer care to fuck anyone besides you.

That had become Eishrin's truth well before this—having consumed him for the last several weeks when he'd try to find relief in the dozens of blonde, pale bodies. Eishrin had sought the warmth and touch from those that appeared ghostly, like his Keeper, but it hadn't been out of choice. He realised why none of them had felt right, and why none of them had felt good enough. Because they weren't him. Only Ghost would ever be good enough, and that thought alone pissed Eishrin off.

The Wendigo's shoulders bunched, his elbows sliding a little further across the tile as he sank some within the water, and let an exasperated huff leave him. Dark eyes, having returned to their deep colourless shade of obsidian, narrowed a little with the formation of a frown. No longer a glare, but a slight pinch between dark brows as he watched Ghost's own gaze slide slowly lower before they flickered up and met Eishrin's once more. Was he wrong to think that something had swirled thickly within that icy gaze? Something he didn't want to name, let alone to acknowledge?

Eishrin didn't need to be reminded that he'd begged, more than once, from the relief of that agony. An insidious part of him wondered what Ghost would have done, if he'd been the one to experience the soul-tearing, bone-shattering, ungodly pain. He wondered if he'd have lasted as long. He wondered whether Ghost would, too, come begging for relief. Eishrin had cracked beneath it, but would Ghost fair any better? Eishrin wanted to snarl at the cockiness of Ghost's request for gratitude.

"I wasn't asking why you helped," Eishrin bit. "I was asking why it was there at all. Why the pain has faded after we—" fucked. He couldn't quite bring himself to say it, because it didn't carry the same light weight as it did all the other times he'd said it. This time, the sex was different. He'd begged for relief, yes, but Eishrin hadn't wanted that. He hadn't wanted Ghost to take claim to his body, to be the first to pierce his hole and drive himself deep. And, yet, in the midst of it, that was precisely what Eishrin had yearned for, and more.

Swallowing, Eishrin's eyes closed and he leant a little to the side. A hand rose from the steaming water and swept down over his face, a low grumble leaving him before he set that elbow back atop the ledge. When Eishrin looked up to his Ghost, he did so with dissociative calm. "I was asking why the agony is gone."

That small admittance was too much already. In that sentence, alone, Eishrin confessed that he was not knowledgeable of that part of his person. What other pieces of his nature did Eishrin not understand? What other parts had been kept from him; held away with intention? The Seekers, it seemed, chose what they taught the Guardians within their forces, and also chose what they kept from them.

Perhaps the only thing keeping Eishrin from dissolving into shame-fuelled rage was the warm flush of Ghost's lingering venom, and how it soothed the ache within his tense body better than the soft lap of hot water. It kept him mellow enough that, looking upside-down at Ghost from below, he was consumed with the wonder of how something so beautiful could be so ruthlessly evil, instead of his usual plotting for violence.

Thank you.
 
"I'm aware of what you were asking." And noted with a rising bubble of amusement was the word Eishrin couldn't bring himself to say. If Bellamy hadn't been a recipient of Eishrin's pleasure; if he hadn't experienced it as if it were his own, he might've convinced himself the man had hated it. Oh, he hated it now, the thought of it perhaps, now that his mind was returning to him. And the man wasn't shy. He hadn't presented a self-conscious bone in his body since their first meeting, if anything he'd been unabashedly forward, aggressive even—one might say—with the filth that dripped with venomous intent from his lips. Was his hatred of Keepers really so deep? Or was it Bellamy himself, the Guardian couldn't stand? The latter of which brought a private smile to his mouth. Good. Easier that way.

There was no love lost there. He wasn't this man's friend. Didn't want to be. The Wendigo served a purpose. And once that purpose had been fulfilled, Bellamy was free to rid himself of the nuisance, discard the mental intrusion that was the other man.

"I'm not your guide, Eishrin, it's not my job to teach you what you should already know. Perhaps, your fellow Guardians will enlighten your ignorance." He pursed his lips on a thoughtful pause, "Though given your reputation… only time will tell."

The words of gratitude were met with stony silence, pale eyes considering the other man for a long moment, before he turned away without so much as an acknowledgement. "There's no need to clean up, you'll come as you are."

He paused with his hand settled atop the large brass doorknob, glancing back over his shoulder, "Now shall we?"
 
Eishrin waited with bated breath. It was foolish to hope for an answer, to believe that Ghost would grant him a clue. It should have come as no surprise when Ghost, instead, mocked him. Yet, those words formed something incredibly bitter within Eishrin's throat and he clenched his teeth harshly together until he felt them grind. What a fool I am to think that he'd give me that. It was hopeful, it was naive, and it was so very stupid. Nothing had changed. They were just as they were before. Not even the mellowness of the venom within his blood could keep that new flare of rage from him.

Still, Eishrin could not deny what he felt. If it did not come from Ghost, he did not want it. He would rather remain a fool, would rather remain naive and blind, than to be given something from another. Eishrin didn't want knowledge, didn't want attention, didn't want proximity or any-fucking-thing else if it did not come from Ghost. Perhaps it was that reason, alone, which made Ghost's easy and quick dismissal sting as deeply as it did.

As dark eyes tracked the fluffy robe Ghost had donned, the Keeper's back turned to him, Eishrin let out a sound that was half exasperated huff and half stubborn growl. Tilting his head to the side, he let his gaze be pulled towards the door, following Ghost's every graceful step. I just want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you. Is that asking too much, for gods sake?

He had half the mind to refuse Ghost's summoning, watching as that cream hand lay over the brass knob of the door. What worse could there be than what Ghost had already committed upon him? Within him?

As Eishrin shoved himself away from the edge of the pool, he drew through the water, the trim of his waist carving through the thick swirl of steam, before he stalked up the ramp and onto the tile. He made no move towards the towels by the showers, nor any attempt to wring the water from his hair. The water streamed from him, left behind in puddles and wet footsteps, as Eishrin cut towards Ghost; seemingly unbothered. Whomever came in after them could slip on his mess and bathe in their spilt seed, for all he cared. Ghost had told him to come as he was, and so he did; standing over Ghost as the water wept over the ebony of his skin, forming a pool by his feet. Malicious compliance.

What seethed within those dark eyes was far more hotter than before. Yet, as he stood there, Eishrin felt the pooling weight of Ghost's seed against his sphincter. The presence of it had him clenching hard, unwilling to stand beneath that icy gaze and let it drool free of his hole onto the floor. Instead, he clenched hard and fought to keep it within his body, his glare dark.

A hard bang at the door had Eishrin's eyes pulling from Ghost's face.

"Hey! I know you're in there, dickhead." A rough, slightly feminine voice was calling through the gap between the door and the jam. "I've flown twenty hours to see your pretty face because I missed you but also because a little bird told me you were going to go and—"

Eishrin had captured Ghost's hand, taking the man's knuckles and the brass knob beneath in a tight grasp before turning it. The door was torn open, Eishrin having stepped in behind Ghost; not out of shame, not out of subservience, but posturing himself as his obsidian eyes glared cruelly over the top of fair, blonde head.

Within the doorway, her tattooed fist high mid-knock, none other than Cerise stood before them. Her almond eyes, down-sloped, were half hidden behind fashion, red-lensed glasses. Her bangs were cut short, higher than her brows, and two small braids framed the sides of her round face. Etched into her somewhat soft features was what seemed a near-permanent look of displeasure as her dark eyes lifted first to Eishrin's shadowed face, before falling down to Bellamy's.

A laugh left her, hoarse, as she reached out and pet Bellamy twice on his shoulder. "You fucking did it, you freak."

Eishrin had gone rigid. The scent of another Keeper had never been pungent, but it was now. From within the corridor and within the rooms beyond, he smelt them all, and it was repulsive. His upper lip quivered, the beginnings of a snarl, before he tried to close the door in the Keeper's face.

Cerise, however, had other plans and set her Doc Martin boot in the door jam. "Mm, no." She offered a small smile to Bellamy; the two of them the same height, and equally as pale. With a little nod to the Guardian towering over her best friend, Cerise smirked. "Who's your big boy?"

Eishrin felt the first little drool down the inside of his thigh. A touch to a robed elbow. "Ghost."
 
Disappointment appeared as a bitter after taste at the back of his mouth, and the smoky tinge of rage that chased after it had Bellamy tilting his head, unable to name the exact cause for it. But he was certain that it wasn't his own and that earned Eishrin a raised brow. A touch of confusion swimming just beyond icy detachment. And there, is where it was left. Bellamy didn't care to dig for an answer. The space taking on a sudden suffocating sense of claustrophobia and he turned away, needing distance. Needing to be anywhere but trapped the thick aura of their combined madness.

His hand upon the doorknob, he forced himself to breathe, to wait for Eishrin to move along. And against his better judgement, he turned just enough to watch as the man stepped out of the water. Unable to settle on whether to be amused or annoyed that he was being a stubborn shit, creating a spreading with every step he took as he closed the distance between them.

Bellamy's heart gave a foolish skip or three as he was forced to tip his head to maintain eye contact as Eishrin ignored any sense of personal space.

Holding that obsidian gaze, a knowing formed but he said nothing. They stood close enough that Bellamy needed only to lean the slightest bit forward to lick at the beads of water that clung and dripped off the taller man's skin.

You should try to relax. The difficult bit has pas—

The sudden bang on the door had Bellamy's gaze jerking towards the interruption. The sudden fury that welled beneath his skin extinguished any sense of comprehension at the familiar voice on the other side. And then Eishrin's large hand was completely covering his own and wrenching the door open.

Seeing Cerise, he stared blankly for a beat. "Ceri." A quick mental calculation confirmed he wasn't expecting to see her for another month, at least. Still, his eyes brightened considerably and his smile came easy. A drop of water plopped atop his head and he rocked back on his heels, attempting to push Eishrin back a step or two. But the man was an immovable wall of flesh and heat at his back. A water that dripped onto him.

He batted at Cerise's patting hand, "Don't sound so surprised. Almost fucking died and I've yet to decide if it was worth all the trouble." He was practically beaming, near buzzing with pride in spite of his words. He'd been excited to break the news to Cerise, but had refused to make a premature claim before the bond had been consummated. He was going to have Max's head for ruining his surprise.

His back vibrated with the start of a snarl that wasn't his, and his arm with the hand still trapped beneath Eishrin's own, tensed in the same instance that Cerise well times boot thwarted Eishrin's insolent attempt to slam the door in his face.

"You'll have to forgive his insolence. He has no house-training." He didn't appear as if it was something that truly bothered him. Ignoring the touch to his elbow, he rolled his eyes at his dearest friend; a nonverbal shrug of ‘you see what I have to deal with’. Aloud to Eishrin, "Unless the next words out of your mouth are an introduction, I don't care to hear anything from you."

To Cerise, "You've changed your hair," he reached out and flicked at her bangs, "Suits you. I approve."
 
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The difficult part. As if the absence of the agony had not been replaced with something just as festering and as ugly. Together, they had come crashing; a gravity between them that had seen them colliding with teeth and claw and flesh. It had been Eishrin whom had been bent over, left to suffer the unwanted pleasure that had rushed through him in waves. He'd been bent over, his body pried apart by wicked tendrils, only to be claimed and filled by his Ghost. Just as they had come, their release crashing through them together, it had left only one of them with a deep-rooted ache. A need for more.

Eishrin, as he held himself against the fluff of Ghost's bathrobe, felt that insidious throb within his very marrow. Ghost had taken a piece of him, as if holding his soul was not enough, but the venom of their coupling had festered in ways Eishrin could not have anticipated. He hated him. He hated everything that was Ghost and Ghost, himself. Yet, as his hand cupped the back of an elbow, a Keeper having reached out to touch Ghost's shoulder in a familiar pet, Eishrin had felt nothing but noxious possessiveness flare. His move to slam the door had been an attempt to seal them both inside; this humid, foggy place a world where it was only he and his Ghost.

Wrong, it was, but Eishrin could not deny it.

Cerise, the narrow almond of her eyes having left Eishrin long ago, was grinning at her friend. "You? Nearly dying? Impossible." It had been those unworthy of Bellamy that had perished violently; unable to take his venom, or unable, even, to hold Bellamy's attention. She didn't look up into the shadowy face of Bellamy's Guardian, knowing she'd find a sharp glare there waiting for her; as if he could melt her with only a look. Amusing, it was. Even more amusing in how such a creature so beastly was gently handling Bellamy's elbow. "I'm sure it is. Besides, if not, you can always start afresh."

The attempt to shut the door in her face wasn't quite enough to offend her. Cerise's time abroad had been spent in territories where Keepers mixed far more deeply with mortals than they did within this city, and she'd received treatment far worse. They'd ended in blood, and in gore, but this? This insolence had Cerise looking up over the fine blonde of Bellamy's hair to the beast that towered above them both. There was something there within those dark eyes that she could almost name. Was it jealousy? Was it possessiveness which had had prompted his attempt to seal himself back inside with his Keeper? Interesting, Cerise mused to herself for the second time.

The shrug of a shoulder she offered her childhood friend was small and half-hearted as she pulled her eyes down from the Guardian's face. "Too busy consummating the bond to teach him manners then?" Cerise's dark eyes glimmered. "Was he a good fuck, at least?"

Another snarl bubbled up within Eishrin's chest, and the hand upon Ghost's elbow grew a fraction too tight. Fingers curled over Ghost's other hip, tugging a little to draw him back into the heat of Eishrin's body. Mine, his posturing almost seemed to say. Eishrin, that rage beginning to return, opened that channel between their minds to shove his noxious anger down at Ghost, but was rendered momentarily quiet. Ghost belittled him, did so in front of company, and that clawed deep under Eishrin's skin.

And what would you have me say? My name? That I am yours? That I am no-one and nothing, 'please ignore me'?

Did Eishrin's name even matter anymore? What purpose did an introduction hold when he was just meat, brawn, and expendable? He'd tried to be gentle, the pull at Ghost's elbow just enough to earn his brief attention. Whatever they'd shared back there within the pool had to have meant something. How else could Eishrin allow himself to feel sane, when he'd fallen into the madness weeks ago?

I am many things, Ghost, but I am no bitch.

From where he'd pressed himself flush to Ghost's back, Eishrin peeled away. He cared little for the consequence, and turned his back upon them both. Towels were set by the showers, dry and as fluffy as Ghost's robe, and Eishrin snatched one up to begin drying the remnants of the pool water from the ebony of his skin. He gave them both his back, uncaring for his insolence that he, no doubt, would earn punishment for.

Cerise, watching it all, arched a dark brow. "Not so demure, then," she commented upon Eishrin's sudden departure and the way he positioned himself away from them. "Your brother didn't tell me much besides that you managed to 'bag the un-baggable'. Is he…?"

Her question was implied. They all knew of the Guardian that had been hunting his own, and those of their kin whom were foolish. The supposed 'legend' of a Guardian corrupted by the Seekers, used as a weapon, brainwashed against his own, was well known. There was only one person both stupid and bold enough to risk everything to try and bond with a rabid beast such as that.
 
Bellamy’s shoulders lifted, unconcerned at his friend's proclamation, “Death loves to nip at the heels of even the best of us from time to time.” Though the word—impossible—caused a root of unease to spread through his chest. An unscratchable itch he couldn’t reach. Impossible. The very situation he found himself in, the events and discoveries leading to it should have been impossible, but here they stood.

A slow, grim smile that avoided his eyes completely, touched a corner of his mouth, “I’ve grown quite bored of starting afresh, this will be the last one.” The Guardian that'd came before Eishrin—unlucky bastard that one had been—should have been the last one, much to Yvain’s sighs of disappointment and their uncle’s annoyance, but Yvain was now dead and Henri had seized power the moment the opportunity presented, forcing Bellamy to make unsavory decisions. And he was now, once again, unwillingly bonded. There was nothing he could do about it, save kill his uncle.

If only it were so simple.

Cerise’s mention of Eishrin’s lack of social etiquette prompted an eye roll from Bellamy, “While I enjoy a challenge, I deduce he is neither a willing nor easy student, and if we broke him. He wouldn’t be much fun anymore.” His pale eyes glittered with a dark sort of glee, “Wilfully stubborn, but oh so eager. He didn’t disappoint.” And that was as much praise as Eishrin would receive on the matter. A low chuckle, “I’d offer you a sampling if he were to your tastes, but alas, my word is all you have.”

In spite of both the internal and external rigidity and blatant distance Bellamy had erected between them upon exiting the heated pools, his body melted back with unsettling ease against Eishrin’s chest when the man’s fingers drew at his hip. It was a horrible sensation: The want to be close and stay close. But worst of all, he hated the instinctual possessiveness and urge to show off the other man.

Eishrin’s wilful ignorance earned no response. Didn’t deserve one. If the man wanted to play the fool, then so be it. To Cerise, “And you’d think a good fuck would dull those sharpened edges, hmm.”

How right you are. A bitch at least knows how to greet guests.

And just as suddenly Eishrin pulled away, taking the heat and stability of his solid presence with him. His back cold, Bellamy rolled his shoulders with a huff of amusement, “Demure, he is not.” Exasperation quickly followed, “Fucking Max, I’ll feed him his own tongue one day.” Muttered under his breath as he shifted slightly to the left, pale gaze tracing Eishrin’s movements as he dragged the towel over his skin. Cerise's unasked question lingered on the periphery as his eyes caught and held on the drooling line of seed down the inside of Eishrin’s thigh. Arousal flared through him, hot and sharp in its suddenness and he let the heat-wave crash across their bond.

You’ve missed a spot.

“He is.” Returning his gaze to Cerise, he grinned, “Was nearly gutted for the trouble. As far as my uncle and the public are concerned, we’re not bonded.” The implication of that admission was punctuated with a slow rise of a pale brow as he watched his longest friend closely. He didn’t need to ask if he could trust her. “How long will you be staying? I take it your favourite room was up to standard.”
 
The last one. Cerise, pressing her long-nailed pinky to the wire of her glasses to slide them a little further up the narrow bridge of her nose, considered the implications of such a declaration. She did not need to ask if Bellamy had bonded with the Guardian who slipped away, moving to stand by the showers as he plucked up a towel. The steam that rolled from the humid room carried with it the subtlety of sex, and the scent that came to her from Bellamy's skin was tainted by something spiced like clove. Already, they were beginning to imprint, and Cerise wondered whether Bellamy found it distasteful that she could smell it.

As she gave a small smile that did not reach the obsidian of her eyes, she hoped, for her dearest friend, that his ebony Guardian would, indeed, be the last and that there'd be no need to consider another. Cerise hoped, also, that the mythos surrounding Bellamy's Guardian held true; a beast, forgotten by Death.

Distant, Eishrin worked the fluff of the white towel over his face and the dripping locks of his dark hair. Tried as he might to ignore the conversation at the door out of disinterest, he found himself clinging to each one of Ghost's words. Each pause, and Eishrin drew tense. Every careful selection of word and the stringing together of a double-edged sentence, and Eishrin drank it deeply.

'The last': so there'd been another. '…wouldn't be much fun': so he liked a challenge. 'He didn't disappoint': so Bellamy had found true pleasure deep within Eishrin's heat, not just a result necessitated by a biological response to coupling. The last little piece had Eishrin's working of the towel down over his chest pause for the briefest of moments, before he grit his teeth with a scowl and continued on. That flare of satisfaction at knowing he wasn't alone in his forced bliss was snuffed out in favour of familiar spite.

Cerise laughed, the corners of her almond eyes crinkling some with her mirth. "Considerate of you," she grinned, "but I'd have to pass." For Cerise's own interest lay within those with softer, feminine forms. A glance towards the bitter beast, and she hummed. There was beauty to him, she supposed, but nothing alluring as there was within the female form—supple, tender, so heavenly soft.

Dark eyes slid back to icy blue, and she quirked an eyebrow. "Perhaps he needs another. I know that my Orielle needed me to fuck her twice before she settled." And what a delight it had been, taking that sweet Guardian for the first time, only for her to battle the bond and crumble into something even more delicious the second time Cerise had pressed tongue and finger into slit. There was nothing, Cerise believed, like the first few fucks of a newly established bond.

Eishrin felt the eyes upon him, but did not grant them the satisfaction of a glance. He could not have cared less. What was there to modesty when he'd been defiled by his Ghost in such a way? There was nothing left to take, and Eishrin didn't shield the naked of his form from view as he lifted a foot upon the stone bench to dry down the bulky muscle of a thigh. The slow weep of hot liquid tracked down the inside of the other, and Eishrin stiffened. A heartbeat later, and his Ghost's voice wormed its way inside his head; paired with the hot flash of arousal that muddied with the lingering of Eishrin's own. He ignored both.

He did not lower his foot. He did not cover the globes of his rear with the white towel. Eishrin knew the depravity of his Ghost went further than what had been inflicted within the scorching waters of the pool. Would it not be better for Eishrin to taste Ghost's seed on his own terms?

The muscle of Eishrin's back rippled beneath ebony skin, tensing as the man swept an arm back and reached over his ass to draw the pad of a forefinger beneath the drooling river. He caught the seed upon the dark of his digit, smeared it high towards the cleft of his rear, before stealing it away to draw it up to his face. Sticky, Eishrin ground the droplet between his forefinger and the pad of a thumb, watching as it clung to his skin like a web before snapping. It smelt of him, of his Ghost, but also of himself, and Eishrin hesitated a moment before he pressed that wet finger between his lips.

Quick, Eishrin made no show of his sampling; for he did not care for who watched. It was curiosity and the knowledge that Ghost would likely make him drink from his cock that had Eishrin sweeping his tongue over the digit and tasting his Ghost. Salted, perhaps a little honeyed, it was nicer than Eishrin had believed.

The rest of the drooling seed was suddenly wiped up from his skin by the towel, as Eishrin continued on like before; methodical, efficient, until he wrapped another clean towel over his hips and tucked the corner in for it to stay.

As he'd turned to face Ghost and his companion as he'd tied the towel, a glimpse of glittering gold had caught the light. To be bonded meant that a Guardian was to wear an enchanted collar, but the Wendigo's throat was bare. It was then, as that gold flash caught Cerise's eye, that she understood. She looked to Bellamy, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards. You sly fucking devil. She, of course, would not say a thing.

"About a week," she finally replied. "This was an impromptu decision, so I have things I need to return to. I should be able to return for a greater length of time soon." A shrug. "Up to standard, I suppose. The thing about getting older is that what you remember and the reality of it don't often match up. I could have sworn that that room was as big as three."

Cerise stuffed her hands into her pockets and took a half-step sideways. "What're you planning to do with your evening? I have half the mind to go rile up your brother."
 
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