Renegade [NSFW] (ThenThereWereNone & MoldaviteGreen)

[ThenThereWereNone]

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.

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

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?

 

[ThenThereWereNone]

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?"

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

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?"