Dear Self

Dear Self,

Even healthy habits can become toxic if done for the wrong reasons. Even healthy habits can become addictions when used to escape from pain/reality/self. Anything truly healthy starts from a place of self-acceptance and self-respect. Do what you love because it matters, because it is honest, because it is an expression of the world you would like to create/inhabit. Success for the sake of success is like swallowing a black hole. It’s heavy. It’s insatiable. It sucks up the light. Start with the heart the rest will follow. Don’t hide from vulnerability, embrace it. Vulnerability is the source of all beauty, of all love. Vulnerability is an art form unto itself. Surrender. Surrender. Surrender.

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Stranger

Every time I look within
I recover a piece of you:
a smile that fits just right,
a love that is too big
for any one person to create,
two hands that feel like home.
You are a memory
that hasn’t taken place,
a promise, a gift, a mirror
perfectly imperfect.
Each day I find myself
knowing you, missing you,
and it’s as if you weren’t
a stranger at all.

A universe unto themselves 18+

She woke in a half-lit room, semi-coherent, liquid-comfortable. The shadows were unfamiliar to her. The position of the objects within the room. The objects themselves. Not simply altered but altogether different. There was something compelling about the warm figure sprawled at her side, about the scent enveloping her cocooned body, about the malleability of her senses as she lay disoriented and half-awake in someone else’s bed. 

She sat up with her knees folded underneath her and peered down at the bed’s other occupant. She was not sure if she saw him or merely sensed him. He slept. He pretended to sleep. She could read in the tilt of his mouth the beginnings of a smile or did she only feel him smiling inside of her? He was perfectly gorgeous lying there exposed to the pelvis. She could see the outline of a prominent erection, the way the sheets strained and tented under the pressure of him. In her heart too there was a pressure, a tightness which she could only describe as sentient. He possessed her even now. He possessed her on every level and she in turn possessed him. She inhaled shakily. ‘Is it okay to touch him?’ She could have simply asked but that would have spoiled the reveal. He wanted her to take initiative. He was anything but defenseless. He was completely defenseless against her but he’d never quite managed to convey that to her.

She bit her lower lip and reached out a trembling hand to the figure. This was the first time they’d met in the corporeal sense. Their first “real” encounter. The means by which she had arrived, the “unrealness” of the situation heightened her senses. Waves of endorphins scattered her thoughts and by degrees eroded whatever might have remained of her inhibitions. Her entire being called out to him. She ran her fingers along the length of his torso. She could not hear him inhale for the violent recoil of her pulse but she saw the exaggerated rise of his chest. His eyes remained closed. He waited. She straddled him, lowering herself on his erection lengthwise, the sheet still between them. She rubbed herself against him. His thick shaft sliding between her thighs. She laid herself out on top of him. Their bodies warm with arousal, almost hot. She kissed him open-mouthed across the collarbones and across his chest. He could feel her wetness soaking through the sheet. He could feel her heat and the throb of her pussy like a second heartbeat against his eager cock. He took her face in his hands, thumbing away her tears. He looked at her as if she were the entirety of his universe, the purpose of his existence, the only person he had ever loved and would ever love. All of her feelings came rushing out at once and in the gentle captivity of his smile all of it was suddenly, inexplicably sacred to her. Her eyes widened in the instant before closing. He kissed her and her farthest reaches surfaced. They took their time filling in each other’s mouths. They tasted and caressed each other, speaking without words, devouring, devouring, devouring. The whole time they kissed she was rubbing herself to orgasm against him, getting off on friction and proximity alone. There was something devastating in their proximity, something devastatingly poignant about the way they came apart and reassembled within each other.

She moved down his body. His neck, his chest, his nipples, his stomach. He felt naked without the heat of her pussy smothering his cock. She moved the now clinging sheet out of the way and rubbed his cock against her exposed flesh. Labia, Clit, Vagina. Silky smooth, slippery, incomprehensibly soft. She sat down on him, taking him in at her own speed. Deliberate. Torture. He cupped her breasts, her ass, he branded her into his memory. The shape of her. The tension. The suppleness. His hips rocked, shook, crested. She convulsed on top of him. Fragile like a reflection in water. Her tight pussy made his cock weep, forced from his throat sounds that were not human. She filled his name with her breath. She made his name sound holy. Her voice was totally pornographic.

Once he was inside of her. She started to ride him. She rode him to please herself. She rode him and her full breasts bounced. She rode him with her eyes closed for a bit, getting used to the sensation of being full to excess. He could tell she was struggling to accommodate him and yet each time she fell down on him she was taking him deeper. He took her hips, made her ride him harder and faster, coaxed himself deeper and deeper until he had reached her end. She laid down on him again, her breasts flush against his chest. She kissed him, her moans of pleasure spilling into his mouth, mixing with his own. He was drowning in her deluge, in the currents of her body, in his own instincts. Instincts which screamed at him to fuck, fuck, fuck. She was a vice wrapped in velvet. She was sucking, sucking, sucking. She was orgasming endlessly on top of him. They were consuming each other. They were evolving and devolving. They were Gods. Infinite. Altruistic. Impalpable. They were animals. Finite. Greedy. Sensual. In those moments when their orgasm overlapped they were screaming prayers and obscenities at each other, confessions both carnal and sacred. In that moment they were more than two people could comprehend. They were one, a universe unto themselves.

I know

Tears light as air.

Eyes blind as cotton.

Faces both real and ethereal.

I watch the clouds

float past my window

like the exhaust

of dreams in transit.

When I close my eyes

I can see your soul

clear and deep as water.

I am full of tempests,

of cherished appetites,

of your never-ending fire.

I know. I know. I know.

–

A little scatter-brained poem

Overwhelmed

My thoughts are barbed wire,
a legion of cold, prickly strangers.
Can I come inside
your mind for a while?
I am tired of myself,
of my war-weary ego,
of oil slicks and fires
with grins wide enough
to swallow a man whole.

My heart is a broken-winged bird,
buried inside a bodice of flesh and bone.
If I let you exhume and unwrap me
will you let me see your vulnerable side
and should I find it within myself to fly
will you be both the wind that lifts me
and the roots that summon me home?

My voice is the sound
of the shore as it is
picked clean and pulverized
by tides both trivial and tyrannical.
I am struggling to find my courage.
Will you stand by me, for me,
against me when I’ve lost my way?

My body is full of conduits
and everything that enters me
finds a place and a means
by which to exist and multiply.
I write and I am made manifest.
I am full of coincidences,
of numbers repeating.
I am a dream too real
to be misplaced or undressed.
I am no more or no less.
I am the other side of you.

–

I am not sure this makes sense I am feeling overwhelmed and stressed at the moment

Wordle #189

She kicks at the air,
her shoes falling
to the ceiling below.
Her beautiful,
upside down smile
tears at the edges.
She thinks of him
while she drinks
her morning tea.

She can sense his pain.
She lets the tentacles
of his unresolved grief
coil around heart until
she is blood-drowning.

She thinks of him
while screaming
face down in her pillow.
She can sense his lust.
She offers her body,
a velvet wrapped engine.
He opens her like a gift
and when he has had his fun
he leaves her unattended.

Night after night
they lie together
in separate rooms
eating of each other’s wounds.

She fills her pockets
with scurrying Gods
and yesterday’s myths.
She is star-bright
and withershins.
She can sense his thirst.
She lets him drink
from her crooked roots.
He drinks from her
until she is dry and cracking.

She thinks of him
while standing untouched
in a perfectly green circle
at the grocery store checkout.
She can sense his hunger.
She lets him eat
from her heart.
He eats her raw.
He swallows her
without tasting.

She thinks of him
as she ties pastel feathers
to the bushes
in her metastasizing garden.
She is accessible.
He procrastinates.
She abstains.
He bedevils her.

(based on something I watched/listened to recently. Still reads WIP to me)

Close 2 18+

Her heart ached as if restrained by an unseen force. Each beat ripped through her body like thunder. A thunder both sensual and existential. Her mouth continued to gnaw and eat gently at his mouth. She kissed him as if she were in search of something. She kissed him with the full rapture of her being. She knew that she would cum as soon as he entered her, as soon as her muscles had something substantial to work against. She could feel the deep pulse enclosed within his cock as he rocked against her stomach. He was wet. She was wetter. His cock was imposing in every dimension, he would push the boundaries of her gluttony, fill her length-wise and width-wise. She knew that all in he would reach the end of her, that he could go deeper than her body could hold.

 

Teeth, lips, tongues, hands. They touched and unraveled. They kissed until intoxicated. She worshiped him. Brandished him like a map. Set fire to his nerve endings. He pulled her strings and left her jerking like a marionette. She worked his shaft up and down, dragging from his depths clear, elastic ribbons of pre cum. She ran the pad of her thumb over his sobbing wet crown, in mimicry of what he did down below. He rubbed her clit with his index finger in compact circles until she was squirming and gasping beneath him. He watched her cum, buried his face between her legs. He inhaled and exhaled against her pussy. She spread her thighs for him, her labia. She angled her hips forward. The scent of her made him hungry. He watched her vagina close and open, as if sucking at the air. He pressed two fingers inside to give her muscles something to tug on. She sucked him in. She pushed him out. She rode his fingers desperately. He exploited her G-spot until she was gushing around the seal he’d formed inside of her. 

 

Removing his fingers, wet with her juices and warm with her efforts, he covered her body with his own. His weight rested on the backs of her thighs. He pushed his slippery fingers into her mouth and watched as she sucked them clean. Strait to the webbing, she licked away every trace of herself. He rubbed his cockhead against her pussy, against her clit, against her still shuddering hole. She was as plush as he was unyielding. He sucked her lower lip and tongue. He kissed her hard and deep, thirsty for the flavor of her sex. He entered her growling into her mouth. Crushed by her heat, crippled and condensed by arousal he worked his way inside of her. She gave. He advanced. She clawed at his back. He inhabited her. They fucked each other with pagan intensity, their senses tangling, their bodies possessed and possessing, their hearts converging. They came as one, their orgasms deep and violent. They fed each other the stars. Constellations wept from their bodies onto the sheets below.

Round 5 (conclusion) 18+

(This is all that I wrote for the story but I would be willing to explore various other avenues at request, including something more romantic such as a reunion with Damien and Naida. This next and final chapter is by far the most graphic and may be disturbing to some readers. Sex, monster genitalia, demons, tentacles it is all in there. Since it starts out rather mild I have used an * to denote the point when it may become too unsettling for some readers.)

 

 “You made the fight seem so effortless.” Naida commented, turning to Dread now that they were alone. The demon’s apartment was in stark contrast to the one he shared with Damien. The walls were stained and peeling, the wooden floor beneath their feet was scoffed and discolored, the overhead light cast a jaundiced pallor on the room which seemed to transmute solid matter into shadow. There was scarcely any furnishings: a wooden table with a single wooden chair, an old chest, a mattress undressed and without frame. There were no dressings on any of the windows and Naida noted, to his dismay, that the bedroom was window to window with the neighboring apartment building. To his relief, however, the apartment was clean and the only smell of any sort was that of the apples in the kitchen. There was nothing by way of entertainment, nothing save for their bodies. His first impression was not a good one but he had not come to see the fighter’s apartment. He’d come to experience something dangerous and potentially extraordinary.

 

Dread did not truly understand the full extent of his prize. Generally he received cash. Cash he used to purchase food and basic necessities. Occasionally he received items which could be sold for cash. Naida was, as far as prizes went, rather impractical and yet he could think of countless ways to enjoy him.

 

“My opponent was worthy…”  Sammael deserved credit for his performance, credit that Dread was willing to dispense even in the warrior’s absence.  “It is I who am flawed…”  He said pulling the elf into his chiseled body. His embrace left Naida with only enough space to breathe. Reaching back he unbound the elf’s silken hair and buried his face into it. He was not one to refuse the opportunity for sex even when presented in such an unorthodox way. 

 

“In what way flawed?” Naida asked, managing to get some space between, not too much but enough that he could look at the demon more closely. Up close he thought Dread significantly more handsome but there was something frightening in his beauty. The elf’s lungs ached, his head filled with a cacophony, and his knees buckled. Dread steadied him. The aura he’d glimpsed in the fight, those violent shades of purple mimicked by the demon’s irises, weighed heavily upon him. For the first time that evening Naida felt something akin to fear but that fear did not diminish his appetite/curiosity.

 

“My heart is artificial.” Dread answered as if one could escape with such a threadbare explanation. Naida barely heard the male’s voice over his own pulse. He squeezed the demon’s forearm to steady himself. With his other hand he reached out to touch the scars above the fighter’s heart. 

 

“Does it cause you any discomfort?” Naida asked with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The extraction of the original heart had not been performed by a surgeon, it had been performed by a butcher. It had been a fatal wound and yet here they both stood.

 

“Only the memory lingers. The scars are old.” Dread answered and then added as an afterthought. “My heart might be artificial but I am capable of feeling both pleasure and pain.” Naida nodded slowly, that was reassuring to know. “I’ve been wondering for a while now…” Dread started his hands sliding downward and around the other’s lower back. “What does my prize include exactly?”

 

Naida nuzzled against Dread’s chest, breathing in his scent, but mostly hiding his face. “Cooking, cleaning, sex whatever you need.” He responded looking up. He found that Dread’s usual grimace was replaced with another, inscrutable expression. “Though it would seem there is very little to clean. Where do you keep your clothes?” Naida asked, his tone playful.

 

“I require very little.” Dread answered combing his fingers through the elf’s wavy hair. “I can cook and clean for myself. I will accept your body as payment.” The demon continued in a voice as dark as it was cryptic.

 

Naida wrapped his arms around Dread’s neck and his legs around the other’s narrow waist. Something in the effortless manner with which the demon lifted him, alarmed him. Although Damien didn’t like to be penetrated he allowed Naida a good deal of freedom, freedom to control what happened and when. Dread seemed more the type to take what he wanted. 

 

The heat coming from the demon’s body was staggering, it was, Naida felt, as if he stood at the mouth of a great furnace. His skin flushed. His lungs tightened, each breath exacting a toll in its extraction. Naida was suddenly grateful for the low setting on the thermostat for it served to sober and relieve him from the heat of Dread’s body. For a moment they were nearly face to face and the elf used the opportunity to kiss the demon full on the mouth. He felt the fighter’s tongue against the seam of his lips, felt it press inside, tasted the other male’s sweet saliva and melted against him. As soon as the kiss began they were tearing haphazardly at each other’s bodies, clawing and groping, and ultimately collapsing into a heap on the bare mattress. Dread’s mouth scalded his own, the ferocity, the hunger, pulling the air from his lungs in a matter of moments. The demon’s mouth was full of razor sharp teeth, even the most tentative touch of his tongue was enough to prick the skin. The kiss tasted mostly of apples but there was a little bit of blood mixed in, his own blood. Dread untied his sarong, underneath the almost sheer fabric he wore only cloth strips which he’d wrapped intricately to avoid accidental exposure. They weren’t unlike the folds Dread used to bind his own genitals. It took only moments for the demon to unwrap him.

 

Dread’s mouth dropped down over his throat and shoulders, across his chest, where he lingered. Each nipple was sucked, flicked, licked, tormented into a state of throbbing rigidity. Naida rutted against the demon’s right thigh, sobbing helplessly into the stranger’s shoulder. In a matter of moments the elf was slippery with precum, clear, elastic, almost sparking pre cum. His cock echoed like a scream in an empty hall. The organ grew beyond its usual perimeters, he was, despite a very warranted fear, aroused to the point of hypersensitivity. The demon’s talons ran over his sides, leaving tiny red ribbons in his flesh that stung initially. The stinging was replaced with heat and an oddly electric tingle that made his head cloudy. Unable to focus his eyes he closed them. Clawing in the dark at whatever he could reach.

*

Dread had worked his way down to his crotch. Naida felt his thighs drop and two strong hands nudging his legs still further apart. He heard the stranger inhale slowly and felt in the whole of his being the growl that followed. The demon’s saliva was hot and cold at the same time. It felt like insects were crawling over his skin, his flesh prickled, goosebumps formed. Dread took everything into his mouth, his cock, his balls, all swallowed up in that hot, wet cavern. The demon’s tongue was mostly soft/pliable in the way that one expected a tongue to feel but there was one difference. In the center of the other’s tongue there was a nod, some extra taste receptor with a different texture. When drug across the underside of his cock or rubbed over the head his whole body broke down trembling. The male’s saliva dripped down to the base of his cock, a shock of contrasting temperatures spread across his pelvis. Naida’s body arched up sharply, mons right up against the other’s nose, the convulsions so strong that he could feel them not just in his perineum but deep inside his ass as well. He clutched Dread’s hair in both hands, raking the demon’s scalp with his nails. He shot ribbon after vicious ribbon down the back of the stranger’s throat. He heard the demon swallow, heard and felt him moan with pleasure.

 

Naida was still hard, still painfully swollen, his veins throbbing in time with his heightened pulse. Dread flipped him over on his knees. The backs of his thighs, his ass already soaked shamefully by his own fluids. He heard that Dread removed his clothes but when he tried to look the demon pushed his face into the mattress. He felt something peculiar press against him, something soft and flexible, something between a finger and a set of elongated lips. He felt it, possibly Dread’s cock, probing and suckling at his shuddering hole. He felt something almost the consistency of semen being smeared in the crevice between his legs and inside of him. He felt his legs giving out and a hand on his cock stroking him off. A hand big enough to sheath the whole of his sex, a hand calloused and strong, rubbing his nerves raw. He whimpered, mewled, begged to be fucked. He collapsed in the arm around his waist while that massive, slippery organ started to work/crawl its way inside. Pre cum or something like was spurted inside of him, filling him up, softening him. Arms, multiple slippery, suction cupped arms wrapped around his torso supporting him and forcing him back on that impossibly thick shaft. He felt it moving deeper and deeper inside, like a serpent. His body stretching, not quite tearing, but stretching to impossible dimensions to accommodate. Screams rose up in the back of Naida’s throat and for a moment he lost consciousness. 

 

When he woke a few seconds later Dread’s cock had gotten deeper, it was so deep that he felt as if it were twisted into his intestines. He could feel it writhing in his stomach, feel the bulge beneath his own tightly stretched skin. His hungry hole convulsed around the intrusion, drinking and sucking. He was forced back onto that shaft again and again with and without his consent, unable to escape the pressure. One of several tentacles let go of his waist and crept upward to his face. He grabbed hold, brought it to his mouth, and started to lick the slippery appendage with genuine hunger. The ooze it produced was sweet and delicious, strange colors swirled in front of his eyes, bending the light. He could hear the colors like music, like a violin almost. A tentacle engulfed his cock, the inner walls were covered in squishy nodules, creamy fluid seeped out from the seam, left his skin feeling like a current had passed through it. He came in the sheath, the tentacle drank it down hungrily, the suction enough to make his eyes water. He didn’t recognize his voice, the undignified whimpering, the husky repetitions of his temporary lover’s name. The projections on the head of Dread’s cock nudged at his prostate. More hot wet jets of cum were shot into the receiving tentacle. His body went limp, consciousness fading in and out, eyes rolled back, drool collecting in the corners of his slackened mouth. 

 

The fucking didn’t stop even after he lost consciousness. When he woke Dread’s massive cock was fully inside of him, he could see it moving inside of his stomach like a giant serpent. A thin, elastic tube slipped down his urethra, into his balls, following the same course his semen had taken moments before. His balls, which were emptied from multiple orgasms, were filled to bursting. He couldn’t cum while the probe was thus situated. He wanted to cum, needed to cum desperately. His body was burning up or was it freezing he couldn’t tell the difference. Dread’s pace increased, precise and unforgiving like a machine, his body shook as if in the throes of a seizure. His voice grew hoarse with the demon’s name. The serpent swelled, inches it seemed, he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was delirious, sobbing with a mixture of fear and intense elation. Had he the luxury of thought his life might very well have flashed before his eyes. He’d felt on the verge of death. For one blinding white moment he woke up, completely. They were one, indistinguishable, pure energy. The probe in his urethra slithered its way out. Naida’s climax was immediate. All that thick, white ejaculate type substance that had been forced into his sac came bursting out of his shaft in arcs, soaking not just the mattress but the wall in front of him. In the very same moment Dread was ejecting his own load with a force that literally convulsed him. With a force that ignited all his nerves and sent him spiraling in and out of consciousness. One minute the abyss, the next nirvana. He was drooling, clawing the sheets like a mad man, riding the other dry, ass greedy and convulsive. Dread removed his still hard cock. Naida felt himself lowered to the mattress. His last distinct memory was that of Dread’s cum trickling out of his still gaping ass and the other’s calloused hand stroking his back soothingly.

Round 4 18+

(very long chapter but this concludes Damien’s section: strong sexual content and suggestive conversations)

Damien left with the young man that had been seated beside him during the fight. Lathan was a 21 year old college student. He was on the track team, a sort of local legend as it were. As a lover he was enthusiastic and kinky in ways that Damien could not possibly have predicted. These qualities coupled with the other’s tremendous stamina had made for an enjoyable night but a night was all Damien could offer the athlete. Damien wasn’t willing to risk attachment and Lathan had struck him as a bit too eager.

Without the distraction Lathan afforded Damien naturally began to think of Naida. It wasn’t unusual for the elf to disappear for a few days without contact and Damien wasn’t really the sort to keep tabs. He preferred a certain degree of independence and initiative in his lovers but this situation warranted extra consideration. Naida had never been disappointed with his matchmaking efforts. He’d gone to great pains to arrange this liaison for the elf. He had no reason to doubt the success of his match. He’d witnessed the chemistry for himself first hand. What concerned him was Naida’s return. There had always been the possibility that Naida might not survive the encounter/might be too wounded to return of his own accord/might be detained indefinitely by the demon. There was also the possibility that the elf had simply chosen to remain with the demon. This latter possibility did not weigh upon him quite so much as the former. Damien had a lot in his favor and Naida was very attached to him.

Unable to sleep Damien woke at 12 am. He showered and dressed not in his usual suit but in a pair of well-fitted dark blue jeans, a white t-shirt with motif, and a charcoal blazer. He didn’t summon his chauffeur, it was a nice night, cool but not too cold. He decided on a walk to clear his head. Originally he had thought of hitting his usual nightclub but he was seduced by the music coming from another establishment, in a neighborhood which he was not known to frequent.

No one greeted him at the door. Patrons came and left without discrimination. Damien thought it best not to leave anything with the shifty-eyed man at the check-in. The floors were distressed and in places sticky. There was a smell. Not just one smell but dozens of overlapping smells, some of which were borderline offensive. There was a general sort of shabbiness and uncleanliness that made him consider leaving. The live music was incredible and the patrons were across the board above average, he could forgive a little dinginess after all. He headed toward the bar but was accosted half-way by a large hand. He turned around and found himself looking at the throat and collarbones of an incredibly tall person. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” The voice was like the shifting of tectonic plates, 

Damien felt the reverb in his temples, chest, and groin simultaneously. He looked up. The man had dark features, black eyes, thick black hair, dense eyelashes, dark complexion. His nose was a bit crooked but his strong jaw and full, well-shaped mouth made up for that. The stranger was dressed casually in jeans and a black vintage Nirvana t-shirt. He was not the kind of one-night stand Damien had in mind.

“You’d be wasting your time.” Damien responded in a loud, clear voice lest the stranger feign deafness. His grin was nuanced, bordering on offensive.

“Isn’t that why we’re here to waste time?” The stranger quipped, the depth of the man’s voice was capable of circumventing the crowd to a certain extent. Damien’s eyes traveled from the dark-haired man’s Adam’s apple upward to his fully expressed grin. The stranger’s face was tilted down and in his expression was a gentleness like windswept leaves. Such a sentiment was misplaced in the current setting and Damien found himself oddly confronted by it.

He had a point, Damien had come here specifically to waste time, to lose it really. All those hours spent thinking of Naida had become intolerable to him. He’d felt as if he’d lost his rhythm in the last few days and he resented it.

“You should know before you throw any money my way that I have no intention of sleeping with you.” The edge in Damien’s tone was diminished only by the transmission of said message directly into the stooping man’s ear. 

“I’m here for the music…” The stranger’s smile was easygoing and unpretentious. Had Damien been less narcissistic, he might well have accepted the other’s explanation but as a tried and true narcissist he saw only the convenience of a well-timed excuse.

“I am not in the habit of accepting drinks from strangers.” Damien tried again to thwart the man’s attention all the while aware of a certain willingness on his part for distraction. The trip to the bar, which had seemed so formidable in the crowd, was simplified by his companion’s imposing stature. The man ordered two drinks. “Devaris.” The stranger offered with a grin too imprecise to be an affectation. Damien took the offered drink. 

“Damien Aucoin…” The blond took a sip of his drink, it was excellent, if a bit strong.

“I know who you are.” Devaris said guiding Damien through the crowd to an empty table. Devaris’s lips ghosted the outer edge of the aristocrat’s ear when he spoke.

The blond turned his head to the side and rubbed his neck. Damien was forced to accept and return the man’s intimacy for the sake of conversation. The warmth of the other’s palm was apparent on his skin, when coupled with the stranger’s obvious interest, Damien felt oddly exposed. “You know?” Damien was well-known, even infamous in certain circles, but Devaris did not belong to those circles.

“I was at the fight. That was some stunt you pulled with your boyfriend. I can’t decide if you are depraved or just really fucking naive. Either way it was entertaining.” Devaris explained, his dark eyes shining with a mixture of humor and curiosity. How a man of such daunting proportions made himself appear so childlike Damien could not even begin to imagine. Was the other deliberately trying to disarm him?

“We have an open relationship…not that it’s any of your business.” Damien, despite his reservations, took a seat. The man drew their chairs closer together to counter the noise of the club. Their knees brushed.

“I gathered and it’s not my business but you asked how I knew you. That’s how…” Devaris smiled and took a sip of his own drink. He seemed unaffected by the alcohol content.

“Did you bet on the fight?” Damien asked scanning his companion, sea blue eyes dreamy, almost languid. Damien took another sip; he would certainly order this drink in the future.

“I did.” Devaris’s off-kilter grin was cryptic.

“And were you rewarded?” Damien asked his lips unconsciously, purposefully, touching the man’s outer ear.

“I was but I went home alone.” Devaris had seen Damien leave, had thought perhaps to talk to him, but refrained on seeing him preoccupied with another. At least this was the conclusion on which Damien’s mind fastened. Damien took another sip, this one for the sake of contemplation. Although he had not yet finished his first drink he was quick to order another round when the opportunity presented itself.

“And yet here you are….no prospects for a satisfactory conclusion…” Damien grinned and Devaris laughed. Damien felt his scalp tighten and tingle. Devaris laughed with his eyes closed, laughed without the constraint of artifice.

“What makes you think I’m here expressly to get laid?” Devaris asked sitting aside his glass, his attention so full and articulate that Damien found himself almost moved by it.

“Because that’s how it works in these places.” Damien answered and this time when he leaned forward to speak he inadvertently grabbed the other man’s thigh. This did not go unnoticed by Devaris. Damien felt very poignantly that he had been noticed and so he continued talking. “I admire your idealism but a successful hunt depends on more than just the tenacity of the hunter…” Damien removed his hand from the man’s thigh and took up his drink. “Two predators will only compete against each other…” Damien toyed absently with his glass before knocking back the contents.

“You do strike me as the predatory type but I’m not one to pass up a challenge.” Devaris answered putting his arm around Damien’s shoulder.  Damien felt not just the physical impetus for closeness but an almost gravitational pull toward his drinking companion. The audacity of the stranger caused the blond to laugh out loud, despite himself. The dark-haired man had an answer for everything, not necessarily a good answer but one sufficient to keep Damien engaged. 

“I fight back.” Damien answered with a sly grin but before the other could retort he launched into a tamer line of discourse. The conversation had taken a dangerous turn and for all his seeming confidence he was at a decided disadvantage.

////////

Damien was so engaged as to be unaware of his alcohol consumption. He could not say precisely when he began his second drink or when Devaris had ordered a third, different, possibly stronger drink. He could not say how long he allowed the man to hold him or at what point specifically he pulled away.

“Do you ever fight? In the matches I mean.” Damien had previously noted the man’s muscular forearms and strong, calloused hands.

“No never…” Devaris admitted. Something in the curve of his mouth suggested amusement, awareness of a diversion but a willingness to proceed with the hopes of solidifying the character of the innocuous suitor. With a voice such as the stranger possessed it seemed that a more strait-forward seduction would save time. Devaris wasn’t in a hurry. He had all night and every reason to persist. Damien bit his lip in consternation before returning to the conversation at hand. 

“Then you are a laborer of some sort?” Damien asked critically, examining the man’s nails. They were clean and flush with his fingertips.

“Of some sort yes. I am a carpenter, mostly furniture.” Devaris offered amicably before continuing in a different vein altogether, perhaps in an effort to draw the conversation to a more tumultuous climax  “Let me guess you were born into wealth. Family business. Oppressive obligations. Chronically bored. Hedonist.” 

“You see straight through me…you and everyone else…I am surprisingly shallow.” Damien laughed dryly. He was, despite his efforts to the contrary, enjoying himself. He attributed some of his enjoyment to the alcohol and music but there was no denying that Devaris played a part. 

“I am a simple man. I prefer to know what I am getting into…” Devaris laughed. Damien felt his bones growl.

“And what exactly do you imagine you are getting into?” Damien asked, leaning forward and speaking his words against the other’s ear.

“You maybe…” Devaris answered in a tone which left little to the imagination.

The color drained from Damien’s face. He could feel the stranger’s eyes on him. ‘At last he admits it!’ Damien thought but it afforded him little comfort. It didn’t even afford him the ego boost generally accompanied by such attention.

“Do you want to dance?” Devaris asked, changing the subject so quickly that Damien, intoxicated as he was, forgot to retort. Just who did this bastard think he was and what right did he have to impose upon the only ritual which the young aristocrat still held to be sacred? It was absurd to think there could be anything between them. 

“With you? No not really…” Damien was careful to enunciate, maybe a little too careful. He’d tried to match his companion’s drinking pace but he’d failed. The man’s voice was just as much to blame for his drunkenness as the alcohol he’d imbibed. That voice, he suspected, was the whole reason he’d lost track of himself.

“But I will..dance with you.” He added standing up. For the last few minutes, hours, days (he had lost all sense of time) they’d been speaking and breathing into each other’s ears. He had literal goosebumps but conversation had never been his primary objective in going out. Dancing would at least silence the man for a while.

The two men moved to the center of the floor and Damien realized that they’d held hands though he could not recall the precise moment of this development. For someone so tall Devaris turned out to be a good dancer. Not as good as himself naturally but surprising no less. Damien opened himself up to embrace by leaning in to steady himself. He couldn’t bring himself to admit his short-comings and so he clung to the other with intention. Given the music, their proximity, and the way in which the crowd closed in on every centimeter of unoccupied space they were left with no alternative but to grind against each other. The difference in their heights made Damien feel smaller than he was in actuality. He knew precisely what role he fell into even though the dance itself had no clear lead. Wrapped up in the other’s surprising but mercifully dry body heat Damien could not help but breathe in the stranger’s scent. Consciously and unconsciously he was aware of the man’s scent and all the elements that composed it.

Devaris leaned down half-way through the second song and kissed him. Damien didn’t refuse the stranger’s entreaty, he was too caught up in the moment, and all in all it was only a pittance. The kiss was passionate, a cross between sensuality and brutality. Damien was surprised to find that he actually wanted to be kissed. Everything just seemed to taste better in Devaris’ mouth and in that moment, despite his objections, everything fell into place. The alcohol made Damien a little sloppy, a little more needy than he might have otherwise wanted to reveal. By the time they parted his lungs were raw and his cock was fully engaged. He turned around in the other’s embrace hoping to collect himself but failing. He wasn’t the only one with an erection. He tried to pull away but Devaris pulled him backwards and kissed his neck. One large hand snaked downward to fondle his crotch. Damien shuddered, fell into the man’s rhythm, and allowed himself to be carried away by the music. There was no reason to overthink the situation, it was just the character of the dance, a momentary indulgence one that need not lead beyond a little fooling around. Damien ground into the other man’s palm. He wished that he hadn’t chosen to wear jeans, there was little give in the material and the friction was absolutely maddening.

They continued to dance in a progressively lewd manner. Their hands chasing whatever skin was available. Damien bit and sucked at Devaris’ pouty lower lip. Devaris took the whole Damien’s ass into his hands and squeezed/kneaded him into a sort of dizzy, endorphin-confused subservience. They found every conceivable way to rub their erections against each other’s bodies until, to Damien’s astonishment, he found his boxer briefs damp and sticky with precum. Devaris shoved a hand down the front of Damien’s pants and growled into his ear. For a moment the carpenter’s large, calloused hand was in direct contact with the aristocrat’s throbbing erection. Damien inhaled sharply. The stranger proceeded to drag that same, now slippery hand across Damien’s bare stomach. At this point there could be no question that Damien was drunk. Why else would he allow the man such liberties? Being in public didn’t bother the blond in the slightest he’d participated in orgies, he’d even had sex in front of a room full of onlookers. And yet somehow in that moment he felt astonishingly defenseless. 

“Bathroom now…” This was all wrong. Damien tugged the stranger through the crowd and into the bathroom. It was occupied, even at this hour, with would be onlookers. Damien found a reasonable spot by the wall and unzipped his pants. “It’s just head…I-I’ll suck you off after…” His voice cracked. He’d aimed for nonchalance and failed. Devaris dropped to his knees in front of Damien and undid the fastenings on his jeans. For the sake of access Devaris let Damien’s pants and boxer briefs fall to the floor. Relief was instantaneous but short-lived, even without the added pressure of his pants Damien’s erection was still full to bursting. The blond reached down into the dark mass of hair. It was much softer than he thought and much thicker. He felt the man’s enormous hand encircle his dripping erection, he winced, the friction from their incessant grinding had heightened his sensitivity. 

Devaris lifted up the blond’s t-shirt with his free hand and licked Damien’s stomach clean. Damien closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He felt the other’s warm, moist breath across his cockhead. Cool by comparison. Devaris’s tongue traced the ridge between shaft and glans, drifted almost languidly along the cleft, and then around the tip slowly before swallowing up the hole head. Damien’s grip tightened. “Fuck…” He growled impatience and pleasure combining to undue him. The other smiled around his cock, descended slowly, half way, then came back to flick the crown, then faster, deeper, his fingers forming a ring at the very base for support. After several passes up and down his shaft the man pulled away and proceeded to mercilessly rub and knead the head of his cock until Damien was weak in the knees and incoherent. Pre cum welled at the slit, overflowed, and spilled back onto the man’s fingers. It was embarrassing, how wet he was, how eager. His sac, his hips, even his thighs were wet as a result of their earlier activities. He’d gotten shamefully close to cumming on the dance floor.

Devaris’s mouth covered his cock bobbing up and down, probing the too tight slit, it only took a few passes before he’d swallowed the entire shaft. Damien could literally feel the constrictive walls of the stranger’s throat, the hum of his satisfied growls, and the other’s nimble tongue stroking his distended, throbbing veins as it traveled over every inch of his shaft. Everything escaped him: their location, the men jerking off a few feet away, the smell of urine, everything but the way Devaris’ lips and tongue felt when thus employed. He clawed at the man’s scalp with blunt nails, coaxing and then ramming his cock down the other’s throat. Devaris seemed altogether too familiar with his preferences, squeezing his balls just a little too tightly, letting his teeth scrape gently across the delicate skin, letting himself relax into a sort of sloppiness that was in no way inherent given the prowess he’d already demonstrated. Damien’s thoughts were replaced entirely by sensory input, input that he could not wholly differentiate. All that he felt seemed concentrated in his sex. It was all he could do to even remain upright. As for his moans he didn’t care who heard them, he didn’t even care that it was Devaris’ name that he repeated in a voice that was clearly not his own. He was shaken to the core, shaken and forced to hold the man for support. His eyes rolled back, his mouth slackened, he drifted in and out of awareness like a man at sea.

It was an unusual fetish of his, having his cockhead gnawed and yet Devaris seemed to know it just as he seemed to know everything else. That it hurt was the point, Damien liked everything to hurt a little. Each time he felt the other’s teeth on him his cock spasmed with such ferocity that he couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t actually cumming. He was violently awake in those moments, awake like his survival depended on it and then his overwrought senses merged again and he was reduced to his own obscene futility. 

Devaris seemed intent to make him wait, to not quite let him cum, he was denied twice the satisfaction. He resorted to begging, to throat fucking, and even a little cursing. To tease him in such a filthy place no less but Damien liked that too, the attention, knowing that people saw him and were aroused. Devaris didn’t complain or even move to slow him, he just relaxed his throat and let Damian fuck him in earnest. Once free to climax it didn’t take long. He didn’t give a warning when he came because no warning could possibly have been more emphatic than his feverish cries or the spasms wracking his hips, balls, and shaft simultaneously. He wanted Devaris to drink his cum, the thought of seeing that bastard’s beautiful, lying face covered in cum made his orgasm that much harder.

Round 3

(as before there is some sexual content)

Dread extracted a staff from his palm. It was plain save for a curved talon at the end. The crowd exhaled a collective sigh of amazement. Dread wielded the weapon blunt end extended. His first armed attack proved to be the last attack of the fight. The attack itself was a quick blow to the windpipe. Sammael collapsed gasping for breath. The referee unlocked the cage and waved in a healer before turning his attention back to the cheering audience. “Will the winner’s prize step forward?” Dread had never received a live prize. There was a collective gasp.

 

“Your lover awaits…” Damian said, helping Naida to his feet. He had every intention of escorting the elf to the stage. Reluctantly he let the young man’s hand slide from his lap. “Are you pleased my dear?” He asked, Naida smiled. “I am.” Naida answered, turning his attention to Damien’s erection. “Will you accompany me in such an indecent state?” He asked teasingly. The elf extended a hand to his lover. Damien took it and led the way to the stage.

 

Naida was dressed in an ankle-length sarong with slits up to the hip. The garment was made of blue silk and whenever the elf moved it billowed gracefully around his bare legs like a curtain. His upper body was bare save for the gold bangles on his arms. His hair was done in a single braid that fell midway down his back. The braid was held in place by a gold band encrusted with jewels. His eyes and hair were both sapphire. His skin smooth, supple, and sun-kissed. He was without comparison and yet for all his beauty he was not overtly feminine. His graceful curves were accentuated with muscle and those muscles spoke of athleticism. 

 

Damien was dressed in a black suit, complete with tails and a waistcoat. He carried a decorative cane with a silver cobra head and an ebony shaft. He was more pretty than handsome with long wavy blond hair, a full sensuous mouth, and a flawless porcelain complexion. His eyes were the color of the sea at rest. He was 26 but could pass for younger. Naida’s age was indiscernible but there was something in his eyes and in his manner that suggested a degree of maturity beyond that of his companion. Together the couple turned the heads of everyone in the room. 

 

Upon entering the cage Naida released his lover’s elbow and walked up to Dread. The demon was nearly a foot taller and significantly broader. From a distance the other had appeared thin, almost gangly but up close and by comparison it was not Dread but himself that looked fragile. Naida pressed an elegant hand to the other’s bare chest, the male’s skin was so hot that it nearly branded him. The crowd erupted with wolf whistles and vulgar exclamations. Their comments were ignored by the two men in favor of assessment but not entirely by Damien who stood some feet away. As mentioned previously, Damien was not and never had been a jealous man but in that moment he recognized something between his lover and the fighter that gave him a moment’s hesitation. This feeling was soon discarded in favor of pride. The crowd was enthralled by Naida’s beauty and Naida belonged to him and him alone.

 

The pulse beneath Naida’s fingertips was steady and strong, precise like the ticking of a clock. Even with a singularly beautiful man touching him his heart did not stir one solitary beat. The fight had not been particularly easy despite Dread’s obvious and ultimately overwhelming strength. His opponent had been formidable and yet outwardly he showed no signs of exertion. He was neither mechanical nor divine. His eye color did not denote a rank sufficient for his imperviousness so what then was he? Naida tore his attention briefly from the stranger and returned to Damien’s side for a lingering kiss goodbye. “You are pleased then?” The blond asked, holding his lover by the hips. “Immeasurably.” The elf’s smile was more mischievous than reassuring but Damien let that slide. “Good. I trust you will tell me everything when you return home?” Naida pecked him on the cheek lightly and walked off the stage with Dread’s arm around his waist.

–

(I have written the story in its entirety. Going forward it will contain a lot of graphic sexual content. Which man would you like to follow first? Naida or Damien? I should tell you that I explored Dread’s demon aspect so it will get pretty intense/freaky/disturbing.)