Peggysuave

The animals didn't fear him. The berries didn't fear him. Nestled behind a slope, a thicket of bushes ripe with berries became the cause for his lips to rise into a smile, feet drifting faster through the springtime forest until he crouched before the little treasures.

He didn't need them—not at all—but craved them no less and indulged in the tart sweetness with a sigh on his lips. In his nostalgia, as bittersweet as the berries, this was the first flavor in the world. In that first story, it was Eve who had tasted from the apple, and he found himself wondering what Adam's favorite fruit of the garden had been.

All he knew was his own.

A snap of twigs resounded from the side and he swiftly lowered himself on hands and knees, dangling coat rags and matted hair, sliding halfway behind the bushes as a figure came into view.

A girl.

A young woman.

With eyes of glass.

Carrying nothing on her person except for a dirt-caked linen dress, maroon at the hem, her feet paused their wobbling advance across the forest floor when she locked eyes with him.

Frozen in time, he anticipated her scream, her disgust upon the sight that he was—a creature in rags, stitches forever grafted into his ashen face—but there was little of anything in her gaze. Maybe wonder. And in himself—a spark of something entirely warm, like a sun from within, delivering warmth along the arches of his cold ribs.

A bunch of berries were still cradled in his palm.

She was the first sighted person—since her—who seemed to find in him a target for contemplation and not projectiles.

At once, he offered his palm, hopefully stretching his long arm to cross the distance between them, sleeve slipping away from the thick scar that circled his blue wrist. Although he cowered, she seemed so small to him.

A fawn.

For a moment she stared with those vacant eyes that looked utterly pearlescent in the dance of filtered sunlight, but her hand stirred at last, drawing an arc to pluck a berry off his palm. For a split heartbeat, the curve of her nail brushed along his skin, and despite the shudder that this brief contact elicited, he forced his limbs into stillness.

Gently, but with apathy, the girl held his offering between her fingers, as if she didn't know what to do with it—animated by reflex, not spirit.

So, he showed her. Tenderly bringing one berry to his lips, he placed it in his mouth and slowly chewed.

She mirrored him, and his heart sprung into full bloom.

He blinked—once, twice—and a smile curled into the gaunt apples of his cheeks.

Another berry, then.

Encouragingly, he offered his palm once again, holding it higher this time, inching closer on shuffling feet. For the next berry, he didn't have to show her. On her own will, she placed it between her lips, chewed, swallowed and her lashes fell halfway over her glassen eyes.

A satisfied little grunt formed at the back of his throat, but its successor froze over with the chill of a memory. One of rich, brown eyes and a soft animal snout, feeding from his palm. One moment alive, then severed from the stream of nature by a bullet of man.

Full of fright, he leaped up tall, charging over to the twig- and root-covered slope to peek across the crest of it with wrinkled nose and labored breath. Where he'd feared the barrel of a gun, there was naught but broadleaf thicket and a trickling stream, birds chirping above, building their nests among the foliage. He glanced up, shielding his left eye, then looked over his sagging shoulders with a rattling sigh.

He saw the girl had fallen on her behind from his sudden advance, staring up at him with frightful eyes, claw-like fingers braced against the forest soil. There was fear in her eyes now, and what was fear if not another form of pain?

At once he squatted—in apology and agony—slowly gliding down the slope on the heels of his booted feet, using one fist to brace himself, the other hand held before his face. One down-turned eye gleamed through his fingers, finding her still motionless before the fruit-laden shrubbery, legs pulled toward her chest.

Fabric pooled around her knees, and what he'd taken for dirt appeared to be blood, caked up and darkening the fibers of her skirt. It was on her skin too, her calf, her knee, its ascending path obstructed by the hem of the skirt.

"You… are hurt."

She closed her legs at once, exhaling a sharp whimper in response to his discovery, or perhaps to his voice and its primordial tremor, so different from any of the other voices he'd heard, uttered by travelers, hunters, families… But he tried to speak gently.

"Forgive me," he muttered, for he knew he was frightful even when he didn't mean to be—and he seldom meant to. Created so monstrous, all he could do was try to fold his long limbs into his body and make himself smaller.

"Water?" He pointed over his shoulder, struggling to meet her gaze although he wanted to. "To wash yourself? Blood… draws wolves."

For a moment, she seemed to consider if he was one of them—a wolf—and he hid his face and breath behind his palms until he heard the crunching of twigs, a pair of feet stiffly moving around him towards the trickle of the stream.

On hands and feet, he carefully followed the unspooling thread of hope, flattening himself against the inclination of the slope, leaves and soil poking against his sutured palms.

"I… stand… guard?"

Already, he felt that he would stand guard for all eternity if she let him. The girl blinked, nodded, and the last thing he saw as he stood up and turned around was the way she crouched above the water, descending slowly as though in unspeakable pain.

He still held the berries to share with her later, not a single one squashed by his earlier charge towards the imagined threat.

Water rippled as her hands and feet plunged into its surface, skirts rustling as she folded them over her lap. He heard all of it, heard the silent whimpers under her breath, the stifled hissing as she cleansed herself of blood. How long would it take to heal, whatever it was? He had naught to offer, his friend and mentor gone before he could teach him about all the remedies that he'd never need.

Twigs crunched once again and a hand brushed against his tattered sleeve, or maybe it was the breeze of her passing. Anyhow, he gasped as if he'd been struck by lightning and slunk after her, back to the bushes. She smelled of the forest now, her skirts still stained but the maroon of blood faded.

When he crouched down, she did the same; closer to him now, some of her fear washed away with the river's flow. At once, he offered his palm again, because it was the easiest thing in the world. He let her pluck them freely from it, berry after berry, and even though there were plenty on the shrub, she only chose the ones from his hand.

"You like the red ones?" He smiled, peeking through the curtain of his hair, auburn in the glow of the sun. "Me too."

She picked a purple one next, carefully choosing.

"No," he gently insisted. "We can share. I would like… to share."

Aside from mumbling to himself, he hadn't had a chance to speak since the passing of his friend, so he found himself longing, yearning for it now, his throat aching to form all the words that he knew but had no one to share them with—neither his words, nor his emotions, and there were so many of them, all contained within his bursting heart.

"Can you not speak?"

A memory twinged with pain and frost and his tongue silently formed a name in his throat.

Victor.

If only he had a name to tell her, maybe she would say that, at least.

Tentatively, he curled one finger against her jaws with utmost tenderness, a touch so fleeting it may have been a flower petal kissing her skin. She looked upon him with large eyes.

"It is alright," he soothed, his deep voice flowing gently despite the tightness in his throat. "I will not force you."

The girl, the fawn, lifted her finger and traced it along his cheek. His lashes were pulled asunder by her tenderness, eyes closing as a pained breath escaped his throat, almost a sob, as his cheek melted into her touch.

So long, his scars have yearned for a tender caress, and now finally...

Perhaps he could make peace with the world again, if but for another fleeting moment.

A devil, some may have called him. An abomination unholy.

Anyone who had ever seen a corpse—and who hadn't?—could solve this puzzle, deduced from the stitch-like scars that wrapped in patterns around his body, some erratic, some symmetric, grafting blue against gray.

She didn't fear God. She feared man.

And if God had made him that way, there was nothing to fear, and if man had made him that way, it was the maker who deserved her fear, not the creation.

For how could something be wrong, if it behaved so purely?

How could someone be a devil, if all he did was bestow his never-ending curiosity to the world and to her? So caring in the way he'd dismantled his boots to craft foot wraps for her; so attentive in the way he sought shelter for them every night and cradled her against his body if there was none to be found, making a roof out of his coat and a fortress out of his arms. This gentle devil gazed up at the dancing foliage with eyes so bright and warm, as though the play of nature was the most wondrous thing.

He had told her, he ran away from evil, just like she. And evil, for both of them, came in the shape of man.

"The world is cruel," her voice seeped into the dark linen of his shirt as they lay chest to chest on dry earth and leaves, covered by his coat. A light summer breeze stirred the moonlit night. "But you are not. How are you not cruel?"

"I… cannot help it." His fingers jumped softly across her spine, holding her close to the place where his rattling breaths were born, pouring unwaveringly from the well of his lungs. "You are not cruel either."

"I think I'm not," she conceded, recalling all the times, the uncountable times when she would have had the right but couldn't find it in her heart. "I think I'm still kind. But it hurts so much."

"It does." His gentle voice rolled like thunder across the sky of her world. Tragic and beautiful.

Looking up, she freed her arm and traced the pad of one finger across the crooked slope of his nose, the ever sore scar tissue, then to his temple where hair like snow grew from the side of his skull. Gently, she wound the strand around her finger and watched his lips as they parted for breath, splitting into a smile that blossomed in reward to her caress. He nuzzled her palm as if it meant the entire world to him.

O', to be held so tenderly by someone who possessed such strength. To be cradled at midnight hour and watched over by eyes that carried such a feral glow yet looked upon her with nothing but sweetness.

To live a fairy tale with him, out here in the woods. And why not? Who said life couldn't be that way? Who would come find her out here and tell her she couldn't be with him, her fairy prince, with eyes as deep and kind as the earth?

He called her a fawn—with a scarred smile of pure sweetness as he did so—but it was he who was the spirit of the forest, a mighty, benevolent creature who wore his antlers in the shape of auburn hair, streaked with silver starlight.

Even lying like this, in the darkness, with his large hands along the shape of her back and the front of her smaller body pressed against his own, feeling every ridge and bone in his anatomy through the rags of their clothes, she felt no fear.

He, unlike any man, had never given her a reason to.

Wolves weren't only drawn by blood. They were drawn by the hunger in their bellies, and they liked to feast on the meat of little fawns because they were easy to hunt.

It was one murky night that she woke with a sense of primordial dread, a puff of foul breath against her forehead and the jaws of a predator, teeth and saliva glinting above the apples of her eyes.

A scream. Scaring every bird and rodent from their slumber, the fawn's fingers flexed into the shirt of her sleeping companion.

Then, a crack of bones, a yowl unlike anything she'd ever heard before and the wolf's maws came apart at the seams, its entire body flung into the trunk of a tree from the force that had snapped its skull in half.

She could barely see in the darkness of the night, but the forest came alive with trampling paws and swishing tails, her companion gone from her side, risen from the ground like a gale from the Northern Sea, a howl in his throat that rivaled the wolves as fur and flesh collided.

Among the shadows flew the tendrils of his hair and the ribbons of his coat, like the feathers of a raven, dancing above the battlefield.

And among that, an eerie glow, like a torch had fallen into the disk of his eye.

Something collided hard with the throat of a wolf and the furred creature landed wetly at her side, whining like a puppy before it was whisked away by its hind feet, hurled into the darkness with devastating force.

A roar—neither wolfish nor human—scared the clouds away from the moon, and as the wolves scattered, limping and whimpering, she laid eyes on her protector; his nose scrunching, his arms spread wide as he grunted with quaking shoulders. With the creatures of the night gone, only her hammering heart and his guttural breath remained, each one dredged from his lungs with a terrible growl that could make the hair rise on any man's skin.

He turned his gleaming eye to look upon her, cowering against their sleeping place.

"Don't… be… scared."

She craned her head as he approached her, a whimper caught in her throat when he crouched and cradled her face with large, trembling hands, both of them wet with viscera.

He didn't hate the wolves, he wanted to tell her desperately but words failed him in the quaking of fear. He always wanted to tell them—humankind—that he be meant no harm, that he was a friend who was only passing through, but they would never listen!Always, he ended up gunned down like a beast before given but a chance to speak.

"I… I had to." Panting, his sutured fingers jittered against her jaws and ears. "They were going to hurt you."

His companion trembled, clutching his cold wrists with clammy palms.

"I am… sorry," he begged forgiveness for the sin of being born and the violence he had bestowed to those creatures who, against their will, had been born too, forced to live, forced to hunt.

Her gaze danced across the mottling of blood on his face, her eyes no longer of glass, but his heart had become glassen. With a single word, she could shatter him, and it would hurt indefinitely more than any bullet to his neck, any sickle to his chest. Her mouth, her throat, had become a barrel of unimaginable power—to inflict a wound that would never heal.

But no harm came to him that night, only her hands to his cheeks, thumbs reaching up to caress the sunken shadows under his tearful eyes while he breathed an abyssal sigh, letting his forehead drop against hers.

Since the day she was born, she'd never felt safer. Not even in her very own crib.

She's been looking at him differently since that night.

He had first noticed it the following morning, when he suggested they skin the wolves the way he had seen the hunters do it, so she'd have something warm to wear once winter fell upon the land. With enthusiasm—because truthfully, he'd rather skin himself than let her tender flesh be touched by frost—he had then crouched on the ground and ripped the first hide away from its connective tissue with his bare hands, because a blade was not available.

After, he had wondered whether he'd humiliated himself in some way because she struggled to look him in the eyes. Floundering in the unfamiliarity of what stretched its blossoms across the both of them, he found himself unable to tell what it was. Perhaps, he simply lacked the vocabulary. He knew the words to ask her, but the idea alone filled him with impossible shyness.

The stream murmured away under his hands and his companion caught him staring, raising one smaller hand to wave at him.

Shyness.

The grappling warmth of her attention compelled him to return to his task of cleaning their clothes in the stream with haste, auburn hair whipping over his banded shoulder. She was naked. So was he. It wasn't the first time, but there was a change in the way they carried themselves, something other about the way she sat on that pelt and stretched her legs.

Like Adam and Eve in their garden, it was as though they had finally realized that they were naked. He, however, didn't want them to be cast out of paradise, so it was best to remain poised on the brink of discovery, no matter how tempting it was.

Smiling to herself, she indulged in eyeing the dimensions of his crouching figure, the centipede of his spine running along grafted ornaments of muscles and tendons. Sunlight cascaded down the cold hues of his skin and brought out the warming reds in his locks of tumbling hair. In seemingly idle play, his long fingers drifted across the water's surface, attuned to a harmony that was only for him.

He was ethereal, in a broken, beautiful way. She wanted him, in a way that was equally broken.

She could hardly believe her own body when she'd felt the first twinge of lust in the pit of her abdomen after such long months of numbness. Perhaps she'd found a meadow after the wasteland, but what ruin would they wreak upon themselves if they left behind this almost childlike alliance—existing only as human and human in each other's company—and trespassed the threshold to becoming man and woman?

Her companion hung up the fluttering rags of their clothes, reaching branches that she couldn't touch if she jumped. They drifted like wings at his back when he approached, heavy in the way he moved and his footsteps resounded from the forest ground, a Goliath treading, and yet there was nothing but grace in his long limbs

She pretended that her gaze wasn't entranced by the tapered muscles of his midriff and the suture leading down from his navel. Knowing his tale, she found herself wondering if whoever made him, part by part, had attempted to compensate for a shortcoming of themselves.

Should she maybe angle her hip like so, place her hand here or there to create an appealing silhouette? Such nurtured thoughts; she wanted to absolve herself from them, but they'd been carved into the fabric of her self much like the discolored scars into the flesh of her protector.

What would it cost to be simpler and purer? Like he seemed to be. Never had he looked upon her with lust, and so she felt almost ashamed for the lick of baser instincts, first kindled by his sacrifice of pain when he faced the wolves, so easily given, demanding nothing in return.

But what was there to say in her defense? He measured one and a half times the height of any person she'd ever seen, a furnace of strength powered by the gentlest of hearts. If anything gave her the right for a kindling, she believed it was this.

He sat by her side, knees folding against his chest. He'd been so ashamed to let her see the sallow ravines of his flesh at first, now he turned his head and smiled when she reached for his large hand, pulling his towering frame down to her side on the fur.

"You permit me such a sense of safety..." Sighing, she curled into his broad chest, tracing with her breath the shape where his heart was buried.

"Because I… protected… you?" The darkness of his timbre touched her gently and he blinked with heavy lids, lashes kissing the lines of his cheeks.

"Yes, but…" The truth painstakingly wound itself from her chest. Her gentle Goliath merely traced a patient finger down her naked spine. "So safe that I dare lay my naked body next to you without a concern. I believe it's because you're not a man."

"Not… a man?" For all he knew, he was designed to be one and one of the parts that distinguished them pressed with growing weight against his inner thigh where he attempted to contain it. It made him feel almost… warm.

"The herbivores of the forest don't fear you because they know you're not a predator, that is what I believe." Lifting her face from his chest, she met the docile maroons of his eyes with conviction. "Not like man. Because all they do is hurt. But you are a monster, you've professed it yourself, and monsters don't hunt and hurt. They're merely different."

Whoever had sowed the belief that monsters were evil must have been a man. A monster was what men feared, and men feared everything that eluded their control, like the woman on the arm of the one who prowled the woods.

"I've hurt people before. I've hurt the wolves. And I cannot… unhurt them."

"But not out of malice."

Closing his eyes to hide the salty pearls in them, he so wanted to believe her, but hadn't there been malice in him when he cracked the spine of a wolf on his forearm, when he split one's jaws from tongue to brain? There'd been such wrath pouring red-hot through the cadaverous ropes of his flesh, but only because he couldn't suffer to be without her!

"Are you… a monster, too?"

How hopeful he sounded.

"To some people, I'm sure…" She raised her hand to his cheek, forever basking in the way he seemed starved for her affection, moisture glinting at the corner of his eye. "Not useful enough, not obedient enough. Born in the wrong body, the wrong shape, the wrong mind, everything wrong—"

"Not wrong—!" The growl of his voice rippled through flesh and bone as he rolled on top of her, eclipsing her with auburn hair and eyes of devastating sadness. "Not wrong," he repeated, a tremor to his tone and fingers that performed their galvanic dance above her chest, a fleeting touch traveling from sternum to chin as he fought for words. "Perfect." He swallowed, lashes lowering in agony. "For me? Please?"

"For you?"

"Please…"

"I…" She swallowed thickly. "I think I love you. More than words can explain."

So, it was not just him, then. More than words could say; he wondered if there was another way to express it, another language that wasn't made in the throat.

"Love…" The weight of the word bled into gravity, pulling on his spine, compelling him to lower himself so that he could feel the warmth of her breath, the shape of her chest and the beat of her heart. The towering proportions of him ensured that his pelvis came to rest against the furs rather than her own, a circumstance that he strangely regretted.

"Do you love me as well?"

"I don't want to be without you. It… hurts to imagine it. Is that… love?"

This wasn't what he'd intended to persuade his creator into, but could this be how companionship and love were born—out of a chance encounter?

"What does your heart tell you?"

"I… don't know. I want to be… closer."

Never had she thought she'd ever let anyone close again. She'd have rather been torn apart by the wolves than ever endure a man again, and perhaps that was exactly what she'd wandered into the woods for. But as it turned out it wasn't a man's body that she feared, it was the putrescence of their souls.

"Come closer, then."

Longingly, he fully settled his torso on her smaller chest, welcomed by her palms on the planes of his back. His lips found the pulse of her neck, resting there while the fragmented rumble of his breath rolled against her skin.

The air shifted, her flesh squirming underneath him, baring more of her neck. He pressed his cheek against it, exhaling shakily. The rise and fall of her stomach moved against his ribs, her thighs on either side of his flanks.

"Closer…" she cooed and so he wedged his arms underneath her body, tightening them until he felt a sob prod at the back of his throat. A strange heat seemed to have taken hold of his body and the closer he crawled, the hotter it singed.

The woman who cushioned his torso threaded her fingers into the tangled locks of his hair, whispering again, "Would you mind… kissing me?"

"Kiss…sing…" He remembered the way the old man's granddaughter had kissed him on the cheek, how his smile had deepened the wrinkles on his leathered face into lines of laughter. Of course, he would kiss his companion. He'd tried it on the back of his hand a couple of times and hoped he'd be doing it right.

Ashen lips moved to her cheek, but she turned her face so that the kiss landed on her mouth instead. A graveled gasp sprung from his throat.

"I am sorry!"

"Why is that?" She regarded him with widened eyes and it dawned on him that she'd moved her head on purpose.

"Oh… On the mouth?"

"Yes." The corners of her eyes crinkled like the old man's, but different, lashes falling over her sun-speckled eyes as her fingers drifted over the back of his stitched skull. Their lips met again.

Was that this other language?

Not words but movement. Tender breaths passed from lung to lung, dampness traded from mouth to mouth, faces slanting to slot into each other's sharp and soft angles, tongues peeking out and then rolling until that very rhythm of their mouths spread down the cord of his spine, bringing his pelvis against the furs.

A guttural breath wrenched itself from his chest when the girl's legs hooked behind his back.

"You can use your lips to kiss… every part of me, and your hands to touch me, if you want."

Only his lips—so cold and guiltless—she'd allow to roam across her skin. For a moment, his gaze lingered, round eyes free of sin, until he leaned down with a hum, pressing the traded kiss-dampness of her own mouth to her chin. The blue, sweeping arc of his cupid's bow tickled against her bottom lip.

He seemed eager to explore, mouth traveling to the column of her throat, lips no longer motionlessly resting against her pulse but drifting about. The weight of his large hands pinned her shoulders to the furs but they couldn't contain the writhing of her hips, rolling against his flat stomach.

"Are we like Adam and Eve?" He looked up with concern, raising the broad ridge of his shoulders from her chest. Her heart swelled with giggles.

"I can be your Eve if you'll be my Adam."

And why wouldn't they be? Why shouldn't they make these woods their garden? It was only them out here, following the murmur of streams and the whisper of mice in the forest soil, crossing man-made borders in their wake that mattered not to the weave of nature. The idea of civilization had become irrelevant to her.

Her Adam sat back on his haunches, and what her chest and stomach missed in kisses he delivered with his hands, flattening them in reverie against all the hills and coves that had never known such a devout caress. Below her navel, his dancing fingers paused, auburn locks tumbling over his chest as he stared down at himself.

This time, she had to look, because he did. She dragged her gaze from the marbles of his eyes, down the tendons of his throat, along the width of his heaving chest until it settled upon his manhood. A suture, darkened like the rest of them, curved along his pubic bone and vanished beyond the connective tendons of thigh and pelvis. Hair sparsely covered the protruding bone, and unlike the strands on his head, it was neither auburn nor silver, it was blond.

Fully erect, he stood out so massively that a shadow was cast across her stomach. The crimson of his blood made veins swell against wintry skin, all converging at the swollen head whose dark blue flushed almost purple.

This engorged part of him ached so terribly that even the caress of a breeze of wind brought him to the brink of moaning. Staring at himself, deducing that it had something to do with the language he yearned to explore was as obvious as it could be.

"I don't know what to do," he confessed, tracing her belly with idle patterns.

"Not at all?"

Well, he had an idea.

Which involved mounting her like the beast he had been accused of being, hot-blooded, slavering. He would not do that.

Giving no answer to her question, he let his hand drift to the very edge of the patch of hair that grew between her thighs, watching the blue pallor of his fingers against the lively hues of her. Trembling, he listened for her to tell him to relent, anxious for every millimeter he claimed, but the further he trailed south, the more impatient grew her sounds.

Gripped by curiosity, he ignored his own anatomy that annoyingly obstructed the view of hers.

Skin folded in unfamiliar layers that seemed so delicate, he was afraid to touch them. But it did not hurt her; that much he could tell when he slipped his fingers across those delicate shapes, finding himself intoxicated by the airy quality of her breaths when he dipped into that damp, giving softness.

Much like the inside of her mouth, this was another hidden place which he felt should be touched with utmost care, and he found himself surprised by how snugly she fit around his finger.

"Soft," he breathed, dark voice lightened by the delight of discovery.

This was an explorer's caress, not a mimicry of fucking. The touch of a man who studied the world with his hands, who had no intentions beyond mapping the shape of her body. If she could possibly love him more, her chest would break open and release the garden that blossomed within.

"You are soft, too."

"I'm just made of jagged fragments." Her fairy prince lifted his mournful eyes. "Corpse flesh and cold bones."

"But the whole is soft." The words in her throat fought against the slow pleasure that coiled and grew, her walls molded pliantly around his exploring finger, soft and willing.

Something had broken within her quite literally that day, several months ago. She was sure of it. There'd been no bleed when there should have been at least three, and it was good that way. Where there should have been regret, maybe, she felt a vast relief.

"You do know how, ah, how it's done, do you not?" Every being knew by design.

"I… think I do, but… I'm too big." For whatever reason, his creator had not only built him monstrous, he had also built him incorrectly, because these pieces could not possibly slot together.

While a common man may have commented this with sinister vanity and then forced himself inside anyway, taking pride in a woman's keening, her companion uttered these words with such devastation that it nearly rent her apart.

"Don't let your size trouble you."

It was true, he was big. Everything about him was; like a tree grown from earthy soil. Boldly, she reached her hand down, cupped the tip of him in her palm.

Oh, the sound that came from his throat when the entire mass of his body rocked forward in response.

That was no growl—it was a purr.

More of those sounds she craved, wanted them down by her ear, uttered in feral despair while his wolfish pupil sparked from shared desire. To think that she was capable of such thoughts again…

Eagerly, she closed her fist around his manhood and tugged, utterly enthralled by the way his head rolled back, baring the peak of his throat among the tendons that framed it. When the velvety tip of him nudged her dampness, he recoiled, retracting his hand from her nethers to cup those daring fingers around his cock.

He had not forgotten about the blood that once stained her thighs.

Determined, he lifted his gaze from their conjoined hands to her face, lurid yellow flashing in his eye.

"No."

For some reason beyond his understanding, that only seemed to incense her more, little fingers eagerly squeezing him under his broad palm with which he had meant to restrain her. Whether those squeezing ripples served as pain or relief to his body, he couldn't quite tell but his eyes welled with tears, overwhelm prickling at the very sutures of his composure.

Teeth flashing, he wrenched her hand away from him and pinned both of her wrists to the furs, chest heaving with staggered growls.

"Please!" She pressed the softness of her thighs against his hips to coax the massive frame of him closer. He didn't budge an inch although his cock twitched in response.

"You're asking me to cause you pain?"

"If there will be pain, I don't care about it!" She squirmed against his palms and seemed offended when he released her. "Though so long as you're careful, I don't think there will be."

Indeed, the space between her thighs was no longer just speckled with dampness, she appeared to be entirely sodden with that slippery nectar that still coated his pointer finger. It seemed like a good idea to spread some of that onto himself, so he took himself in one hand—and the dimensions of his hand by no means dwarfed his cock—bringing that aching, swollen flesh against her delicate anatomy.

He really only meant to anoint himself on that moisture of hers, but as soon as the tip of him slipped between the leaves of her center, he found his hips lurching with intrigue; her flesh more giving than it ought to be around such a thick and blunt intrusion. Gazing up with concern, he found her nodding enthusiastically and pressed onward, millimeter by divine millimeter.

The rumbling of his chest soothed her like rainfall on foliage while he stretched her wide on the girth of him, imbued with a heat that his skin often missed. Coming flush with a quaking whimper, he placed his hands upon her hips, holding still as he charted lines on her flesh.

"How do I… do it… right?"

"To be entirely truthful, I… don't really know." She felt shame in confessing that. "No one ever made an effort to figure it out with me."

There had been enough glimpses of pleasure to make her believe that it was possible to crawl toward some finale, or at the very least sing for longer than a minute. Already, he seemed to press into a pleasurable spot and his drifting caress coaxed her pelvis to arch towards him.

"Hmmm…" Rumbling, he let his head roll forward, awarding her with the sight of sweetly furrowed brows and tumbling silver and maroon.

Instead of chasing after what his hips desired, if the way he throbbed within her was anything to go by, he sat patiently on his haunches, draping her thighs over his. He wanted to understand the wonders of her anatomy. Utterly entranced, he bestowed the idle dance of his fingers on areas that had never received such attention or care, caressing every invisible scar with the balm of his attention.

Blue fingertips trailed along each side of the natural seam, split open by the thickness of himself, finding those areas tender to the touch and sodden with the slickness that enveloped him too. Further down, across the shape of her cheeks, then back up to the spot that enticed him the most. A tiny pebble. Every muscle of her body seized upon the gentlest impact—even those that gripped him on the inside.

"You like it here."

"I—It appears so~"

It seemed that he was about to unlock a secret for the both of them.

Continuing that caress with enthusiasm, he managed to draw a whole plethora of rewarding sounds from her throat, each one sweeter than the next, another language indeed; one that was free of the vices of misunderstandings. It almost moved him to bear witness to something so beautiful.

All the while, the throttling pressure of her insides made it harder to contain himself. Gravity tugged on his hips, bringing them forwards in tiny movements that singed him from the base of his spine to his busy fingertips. Fire—once feared, now welcome.

Scrunching his nose, he tried to suppress it, holding a growl at the back of his throat and the flame in his loins.

"No, don't stop—! Keep going," she breathed incredulously, shaken by the way her body burned to receive the monstrous proportions of him, deep and deeper still.

She gave him that look again, pupils jittering from the snarl of his lips to the gleam in his eye, shrouded in the shadows of his dangling hair.

Perhaps, his imposing nature could be of use…

Experimentally, he rolled his pelvis, if just to test how much he could move, to see how delicate she was. The warm, welcoming channel of her body drew him right in; walls turned into honey. Her hands had found his knees, gripping him. Releasing a guttural breath, he pulled back a little further, pushed back in, couldn't decide which part of the rhythm thrilled him the most.

One thing however, he wanted to dedicate his attention to first.

It seemed… important.

Hips rolling onward with light thrusts, his fingertips resumed their figures on the spot she so enjoyed. Patterns in nature were easy to read. The veins of a leaf, the paths of mice. All he had to do was watch, listen and learn. So, he learned how hard to press, which shapes to draw, until the arch of her spine crested like a wave and crashed, her voice so high and desperate as she gave to him the most beautiful display his eyes had ever beheld.

"Was that… right?"

She laughed, hiding her face behind shaky palms. Every tight string of her muscles seemed to have been snapped by the force of whatever had rippled through her so magnificently.

"Incredible," she whispered like she'd had an audience with God, reaching one palm out to beckon him closer.

His composure melted when she cradled his cheek, slipped her fingers to the back of his skull. A tender, golden smile became a growl in the pit of his poached lungs. If it was possible, her nethers had become even slicker, gripping at him from every angle, and no longer could he resist.

He descended on her like a tower collapsing, caging her beneath his chest; joints, bones and tendons all connecting to snap into harmony. Even if he so wished it, he couldn't stop the force of nature that spooled itself from his loins, ricocheting forth against her center until his teeth were laid bare, grunting and growling with quaking breaths as he rutted into her.

"Mine."

Never had he owned anything, not a home, not a bed, not a parent's loving touch.

But he wanted to own this precious fawn, the same way that the roots of a tree owned the soil and the soil owned the tree.

"Yes!" She keened, pulling his parted lips against her mouth so she could drink every growl, every purr directly from its wellspring.

The very forest ground trembled from the impact of his hips; large hands gripping at her flesh, she could all but mewl as she witnessed the ferocity contained within this gentle giant's mind, unleashed upon her in love and heat.

Soon, she had an inkling from the way his narrow pelvis stuttered against her thighs and his breath crawled from his chest in deeper, darker rumbles; the noises of a direwolf. She locked her ankles behind his back and mere moments later, his head rolled back, cast in pure bliss.

The sharp angles of his features softened in the golden light as his face kissed the sun, all that predatory semblance melted away, shape-shifting her fairy prince from wolf to doe in the passing of a bonded heartbeat. A tear rolled down his sutured cheek, curling against her thumb where she held him. His release poured plentiful from the cradle of her body and he shivered so fiercely that all she wanted was to hold him close, let every thread of hers comfort every stitch of his.

Heavy lids rolled open as they encountered each other in the afterglow, still human and human, or perhaps ascended into creature and creature. The birds and deer had all been undisturbed by the coupling of these two beings.

Whatever they'd feared to ruin, it was covered in efflorescence, a sea of flowers craning their heads towards the sun—towards life.

If you enjoyed this fanfiction, a kind comment or a reblog would mean the world to me 💕🦌

The embers of a late summer day still cling to Benny's hair and jacket as he glowers at the scene before him — His twin brother sprawled out on the king-sized bed, big enough to fit three people, legs propped up and spread apart so that the first thing that Benny was forced to see when he walked in was Feyd-Rautha's cock filling out their sweetheart's pussy from root to tip.

She's on his chest, her legs raised and held apart by veined, pale hands, tits bouncing with each obscene upwards thrust, lungs fighting for enough air to formulate a greeting as Feyd carves her insides out. The creaking of the slatted frame is unhealthy sounding, dark wood slamming against the tapestry, the ever same spots crumbling under the force of the bed posts. The cotton sheets are rumpled under their bodies.

"And you've grown into a fully domesticated house cat?" Benny grits his teeth and throws his gloves on the chair, annoyed to find both armrests occupied by Feyd's shit. Who wears a fucking dressing gown at home anyway.

"One of us has to stay home to take care of our poor darling. We don't want her to feel neglected and leave us, do we, brother?"

Benny clenches his jaws and glares. He does not want that.

"I wasn't gone that long." The blonde man squares his shoulders, cheek and forehead still streaked with residue exhaust gases and dirt from the road.

"It's been over a week," Feyd coos promptly, his voice like rattling chains, being calmly dragged across jagged stone. "And you didn't come across a single payphone during your adventures."

Coming home is never not an aching duality. Guilt burns in his guts, a bitter taste at the back of his throat. He always waits for their darling to raise her voice and kick him back out on the street, but she never does. Benny's chest grows lighter, young heart pitter-pattering against his ribs. 

Coming home is also like getting candy at a carnival. It never stops being exciting when he wraps his hand around a bag of treats, and he will always moan when the cotton candy melts on his tongue.

"D-Don't provoke him," their darling finally gasps, trying to heave herself into a sitting position on Feyd's abdomen. She might as well have tried to sit still on a Bucking Bronco. The jerky undulations of his pelvis thrust her right backwards, spine colliding with the hard velvet planes of his chest again. Unyielding hands spread her knees that bit further back, tugging her to the sweet edge of discomfort.

"I should have known you would side with him, sweetling," Feyd purrs and Benny catches a glimpse of his brother's ink black canines and incisors that give him the guise of a hissing serpent. "I've been playing far too nice with you lately."

"I'm not siding with anyone, I'm just - ahhh - glad he isn't dead. G-God, Feyd, can you slow down?" Her head lolls sideways, nose and lips sliding against the cords of his neck as her chin settles in the hollow above his clavicle.

"Contrary to other people in this room, I take pleasuring you very seriously, so be a good darling now, yes?" Feyd is by no means done with this demonstration that has Benny’s aching hard-on pressing against his battered jeans. He's a fucking idiot for for being away from home and missing out on this — and leaving her in the care of his psychotic brother for so long.

"I'm sorry," the blonde man grits out, blue puppy eyes framed by long lashes. He's so ridiculously pretty, Feyd has always hated him for that.

"Make yourself useful, brother. You have something to make up for."

Benny doesn't even slip his boots or jacket off before climbing onto the bed like a dog whistled to heel. Leather creaks and the sharp smell of gasoline and cigarettes melts into the heady bouquet of sex, sweat and perfume. The mattress dips under the added weight and soot-stained hands glide over their sweetheart's jiggling ass, pinning her down against Feyd's hard abdomen and hip bones. Calloused thumbs tug her labia apart and his entire torso is forced to move along with his brother's unrelenting lesson to make him jealous.

"There you go," Feyd coos when their darling moans out, pussy clenching like a vise around his pale, milky shaft as soon as Benny's plush lips wrap around her swollen, little nub.

That's what makes it so great to share her, they all get something out of it.

Benny grunts his wordless apology, hot breath puffing out of his nostrils while his tongue gets to work, feasting on the sweet juice of homecoming. Benny is always so eager when he has his face stuffed between her legs, blue eyes begging for forgiveness as if he thinks he hardly deserves to be here in the first place. She can never stay mad at him for long even though she's sworn she will, god knows how many times.

The aching pressure of Feyd's thick cock sinks into her navel and her channel grows tight, every nerve end prickling overwhelmingly, lit by a match that only burns when both of them have their cocks and mouths on or in her.

The strength of two men holds down her squirming thighs and she can only throw her head from left to right, tear on Benny's curls or scratch Feyd-Rautha's hard flank bloody, but nothing can stop the white-hot orgasm from careening up to her.

The truth is, she can't climax so easily when she's worried and worry eats at her most of the time when Benny is away. She feels sorry for making Feyd work so hard for it when he's on his own, sorry to be cumming so fast now when Benny has only had his lips on her for a minute.

Moan after moan bubbles from her throat like beads off a snapped string and her convulsing body bears down on the man below her, hips bucking against the face of the man above her. Feyd-Rautha chuckles, calls her a filthy toy and the crude words prolong her climax for painful seconds. She feels wetness against her cheek and has to claw her way back out of the quivering daze to realize it's neither sweat nor tears, it's Feyd's tongue licking a stripe from her cheek to her temple.

Benny feels the pulsing of her cunt under his tongue, the contractions of her muscles radiating all the way to her swollen clit, and that's all he gets for now. Jealously, he peeks down at his brother's balls and cock, sheathed and snuggled and milked by their darling's squishy cunt. Or — about to be milked. His twin brother has an obscene amount of stamina when he wants to, probably because pain gets him going and nothing hurts like being edged.

Benny's jeans strangle him while he helplessly ruts against the sheets, like a mutt in heat that they had scraped off the road. He has far less self-restraint. His leather suffocates him and perspiration glues his shirt to his back, but he wouldn't take his lips off their darling's perfect little cunt even if a gun was held to his head.

The thick base of Feyd's cock slides repeatedly against Benny's chin. Spit drips out of the biker's pink mouth and down the coarse beard stubble which leaves Feyd's pale shaft with a prickling rash from the bristly friction. The fair-skinned brother hisses, muscles tensing in his glutes as he slams upwards.

Benny has something to make for to both of them.

One calloused palm remains on her thigh, the other slides to his brother's, hard fingertips kneading into white, smooth flesh. Feyd snarls, thrusts growing short and pointed, punching breathless yelps out of their toy's throat. Benny's hand then trails to Feyd-Rautha's smooth, hairless sac that bounces with each upwards slam. He flattens his palm against it and squeezes hard until Feyd hisses a curse in their mother tongue.

One never knows with Feyd-Rautha's fickle moods and Benny doesn't want to risk a blade against his neck. That's their darling's thing, not his. In truth, he only wants his brother to cum faster, so he can finally have his turn.

"Benny," Feyd-Rautha growls in warning and the blonde man removes his fingers, finding a more interesting target between the slick mess of slapping flesh.

"Benny!" Their darling yelps, feet kicking adorably in empty air.

"What's he doing, sweetling?"

"He's—"

"Playing with your cute little ass, isn't he? Well I can't stop him."

The biker's finger slides in deep and she's painfully aware, yet awfully indifferent, that he didn't wash his hands. His long, thick middle finger sinks down to the last knuckle and the cool metal of his ring bumps into her puckered muscles over and over. His pink mouth suckles messily on her clit, Feyd's cock pounds the air out of her lungs and her center twists itself so tight that the pleasure of it cramps up her entire lower half.

She climaxes once more with a wailed, inhuman sound, thrashing her head from left to right. This time, Benny can feel the contractions of her hole around his finger. He smirks stupidly against her pulsing clit as juice from her cunt drips over his dirty hand, giving him the means to wiggle a second, thick finger inside that cute little hole.

Her sweetly pain-stricken tone is what finally makes Feyd-Rautha cave into the milking contractions of her cunt that pull him in as if to secure his seed inside her womb. And who is he to deny her. While Benny is the dirty street dog in the relationship, Feyd regards himself as a sophisticated animal, relinquishing every drop of himself only with utmost control.

He holds himself firm against her cervix and the shivers of his peak roll down his pale, twitching muscles. Their sweetheart whines quietly against his throat with spit-wet lips, hands folded limply over her stuffed belly. Feyd's cock gives one last greedy twitch when Benny's tongue slides hotly over his balls, lapping at this leaking seed.

"Filthy dog, that's not for you," Feyd rasps but doesn't command his feral twin away.

Impatiently, one tan, broad hand sprawls across their darling's ass cheek and shoves. Her pliant body scoots up Feyd-Rautha's abdomen until his cock slips out, together with a filthy squelch and a rivulet of frothing cum. Two fingers are still working her tight little channel open, easier than ever with so much gushing lube.

"She's gonna need a third one for your cock," Feyd coos, a drowsy lilt to his severe tone, though his hands still keep her legs bent backwards and her cunt and ass on display like a homecoming buffet for his brother.

"You think so?" Benny's blue eyes twinkle trustfully in the lamplight. Without the crude soundscape of Feyd's hips shattering the slatted frame, the disheveled pair finally notice the needy rhythm of Benny's pelvis, grinding against the sheets as he waits his turn, a dog held back only by the collar and leash of guilt strangling his neck.

"On second thought, she doesn't. Get up here."

Get your part of the sweet fucking cherry pie.

Benny bounces upright like a whipcord and strips out of jacket and shirt. Sweat glistens on tan pectorals and a few beads have gotten caught in the sparse, blonde hair sprinkled across his chest and the trail down his taut abdomen. Her eyes follow the frantic movement of bruised fingers, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down just enough to free his flushed cock, jutting out from blonde, messy curls. It bobs obscenely and smacks on her abdomen as he crawls over her, already wrapping a fist around himself to angle the blunt tip to her slick, puckered hole.

"Y'smell like a rat died n'your armpits," she tries to joke, though her tongue feels like a sluggish thing, stuffed and forgotten in her mouth. Reaching up, she curls her palm gently around Benny's hard bicep and her hand shakes ridiculously. The boy smiles stupidly at the comment, proud of himself. Feyd snorts and takes pity on his twin. If he had a tail it would be wagging.

"You can have her cunt too, brother. I warmed her up for you. I know you like it warm and messy."

Even when they were kids, Benny was always the one who loved playing in the dirt. Wetting his cock with his brother's cum only makes him harder. It's just the rotten cream on top of his slice of sweet cherry pie.

"But I— Aahhh!" Her cute complaints are forced back into her lungs as the air is battered out of them. Her cunt is stretched well enough from Feyd's cock to take Benny's to the hilt in one smooth glide. He had probably expected more resistance and found none. The blunt, thick tip of him slams into her cervix, full force.

She hisses through her teeth, staked on the thick, hot lance of his cock. Without delay, he snaps into action, pulling back only to slam back in even quicker. He fucks like he rides — fast and with little care for damage, for the thrill and for the joy of it.

Benny eclipses the lamplight, caging her between his brother and himself. One palm braces himself against the mattress, the other slides softly over her cheek, neck and bouncing chest, happy to find her nipples standing pert against his calloused palm. His fingertips are so gentle, but his pace is not. Her cunt aches, yet pleasure blooms through the blunt, burning pain of being stretched out and used.

"Please, m'so sore." She would have almost preferred to be fucked in the other hole instead.

Feyd's hand curls around her neck, pressing her down against his shoulder. A gentle reminder that any escape attempt will be in vain and also punished.

"Did you hear that, our darling is sore," he purrs in gentle mockery.

"Yeah, I heard that," Benny grunts, blue eyes slipping over her pathetically disheveled face. "Is it too bad, babycakes? I can stop." He slows down, and the slower pace almost aches worse, reminding her every nerve of just how sore they are. It would take him great effort to stop, but it'd be a punishment he deserves.

"She can take it," Feyd purrs, fingers of the remaining hand tightening their grip on the back of her knee, holding her quivering thigh bent and open. "Don't disappoint my brother, sweetness, we've fucked you much worse."

"N-N-Now you're siding with him?"

"Of course, he's my brother. He's been saving up his cum all week. Didn't you, Benny?"

"I didn't cheat if that's what you're asking—hmmph!" 

Feyd's hand has abandoned their darling's thigh and curled around his brother's hip, gripping him by the ass cheek just above the haphazardly shoved down jeans, encouraging him to go faster, harder. 

"Oh, no, you wouldn't. I'd kill you if you did." Everyone in this room knows Feyd means it.

Encouraged, Benny ruts into their sweetheart's slick, squishy pussy, hard and hurried, taking advantage of the privilege as long as he has it, scared that his baby might kick him off any second. And she could, now that her legs are finally free from Feyd-Rautha's grasp.

But what she does is sling her shaky legs around his hips, heels scraping against the back pockets of his jeans, because she never wants him to leave again.

Feyd holds her steady by the neck, a nice little fuck toy for his brother. Their darling's calf lies over his hand on Benny's ass and his thumb strokes over her pulse. He'll know when it really gets too much for her. She just likes to complain, but at the end of the day, her squishy cunt can't stop weeping for their cocks and her little mouth can't stop drooling for them when they manhandle her and toss her around like a cute, little doll.

Her lungs quiver around the smell of sweat, cigarettes and testosterone, the perfect fucking scent to get high on and chuck the remainder of her brain into the trash. There's nothing to worry about when she's squished between two hard, virile bodies, caged by clenching biceps and twitching abdominal muscles, both of these bodies powered by the strength of their thick thighs and hard shoulders.

The only downside is that she can't catch a break with two of the same kind in her life, but the good thing is that she don't need to worry bout nothing when they're both in her bed, fucking her brain into gummy soup.

"Open, sweetness." Benny's thumb presses against her bottom lip and wriggles into her drooling mouth, tasting of cigarettes and tanginess. Her jaw falls down obediently and Benny grins before spitting on her pink tongue. "Now kiss my brother."

Feyd-Rautha chuckles. "How thoughtful of you."

His pillow-shaped lips descend on her open mouth, her sweaty neck still gently strangled by his palm. Black teeth sink into her upper lip before his mouth slants against hers diagonally, rolling his tongue against the sluggish thing in her mouth with gratuitous saliva. Moans and pitiful whimpers are swallowed by Feyd-Rautha's mouth while Benny's cock pistons into her with hard, slapping rhythm, jolting her body back and forth in the clamp of sweaty muscles.

Sticky flesh rehardens, pokes and twitches against the cleft of her ass. The plump head is nuzzled against Benny's ball sack. Feyd relishes her thunderous heartbeat under his palm, her pupils blown comically wide with fucked-out arousal and fear. She knew this was coming.

"He's already prepared you for me," Feyd coos, pressing wet teeth against the corner of her mouth. "Don't want his efforts to be in vain."

The two men shuffle for a moment and gruff hands pull on her flesh, tugging her in place just how they need her until Feyd finds the right angle to line himself up, evoking snarls and sharp nails in Benny's clenching back when the blunt head of his cock forces her slicked-up ring of muscles to spread open.

"Now, now, don't pretend this is too much. We all know there's enough room for both of us."

"It's alright, babycakes." Benny holds still, letting her pussy flutter meekly around the girth of him. His calloused hand captures her chin, thumb rubbing over the drool-glossy corner of her mouth. He looks so beautiful on top of her, blonde hair frazzled into a shattered lamplight halo.

She pouts at him, grunting when Feyd's cock sinks deeper inside with surprisingly slow, little thrusts. And then, when Benny starts moving again, her holes are stuffed so good, she might just implode around them and never have a single thought in her blanked-out little brain again.

"Ahhh, God, that's so—aaahh~"

"That's it, doll, that's how we like our sweet little thing," Feyd snarls, hand on her neck, arm slung around the small of Benny's twitching back. Benny grins, white teeth among blonde stubble, as if he hasn't been happier in his entire life.

And maybe he hasn't. In his untamable heart, living from sunset to sunset, every day is another adventure as prickling and brand new as the last.

The two of them find a filthy rhythm, viciously in sync like only twin brothers could be.

They are sunshine gold above, chalk white hills and midnight teeth below and yet they are each other's complimentary mirror image, engaged in a brotherly staring and fucking contest and their sweet slice of pie is stuck on the front line between them, moaning and crying their names so good that both of them could go insane and lose their minds in her cute, filthy holes.

"Oh, god... oh, fuck, oh, g-god! B-Benny, ah, Feyyyd—"

"Yes, baby, comeoncomeon!" Benny grunts out, brows scrunching up in despair. His balls ache from a week's worth of cum and desire knots at the pit of stomach, pleasure pulling outwards in a way that he can hardly contain with sheer power of will. He needs his baby to milk the seed out of his cock like she wants to fill herself up with his whelps.

The bed creaks, Benny's sweaty curls grind tirelessly against her swollen clit and Feyd's fingers tighten around her windpipe. Climax wipes out her seeing and hearing for a solid thirty seconds. Both holes clench pathetically around their cocks, drool slips from the corner of her mouth and gathers in the hollow between Feyd's clavicles.

Benny's mouth pops open, string of curses falling out as he lets himself get dragged in by his sweet darling sugar pie's pussy, milking him for all he has, milking him until it hurts and he wants to bury his face in her shoulder.

Feyd watches his brother come apart, gawks at him with parted lips and wickedly twitching smile. Dark eyes gleam and he waits only for one thing, for Benny to look him in the eyes, and when he does, Feyd-Rautha too drains himself into the sweet release of painful pleasure, pumping their sweetheart's ass full of filthy seed.

Three bodies come to rest and time and air stand still. Evening light seeps through the dirty window pane. Dogs bark outside and the stench of sex and sweat is nearly suffocating in the heat. Benny's weight bears down on the both of them as he nuzzles her neck and then his brother's.

"Benny," she sighs, mussing up his greasy strands with gentle fingers.

Pretty, sleepy puppy.

But a heavy one too. Feyd's breath below her is strained and quiet, but he holds out patiently.

Ten minutes. Then, Benny eases off them, cock slipping out of her sore sheathe. Proudly, he gawks down at himself, finding his shaft covered in slick and a lewd combination of cum from root to slit. Feyd-Rautha lifts her gently off his cock and thick dollops escape her clenching hole.

"I'll clean that up for you." Benny darts for the filthy treat between her thighs.

"NOOO, enough!" The sole of her foot splats against his bristly cheek and shoves him off with so much force that he's sent toppling off the bed, landing moaning and groaning on the creaking hardwood floor.

"Kush!" She then smacks at Feyd's bald head and the feline man all but leaps off the bed, knowing that the only thing to save him from a beating — or being sprayed down with a water bottle — is bringing enough distance between him and his sweetling. That and bringing her a warm, damp cloth.

Their baby's sulking with them now, so they better take care of her good.

"Get up, idiot." Feyd-Rautha kicks his brother in the ribs who is still shuffling around on the ground, stuffing his sweaty dick back into his jeans.

"Huh?"

"You know what to do!" Feyd yanks his twin up by the armpits and shoves him towards the hallway door to fetch their darling a nice, big glass of water, like always.

"Sorry, baby~" Benny catches himself against the door frame, looking back to her with big blue eyes that could melt rocks.

"It's fine," she smiles, smirks even, and Feyd tsssks through painted teeth, pale toes tapping on the floorboards.

"Always so lenient with him."

"Can't help it," she giggles. "Look at him."

"Yeah, I know."

"What's that supposed to mean," grumbles a blushing, pouting Benny before stomping out on the hallway as Feyd cracks the bathroom door open, pale, lithe limbs slipping out of view.

Finally alone — at least for a minute — their darling slumps against the damp pillows and lets out the biggest sigh of relief. Finally, things are as they should be again.Tonight, she will sleep sandwiched between the two warmest, nicest pillows in the world, embraced by two pairs of arms and legs and two heartbeats thudding peacefully against hers.

A/N: I want to be their brainless piece of cherry pie so bad 😩💦🥵 I don't rule out writing more random smutty scenarios with them, if inspiration strikes, hehe.

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

When the crowd begins to chant in Harkunnin, guided by the announcer's guttural timbre, she perceives the world as if through a filter.

sacrifice to House Harkonnen her mortal blood   (give up her blood!) dedicate to House Harkonnen her faithful flesh   (give up her flesh!) leave to herself the deadly fear   (leave the fear!) leave to the mortals the endless fear   (beckon to death!)

The halves of the oval doorway slide open, like a birth canal giving way to its hellish spawn, and Feyd-Rautha marches confidently into the triangular colossus. From the highest stand he is no bigger than a mote on the lens of the binoculars, yet his presence fills the entire arena, more god than man to the one million spectating fanatics.

What is she thinking, challenging their god of blood and rot? Everyone craves to see her fail, no one wishes for her to earn her freedom. No one understands how she could reject their idol who has chosen her - unworthy, unwilling thing - as his concubine.

A putrid breeze catches the fabric of Feyd's tunic as he saunters in a wide half-circle, like a snake drawing closer and closer, hypnotizing its prey with slow movements made of liquid. This is how the gladiators in the Empire of Roma on Old-Earth must have felt, she thinks, thrown into the ring with a beast to fight for life and death. Freedom or death, in her case. Feyd is the beast and she is the human. The only human, going by the fanatic crescendo of Harkonnen chanting.

"May my spear skewer you dead," she greets Feyd-Rautha when he stands before her, a smooth pillar of black and white, unfazed by the chanting and the radiation. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"And mine you." Feyd grins at the brief flicker of confusion as she glances at the weapons he holds so carefully. Blades, not spears.

The crescendo peaks, a beehive of frenetic anticipation, all eyes on who will launch the first attack.

She was never meant to win, she realizes the moment she lunges, soft sand shifting underfoot. The sand in the training pit is harder, more gravelly. Her balance feels off and Feyd knows it.

He playfully parries her attack, then the next and the next. The humor in his eyes is the worst thing, and the condescending gleam. 

Months of hoping and training for her freedom are reduced to nothing and less than nothing within minutes. This is not the fair chance he promised her. All of their training together was a slight. The sweat, blood and tears she shed into the gravelly sand, those times when she scraped him bloody with her spear and made him laugh, made him praise her like he was truly impressed.

"You dishonorable dog!" She screams against the thick smog and the wailing background noise of the crowd. "You promised me a fair fight, you promised!"

Feyd's expression darkens momentarily, pouty lips turned downwards, a storm brewing in his eyes. A telltale muscle in his jaw twitches.

Yes, she's made him angry, good! Perfect!

Feyd's blades smack against her spear, a quick succession of tack, tack, tack. Then a thump as he aims for her fingers with the handle to shatter her bones. She dips backwards, thrusting the spear forwards at the same time. Feyd's shield prickles angrily, repelling her thrust.

Back into defense, quick, tack, thump, sksshhh!

The longer of the kukris scrapes unpleasantly against the spear shaft. She gyrates in a tight circle, piercing Feyd's shield with the lower end of the shaft pressed against his neck. She ushers him with her in a circular orbit until he ducks under the spear and aims for her thighs, slowing his attack just in time to penetrate the shield. Her trousers tear and blood hotly soaks the fabric. It's a shallow cut. He could have sliced her femoral artery.

"Why are you holding back, you motherless bastard? Kill me now!" 

Disbelief slackens Feyd-Rautha's features as he takes a step back, blades dangling from his hands. He looks surreal in the glaring light, stripped of color, stripped of the soft hues that only show themselves in the artificial light of the glow orbs in her room. She is mad for provoking him.

The unbeaten gladiator roars - the birthday boy - he lunges and slams down, not with the blades but with the handles. With brutal force and precision, they hit the center of the spear's shaft, accomplishing the impossible.

A hairline fracture springs over the shaft, Sardaukar craftsmanship damaged by the ferocity of one apoplectic Harkonnen who laughs boyishly at her expression. Abusing her surprise (has her weapon been sabotaged?!), he tackles her to the ground.

Dust puffs up, momentarily obscuring her vision. Instinctively, she yanks up the spear, pressing it through Feyd's shield, shaft against his throat.

He sits on her thighs, blades sinking through her shield to kiss her sternum, tickling without killing. The pressure against his throat draws terrible grunting and choking noises from the na-Baron who laughs open-mouthed, spit dribbling off his teeth, an inky rivulet that penetrates her shield and slips wetly over her bare clavicles. She fights to shove him off with the full force of two hands.

The hairline fracture in the spear begins to branch out, crack by tiny crack. She stares awestruck and with horror as Feyd-Rautha's face turns grey, teeth bared grotesquely as he groans and salivates and laughs like a boy.

Aaaaaa-ooooohh!

The crowd bellows as the spear splinters right in the middle and Feyd's throat bursts through, marred by a fat bruise that stretches black and ugly just below his Adam's apple. His voice is hoarse and barely recognizable when his body pushes into her shield, chests coming flush, and his drooling mouth finds her neck, sucking a bruise as his breath rattles in his throat. His blade-wielding fists push harmlessly into the sand.

"Anything you'd like to feed the dishonorable dog?"

"I want you to choke on sand and die! I want you to- Ahhh!"

Feyd wrenches the spear halves out of her hands and throws them away. She screams into his laughing visage as he pins her to the sand, hikes up her tunic and tears off her shield generator, then slashes through the front of her pants.

When he reaches down to unclasp the armor plate that shields his crotch, she lunges and punches him in the guts, punches him again, only waiting for the crotch plate to come off so she can punch him there, but Feyd slices her hand with a flash of white metal. The lacerating pain momentarily knocks the breath out of her lungs and she falls back, clutching the hand to her chest, howling.

Gazing up, she is looking into a kaleidoscope of madness, a writhing mass of Harkonnens all around, an ensemble for a nightmare and she is the involuntary harlequin.

The heat of the black sun brings a second pulse against the inside of her eyeballs and she feebly lifts her lacerated hand, surprised to see that all of her fingers are still attached, though her middle and index finger stand unnaturally far apart, separated by a glistening, weeping gash diagonally through her palm.

A pale, writhing shape behind her hand catches her attention and Feyd-Rautha's disfigured voice penetrates her brain fog. "You thought you could ever make it off my planet, whore?" His eyes gleam with mania, bleached by the black sun. "Out of my palace, out of my arms, unless I allowed it?!"

His shield is gone, his blades lie next to him in the sand. This is his victor's feast. The crotch plate is gone too and he cuts through more of her trousers and underwear. Groaning, she feels for the spears or knives, hissing when sand grates against her injury.

The wailing crowd convulses like one entity, a parasitic hive mind that undulates back and forth, a sea of black and white.

  (give up her flesh!)   (give up her flesh!)   (give up her flesh!)

She screams when Feyd's hand wraps around her thigh where he cut her earlier, squeezing and prodding until it comes away coated in blood. The hot liquid touches between her thighs, spread over her cunt by calloused fingers that even find the mercy in them to sink into her once, twice, lubricating her walls with her own blood.

Compared to the searing pain in her cut flesh, the ache of his blunt cock sinking into her is dull, almost comforting in its familiarity. How many times has he fucked her by now? It must have been hundreds. Humiliated in front of a million Harkonnens, this still isn't the worst way he's ever fucked her.

The thought makes her giggle and Feyd looks smitten when he crawls over her, fucking her with long, hard strokes. His eyes keep drifting to her lacerated palm, biting his lip at the sight of blood shed on his holy birthday. He supports his weight on his forearms, fingertips tickling her neck.

"Feyd…" she slurs and Feyd feels compelled to lean further down, anticipation on his features and a noticeable swell of his chest.

"I hate you."

Feyd's jaws twitch, serpent eyes becoming pinpricks while his hips roughly slam into her cunt. His hand wraps around her throat, but then he howls, open mouth turned to the sun, cursing, panting, eyes squinted. His own knife in her hand has slashed through his bicep, deep, deep, deep.

Feyd is unbalanced and she knocks him over. He hits his tailbone on the ground, dust billowing all over them. His cock is still buried in her cunt which has begun to warm up to him, offering slick to ease the glide of the thickly veined, velvety flesh.

She will give the Harkonnens something to boo at.

"Stay back!" Feyd laughs at the prowling picadors.

He is paralyzed by arousal, hips bucking on their own accord as she pins his arm down by the crook of the elbow and hacks the blade into the cut. Pieces of blood and gore splatter over his pale flesh and the armor plate covering his shoulder. His free hand clutches her hip, mind split between pleasure and agony, gripping her flesh to rut into her hard and fast, so he doesn't throw up into the sand.

There is a nauseating crack, hack, cchhrrkkk and Feyd bawls until her bloody hands come up to cover his mouth, knife victoriously planted into the sand. How is she covering his mouth with both hands when she's still holding down his arm? Feyd glances to the side and sees his severed arm being snatched away by a picador's hook.

The horned man-creature sprints away quickly, slipping into the bowels of the arena colossus. If the nerves are preserved, the arm  can be reattached later.

"Will you be a good boy now and let me go?" She growls, drawing the attention of black and white glassy eyes back to her. Her pelvis rolls greedily against his. Scratchy sand is trapped between their bloody, sweaty bodies.

Feyd laughs through the pain, laughs and laughs and laughs to mask the raging insanity because his woman still hasn't understood that she will die on Giedi Prime one day and nowhere else. His arm stump twitches against the ground.

"I'm, haha, never a good boy, hnnng-hah!"

"Hah! Yes, that I know!" She blurts out, voice high-pitched. The tears in her eyes may be from laughter as well. She gives a half-assed punch to Feyd's chest. "Fine, then I'll have to make do with a filthy mutt."

Feyd nods, yes, yes, he will be her filthy mutt and it doesn't matter if she wants him or not, if she hates him or not, it is not important, no, it is not important.

"Release me or I'll kill you!" She reaches for the blade again, but Feyd's knee jerks up, slamming into her ribs so she is knocked to the side. Feyd scrambles, crawling on top of her. They're only connected by his plump cock head that is still squished by her wet hole. Feyd's vision prickles with black dots and he sways, trying to catch his weight on the phantom arm that he swears is still there.

He falls down on the stump, howling, howling, like a beast in a bear trap, fighting against unconsciousness. He is the unbeaten gladiator - unbeaten! The ghost of a caring touch prickles against his ribs, stabilizing him.

With his intact forearm pressed against her throat, he throttles her like she did to him with her spear earlier, except that his veined forearm will never shatter, unless she cuts it off too.

She regrets not accepting the contacts that would protect her eyes from radiation. She had been scared of getting sand all over them, but now she wants nothing more than for the burn to stop and the throb-throb-throb behind her eyeballs that somehow matches the drag of Feyd's cock against her walls and the pulse in her slashed hand.

"Why don't you close your eyes, my darling, pretend we're in our bedroom?"

She does close her eyes and the cacophony of chanting voices turns into a warped melody, like wind tearing on leaves and whistling through porous rocks.

Humm, hummm, hummmm.

In this waking nightmare, the vision of her home world is swallowed by the black sun, a ravenous maw in the good universe. She lightly gasps when she feels hot lips against her neck and hot blood dripping on her chest. 

She wraps her arms around his neck, fingers tearing on the shoulder plate over the stump until it comes off. Softly, she caresses his shoulder while the rutting of his hips is anything but soft. Her legs wrap around his waist because at least he is familiar, an island in the sea of faceless, chanting monsters.

This is what happens when one listens to the voice of the devil. It crawls into the soul and rots you from the inside.

And suddenly the beast you've pitted yourself against is no longer a beast but a man and you're friends with the devil. The thought strikes her and she begins to laugh while tears track down her cheeks. Her poor devil has a severe bruise on his neck and she mustn't think about the arm — Oh, her poor devil!

Her laughter drives Feyd over the edge, pain, pleasure and humiliation, and he spills his rot inside her. Thick, lazy pulses of his cock that she finds oddly comforting. Her toes curl inside her boots and her pelvis happily grinds against Feyd's while the warmth of his seed sinks into her core.

Feyd's breath is heavy and strained when he shuffles away from her and stands, gritting his teeth. He is imposing even though a part of him is missing. The glaring light curls around his soft cheeks and full lips and touches his anemic eyes.

She wants to lie here just a little while longer, the sand is so nice and warm, but Feyd's hand cruelly wraps around her biceps and he drags her across the sand. She calls his name but he keeps marching, fueled by the mad cacophony of chanting and stomping. The hive mind salutes. Sand whirls up under his boots and dusts her face. Her shoulder joint screams in agony.

This was never a battle for death or freedom, it was death or rot.

   (Flesh!)   (Flesh!)   (Flesh!)

They probably don't care whose flesh was given.

Feyd-Rautha maintains his posture for show, internally trembling from blood loss, but the people only see the inhuman strength of their idol, virile and unfaltering despite sacrificing an arm. Still unbeaten. 

A black trail of seed and blood stains the white sand where the na-Baron walks and pulls his spoils of battle through the oval door, back into the womb of the concrete behemoth.

FEYD TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747