𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗦𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 (𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘴𝘮 & 𝘔𝘎)

[antipriest]

The kiss– if it could even be called that– had started as something pitiful, something meant to be endured, not returned. Just another gesture to placate the wolf circling him, to buy himself another breath, another second. A flicker of softness meant to appease. That was all.

But the Alpha took it like it was something else entirely.

The beast surged forward like he’d been starving for it, like the taste of Valéry’s trembling lips was a feast he’d been long denied. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet– far from it. It was devouring. And worse– worse– was that the Omega’s body responded like it had been waiting, longing for that exact cruelty. His spine arched, not from fear, but from heat. The man’s tongue slid between his parted lips like it belonged there, without permission and didn’t ask for it. His teeth grazed along Val’s lip like he wanted to mark him there, too, and Valéry gasped into the mouth that swallowed every sound like it belonged to him.

The rough finger circling his entrance, spreading sweet slick, finally plunged in, sank deep until there was nothing left, and curled.

The younger man’s fingers, clutching at the Alpha’s shoulders, tightened as that thick digit shifted within him, pressing into the plush of his inner walls. Between that and his weeping cock trapped against the soft knit of the man’s turtleneck and the hard press of his abs, Valéry could feel himself hurtling right towards the edge again.

He felt the snarl more than he heard it– felt it vibrate through the devil’s chest, through his sharp teeth, through the hot press of their mouths locked together like a warning and a promise. It wasn’t human. Far from it. It was something older, something primal, dragging claws down the length of his spine. And god help him– he shivered. It should have terrified him. Maybe a part of him was afraid. But his fear had begun to twist into something else entirely, something darker. Hungrier. That sound, that snarl, it wasn’t just dominance– it was possession, and Valéry’s body answered it. His lips parted with a broken gasp as the cold of the bathroom door disappeared from his searing skin for a brief moment before he was all but slammed right back against it, turned into a sharp cry from the impact that seemed to have sobered him up just slightly. Val felt like he couldn’t breathe, caught somewhere between defiance and surrender.

The beast’s teeth were right there, snagging, breaking flesh, threatening, branding– and he let him. To his dismay, welcomed it. Pressed closer as though deep down, he wanted to be devoured.

Valéry’s hand curled around the back of the man’s neck, fingers pressing into muscle with a desperation that betrayed him. One finger turned into two, and he moaned into that wicked mouth, shame catching on each ragged breath as their kiss broke.

Please don’t stop.​

Val’s world narrowed to the hot ache between his legs and the way the Alpha’s fingers filled him– merciless, unrelenting, but skilled in a way that seemed designed to drag out every last drop of his dignity and melt it into want. He didn’t know when need had overtaken terror, only that the line between the two was thin as silk– easily torn, barely noticed in the blur of the larger man’s touch. He was coming apart, piece by piece, and every fragment of him was on display: the part that remembered shame, the part that burned for release, and the secret, shameful core that wanted to be seen– wanted to be ruined, completely, by hands that wouldn’t allow him to hide.

His body trembled and begged, traitor that it was. Slick pooled and soaked into the sleeve of the man’s coat, spreading warmth and wet that should have mortified him. Valéry didn’t care, not when each drag of the devil’s fingers caused that backstabbing heat to coil tighter and tighter behind his navel. The part of him that was still present wanted to curse him, spit at him, claw his way free, but instead he found himself clinging– one hand clutching the back of the Alpha’s neck, the other gripping the edge of the cubicle for purchase as if he might be swept away.

“Listen, bunny. You love that, don’t you? You love having your tight, fucking boypussy stuffed with fingers?”

A sound escaped him– half moan, half sob– raw enough that it scared him. And it was at that moment that the tension in his body finally snapped.

“F-fuck– please, I-I’m gonna– A-aahh…!”

Valéry’s head lolled back against the cool laminate, a shrill squeal ripping free from his throat as he came– painting his own bare belly and the black of the man’s turtleneck with pearly white ropes. Every curl and drag of the devil’s fingers inside of sent a jolt through his nerves like a live wire. He was shaking, drooling, skin slick, thighs trembling where they stayed open, helpless against the rhythm. Then, those fingers left him, and the Omega thought he was done– it was over.

Right?

Wrong. Two became three, and Val felt himself scrambling to run away from every motion, twisting and squirming against the bathroom door. “W-wait– waitwaitwait– I-I j-just– ahn– I-I just came…!” His legs tensed. His whole body arched– shameless, trembling, straining to escape the fingers stretching his hole open and pliant.

“I can’t–” he cried, high and fractured. “I-I can’t handle– nnh, handle it– y-you’re gonna kill me…!”

 

[MoldaviteGreen]

Please. How easy that word had transformed within Valéry's plush mouth. It had begun as a beg for forgiveness, as if Zhenya would ever be gentle. Now it spilled free of Valéry, between pants and moans and pathetic little whimpers, a cry for relief and release. Because even if he hated it, even if he'd run, Valéry fucking wanted it, and there was no denying it now.

"Mm," Zhenya purred, dragging the cold tip of his nose across Valéry's flushed cheek. "Say it again for me. Say please. Tell me how you're so fucking horny for it, bunny."

Something warm and wet clipped the underside of Zhenya's jaw, a millisecond before he felt the tension roll through the Omega. Valéry came, and Zhenya leant back to watch it; cold eyes wide and hungry, drinking it all in as Valéry's first rope of cum dripped from his chin. Valéry came with a squeal, a shudder, a clawing of slender fingers into the back of Zhenya's neck. The tight of his hole clenched down on those curling, relentless fingers. There was a tremble in Valéry's thighs that came in little shock waves.

And his eyes. Oh, fuck, his big, pretty eyes. They shimmed with something more than just tears now. Valéry's pupils were blown wide and he looked half-delirious. Zhenya sank his teeth into his lower lip and groaned. The three thick fingers he stuffed back inside Valéry's twitching taint were just as relentless.

"You can't—You can't. You can't what, bunny?" Zhenya mocked him; all teeth in his feral grin. "So what if I kill you? Shouldn't a filthy whore like you be happy?"

A fourth digit pressed in beside the rest, stretching Valéry wider. The hot of his tongue pressed to Valéry's chin. Wicked as he was, Zhenya licked up over lips, over wet philtrum and cheeks, and over temple. He snagged the shell of an ear and bit hard, before purring; "Or do you want to die on my cock. Is that it?"

 

[antipriest]

He wanted to crawl out of his own skin. He wanted to escape, to vanish through the nearest crack in the world and never be seen again, but he couldn’t– he couldn’t even look away. The Alpha’s grip on him was iron, his voice a low, venom-sweet drawl that burrowed straight into the soft, animal places deep within his biology.

Valéry’s own voice sounded foreign in his ears, high and cracking, all the tight-wound shame of a prayer given up in the dark. “Please– fuck– I-I can’t–” His words dissolved into a gasp, a ragged sob, the air punched out of him by the next curl and twist of those relentless fingers invading his soft flesh. He writhed against the slick heat, one hand fisting helplessly in the man’s coat as if the world might tip sideways and he’d fall away if he let go.

Every part of him trembled: his thighs shaking with the effort to stay open, pinned, his arms straining to cling to whatever he could reach, his chest rising and falling in frantic, shallow bursts while the beast continued to ravage him with just three fingers. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes, shame and want and terror blurring together until he barely knew who he was. Only that he was burning, melting, about to come undone further.

He wanted to hate the Alpha (he already did– but he wasn’t so sure in this moment). He wanted to hate himself more for his body needing this, for arching back into the brutal stretch, for biting down on his tongue to keep from begging louder. He couldn’t stop– he couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t want to.

Valéry could barely breathe. Everything was too much. The squelch of his own slick against skin, the harsh pant of his own breath, the cruel stretch of the monster’s fingers, the crude taunts that sent his nerves sparking. The Omega tried to stammer out another plea, but the words got lost somewhere between a fourth finger being added and the crush of his throat, swallowed by a high, trembling whine.

Then, the devil’s mouth was on him– hot, claiming, unforgiving. Valéry felt the rough scrape of freshly-shaved stubble as the man licked a shameless stripe up the point of his chin, over bitten lips slick with spit, over the trembling curve of his cheekbone, all the way to his sweaty temple. The sensation was almost animal, obscene in its possession. The young man flinched, but couldn’t pull away, couldn’t do anything but shudder as the other’s tongue left a burning trail of humiliation up the side of his face.

It should have disgusted him. It should have made him want to crawl away and never be touched again. If he hadn’t been so drunk on the Alpha’s heady scent and the pleasure coiling through his body, it might have. Instead, it wrung a raw, broken gasp from his throat, his body arching helplessly into the man’s touch as if some feral, buried part of him needed to be marked, needed to be claimed.

“Stop–” he tried, but the plea was thin and brittle, undermined by the way his hips rolled, desperate for more friction, more fullness, more everything. He was burning up, out of his mind, trembling everywhere the devil touched him. The sharp sting of teeth against cartilage sent a jolt through him, the pain and pleasure blurring together into one endless, shuddering want. He sobbed, a sound ripped from deep in his chest– ugly, desperate, real.

“Or do you want to die on my cock. Is that it?”

His body gripped the Alpha’s thick fingers, greedy and frantic, slick pooling and dripping into a small puddle that had now formed on the floor of the bus. Valéry’s head lolled back again at just the thought of having something other than fingers inside of him, mouth open in a broken cry. He couldn’t find his words. The four fingers curling and pistoning in his guts, literally fucking him stupid, would not let him.