Dämonspiel (Tiberius and Cannon)

(Basic content warning: M/M, somewhat forced, before an audience. Beyond that, this and the next are pretty much the most graphic it's going to get. But, if I put this in the wrong place, please move it; I'm sorry for allowing that to happen.)

Loud, cacophonous music. Torches, embers, smoke in the air. Through spacious and open, the world was dark and damp; indeed, rather cavelike. Signs were all about, a top little shops with grisly flesh strewn about barbies lining the room. Weapons, gold, mercury - all were on sale, along with animals, both alive and dead, leeks, and a number strange things. Straw and incense, drugs and beer all perfumed the whole of the space.

Within the passages all about are various distorted figures. Beautiful women, hiding razor sharp teeth; red skinned giants, at least giants at 10 feet tall; blue skinned devils with horns and four arms; a headless snake man, holding it at his side; various, various figures.

The demons had gathered, as they always did at that time of year; it was the demon festival, after all. Held by the ancient demon kings since times of old, at force from the gods, so that they wouldn't annihilate each other and unbalance the world. But even in fest, the twisted and impure were unable to keep from killing each other for the sport. And such it was.

Ahmar, a spirit born of maddened love, of a lover torn from his mate by a twisted rule of law, had entered the contest. Born of hatred and violence, his power was itself intertwined with the demonic side of Love; it was said that Bast, the goddess of love and sex, was one and the same as Sekhmet, the goddess of War, who once flooded the earth in blood. And as such, this reflected itself in him: a frankly beautiful body provided his vessel, dressed exotically and erotically.

His hair was rather long; the left was braided, in a traditional way, with red strips there in; the right, braided too, but blue. He worn no shirt, only a necklace of saber teeth and black beads; from his waist below only a loincloth, barely if not failing outright to cover him. Betraying his nature, on the other hand, were two flesh coloured horns emerging from his skull, paired with pointed ears, sharp teeth, and red eyes.

All together, one might expect him a weakling; almost boyish. But deep beneath him lies a great power; and with this power, he effortlessly slaughtered his way through the tournament. His eyes reflected this; his face, itself beautiful, held a flare of unrivaled stength in itself, such as in the way his thick brow laid in contrast to his thick lips. And now, on a large, leather mat, shaped like a sun, he stood proudly before the Demon King, and a whole audience of nobles, ready to face off against his next and last opponent.

The prise, of course, was more power.

Red and Black, intertwined in a chaotic but thread like pattern, a giant, almost godlike figure sat on a throne, surrounded by two crocodilian guards. Amongst the chatter and chaos of the nobles, he let out a fierce shriek, in a loud booming voice.

"Ye! Listen! All hail the challengers set before Us. With power, and with might, these two have proven themselves worthy before Our eyes...

Indeed. Each of Our humble guests has slaughtered again and again hubristic fools, who dare to think themselves worthy of Our powers; We, on the plain of the Gods. And in final test, these two before Us shall prove themselves."

His words were met with cheers from every corner.

"Ah, but, look ye at their frames. There is nothing that should harm those pelts! Not a club, not a spear. What shall We do?"

A moment more, of silence and whispers.

"The loser shall be skinned. The winner shall be graced with Our power. This is the decree of your King. The contest, instead, shall be a contest more befitting of forms so beautiful. Surely they should be used to entice mortal hearts. So the contest should be plane: Sex."

Cheering, more notably from the females in audience, echoes throughout.

With a voice of rage, in condemning protest of powers beyond his control, Ahmar screams, before Emil could speak: "What! You expect me to dirty myself with someone as lowly as him!? I'd soo-"

Cut off, by the demon King: "Sooner what? Forfeit? Then you die. If you want it, you know precisely what you have to do."


Tense, such that the muscles in his arms were clearly showing, he looked Emil in the eyes, with that anger.

Ahmar closed his eyes, out of pride. The touch was something fierce for him. He was born out of love; love making was like purification.

He inhaled as deep as he could, before sighing, at the frankly unexpected touch. "You're quite the arrogant one."

Still tense, he shook a bit as he felt Emil's hand reach his loincloth.

"A-Ahmar. My glory means I have no shame."

He stood, firm and proud as ever. The front of his cloth was somewhat poking out, though, in firm contrast to his pride. He crossed his arms, almost defiantly. As this was, he breathing was uneven; still shaking.

Thick, but not full - or fully revealed - Ahmar stood, still proud. He wasn't about to let Emil just do what he wished, but in his humiliation, and in his arousal, he was all but paralysed.

With the cloth fallen, he widened his stace, showing off almost. The skin was smooth, but tight; hairless too, as if his body were built specifically for this. He began to reach for Emil, but wasn't moving quickly at all.

Ahmar's hand to Emil's chest, he nearly lost himself. He shook so violently, that he fell to his knees, involuntarily catching himself with his forearms. The way he fell - face up - more or less involutarily presented himself directly to his opponent. The tip, though obviously wet from arousal, hadn't yet presented itself, though.

The embarrassment and the humiliation came full force. Ahmar was still shaking, having caught his heart racing. He was looking around, at the onlookers, amused at his predicament. In all of this, he hadn't noticed Emil's nervousness.

Those words infuriated him; combined with the humilation, his complexion was turning reddish; same as a human's. But stuck there, he was literally in the palm of Emil's hand. He hadn't yet caught his breath; his chest expanded to his breathing; and all the pulsations within him only involuntarily served to "begin a process" already in Emil's hands.

The wetness, due to Emil's squeezing, began to drip out, with the soft flesh growing thick right in his palm. His whole body was starting a lesser flush, complementary to his face. Perhaps this is why he was called Ahmar - red.

"F-fuck yourself." He whispered.

That was it. With his hand, Emil pushed out Ahmar's head, letting the fluid drip down. Mixing with the motion of the hand, it smoothed the motion, making it pure rubbing. The pleasure went throughout him, and in his collapsed state; he collapsed further.

He was thicker, and as Emil moved the hand, he could feel pulsations underneath. In seconds, the white fluid came out, and, due to the angle Emil had him in, caused his chest to be covered in it. The scent of cum covered him, as he let go one large, tenor sigh, bringing himself to a stronger firmness. His whole body was now flushed.

He had stopped shaking.

With his back turned away from him, Emil didn't sense as Ahmar stood and reached around him. In a swift, quick movement, he tore away the remaining rags, pushing Emil away enough to turn around.

"Don't be so cocky. It's not over yet! I was born of love. This is nothing. I'll finish you."

He said this, with a look of utmost determination in his eyes; a look of hatred, but one too of carnal desire. His tongue poked out from his lips, as his manhood was back to full thickness.

He looked at his mate, almost studiously, looking for any possible weakpoint.

Choking it all down, Ahmar turned rage into a smile, walking calmly towards him. In a bit of a bluff, he made it look as it he tripped, only to take the opportunity to grab his opponent.

His hands were a bit courser; something built up during the fights previous, but none-the-less soft. With his long, wet tongue, he started from the bottom - Emil's bet - licking up. Perhaps it was his demonic nature, but the tongue itself was rough, giving a strange texture to the licking. With his left hand, Ahmar pumped Emil, using his thumb to repeatedly rub outwards on the bottom of Emil's shaft.

The look turned solemn; his face was graceful, but neither happy, nor angry. Certainly not dead inside, simply beautiful.

Putting the lower hand on Emil's thigh, Ahmar moved back down, licking him down to the underside of his sack, his warm breath moving across Emil's thighs. With a suck, he pulled back, still pumping Emil with the hand not used for support.

"What sort of demon is so sufficiently satisfied that he'll only last one round? For that matter, what sort of demon has allowed his form to be cut? Don't you have any pride? I'm an embodiment of parted love, what the hell are you?"

With that, he bent Emil's manhood more toward himself, licking a couple of around the base of the head, before taking all of it in his lips. The look he gave, up to Emil, was still just grace, but in his eyes a bit of the confidence from earlier was beginning to come back.

Ahmar received the motion, moving as much of Emil's manhood into him as he could. With his hand now freed, it lowered, cupping Emil underneath, slowly alternating fingers between a gentle inward press and an outward.

He started bobbing his head inward and outward, letting the soft, wet warmth of his lips and tongue move in friction against his skin. His breath brushed against Emil's pubic mound, blowing down his lap against his thighs and the sides uncovered of his sack.

An honest temptation of Ahmar's was to do violence, with his opponent so vulnerable; but he decided not to, so as not to incur the wrath of the Demon King. Also, too, was his desire to explain precisely how Emil was underestimating him, but he choked that down with Emil's pleasure - and so-thought loss. That last bit - Emil's moan - encouraged this kinder behaviour, giving Ahmar the belief that it would be easy to win. He rationalised, although he felt pleasure easily, he knew his endurance was greater than any other he had taken to bed before - human, demon, even god - and that this lowly cut demon would surely be simply to exhaust.

Ahmar pulls away, if for only a moment; something he wanted to say got the better of him. With the hand off by the side, the one that supported him by the thigh, he unconsciously pressed against his own chest, wetting his hand in his own seed.

"Lust is mere instinct, it only ever creates. With love, however, one can feel jealous and kill because of lust's actions. With love, men go to war to slaughter other men, all in the name of protecting what they love. Without love, there is no hate, just as without truth there is no lie. Lust does nothing but inspire procreation. You're powerless to harm without me. You're my little tool, nothing more."

With the hand somewhat soiled, he grabbed Emil's shaft, to keep it full as he spoke. Soaked from Ahmar's mouth, he gripped it, rubbing his thumb repeatedly from the base to just under the tip, keeping the friction constant. His other hand continued it's endeavours, occasionally giving a gentle pull at the soft skin. The middle finger drifted farther and farther back, pushing up against the area immediately behind.