when iinspiration hits, a post will appear

(cont.) blueballing a character named deep blue is quite frankly one of my funniest moves lol / smuttyish but sex is never the focus / there’s brat-adjacent (deep blue has quite a mouth on him) and dom/me-adjacent behaviours but there’s no actual Dynamic / in actual tags: denial, there’s a handjob, bunny boy manhandling /

As The Warrior of Light, you considered yourself a forgiving person.

It was practically a necessity—in times of ever-rising stakes, when the fate of the world was in jeopardy, one couldn’t afford to be petty. Nor picky, for that matter. Which meant that amongst the impressive lists of foes to have been felled by your hand, was a just as noteworthy batch of allies that had once been on the other side of the proverbial blade.

Of course, your personal life had no such stakes.

‘Here on your lonesome tonight, cutie?’

You give Melancholy an amused look. By now, with the Neon Stein as your favourite Solution Nine haunt, not to mention the safe haven of The Backrooms in the well, back, she’d become a more than familiar face, as well as a healthy dose of harmless flirting.

‘Not quite, or you’d be invited.’ Melancholy smiles as she sets a drink in front of you, one you were long past needing to order, and you accept it with a grateful swig. ‘Then again, I’d dare say you’d make better company then the one I’m expecting anyway.’

‘Flatterer. Does your date know you’re badmouthing them?’

‘No. But that’s because they’re not a date, either.’

‘Business at the Neon Stein? How curious.’

When a head of brilliant blue passes through the entrance, you spend one moment to wave the owner over before returning to the bunny bartender. She arches a brow, as if to question your definition of Business, but there’s little time for actual detail before the seat next to you is slid into.

A personal invitation from you could be a terrifying thing indeed, and something you took care not to weaponise unless absolutely necessary. After all, it wouldn’t do to put another in a position where they were unable to refuse—

‘How kind of you to join me this eve, Deep Blue.’

‘W-Well,’ he pauses, as if weighing his next words, ‘when the unenhanced grand champion themselves is asking, you’d be a fool to say no.’

—in normal circumstances, that is.

To take the flattery as anything else but a deferential defense mechanism would’ve been a mistake. Its reappearance from when you interacted with him last, if anything, is an entertaining one, implying a particular consistency in behaviour which revealed more about the boy beneath the Blue then he’d surely prefer it to. And while it could be a simple case of being careful beneath the carefree, you have a more… provocative assessment.

Deep Blue, was in fact, a snake and a liar.

Not in a manner that would be considered a genuine threat—there’d be little reason to allow this pretense to continue otherwise. You didn’t attribute actual maliciousness to him; rather, it was a simple matter of youthful immaturity. Blue certainly wasn’t going to win any awards for self-sacrificial altruism, which was precisely why you weren’t in the mood to be considerate.

‘So what was it that you wanted to talk about?’

Another sip. It was not solely the classic taste of mixed fruit that threatened to bring a grin to your face. ‘Consider this my way of showing there’s no hard feelings. You seemed a little… concerned I might hold a grudge.’

With repairs to Tritails Training complete, there was really no reason to hold its previous trashing against him. Not unless you thought he’d do it again, but the likelihood was slim at best—especially when he appeared committed to being on his best behaviour. Not for motivation as fickle as one reliant on affection, but instead as an act of pragmatism.

To his credit, nothing in his facial features gives him away. But leporine ears were one of the most expressive, and a singular twitch betrays him where nothing else had.

By now, Melancholy has gotten Blue a beverage of his own—a glass filled with an aquamarine not too dissimilar from the shade of his irises. ‘Who wouldn’t be?’ Is his diplomatic reply, and a part of you wonders how often he has to resort to being the diplomatic one. ‘Anyone that says they’re not ain’t being honest or has a death-wish.’

‘I’ll let you in on a little secret—I don’t have time for grudges. Besides,’ here, you offer him a smile, ‘How could I fault you for carrying the president’s will when all he wanted was to save all of you? It’s not as if you had ill intentions.’

Seafoam green takes you to the beaches of La Noscea as you breathe in the scent of crashing waves. He meets your gaze well enough, and the laugh you earn immediately does not waver. ‘Me and my bro? ‘Course not. It broke both our heart’s to see the kitty cat’s gym smashed. Let alone be forced to be the ones to do it.’

Your reply is not an immediate one. It allows for his last words to linger in the air, as a decision clicks into place—made and set. Perhaps hindsight will have him recall them as an omen—an idea that tickled you regardless of whether or not it was actually manifested. ‘I’m glad you were able to get it off your chest, then. It must’ve been eating you up inside.’

He places a hand on the chest exposed by his open shirt, right over the beating organ. ‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’

Shameless.

It bordered on the commendable—were it not so damned audacious. There were literal assassination attempts that had less audacity, and it made what you’d been ready to let go of into what you couldn’t.

As The Warrior of Light, you considered yourself a forgiving person… but for a friend and the utterly unrepentant, you could make an exception. At the very least, you’d have some decorum and not make a song and dance of a remorse that didn’t even exist.

‘Well, now that that’s out of the way…’ you time the segue as he’s lifting his drink to his mouth. Then another beat until the bob of his throat indicated his imbibing— ‘You wanna bone?’

Blue splutters.

The sight and sound alone made the question worthwhile. One million better ways to ask and you needed none of them, because watery eyes and gloriously wet choking were more than sufficient to determine a mark well met. You didn’t even need a proper answer—not with such an involuntary response. You’re positive it’s the most honest he’s ever been. It suited him.

Just like the look he gives you once he is able—one still fresh with tears—suited him too.

‘You…’ for a moment, his tone is almost accusatory, ‘…you gotta be joking, right?’

‘Do you want me to say yes?’

Silence. Unsurprising, considering the cruelty of a nigh impossible question seconds after inducing such a drastic loss of composure. You cannot deny that there’s some level of fun in seeing new expression after new expression, an absolute riot where you had no specific goal beyond utilising Blue as well as his ‘bro’s’ loose lips.

A chuckle huffs out in an exhale when it’s clear Blue has warred with what to say to the point of mute paralysis. Your non-answer makes for poor reassurance, so he was undoubtedly still determining if you were, indeed, fucking with him. But neither could he ignore what an insane score you’d be—bragging rights to end all other bragging rights.

The pull of the most unwise—magnetising to those beset by a terrible boredom, regardless of how intelligent they were otherwise. Blue clearly possessed cunning he saw fit to obscure, but even he was in his prime years for a severe case of boyish pride.

He shouldn’t. You saw in his face that he knew he shouldn’t. The best and safest option, one that ensured at least some level of dignity intact, would be to politely decline, and to throw in a consolation prize in the form of a compliment if Blue was at all concerned that you didn’t know how to handle rejection. But best was also boring. Best promised nothing but an abrupt conclusion and a missed opportunity. He couldn’t even brag about you hitting on him, and especially not in such a deranged way—no one would ever believe him.

In the end, you decide for him. ‘For what it’s worth, your answer doesn’t matter to me either way.’

With rather abrupt flourish, you go to stand from your seat—mainly to go flag Melancholy down before you left. You’d all but intended to move on to the next, mulling over who would be around at this time of the eve—

—up until something catches your sleeve.

‘You’re insane.’ The most murmuring of mutters, said more to the floor then to your face. Were you not seated next to him, you might’ve missed it, but even in sotto voce, the magnitude of him forgoing his prior sycophancy to be far more direct is not lost on you.

‘You already knew I was a “kook”, Blue. This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you.’

His face takes on the most curious of hot reds. Plush lips purse into persistent petulance, and the ground-staring becomes ground-scowling. For a passing short-while, you mused—lightly—if the pointed comment would cost you. ‘That’s different,’ is what he says instead. The low volume has it close to resembling a hiss, a quality that does more to amuse you then it did anything else.

‘Perhaps. But you didn’t stop me just to call me crazy, did you?’

Blue’s mad. You can taste as much, and the glare you catch a glimpse of when you use him to close the door to the bedroom by pinning him to it sears with the flames of resentment. Not helped, you’re certain, by the smile he can most definitely feel.

For all his fire, desperately bursting at the seams to have a tangible outlet to direct it towards, your mutual relocation to his place could not have happened if he truly didn’t want it to. It made his fury unnecessary and—more importantly—hilarious. Particularly when you considered this being a potential first.

Not in the virginal sense—in that, an inkling told you he’d likely had many over in this capacity in the past. (For most, you had a policy of not-a-whore until proven otherwise. For Blue, you’d make an exception.) But you imagined it was always in a position where he was allowed to retain his composure, otherwise he would not act so much as if he was being wronged despite the fact that he had a very active hand in it.

Nails bite crescent divots into your shoulders. They assert their presence through a sting, but the pain is an entirely negligible one, near gentle when relative to all the things that had left scars on you. Your own grip digs into the naked heat of his slender waist, bruising enough you wondered if he’d complain about it later—because he certainly wasn’t doing so now.

You’d call it quits if you were a better person.

But you weren’t. Even with the whole saving the world—worlds, if one wanted to be pedantic—several times over, there was surely a limit to how many suicidal odds that one could explain through altruism alone. At some point, it could only truly be justified by the uncivilised unspoken—either in buried death-wish or an insatiable thirst for challenge. Not quite the same as what must’ve lead Blue to his dare-devilling antics, but siblings enough—what drove you both in search of excitement and novelty.

Besides. Blue was a big boy with functioning vocal chords. You would not be all that cut up if he failed to make use of them.

Though even that rang as a distant possibility. Through a lack of half-hearted efforts, there existed a higher chance he was going to funnel his anger into being a good lay, maybe in the hopes it would offer him some catharsis for this whole ordeal.

A cute thought. Naive, almost, though not in a way that was his fault—it was merely a case of there being no way of him knowing what you’ve known about yourself since you’d even set out on a proper adventure. Secret to even the closest of Scions, because you were meant to set an example; all-loving, all-forgiving, all-dependable—the greatest good you’d ever meet.

Such a figure would never think to be selfish, nor petty. And they’d surely never—

He’s quite light. An idle musing to cross your mind as you swallow an especially sharp intake of breath, though one you question the objective validity of considering you were The Warrior of Light. That the weight of a single bunny boy would be anything but a momentary readjustment was a laughable concept, paled into insignificance compared to everything else you’ve had to carry.

That being said, the former did at least promise some level of entertainment.

Firm warmth brackets your waist as you support him by his haunches. All things considered, the transition is a smooth one, giving you every opportunity to note what you hadn’t bothered to check in the past: that the trade off for lean muscle and no small amount of height meant he had little ass. Not any kind of issue, but fun to note in literal firsthand all the same.

Truthfully, there is a part of you surprised there isn’t a bigger wrestle on your hands.

‘What?’ Short of breath as he sounds, it undermined his ability to maintain the prior fire.

‘…Just wasn’t expecting you to be such a good sport.’

Something ripples beneath still waters. A warning written in a seaglass gaze, if one knew where to look. But if Blue was the marble, you were the chisel, poised in a strike to unveil what was within. What you knew to be within.

(The Blue that was selfish. The Blue that was a cheat. The Blue that was just the right amount of awful.)

Akin to checking on a hidden bruise. Where the compulsion—whether acknowledged or not—to press down and feel its ache lingered in a whisper of dark velvet.

‘Why don’t we relocate to the bed?’

To deny him would’ve been a simple matter. He wasn’t exactly in any position to truly lead things, after all, entirely supported by you as he was. But a precedent of following directions during your regular day-to-day meant that your downtime had you always looking for opportunities to creatively rebel.

The bed squeaks (and Blue to some extent) out in vague protest when he lands on it, but you’re there heartbeats after to keep him in place. You’ve barely settled when a leg is thrown around your waist, tensing—

—and your world tips until you’re flat on your back.

There it is. The attempt you’d been expecting, goaded into fruition with the most innocuous of comments, where Blue’s competitive streak was so close to the surface it took little beyond a cursory disturbance to have it reveal itself. Where his body had become a wall of firm muscle, seeming the picture of impenetrability—were you not so tickled.

One had to acknowledge the stones it took to try and top you.

‘Nice work.’

‘Huh?’

Confusion crosses his features and loosens his limbs. Not that you needed the opening, but when he’d so kindly given it…

Blue blinks up at you.

…why wouldn’t you have taken it?

It’s not until you’ve flipped him onto his stomach, both wrists in a solid grip behind his back that he reacts with anything else. ‘I get it,’ is what Blue says, voice and form resigned both, ‘you’re a sick sadist. You get off on playing with your food?’

Laughter bursts forth from you. Where notes of derision would have been expected, instead rings a noise of purest delight. The twofold novelty of hearing what had never before been said to you and an honest Blue (less open book, more a naked blade betwixt the bones of a ribcage, where steel could only meet a beating heart) may have gone straight to your head the way several downed spirits would.

Home had never felt like the warmth of domesticity. You knew it best through its absence, where the hole it carved was simply a matter of anatomy, rather than an ailment. But the rarest few occasions you’d felt home, it was not in specific places.

What had been at the end of the galaxy as you and your company had bled out then was here now, too.

A mirrored image. Reflection peering into reflection. ‘Did that feel good to say?’

From this angle, you could not see his face. What could’ve been a disappointment was fortunately compensated by those delightfully emotive ears of his, which twitched in whatever words you weren’t hearing from him.

With a low hum, you mouth the edge of an ear. It brushes an answer back against your lips in a sensation that tickles, though not unpleasantly. Blue stills under you, and for whatever reason, you’re reminded of your match with him—more specifically, when you’d spared a peripheral glance to his unconscious body on the ground post-fight.

To be able to commemorate a defeat with the defeated was a special occasion indeed.

Ivory flashes and then sinks into furred flesh. You earn a full-bodied jolt and what you hear as a muffled exclamation, one that spikes wicked glee through your gut most effectively. The gratification of pinpoint accuracy achieved—at least in how hard he was fighting not to be reactive.

Even so, despite Blue’s earlier accusation, you are not so much a sadist that—

‘You know, Blue,’ you begin, tone one of most casual conversation, ‘you don’t have to keep going along with this.’

‘So you’re a coward and a sadist. Can’t say I’ve seen that before.’ When silence is all that initially greets him, he continues. ‘Our grandest champion. Picking now of all times to act considerate. Should’ve played nicer earlier if you wanted me to believe—ghhk—!’

Blue gags around your fingers.

Dully, a part of you wondered what the right emotion would be. Whether glory or guilt, neither pierced through the veil of what was there instead—a rush you don’t even begin to understand until he signals the end of his recovery period through the medium of teeth. Blue bites back in what was clear retaliation… but not true deterrence.

Not acceptance. Not quite. But that had never been what you’d sought, nor were you so starved of sources that Blue would’ve been remotely close to being considered a legitimate option. If anything, it was far too simple to find people willing to weather whatever just because being good at killing the right targets translated to heroics, and it was your responsibility to practice due diligence to spare them that trouble.

But here? There was no such obligation. Blue wasn’t weathering anything if he was bark and bite both.

‘I’d say there are simpler ways to tell me you want to continue, but… it sounded like you needed that.’

With his three-fingered muzzle, the most he can offer you is a vague noise of disapproval that you don’t bother taking to heart. Not when you can feel drool leaking between the gaps of your fingers and sliding down your knuckles—a truly poor position for any kind of pretense.

‘Besides. I think you’re more fun this way.’

Freeing yourself from the least threatening bear trap rewards you with the fascinatingly obscene, where textural curiosity also became a visual one—a hand so slick with saliva that strings of clear liquid connected your digits. For all his cheek, verbal and otherwise, Blue had effectively presented you with an opportunity that would’ve been a true shame to waste.

‘You got funny tastes,’ he says, once he is able—where a sharp tongue capable of friendly fire was indeed a novelty. As was his complete lack of acknowledgement of what had just transpired—if he wanted to act like nothing was happening, then so would you.

‘Only if you’ve made assumptions.’ A kindly lubricated grip glides over a hip, dipping underneath the waistband of what was, quite frankly, the brightest shorts you’ve ever seen.

There’s no movement in response to your bold new venture southwards, but it’s not a difficult task to sense the near audible thrum of anticipation—the sort of complete stillness that could only have arisen from the most bated of breaths. It would’ve been a little cruel to deny him… so you do something else, instead.

‘Remember when…’

Hot and hard greets your palm. You squeeze enough it’s an assertion of intent before you begin proper, but with enough care that it doesn’t actually hurt. That wasn’t the point, after all.

‘…you lied to me?’

The body beneath you stiffens. Curiously, he grows— ‘—did that just make you harder?’

An exasperated huff hisses through his teeth. ‘Why do you keep saying things—’

For all his dramatics, a whine in the skin of an indignant protest, the proof lies within literal arms reach. Which made your question entirely redundant—were the intention to seek information.

But it had never been. ‘I recall at the time wondering why you’d thought I’d care that you were planning on illegally racing through the streets.’ There’s a breath in between where you wonder if you should share the things you’ve done—like joyriding of questionable legality could hope to even register when it came to, say, something like flying through the chasm of space on the back of a dragon.

However, you are not here to have a dick-measuring contest with Blue.

‘It would’ve been…’ Blue starts, after a sizeable silence. ‘…such a drag if… if you’d got on our case.’ A composed, if halting sentence. It almost belied the desperate calculations you’d forced him to make, to have to weigh his options under such duress. There might’ve been pity on your part, had he not so thoroughly asked for his fate.

‘Oh, I’m sure it would have. I’m just surprised at your naivety.’

‘At figuring—’ Hips raise. Anatomy to press against anatomy; his ass flush against your thighs in a near grind. There’s a sharper inhale this time, though you press ahead as if you hadn’t done anything different, as if you hadn’t noticed his involuntary participation. ‘—figuring the great… great hero… come to save us all— is-is a goody-two-shoes… tattletale? Sounds— fuck—’

‘You think saving lives is all it takes to be a good person?’

Blue laughs, though its breathlessness is of the feverish, frenzied kind. ‘Not anymore.’

By now, he’s tremulous—his own inability to remain still your ally in the bid for his ruin. He bucks into your hold more often then he does not, and the spill of one undeniable moan soon begets another, another, another.

Noisier than you might’ve assumed, but not that much of a surprise in hindsight—a daredevil was simply another word for a hedonist, and not once did Blue seem the type to be embarrassed by his own pleasure. The consequences perhaps, especially if he was liable to get in trouble by a senior of some kind, but not the act of receiving itself. Good for him.

‘Next question.’

‘There’s more?!’

His despairing outburst threatens to make you giggle, but you don’t fault him for it. Approaching the brink and all he had to show for it was a self-control left in tatters. Maybe if you were in a similar state, he could claim at least a partial victory—but he’d let you catch him off guard far too many times until it was too late. Too busy chasing a high, as was his wont. You did enjoy those that were their own worst enemy.

‘Tritails destruction was your idea, wasn’t it?’

‘Wait, this is what it’s all—’

‘Wrong answer,’ you cut him off—verbally and through underhanded means. You can practically feel his heartbeat, though it may be that he’s just that close—where heat throbs, limbs tense, and a gut coils and coils and coils. Your hand had never once stopped moving, a cruel pace for an even crueller person. ‘It was your idea, and you enjoyed every moment you spent smashing everything in the gym. Bet you were smiling the whole time. Bet you couldn’t stop.’

‘Ugh— I didn’t—’

‘Say it!’

‘Fine! It was my idea! Are you satis—’

And then—

‘—huh?’

—everything stops.

Without weight nor otherwise to keep him in place, Blue turns around, brow furrowing. The sudden absence of the frenetic energy leaves a wintry void that does indeed leave you the room to observe the mess of your making—where a truly dishevelled Blue looked sweaty, flushed, and just the right amount of lost. It was a good look on him.

You only give him a good-natured smile. ‘That’s all I wanted from you.’

He only watches as you wipe your hand with one solid swipe across his stomach. You don’t really spare him a glance as you leave the bed then the bedroom, only offering a ‘Thanks for having me over!’ that goes unanswered before his front door shuts.

To be honest, you were a little hungry. Thankfully, Solution Nine was a bit of a sleepless city—you were certain you’d find somewhere to satiate yourself.