Xisuma's cheeks glow lilac so bright he is convinced Doc can see it even through the helmet's visor.“I- well.”

“That wasn’t a question. Do it.”

The gruff authority of Doc's words, the demands levied against him make him shiver. The expectation of his submissiveness tingling up his spine, making his breath come in longer, drawn out, warm bursts.

Soon enough, he is leaning over a chunk of deepslate diamond ore Doc so lovingly supplied and rescinding the armoured plates that cover his thighs and behind. The steady thunk, schwing, and mechanical whirl of the suit fills the space, singing like his heart metal screaming in his ears.

If Doc wanted some relief, he could have just said, no need for the preamble.

Doc tears through his under-suit to expose the smooth void speckled skin beneath and Xisuma gasps at the strength and barbarity. His cock twitches embarrassingly feverish against the rough ore and armour he is awkwardly rutting against due to tthe rough handling of his behind.

Doc looms behind him, anticipation rumbling in his gut like a overstuffed mob farm. A quiet, husky treble bounces over his back as Doc appreciates the gentle curve of his ass framed in the thick cord straps of the harness that helps keeps his prosthetic legs attached to his body.

"Safe word is Ore Snatcher."

"Okay… mind telling me what we're gonna be testing my dude?"

"Telling, no," and Xisuma feels it rub against his ass. A visceral shiver dances on his spine as if mocking him. A paddle: erose, coarse and uneven, rubs against his ass and something bitter fizzles against his skin. Doc drags it back and forth, letting Xisuma try to decipher the strange stretch of texture from his ass alone. Just when he thinks he might know what it is, a new bump or dip graces his ass and he is completely lost. His skin warms, blood rushing as he waits for it's thunder descent, arousal swirling inside him making his breath increasingly haggard and raspy through his helmet. Yet throughout it all, that lingering gruesome tingling feeling mounts, something dangerous teetering on the edge of his skin.

And just when it sinks in, when he knows what it is, Doc pulls it back and before swinging it across his ass.

Xisuma gasps, gauntlet digging into the grooves and nooks of the ore for stability, as the thumping ache twists like a barb deep into his muscles. The weight of it is cruel, the paddle heavy and strong without even factoring in Doctor's upper body strength, and he can feel it with the intensity of such a relatively gentle slap. A quiet curse fizzles out of his helmet as the ache settles across his behind in it's absence. A tic of pain follows, catching him by surprise and melting away the question he was about to ask Doc. His heads up display confirms it.

A tick of wither damage.

A Wither Skull Paddle… loads of them, pressed against a paddle and -

Another strike across his behind. The bite of it sinks deep into him and his cock throbs in earnest at the sharp shock of pain that rushes through him. It stings in a way he can't describe: deep like it's in his bones, fizzling like a blight slowly infesting him. Hurts, really bloody hurts. He takes another tic of damage and his cock twitches a dribble of pre.

"Count." Doc commands with all the analytical bluntness of recording a scientific observation.

"Two…" Xisuma pants, still wincing, hole flexing as if trying to shift and balance the acrid twinge.

The paddle is brought down again with a harsh kiss, rubbing against him as if savouring every agonised squirm and shudder. The hit is still just as sharper, stings just as deep, yet there is a lingering eerily cool, tingly, warmth rises in him that is new, flesh heating up and fizzling in the spots where it's grooves struck deepest. Xisuma whines as the skulls press deep, kneading and revitalising the fading intensity before it has a chance to fade.

Another tic of damage makes his shoulders shiver and a groaning sound of pleasure is rung out of his ribs, sniffles echoing through his helmet.

"Three, bloody heck Doc this is mean-"

"Yeah and you love it." He barks as if it were gospel, smile in his words that Xisuma can hear, voice thick and heavy like the smoke of the gambling room after a long night, and just as suffocating.

"Four!" The pain is searing into him, brutal and scalding pain that sinks deeper into him with each hit. A bittersweet warmth brings him to tears, breaking over his lips with a wet gasp and dribbling out of his cock in thin pearlescent dewdrops.

"Five, Six, SevEN, EIGHT!" Xisuma squeals, visor cloudy and tears running as a series of quick brutal spanks almost take his legs out from underneath him. Mechanical legs kick as if they can feel the pain. Xisuma squeals and sobs as the paddle drags against his ass, the intense warmth and ache blossoming across his behind. Each percussive sting flowers into a deep heavy ache that steals his breath for a moment - the following tics of wither damage that lag behind only knot the sweet agony deeper into his flesh. And how delicious each barbed ache is, tears rolling down his face as he indulges in the pathetic powerlessness of the moment, how he is just a thing being used - not some admin that people need to solve the problems.

"Look at you, already about to fall down from some love taps - it's a much better job for you than admin," Doc chuckles as the paddle slams against his ass harder than before - or maybe with all the withering warmth making his nerves weep with increasing sensitivity Doc was swinging softer, he couldn't tell, "no worries, no responsibilities beyond counting, much more suited don't you agree?"

"NINE! YES, CHRIST!"

"Such lovely marks, if only you could see yourself."

Xisuma's nerves are screaming at him, begging for mercy, crying out at the ache settling excruciatingly deep into him until it's all he can feel. He can feel the marks, the skull prints digging deep into him, the splotches of skin not yet stricken with the deep stinging soreness. The sweltering ache of the paddle and the lingering bitter warmth of the withering ticking away has him melting: tears flowing freely and his body increasingly limp on the deepslate ore. Thin rivers of pre paint the ore and the armour plates as he jostles with each strike.

"This should be sufficient data… but since you've been so good… one more," and the last hit is one right out of the nether. Doc hits him hard: let's the skulls burrow deep into the tender scorching flesh of his ass and delight in the choir-like scream of pleasure that leaves Xisuma. The sting is beautifully merciless and intense, sweltering with malice as it morphs and broadens the deep percussive ache swelling across his ass - feeling as if it was stuck in the nether with how hot it is burning.

The skulls kiss at their handy work, dragged over by Doc and Xisuma sobs at the kneading of tender, bruised flesh hoarse and worn from screaming in agony. His cock aches with how hard he is, rubbing against the armour plates and ore block almost mindlessly, his own pleasure so muted beneath the intense roar of the paddle.

"Wonderful, perfect test subject as ever Xisuma…"

"Doc…" His voice wobbles horribly, Xisuma's entire body shakes horribly as the pain refuses to settle even in the deepening ache. The last tics of the withering effect crackles through him and a sob breaks out like a blade on glass - moments away from fracturing.

"You did wonderful, the perfect test subject, I would have no one better…" Doc's hands run down his back panelling, tracing each hard edge and port with a deliberate delicateness. An echo of it reaches his skin, haunting him through his suit, and Xisuma melts against the ore. "So amazing, such a good boy aren't you?" Doc coos sweet, that smokey depths to his voice lifting him up like hot air in a balloon, before his actual arms lift him up and cradle him against his chest - being incredibly mindful of the wither stained ass still radiating a indescribably intense ache.

"Yes you were," Doc answers for him, Xisuma still sobbing and clinging to him for his life, "come on, let's get you cleaned up and some blue ice and a potion?"

Xisuma's cheeks glow lilac so bright he is convinced Doc can see it even through the helmet's visor.“I- well.”

“That wasn’t a question. Do it.”

The gruff authority of Doc's words, the demands levied against him make him shiver. The expectation of his submissiveness tingling up his spine, making his breath come in longer, drawn out, warm bursts.

Soon enough, he is leaning over a chunk of deepslate diamond ore Doc so lovingly supplied and rescinding the armoured plates that cover his thighs and behind. The steady thunk, schwing, and mechanical whirl of the suit fills the space, singing like his heart metal screaming in his ears.

If Doc wanted some relief, he could have just said, no need for the preamble.

Doc tears through his under-suit to expose the smooth void speckled skin beneath and Xisuma gasps at the strength and barbarity. His cock twitches embarrassingly feverish against the rough ore and armour he is awkwardly rutting against due to tthe rough handling of his behind.

Doc looms behind him, anticipation rumbling in his gut like a overstuffed mob farm. A quiet, husky treble bounces over his back as Doc appreciates the gentle curve of his ass framed in the thick cord straps of the harness that helps keeps his prosthetic legs attached to his body.

"Safe word is Ore Snatcher."

"Okay… mind telling me what we're gonna be testing my dude?"

"Telling, no," and Xisuma feels it rub against his ass. A visceral shiver dances on his spine as if mocking him. A paddle: erose, coarse and uneven, rubs against his ass and something bitter fizzles against his skin. Doc drags it back and forth, letting Xisuma try to decipher the strange stretch of texture from his ass alone. Just when he thinks he might know what it is, a new bump or dip graces his ass and he is completely lost. His skin warms, blood rushing as he waits for it's thunder descent, arousal swirling inside him making his breath increasingly haggard and raspy through his helmet. Yet throughout it all, that lingering gruesome tingling feeling mounts, something dangerous teetering on the edge of his skin.

And just when it sinks in, when he knows what it is, Doc pulls it back and before swinging it across his ass.

Xisuma gasps, gauntlet digging into the grooves and nooks of the ore for stability, as the thumping ache twists like a barb deep into his muscles. The weight of it is cruel, the paddle heavy and strong without even factoring in Doctor's upper body strength, and he can feel it with the intensity of such a relatively gentle slap. A quiet curse fizzles out of his helmet as the ache settles across his behind in it's absence. A tic of pain follows, catching him by surprise and melting away the question he was about to ask Doc. His heads up display confirms it.

A tick of wither damage.

A Wither Skull Paddle… loads of them, pressed against a paddle and -

Another strike across his behind. The bite of it sinks deep into him and his cock throbs in earnest at the sharp shock of pain that rushes through him. It stings in a way he can't describe: deep like it's in his bones, fizzling like a blight slowly infesting him. Hurts, really bloody hurts. He takes another tic of damage and his cock twitches a dribble of pre.

"Count." Doc commands with all the analytical bluntness of recording a scientific observation.

"Two…" Xisuma pants, still wincing, hole flexing as if trying to shift and balance the acrid twinge.

The paddle is brought down again with a harsh kiss, rubbing against him as if savouring every agonised squirm and shudder. The hit is still just as sharper, stings just as deep, yet there is a lingering eerily cool, tingly, warmth rises in him that is new, flesh heating up and fizzling in the spots where it's grooves struck deepest. Xisuma whines as the skulls press deep, kneading and revitalising the fading intensity before it has a chance to fade.

Another tic of damage makes his shoulders shiver and a groaning sound of pleasure is rung out of his ribs, sniffles echoing through his helmet.

"Three, bloody heck Doc this is mean-"

"Yeah and you love it." He barks as if it were gospel, smile in his words that Xisuma can hear, voice thick and heavy like the smoke of the gambling room after a long night, and just as suffocating.

"Four!" The pain is searing into him, brutal and scalding pain that sinks deeper into him with each hit. A bittersweet warmth brings him to tears, breaking over his lips with a wet gasp and dribbling out of his cock in thin pearlescent dewdrops.

"Five, Six, SevEN, EIGHT!" Xisuma squeals, visor cloudy and tears running as a series of quick brutal spanks almost take his legs out from underneath him. Mechanical legs kick as if they can feel the pain. Xisuma squeals and sobs as the paddle drags against his ass, the intense warmth and ache blossoming across his behind. Each percussive sting flowers into a deep heavy ache that steals his breath for a moment - the following tics of wither damage that lag behind only knot the sweet agony deeper into his flesh. And how delicious each barbed ache is, tears rolling down his face as he indulges in the pathetic powerlessness of the moment, how he is just a thing being used - not some admin that people need to solve the problems.

"Look at you, already about to fall down from some love taps - it's a much better job for you than admin," Doc chuckles as the paddle slams against his ass harder than before - or maybe with all the withering warmth making his nerves weep with increasing sensitivity Doc was swinging softer, he couldn't tell, "no worries, no responsibilities beyond counting, much more suited don't you agree?"

"NINE! YES, CHRIST!"

"Such lovely marks, if only you could see yourself."

Xisuma's nerves are screaming at him, begging for mercy, crying out at the ache settling excruciatingly deep into him until it's all he can feel. He can feel the marks, the skull prints digging deep into him, the splotches of skin not yet stricken with the deep stinging soreness. The sweltering ache of the paddle and the lingering bitter warmth of the withering ticking away has him melting: tears flowing freely and his body increasingly limp on the deepslate ore. Thin rivers of pre paint the ore and the armour plates as he jostles with each strike.

"This should be sufficient data… but since you've been so good… one more," and the last hit is one right out of the nether. Doc hits him hard: let's the skulls burrow deep into the tender scorching flesh of his ass and delight in the choir-like scream of pleasure that leaves Xisuma. The sting is beautifully merciless and intense, sweltering with malice as it morphs and broadens the deep percussive ache swelling across his ass - feeling as if it was stuck in the nether with how hot it is burning.

The skulls kiss at their handy work, dragged over by Doc and Xisuma sobs at the kneading of tender, bruised flesh hoarse and worn from screaming in agony. His cock aches with how hard he is, rubbing against the armour plates and ore block almost mindlessly, his own pleasure so muted beneath the intense roar of the paddle.

"Wonderful, perfect test subject as ever Xisuma…"

"Doc…" His voice wobbles horribly, Xisuma's entire body shakes horribly as the pain refuses to settle even in the deepening ache. The last tics of the withering effect crackles through him and a sob breaks out like a blade on glass - moments away from fracturing.

"You did wonderful, the perfect test subject, I would have no one better…" Doc's hands run down his back panelling, tracing each hard edge and port with a deliberate delicateness. An echo of it reaches his skin, haunting him through his suit, and Xisuma melts against the ore. "So amazing, such a good boy aren't you?" Doc coos sweet, that smokey depths to his voice lifting him up like hot air in a balloon, before his actual arms lift him up and cradle him against his chest - being incredibly mindful of the wither stained ass still radiating a indescribably intense ache.

"Yes you were," Doc answers for him, Xisuma still sobbing and clinging to him for his life, "come on, let's get you cleaned up and some blue ice and a potion?"

He already knows every idiosyncrasy of Avery's body before he could fall in love with them naturally - he still finds them cute but he at times all most feels detached from his own attraction: like he's reading a fan fiction of a character he likes rather than the real person whose tensity and loveable charms took his heart and cherished and natured it away from the hold of The King, like a man hunching over the embering campfire and keeping it aflame amidst a howling blizzard. Each touch, feels clinical to him: like he's following a tutorial for a redstone build or something.

Avery's breath catches when his hands slide up his sides, already knowing the exact orientation of every freckle and blemish and the feel of his soft skin under his hands and knowing it would get his heart racing as his shirt bunches up and have his chest tingling like the fuses of fireworks running short.

The little gasps and mewling noises that escape beneath his breathing are still pleasing, and he savours each one in earnest as his hands explore Avery, but the course has been charted and preordained.

"Derek…" Avery mummers his name against his neck, his breath groundingly warm - like a cozying up to a fire to melt away frostbite. He nuzzles close, clinging to it's warmth.

A little lower and he's make Avery shiver and do that cute giggle, he would like to hear it for real and not just know of it.

Hands move beneath the curve of Avery's belly, gently dragging towards the centre and he can feel Avery squirming and shivering beneath him, a giggle kindling in his thorax and-

"Derek." Avery's hands brushes gently into his locs at the base of his skull and he stills before his fingers can make it to that tender zone he knows is there. Gentle pressure fizzles a pleasant cottony sensation outwards in a little lapping wave that lulls into a comfortable tenderness.

Avery smiles as Derek hums in his touch, leaning into it's surety as he is wanton to do when his own mind is getting away from him. It's about one of the only times his guard is down, which works for Avery who quickly rolls them to the side.

They thunk against the wall of his bedroom and fumble about on his single, but it ends with Derek on the bed under him and a look of quiet surprise on his face. For once his hands don't know what to do.

"Avery what-"

"You had that look."

"What look?"

"The going through your mental archives look, the I know everything and nothing surprises me anymore and I'm sad about it look," Avery brushes a hand across his cheek and Derek exhales as it passes over and a thumb gently kneads his jaw, "fun on trivia night I imagine, not so much here and now. "

"Yeah,"a bitter sort of resignation paints his face, happy to let Avery's weight aid the bed in swallowing him up as if he's falling into the nebulous door network again, "about sums it up."

"Need a shake up, I'll lead: for once you can follow me," he winks.

"I like-"

"Don't tell me." Derek blinks at him and Avery blinks back before realising how short he sounded.

"I didn't mean like that," Avery chuckles, trying to break the brief awkward lull, rubbing the back of his head and jostling his frizzy curls, "please tell me if I do something that you don't like and want me to stop, just… let me find out everything about you by myself okay?"

The gentle pleading and way his miserable door lamp catches his soft features and a glitter in his eyes, how could Derek ever say no to him.

"Okay, I'll follow you this time."

Avery's touches are a little probing at first, building his confidence to make more moves across the board that is his body. At time he's just poking him or staring intently at him like he's trying to solve a rubix cube and it's cute, the way he's treating him like a vivisected frog in lab.

But Derek appreciates the methodically clueless exploration.

But then his fingers gently brush behind an ear and Derek rumbles with warmth at the tingling feeling that dances through him. But more than the pleasant sensation, the beaming pride from Avery warms him, the elation at finding a spot where he likes to be touched spurring him onwards to uncover more.

A hand slides in his and the feeling of Avery's fingers against his are electric, a shiver rippling down his spine like a current as the front of his hoodie is tugged forward so he can explore his clavicle region.

His heart practically skips a beat when Avery kisses his collarbone with no warning. He just, sees it, and goes for it. Warmth blossoms across him and his breath falters into a tumbling hushed moan, helped along by Avery's behind bearing down on his lap. He can feel the smirk against his skin as he jostles against his lap.

"My my Derek is that an activated sticky piston in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"

"Dude…" Avery leans back against his lap and a little peep of surprise squeaks out of him.

"Wait did… oh my god…"

"Not a…" All the knowledge in the world and Derek is still finding new ways to embarrass himself.

"You really liked my dumb minecraft innuendo huh?"

"Like you…" He mutters out from his hands futility trying to mask his quiet humiliation. Not content to let Derek suffer in the dark of his own self-humiliation, Avery gently parts his hands and replaces them with his lips.

"Like you too buttercup," and kisses him. And he knows what it feels like before it ever happens - he did the first time they kissed, he did when they started kissing through the history dramatic comedy that was too comedy for Derek's interest, and he does now when Avery leans down and captures his lips and guides him through the crossroads of mutual affections.

circa 2023 from this incredible fic

Pyro, with his dark monstrous eyes and face horrific and scared by holy water and claws of his becoming, blinks at Abolish sitting on the bike seat, feet on the ground keeping the bike steady, hands lingering on the dark motorcycle trousers by Pyro's shoes - his legs spread inviting Abolish to take what he wants and pressing into his thigh to balance himself against the bike.

"What did you say?" In the night, Pyro's eyes are haunting - so he's been told: terrible crimson orbs swallowed up by dark sclera straight out of the abyss - and yet Abolish never breaks eye contact. He's annoying like that, looking at him while talking to him, not through him or past him, he looks at Pyro and none one else. It makes his skin shiver.

"You, the vampire leaning on back on my bike with your cock and behind out, you: what do you like?" Again, Abolish might as well be speaking a different language the way Pyro's face is bereft of clarity. Abolish's dark borderline soulless eyes narrow imperceptibly as Pyro stills like the world is just a ringing in his ears and it has all been swallowed by the dark.

Why would he ask him that? Why would he even care - just get it over with.

"I can stop if you want?"

"No!" The panic that rushes through him hasn't been felt since he was flailing through the lake by the obelisk, torn into and gutted before being dragged under it's current and disappearing in the red mist of his own death. He very well almost bites through his lips his mouth snaps the words out. And then he realises his misstep, his rudeness, he has forgotten his place and the hysteria filling his cold dead heart is like another stake driven through it-

"Okay. Alright. But I'm not doing anything till you give me the go ahead." Abolish states, voice cool and calm and Pyro appreciates it more than he can express. The characteristic unflappable nature of his, unchanged, even now, accommodating him, even now. Being listen to is strange, doesn't feel right - but it feels nice.

His hands come to his face and rub, a deep breath rattling his ribs, and when he brushes his hands into his ashen mop he half expects Abolish to be gone - like batman: he's done it before - but no, he's still there. Still waiting patiently for him to approach at his own pace. Great now he feels like a wounded deer being gently encouraged towards a human for help… but is that so bad?

Pyro breaths deep and he turns to look at the distant camp where he and Abolish - mostly Abolish - had killed a bad 80's slasher of a vampire an hour prior: this was meant to be celebration sex, but it was something more. Something dangerous formative that threatens to disrupt the foundations of his self.

"Can you touch me with your gloves on… I like the feel," Pyro admits, sheepish, bracing himself for the mockery or the disregard or a slap or -

"And where can I touch you?" Abolish follows up, an effortlessly controlled serenity on his face as he makes sure his leather riding gloves have no chance of slipping off. They never would, but Pyro finds the act a comfort.

"Where ever you want-"

"Pyro."

His hands return to his face, each choice and declaration of autonomy it's own little agony.

"You can touch my thighs and cock and arms and chest and my face if you really want to but who would ever want to-" the gentle caress of expensive black leather runs along the scruff of his jaw with military precision and a tenderness that breaks him more than any torture could. The leather feels nice, down right has him purring from the gentle roughness of it's grain and warmth, but when Abolish's thumb drifts up towards his lip, Pyro snatches his wrist.

Abolish startles, not enough to do anything, but Pyro can see the way his eyes focus. He feels horrible. It's more on instinct that anything, but the feeling of fingers threatening to press into his mouth makes his calcified stomach threaten to inverse.

"Not mouth… sorry I should have, I didn't know I just-" the words stumble over themself as they leave Pyro's mouth and again Abolish remains stalwart, sat secure on the seat, a cliff of utter acceptance the turbulent waves of Pyro crash against. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Thank you for telling me." And Abolish stays clear of his mouth, just runs his hand along the vampire's jaws and lets him bask in the gentle affection.

He had a dream about Scott doing this once, of holding him tenderly while saying how proud of him he was, the perfect fledgling, soaking in the admiration of his sire… but it was just that, a dream.

Abolish's hand move with a militarily precise sensualness - at times it's a little awkward: as if Abolish has a errant thought that he is petting a dog and Pyro finds a charm and warmth in that - travelling along his jaw and cheeks and instead of revolting at the stain of holy water or the scars of Owen and Scott, his fingers dance around the borders. And when Pyro says he is okay with them being touched, it is devastatingly soft to have the ugliness of his life admired as if they were jewels.

And with each drag of Abolish's hand, each tender touch, Pyro feels his breath weighing down his chest, his pallid cheeks warming effervescently, and a strangle tingle across his breast and dancing up his back. First he thinks it is the wind, a chill, but that hasn't bothered him in many moons.

This is something else.

"Can you…"

"I can if you ask."

"Can you touch my…" Pyro pouts, a sudden almost boyish embarrassment colouring his face, "can you touch my cock, please." Instantly he wants to dig himself back into the grave he pulled himself from.

"Of course, it would be my pleasure," Abolish responds with a collected coolness, perfectly masquerading the abject horror that the way Pyro was beneath him let him know this was the first time he had actually been asked to be touched.

"Just gentle, I-" something catches on Pyro's tongue and his voice comes meeker than he might like, "I don't like it when it's super rough."

"Understood." A hand remains on Pyro's face, a gentle caress he can lean into at his leisure, while his other hand winds down to his crotch. But first he reaches into his pocket and flicks the lid of a petite lube. Pyro blinks at him.

"Always prepared. And don't want it to hurt," Abolish states as a gentle sheen of lube covers his gloved hand.

The anticipation and anxiety is burning white hot in his chest and Pyro mumbles to himself that it is okay, he asked for this, over and over again until the reassurance is echoing in his mind. And then Abolish's hand closes gently around his cock. A gruff noise of surprise slips out as Pyro slumps back on the bike.

It is strange - someone else touching your cock, someone else wearing gloves touching your cock, someone else wearing gloves touching your cock gently because you asked them - quite strange in a way he isn't sure how to process it. It's familiar, he's touched himself plenty, but it's also not him and when the initial rush of panic seizes him that he has no control, he meets Abolish's dark eyes and remembers that he does.

After a brief moment, acclimating to the savoury feel of the leather around his cock, Pyro gives Abolish a curt nod and he starts to gently stroke the vampire. Slowly, the delicate roughness of the leather clad hand slides down his cock, pulling back his foreskin to expose the pallid rosy head already - embarrassingly - drizzling pre and Pyro immediately grimaces behind his palms. But the mockery doesn't come.

"Hmm. You really like being touched don't you." Abolish says with a soft charm, more of a observation than question.

"I guess so."

Abolish's finger meet his base and gently rise back up his cock, appreciating the curve and every facet of him in the most delicate manner. It is better than he deserves, Pyro can't help but think it every time Abolish makes a whiny groan or sound of genuine pleasure spill out of him with his hands. A gentle stroke, and a finger that presses to the back side of his head as it rises makes him moan in a way he never has and this thighs shake like he's caught a fever. All from a gentle touch.

Who knew gentleness could feel so good...

His cock is so shiny with lube now and it looks good, it feels good - it feels really good to be touched gently, to be slowly worked over while he is caressed like he isn't filthy, like he isn't a monster, like he is loved. Maybe he is.

Maybe he could…

As his chest settles from a devastatingly lovesome moan, head back on the handles of the motorbike sinking into the gentle oblivion of Abolish's touch, Pyro looks at the damphir with a nervous sort of excitement.

"Could you kiss me, if you want," he asks, breathless in a way that doesn't make his throat hurt and doesn't make him grimace at his own pathetic ness.

"I would want to. Nice and gentle?"

"Please…" and Abolish leans up across his bike, his hands still occupied with the soothing rhythm of stroking Pyro, and hovers just above the vampire's lips. The agency is on his. If he wants this kiss, he has to meet him.

And Pyro wants it.

He leans up and tenderly presses his lips to the half-vampires.

There's no hunger, no hurt, no forcing in to dominate his mouth with their own, Abolish just leans into him and brings his lips to meet Pyro's in kind. An uncharismatic warmth graces the undead as their lips press against one another in a tender embrace, and his chest sings like song bird bones dancing. Like fire consumes his ribs and crackles up through him, like he's worthy of love and basking in that knowledge.

A little moan breaks his lips from Abolish and the man laughs, downright giggles at him in a way that has Pyro's eye wide and dewy like he's seeing a sunrise again and not burning up in it.

"Is this okay?"

And every time that question is asked, Pyro feels something old ache, something like a malignancy stained on his very soul, but perhaps in time it will fade every time he says -

Pyro, with his dark monstrous eyes and face horrific and scared by holy water and claws of his becoming, blinks at Abolish sitting on the bike seat, feet on the ground keeping the bike steady, hands lingering on the dark motorcycle trousers by Pyro's shoes - his legs spread inviting Abolish to take what he wants and pressing into his thigh to balance himself against the bike.

"What did you say?" In the night, Pyro's eyes are haunting - so he's been told: terrible crimson orbs swallowed up by dark sclera straight out of the abyss - and yet Abolish never breaks eye contact. He's annoying like that, looking at him while talking to him, not through him or past him, he looks at Pyro and none one else. It makes his skin shiver.

"You, the vampire leaning on back on my bike with your cock and behind out, you: what do you like?" Again, Abolish might as well be speaking a different language the way Pyro's face is bereft of clarity. Abolish's dark borderline soulless eyes narrow imperceptibly as Pyro stills like the world is just a ringing in his ears and it has all been swallowed by the dark.

Why would he ask him that? Why would he even care - just get it over with.

"I can stop if you want?"

"No!" The panic that rushes through him hasn't been felt since he was flailing through the lake by the obelisk, torn into and gutted before being dragged under it's current and disappearing in the red mist of his own death. He very well almost bites through his lips his mouth snaps the words out. And then he realises his misstep, his rudeness, he has forgotten his place and the hysteria filling his cold dead heart is like another stake driven through it-

"Okay. Alright. But I'm not doing anything till you give me the go ahead." Abolish states, voice cool and calm and Pyro appreciates it more than he can express. The characteristic unflappable nature of his, unchanged, even now, accommodating him, even now. Being listen to is strange, doesn't feel right - but it feels nice.

His hands come to his face and rub, a deep breath rattling his ribs, and when he brushes his hands into his ashen mop he half expects Abolish to be gone - like batman: he's done it before - but no, he's still there. Still waiting patiently for him to approach at his own pace. Great now he feels like a wounded deer being gently encouraged towards a human for help… but is that so bad?

Pyro breaths deep and he turns to look at the distant camp where he and Abolish - mostly Abolish - had killed a bad 80's slasher of a vampire an hour prior: this was meant to be celebration sex, but it was something more. Something dangerous formative that threatens to disrupt the foundations of his self.

"Can you touch me with your gloves on… I like the feel," Pyro admits, sheepish, bracing himself for the mockery or the disregard or a slap or -

"And where can I touch you?" Abolish follows up, an effortlessly controlled serenity on his face as he makes sure his leather riding gloves have no chance of slipping off. They never would, but Pyro finds the act a comfort.

"Where ever you want-"

"Pyro."

His hands return to his face, each choice and declaration of autonomy it's own little agony.

"You can touch my thighs and cock and arms and chest and my face if you really want to but who would ever want to-" the gentle caress of expensive black leather runs along the scruff of his jaw with military precision and a tenderness that breaks him more than any torture could. The leather feels nice, down right has him purring from the gentle roughness of it's grain and warmth, but when Abolish's thumb drifts up towards his lip, Pyro snatches his wrist.

Abolish startles, not enough to do anything, but Pyro can see the way his eyes focus. He feels horrible. It's more on instinct that anything, but the feeling of fingers threatening to press into his mouth makes his calcified stomach threaten to inverse.

"Not mouth… sorry I should have, I didn't know I just-" the words stumble over themself as they leave Pyro's mouth and again Abolish remains stalwart, sat secure on the seat, a cliff of utter acceptance the turbulent waves of Pyro crash against. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Thank you for telling me." And Abolish stays clear of his mouth, just runs his hand along the vampire's jaws and lets him bask in the gentle affection.

He had a dream about Scott doing this once, of holding him tenderly while saying how proud of him he was, the perfect fledgling, soaking in the admiration of his sire… but it was just that, a dream.

Abolish's hand move with a militarily precise sensualness - at times it's a little awkward: as if Abolish has a errant thought that he is petting a dog and Pyro finds a charm and warmth in that - travelling along his jaw and cheeks and instead of revolting at the stain of holy water or the scars of Owen and Scott, his fingers dance around the borders. And when Pyro says he is okay with them being touched, it is devastatingly soft to have the ugliness of his life admired as if they were jewels.

And with each drag of Abolish's hand, each tender touch, Pyro feels his breath weighing down his chest, his pallid cheeks warming effervescently, and a strangle tingle across his breast and dancing up his back. First he thinks it is the wind, a chill, but that hasn't bothered him in many moons.

This is something else.

"Can you…"

"I can if you ask."

"Can you touch my…" Pyro pouts, a sudden almost boyish embarrassment colouring his face, "can you touch my cock, please." Instantly he wants to dig himself back into the grave he pulled himself from.

"Of course, it would be my pleasure," Abolish responds with a collected coolness, perfectly masquerading the abject horror that the way Pyro was beneath him let him know this was the first time he had actually been asked to be touched.

"Just gentle, I-" something catches on Pyro's tongue and his voice comes meeker than he might like, "I don't like it when it's super rough."

"Understood." A hand remains on Pyro's face, a gentle caress he can lean into at his leisure, while his other hand winds down to his crotch. But first he reaches into his pocket and flicks the lid of a petite lube. Pyro blinks at him.

"Always prepared. And don't want it to hurt," Abolish states as a gentle sheen of lube covers his gloved hand.

The anticipation and anxiety is burning white hot in his chest and Pyro mumbles to himself that it is okay, he asked for this, over and over again until the reassurance is echoing in his mind. And then Abolish's hand closes gently around his cock. A gruff noise of surprise slips out as Pyro slumps back on the bike.

It is strange - someone else touching your cock, someone else wearing gloves touching your cock, someone else wearing gloves touching your cock gently because you asked them - quite strange in a way he isn't sure how to process it. It's familiar, he's touched himself plenty, but it's also not him and when the initial rush of panic seizes him that he has no control, he meets Abolish's dark eyes and remembers that he does.

After a brief moment, acclimating to the savoury feel of the leather around his cock, Pyro gives Abolish a curt nod and he starts to gently stroke the vampire. Slowly, the delicate roughness of the leather clad hand slides down his cock, pulling back his foreskin to expose the pallid rosy head already - embarrassingly - drizzling pre and Pyro immediately grimaces behind his palms. But the mockery doesn't come.

"Hmm. You really like being touched don't you." Abolish says with a soft charm, more of a observation than question.

"I guess so."

Abolish's finger meet his base and gently rise back up his cock, appreciating the curve and every facet of him in the most delicate manner. It is better than he deserves, Pyro can't help but think it every time Abolish makes a whiny groan or sound of genuine pleasure spill out of him with his hands. A gentle stroke, and a finger that presses to the back side of his head as it rises makes him moan in a way he never has and this thighs shake like he's caught a fever. All from a gentle touch.

Who knew gentleness could feel so good...

His cock is so shiny with lube now and it looks good, it feels good - it feels really good to be touched gently, to be slowly worked over while he is caressed like he isn't filthy, like he isn't a monster, like he is loved. Maybe he is.

Maybe he could…

As his chest settles from a devastatingly lovesome moan, head back on the handles of the motorbike sinking into the gentle oblivion of Abolish's touch, Pyro looks at the damphir with a nervous sort of excitement.

"Could you kiss me, if you want," he asks, breathless in a way that doesn't make his throat hurt and doesn't make him grimace at his own pathetic ness.

"I would want to. Nice and gentle?"

"Please…" and Abolish leans up across his bike, his hands still occupied with the soothing rhythm of stroking Pyro, and hovers just above the vampire's lips. The agency is on his. If he wants this kiss, he has to meet him.

And Pyro wants it.

He leans up and tenderly presses his lips to the half-vampires.

There's no hunger, no hurt, no forcing in to dominate his mouth with their own, Abolish just leans into him and brings his lips to meet Pyro's in kind. An uncharismatic warmth graces the undead as their lips press against one another in a tender embrace, and his chest sings like song bird bones dancing. Like fire consumes his ribs and crackles up through him, like he's worthy of love and basking in that knowledge.

A little moan breaks his lips from Abolish and the man laughs, downright giggles at him in a way that has Pyro's eye wide and dewy like he's seeing a sunrise again and not burning up in it.

"Is this okay?"

And every time that question is asked, Pyro feels something old ache, something like a malignancy stained on his very soul, but perhaps in time it will fade every time he says -

✦ WILL DRAW:

Original Characters ↳ Humans, humanoids, furry, feral, object heads and simple mecha

Fandom Art (exceptions apply)

OC x Fandom or Sona/Selfshipping

Non sexual nudity/kink

Light to heavy kink and BDSM

Gore, eroguro, cartoon gore

Dead Dove kinks

Objectum

Simple comics (One page only, price per panel at a discount)

Simple backgrounds (Only for lined+ pieces)

✦ WON'T DRAW:

Underage NSFW

Racial kinks/caricatures

Scat/Farting/Burping/Diapers (Pee, vomit, mild scent play okay)

Detailed mecha

Anime artstyles

Mega dicks/breasts (Large or mildly unrealistic cartoony proportions okay, general size difference okay, this refers to art where the penis is as big as the same character's torso or similar)

Real people / RPF (Nothing wrong with it I'm just not confident enough in my portraits yet)

❥ Terms Of Service:

Shouldn't have to say this but 18+ customers ONLY.

Be polite and I will be polite back.

I can decline a commission request for any reason.

If you have a budget or deadline for your piece, let me know upfront and we can work something out.

Payment through Ko-fi or Paypal (More options if you are from Mexico!)

Single Character sketches/chibi are paid fully upfront after first rough pass.

Anything over $10 should be paid half after the rough sketch and the rest when the piece is done.

Art will be done on a 2000x2000 px canvas and sent as .PNG unless requested otherwise.

Any kind of visual reference highly encouraged, but not necessary.

Commissioned pieces are for personal use ONLY.

Turnabout time depends on piece complexity and my schedule, I will let you know once I have the details.

No refunds after the first sketch is approved.

The bar is playing music. Music has changed a lot since he's been dead - from a funny gramophone that doesn't have a sound horn - and it's not unpleasant but it is certainly quite strange: they sing a lot more about sex.

He rolls his head to the side and looks up at the damphir who picked him out of the crowd as he was on the hunt for Scott - although with the way he was standing, it was understandable that it looked like he would sink his fangs into anything with a pulse. He's rugged, tired, and handsome in a exhausted way - the leather daddy vampire hunter look certainly helps - and his ashen hair is a dishevelled mess with green streaked through and he looks down at Pyro with this knowing look.

Joel snorts, and downs the shot of jewelled orange liquor the bar tender placed in front of him. One if placed in front of Pyro too, but he doesn't much care for the chalky aftertaste and nausea of mortal hood.

"Tried to stake him for a couple years about eight hundred years ago," he takes the drink from in front of Pyro and downs it, "and long story short, he's a blummin' slippery little bugger, turned me into a vampire, got me kicked out my order, and by the time I got cured-ish, he was missing and asleep."

Ah.

A dangerous beat of jealousy colours the corner of Pyro's soul, and the realisation of such a feeling unnerves him. That this man who spent so long trying to kill him got Scott's affection enough to be turned, to be left to suffer in his company. But he also feels something dangerous to companionship - that vasts oceans of times have shrunk to a puddle to bring them together. There's a sparkle in Joel's eyes that Pyro can't help but succumbing to.

He grabs the shot of blood and downs it: savouring the flourish of life on his tongue, the way it coats his mouth, and the way Joel's eyes watch the mechanisms of his throat makes Pyro feel as if molten heat is coursing through his cadaver. He smiles wolfish as the glass parts from Pyro's lips.

"So tell me rats, does he still do that think where he giggles as he runs away?" Joel asks, pouring a small tincture of blood into the empty shot glass for Pyro,

"Ughh yes with that-"

"Condescending little flourish!"

"Condescending little flourish! Yes still! and he always keeps you guessing and unsteady and it's so -"

"It's the worst."

"He's the worst." Pyro confirms and it is cathartic to say. His sire is in fact, the worst.

He's a little breathless, if his cheeks could part from the pallid stain vampirism has forced on him, they might even be rosy.

As Pyro and Joel detail their loathing for one another, their mutual hatred and complex feelings twisting them together. Pyro doesn't even realise how close they are until he can feel the ghost of Joel's hot ragged breath on his cool cheek. He doesn't much mind the shortening of distance. It's nice to be close again.

"I hate Scott." Joel says, hand reaching over onto Pyro's side of the bar.

Pyro leans close like he's about to share a schoolyard secret, voice dropping low like a panther in the underbrush "I bet I hate him more."

Joel chuckles, leaning close and letting a claw rest on the back of his neck, savouring the way his cool clammy flesh ripples, and Pyro shudders at the effortless strength that pulls him closer, "Doubt that rat-boy."

"Well… but how about we take this conversation to somewhere more private."

There is someone getting head in the next stall over. They both can hear it, rhythmic slurping, the messy pop, hushed dirty talk muffled by Joel shoving Pyro back against the stall wall and attacking his neck. His teeth sink and tug viscously, delighting in the cataclysmic mess of bite marks left across pallid skin while Pyro's breath is stolen away in gasps and moans, claws tearing down Joel's exposed back before catching on the harness and gripping it.

"Such a better kisser than Scott," and that sound that comes out of Joel is so lewd and primal that for a second Pyro thinks he has cum. He pulls back from his neck, admiring the little thin chains of blood that connect him to Pyro while he savours the horrid ache saturating his flesh. He has missed this. This attention, but unlike last time, there is no presumption of devotion. Just two men, fucked over by the same monster.

"Oh yeah." Joel's eyes darken until the reddish brown of his iris are a thin band around the darkness. Pyro can feel his desire poking him in the thigh and he can't help but lean and make clear his reciprocation.

"Yeah…" Pyro's arms come to drape over Joel's shoulders. And Joel kisses him.