Peggysuave

The poem's Devil had no name, but the villagers knew he was there. They knew where he lived, too, at the end of Charnel Street, which wound from Townhall Square all the way to the settlement's fringe. There, on the crest of the hill, the Devil called a rotting mansion his home. Marked by the skeleton of a gnarled oak and a clattering fence, it was a towering ruin, a monument of ivy-shrouded decay that no one dared to claim, because a demon lurked in those folded shadows.

He had once cared to build, to restore. But there was no point in it. Everything would come apart again, and only he would remain.

The town he had chosen to settle in was teeming with sinners, and he watched over them. Not out of goodwill, but out of envy—and hatred. They knew his shadow like their own, when he passed down the darkened alleys on moonless nights, when his sulfurous gaze gleamed from the shattered windows of the mansion. He stalked the woods, the fields, deemed the source of all Evil, the curse upon every person's lips. He was a reaper, an ill omen to whoever crossed his wretched path.

Sometimes, children came to his home, goading each other into dares. He would scare them away.

Sometimes, men came to his home, carrying weaponry in their hands and bloodlust in their hearts. He would kill them.

If a woman ever were to come to his home… He didn't know what he would do.

Tonight, the icy and merciless gown of a snowless winter lay upon the land, and he dragged his boots up the hill from the forest to the mansion. Blades of dry, rime-covered grass brushed against his calves, hair blown away from his ghoulish skull by a gust of wind. The stars gleamed cold and distant above the undead Creature, tauntingly roaming the heavens that were denied to him.

Cold, self-acting fingers went to the familiar shape slung around his neck, softly twiddling the memento he had taken from Elizabeth's corpse over two decades ago. The cross' red paint had mostly faded from the assault of his thumb and forefinger, yet he could not keep himself from it. If not this, he felt that he would suckle on his thumb.

Coat pockets filled with a meager amount of roots and nuts, the Creature stepped upon the mansion's back porch, avoiding mold-rotten and broken planks. Pushing the door to the kitchen open and advancing into the living room on soft soles, he knew at once that something was not as it ought to be. The air flowed differently around the place, the gentle rush breaking against an unfamiliar obstacle. He tensed, a low growl ringing from the pit of his lungs.

Woe to the fool who entered the Devil's domain.

A subtle trace of soap and perfume curled from the corner of the room, and as his eyes adjusted, the intruder's shape became clear among the shadows of old, ruined furniture. A woman, it seemed, under that cloak and hood. With shock, he sized up her figure, and the frightened face that peeked at him from behind the fabric's rim. The Creature recognized her.

"I know you," he rumbled with the voice of a wolf, carefully enunciating every word. "You are… the thief. I have seen what need looks like, and you don't need the things you steal. "

The intruder seemed surprised to hear him speak. Or surprised to learn how much he knew, how much he saw.

"I can't help it," she relinquished with a faint tremor, her breath condensed in the winter air. Several shattered windows perturbed the insulation of the massive mansion walls.

"So, is that why you are here? You have come to steal from the Devil?" He ventured closer, rotting floorboards creaking beneath his weight. "What could you possibly steal from the Devil?"

"H-Hah, what d-do you have?" She said through chattering teeth.

The Creature rumbled. He had little to give, except for his rage and his hunger. His hands drifted aimlessly on either side of his body, long fingers submerged in contemplation.

"I have what you see here."

"I was j-joking, I am sorry, I will leave at once, I'm—"

"You walk into my home… and expect to leave unscathed?"

Her figure stilled, frozen in the deep blue darkness of the mansion as the Devil's enormous shadow encroached hers. Aged reliefs and stucco the color of bones watched from the edges of their vision, dusted in cobwebs.

"Please…" She stood still as a mouse, knowing with every awakened sense of her lively body that she would not make it to the door if she ran. The Monster would be upon her, dragging her back to his lair by the hood of her coat.

"You've heard the tales of what happens to those who disturb my peace?"

"You've m-murdered many townsfolk in here…"

"Men," he corrected her. "And I've frightened children, yes."

"So what will you do to me?"

She looked afraid of him, which was a shame. It always was, but it was never a surprise. She ought to be afraid of the Devil.

"Hmmm," he contemplated slowly, fingers curling idly as he pondered. His heart thumped within his chest, and he briefly wondered if she could hear it. "You will not leave. Until I have stolen something from you."

"From me?" She squeaked.

"Yes… Make me an offer, or I will take what I want." Raising his face, one damaged eye captured the distant starlight, bouncing it back to her with a lurid flash of yellow. Her breath stumbled.

Gloved, trembling fingers reached into the pocket of her coat and offered a pouch of coins. The Creature accepted it with fluttering fingers, his hand dwarfing hers, and weighed the pouch in his large palm. It was heavy, but worthless to him.

Slowly, he glanced towards his sleeping spot, comprised of patchy furs laid out before the cold fireplace. Neither the bare bed frame upstairs nor the moth-eaten sofa could fit his proportions.

There was a thing he wanted. A creature-feeling in the pit of his abdomen that occasionally surged, dumbing him, urging him to rut into his own hand until all was spilled and spent, and he—empty. Never did it truly please him. Always did he feel that something was amiss. If he could steal some of her warmth for himself…

A deal between a thief and the Devil seemed like his only chance to ever quench the need that clamored within the vestiges of humanity, for a prized thing called intimacy.

He would descend upon her and fuck her like a beast, because a beast was what he had come to be, and all he ever had been. He had long stopped trying to convince his neighbors—mankind—that he was not a monster. It was much easier to convince himself that he was.

And if he humiliated himself, he could simply kill her and the embarrassment with her… Yes. That ought to comfort him for the time being. Although he had never killed a woman before.

The Creature passed the pouch of coin back to her, seeking for the right words to preface his demand.

"Do you believe in God?"

The thief hesitated, staring at the towering silhouette of the rag- and fur-covered Devil who had scorned her stolen currency.

"I… I'm afraid what will become of me, upon my end. I swear I meant it, I cannot help myself, I steal and I steal… So, if He sees everything…" Envisioning God's judgment, she shuddered.

The Creature circled her with slow, lumbering footsteps and she backed away from the hallway entrance, easily crowded towards the center of the living room.

"I don't know about God, but I know about the Devil, and He sees everything. I see everything… I am here to make you humble~ To make you see your faults."

"Do I have a choice?"

He hesitated. She had the choice to scream and cry and retch, and he could hardly imagine himself wanting to force himself upon her then. He would let her go, and loathe himself all the more. But what he said was—

"No."

She seemed to have expected as much.

"And you want… what I think it is that you want?" She, too, looked towards his sleeping place, the large but sorry heap of furs. He hesitated, inching closer. Excitement had begun to throb deep behind his ribs, pooling lower.

"Yes."

This thief was neither screaming, nor crying, nor retching. She was just trembling—and pondering. That realization sufficed to make a flame lick along his groin, cock stiffening and filling out his trousers. The Creature's chest rose and fell with rugged breaths.

"And after, you will let me leave?"

"Yes."

"Then, I s-suppose I can offer you that."

A bargain had been struck, and somehow he was still surprised.

A tiny ah escaped his rattling lungs, hairless brows twitching towards his deep trident scars. With realization, want burst along every feeling vein of him, pulling his thundering footsteps across the floorboards to cross the remaining distance. The woman's smaller frame turned out to be much easier to manhandle than he had anticipated, so she went down on the furs with a yelp and he on top of her, his thighs and hips wedged between hers. She stared up at him, her eyes blown wide.

This was how it was done. The male on top succumbing the female to his will. He had seen it many times, so it had to be the way of nature.

The Creature's hair half obscured his vision as he reached under her coat and skirt. Even through the fabric of her smallclothes, the flesh of her legs seemed unbearably supple, forbidden to touch for a Devil like himself. Briefly, he allowed himself the luxury to knead her thighs, gripping a handful of muscle and meat. The woman whimpered, her limbs stiff and shaking. Surely, she was afraid.

Large hands awkwardly encroached on her center, obstructed by cloth. His eyes and fingers danced, driven by curiosity, but he decided it was simply easier to rip the garment along the center seam to reap what had been agreed on. The fabric came apart with ease, and one hand went down his trousers, releasing his cock. The heavy organ shuddered in his grasp, overly hard and weeping pearlescence at the tip. Without looking or waiting, he pressed the thick, blunt crown to the woman's center.

"W-Wa-ait, I'm not wet, wait!"

Wet?

The Creature shuddered and paused. Yes, he supposed that description matched what he had gleamed, peeking through curtains and dirty windows; some sort of glistening sheen that bedewed a woman's nethers during the act of lovemaking. Not always, though…

"Please, Devil, not like this…"

"Not like this," he echoed, his voice quiet and thick. "How, then?"

That left her stunned and struggling for words, though a breath of relief passed through her lungs.

"Do I repulse you?" He asked, tilting his head, one ghostly pupil reflecting the pale light.

"I'm… I am afraid."

"Do I repulse you?"

"I c-can't say. I can barely see you."

The Devil, releasing his member from his grip, shrugged out of his musty coat, more rags than garment, and let the shirt follow suit, both pieces of fabric shredded by bullets and sickles and every other metallic tool of mankind's hatred for his monstrosity.

Cold winter air stung the stitches of his bare torso. With slow fingers, he pushed strands of hair behind both of his ears, white and maroon falling down to his mid chest. Only the faded, red cross remained between his clavicles, the matching pearls on the string aged and weathered.

The woman's eyes gauged the proportions of him, racing up and down discolored scars and the unlikely piece of jewelry just below the fleshly cross that scarred his Adam's apple.

"You will warm me," the Creature declared with a low rumble. "Undress."

"I c-can't warm you, I'm cold!" She blinked towards the dark fireplace.

"I cannot light it," he sighed. "Men might come… and I would have to kill them."

The thief squeaked, turning her eyes back to his grisly visage. He considered it a mercy, to keep the flames out and spare her the horror of beholding his face and flesh in bright firelight.

"Devil…" she pleaded as his large hand hovered above her clothed body, uncertain where to settle.

"Undress," he murmured again. "Lest you want me to tear those garments to shreds and leave you with the predicament to return home as a wreckage. There would be no doubt that you've become a plaything for the Devil."

He licked his lips as the layers of her clothing came undone, coat, hood, gloves, dress, stays, smallclothes, awkwardly stripped piece by piece and discarded on the floor. By the end of it, she only wore her boots and stockings, and his mouth felt parched.

Gooseflesh pricked at every inch of her skin, cast in the blue, reflected gleam of the night and the shadows of his towering figure. She was a painting, come to life by the horrid brush strokes of the deal she'd struck with the Devil. Hungrily, he leeched onto the forbidden sight of swells and curves in unfamiliar places, every part of her sublime to his demonic eyes.

She closed her lids when his large palm settled on her bare sternum. Perhaps she imagined him to be someone else. He could live with that. Her tightly sealed eyes allowed him the freedom to roam her skin and glance between her legs without fear of humiliating himself. Her thighs twitched when blue fingertips trailed across the thatch of hair—missing on his own anatomy—and lower, coming across the peculiar texture of the skin that resided there.

It all seemed so small, yet convoluted, and for a fraction he felt panic surge, having no clue at all how and where to enter her until his fingers slipped and her nethers miraculously gave way to him, revealing a hidden channel that quite easily sucked two of his digits in. A strange noise escaped her lips.

Could this be considered wet already? It certainly felt so, although he had no idea what could have possibly made her so.

She had lied. She was warm. Right there.

Angling his stitched wrist, the Creature's fingers dipped, astonished how deep he could go, enthralled by the way her body shuddered when he pulled out and sunk back in. Starting slow, he ogled the glistening sheen wrapped around his emerging fingers, sliding back and forth with less and less resistance.

She held her quaking knees before her breasts, as though to hide herself behind them. The Creature's free hand drifted from her abdomen to her chest, coaxing her thigh away with his corded forearm. Fingertips darkened by permanent frostbite roved over supple skin, brushing over one of her hardened peaks. He only had one of those. The woman squeaked, face flipping to the side—because his hands were cold, he presumed.

The heavy organ between his legs throbbed with neglect. He had little idea about the appropriate amount of time needed to make a woman wet. Would half an hour suffice? He'd meant to get it over with to release her from his clutches sooner, but now he found himself wanting to draw it out. As his digits eased back and forth, slowly quickening their pace, her gooseflesh began to dissipate and the tremors in her knees eased as her thighs fell open wide.

A deep and needy sound lifted itself from the pit of his lungs unwillingly. A sheen of saliva had gathered on his parted lips and he wondered what a sight he must be, hulking over her, bare-chested and drooling, wrist snapping against her cunt.

"I think this ought to suffice," the thief said through gritted teeth, fingers clenched into the furs.

"Does it?" He cocked his head, curling his digits again, as deep as they could reach.

"Why are you taunting me when I'm inviting you to proceed?"

He hadn't meant to.

"Very well, I will proceed."

Removing his fingers from the confines of her sheath with a squelch, he momentarily fought the near overwhelming urge to lave his tongue across the shiny coat that marked his digits like an animal. Gooey wetness shimmered along his discolored skin, gathering at the thick suture that connected his index finger to his hand. The digit that had once belonged to a different man strayed away from its cousins.

Stifling his fascination, the Creature gripped his cock, squeezing the thick shaft in his palm as he angled himself against the soft, squishy place he had stretched and opened on his fingers. Still, everything seemed too small to fit him, but her petals had been parted by his earlier touch and so he had an idea where he was going.

The first touch of hot, sodden sensation licked along his cock head, and all it took was one guttural snarl and a roll of his hips to drive the thick crown into her channel. Warmth engulfed him, squeezing him from every angle. His lips hung open, knees shuffling on either side of the woman's naked hips. The creature-feeling sank into his bones, drawing his hips back and forth in short but quickening thrusts. His drifting hands settled somewhere on top of her, searching for a place to cling to.

"You are… very big." Her breath shuddered, airy and strained.

For a moment, he was confused, because why mention it now? Until he realized that she was not addressing his overall anatomy, but the size of his member that stretched her out.

"Am I?"

"Yes, Devil." She squirmed under him, struggling to accommodate his proportions.

"Does it… hurt?"

His hips rolled, one hand clamping around her waist, the other braced against the furs next to her head. The stringy shadows of his hair whisked across her bare flesh, rippling in tandem with his thrusts and the cross below his neck. She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, stifling whatever noises of what he presumed had to be pain.

The floorboards creaked. He tried to go slow, but his hips slammed down, drawn in by the promise of all the intimacy he could reap. Her skin wasn't warm, but warmer than his, and their combined breath fogged up the wintry air.

Grunting, he gorged on the sublime softness of her body, the heat of her cunt, and found himself craving her more and more. How many would come to try and kill him if he simply kept this one here? Spread out on the furs, wet and warm and lovely. He might even fix the windows, find clean covers for the pillows and harvest the plumpest berries from the forest just for her.

With a demonic growl, he banished the wickedly domestic thought.

"I could squash your skull, like a fruit." The Creature's hand spanned her head, then fell to her throat, encircling it with cold, cadaverous fingers. "And snap your neck like a twig…"

This ought to frighten her. In his long, arduous life he had heard countless cries of fear and terror, but this one was entirely new. The woman gasped, her pulse jumping softly against his palm. Her sheathe where he was buried constricted around him, and he found himself fighting back a grunt. Uncertainly, his fingers flexed around her throat, eliciting another clench of those velvet walls that throttled him so.

"Don't you dare judge me, Devil," she rasped defiantly and it became clear that this reaction wasn't normal. Her eyes gleamed at him from beneath lowered lashes.

"You want to be defiled," he concluded, brushing his thumb up and down her thrumming pulse. "Then I will defile you."

Clenching his fist, air staunched against the applied pressure and her mouth flew open wide, leaving her gasping for breath. His hips slammed down deep, splitting her open on the girth of his cock. Her body must ache from his, yet she slung her legs around his waist, urging him deeper, or perhaps that's just what he wanted to think of her soft calves on his lower back.

"You believe you deserve it, don't you?"

She whimpered, openly meeting his ghoulish gaze. Perhaps she'd come not to steal, but for absolution. He would gladly play the role for her.

The motion of his hips came naturally to the memory of his ancient muscles, driving himself deeper and faster. Her flesh moved and jiggled under the forceful impacts, cushioned by the furs, her channel tight around his cock.

When her eyes rolled, he released her fragile throat, let her gasp for precious air. She seemed to find something in his gaze that made her walls constrict even without the strangulating pressure of his enormous grip, so he settled on one forearm and clamped one hand around her hip, spanning it from bone to cheek.

Enthralled, he grunted like the bear whose flayed pelt lay underneath their bodies.

"Stop…!" She pleaded, squirming against his chest. "It feels… good…"

"Then I will not stop."

She moaned, whined, and this time he was certain that they were sounds of pleasure, all reaped by him.

The town and forest lay silent. No one would come—with guns and fire and pitchforks—to save her from the jaws of the Devil.

This little thief was all his.

Intuitively, he added a downwards grind against her mound whenever he snapped into her, finding he quite enjoyed the way her channel clenched whenever he did so. The heels of her boots dug into his lower back.

"What are you doing?" She blabbered, nails clawing lines into his thick shoulders. "You're doing something to me~"

"Yes," he growled. He was certainly doing something. "I'm cursing you." Chapped, blue lips peeled back from his teeth in a motion that he distantly remembered as a grin.

His hips rolled deep and hard, undulating almost as he stuffed her on the monstrous length and girth of his cock.

"Devil," she cried, spine arching so that her soft chest met his sternum. "Devil, wait, stop—!"

He did not. That eerie grin spread wider across his patchwork cheeks, uncomfortably stretching his stitches. Something seemed to take hold of her body, driving her spine towards his chest, head thrashing left and right. Her nails speared into the sutures of his shoulders, drawing beads of blood, and then—

Some sort of release sputtered around the base of his cock, drenching the furs below and the fabric of his trousers that hung around his thighs. Her channel clenched, spasmed, with a quick and fierce rhythm that nearly milked him dry if not for the surprise that stalled his own climax. The Creature—growling through his teeth—maintained the rhythm exactly as it was, fascinated with each spurt that he fucked out of her until there was nothing left and her forearms hung limply over his back.

"What was that?" The woman slurred, and he gave no answer because he had none. Maybe he truly had cursed her.

Her limbs were boneless, her countenance glowing… She almost seemed content, which hardly struck him like a curse. Her sheathe was now utterly sodden, squishy almost, with how easily it accepted him, even when he thrust deep and hard.

Soft lips parted, moaned his name, over and over—Devil, Devil—as he pounded into the groaning floorboards. Pressure built behind his abdomen, making his sac pull taut against his pelvis, and a famished need surged along his nerves, to press his lips to hers and take his first kiss from her too. A string of drool dribbled to the furs, briefly missing her ear as he turned his face away from the temptation.

He was close, rutting with heavy thrusts like a ravenous monster would. Upper lip curled into a guttural snarl, he pushed himself to the summit, muscles clenching along his thighs and glutes. Slamming down deep, ropes of unholy seed were expelled from his throbbing cock, wrenched from him in stuttering waves.

Two strings of tears tracked down from marbled eyes, dampening the hollows of his cheeks. Gravity pulled him down to the woman's chest before he could know whether she'd glimpsed his tears or not. His grunting breaths spilled into the furs by her ear, where his drool was.

The entirety of his body quaked, grafted muscles and sinews throbbing from the unfamiliar strain, and his cock still made itself known with an occasional pulse, enveloped by a concoction of sticky seed. Shocked, he discovered the thief's fingertips roaming across his back, tentatively exploring the expanse of his scars. Not daring to breathe, he remained still, until she softly declared that she couldn't breathe either.

At once, he removed his weight from her softer, smaller body and sat on the lower end of the furs, knees snapped together.

"You're a man, aren't you?" She shuffled upright. He avoided her gaze. "What happened to you?"

"No, I am a Devil." With finality, he wrenched his trousers back over his pale hips. "My evil heart's fire cannot be quenched, nor my hunger. I cannot change my nature."

"And neither can I… Like I said, I cannot help it."

The Devil remained silent, training his gaze to one of the shattered windows while she dressed. The process took a surprising amount of time. He would have thought she'd flee straight through the door, yet she carefully donned her gloves and buttoned her coat.

"You're… letting me go?"

"As promised."

He barred his sadness behind the conviction that solitude was all he knew. Familiar and comforting. He'd reaped what he wanted, stolen the experience and made himself richer. But then why did he feel poorer as soon as she whispered, "Goodbye, Devil," and closed the front door after her?

Minutes passed. The marks of her nails had healed, the furs gone cold, and only the memory of her remained. The Creature's fingers went to the space between his clavicles, seeking solace.

The treasured necklace, however, was gone.

He roared.

Crows scattered from the mansion's roof, bursting into the black winter sky, and the branches of the oak trembled from the echo of his rage, shedding its remaining shriveled leaves.

He swore his revenge would be delivered, and it would be terrible.

If you had fun reading this fic, pretty please consider leaving a comment for me, either in your finest ink or with jumbled word—anything works, and I would be THE HAPPIEST little creature in the world ❤️

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my Frankenstein fic tag list!

Also feel free to check out my other Creature x FMC fics, "These Scars Long Have Yearned" 🦌 and "Monsters Dream of Organic Sheep" 🤖, or my Victor x FMC fic "Bloodmilk" 🥛

"Is my existence as you envisioned? Does it suffice your plan for the world?"

The sun had swallowed Mercury and Venus. Earth was next to be absorbed into its churning belly, that crucible of elements that had moiled incessantly for billions of years.

"Am I your dark angel?" He probed, his tongue a piece of charcoal in his mouth, his teeth black. "Am I your… Lucifer? Is this my punishment?"

He knew, it was the vision of a dark angel that had spurred his creator into his assembly, but his animation had not been Victor's feat.

"Or am I your son?"

Weeping, he raised his face to the sun and blisters sprung across his skin, tears evaporating in thin streams of vapor. Buckling knees met the scorched earth, burning holes into the calcium of his knee caps.

God's son was said to have been crucified and killed to purge the sins of man, and he too had walked among them again. Perhaps… the sins of man had grown so manifold that they needed constant absolving.

Born on a cross, maybe Adam was God's second son, the inverse child to the one who had supposedly lived eons ago. A shadow of that revered person, only that he absolved mankind by coming back to life. Over. And over. And over again.

Except mankind had long disappeared, along with any other being that he might call kin.

So if that had been his task, why was he still here?

Adam stared at the unblinking orb in the sky and found that he too couldn't blink, for his lids had melted off his skull and ran in thick dollops down his cheeks.

The earth scorched him where he knelt. What remained of the atmosphere rolled like fire into his lungs. Soon, the floor would open up and become lava for him to drown in. And he still lived. And he still lived.

Sun was life, he knew.

Was he the sun?

Was it a sprig of that fiery giant's heart that churned behind his own ribs?

Would he too finally cease to be when the sun exploded? Would he breathe his final breath with the red eye's lurid super nova?

Or was he his own sun? His heart a cruel reactor for nuclear fusion, splicing hydrogen, pouring life unwanted from his ventricles?

Would he burn brightest before his death, and send the gravitational echo of his unmaking across the galaxy?

Or, if he was neither a sun, nor anyone's son, would he float suspended in space, frozen forever and bereft of breath? For more eons than life itself had ever known, until every other star had gone dark, until every black hole had evaporated and even entropy ceased to be.

Until only he remained.

Would it make him God?

A God as inept as his maker had once called out in spite. Incapable of creation, and of death. Not even his own.

Cold sweat dripped down the crevices of Adam's flesh, rolling through his anatomy in frozen shivers despite the ball of fire that consumed the sky, larger than the world. Scorched legs sunk into the liquid ground, no divine mercy to save him from a million heat deaths.

Wheezing, convulsing, he clawed at the air with skeletal hands, finding it tangible and soft. He gripped, tore at the fuming atmosphere for anything that might grant him leverage. Hell licked at his flesh, but he was no devil!

He didn't want to die. Not like this.

The reactor of his heart sputtered and yammered when he yanked his eyes open to cold winter light, his lids back where they belonged, his lashes tear-crusted, his locks tangled but not burned. Large hands were fisted into fabric, one into the sheets, one into his lover's shirt.

He'd woken them with his thrashing. Immeasurably grateful to be released from the nightmare's clutches, he felt horrible all the same, for it had plagued him for nights upon thousands of nights, and never did he recognize the dream when he dreamed, and always did they hear him wail and whimper, endured his brutish hands and feet clashing against their peaceful form.

"My angel," his lover's voice cooled him like a river's current, murmuring around his nuclear heart. "The earth still spins. It is winter… And I love you."

Adam still tasted charcoal from the nightmare, sobbing as he lay his face onto their chest. His shaking only ceased when they rearranged the heap of blankets over the two of them and encased him in their consoling embrace, lips to his hair, fingers down his heaving spine. Chilly winter air whistled through the walls and floorboards.

No fire burned forever.

And while Adam had many questions for God, he prayed that mercy would be bestowed to him at last—when he had found the answers to whatever questions God had for man.

A/N — If you enjoyed this gritty little character study, a comment & reblog would mean the world to me ❤️ What do you make of his immortality? How do you think his life will end, if it ever does?

Atoms rippling from the dulled edges of synthetic bass, the sink vibrated under his hands, spreading dampness across his bracelets. Blue sutures prickled where the chlorine-laden water touched him, killing bacteria that would find no breeding ground in him.

Behind him, a shrieking stall door opened and out lurched an individual along with the smell of urine and blood, feet dragging against discarded syringes of X-o-X-o.

Adam stepped aside, allowing the trembling someone access to the sink, vividly recalling his own pilgrimage on knees and forearms to a bile-green puddle to quench the hellish thirst that had pulsed from the six holes in his arm to the tip of his shriveled tongue. So many deaths traded for a little bit of ecstasy.

X-o-X-o wasn't the only drug that had killed him in past centuries, but it had awarded him more deaths than any other, all of them miserable, none of them merciful.

With empathy, Adam regarded the convulsing individual over the dented metal sink, sleeve rolled up to the hole-ridden crook of the elbow. Water splashed plentiful across their face, yet they managed to gulp little, neck angled as far as the rusty links of their spine implant allowed.

Humanity had grown wretched.

So wretched that it no longer even cared to recognize him as a threat.

The white patch of hair no longer marked him an assembled freak, nor did his mismatched skin void of color rouse any concerns. The predator's lens in his left eye was little more than cute compared to the glowing reds, the sets of eight, the cyclops monocles, the night vision, heat vision, ultraviolet.

Only his hulking frame and gangly limbs still towered over most, but mankind found him unorthodox at best, old-fashioned at worst, all twisted parts of him organic and strange.

Druidcore, an individual with a chrome dragon faceplate had referred to his aesthetic once.

Aye, he supposed. Why not.

Why the hell not.

His soul ached for lush forests and green life, when the filth on his coat was still soil and sweat and not industrial smog and synthetic ichor.

There was a brief, brief period in time, about a century ago, when humanity and he had been somewhat aligned. When cities swallowed most of the land and people started taking themselves apart for fun and performance. For the first time ever, he had been able to walk among them.

But what little liberating bliss he had been allowed to indulge in, its novelty had vanished rapidly with the ever incessant acceleration of progress, turning its gears deliriously onward—one wheel spinning to the sky, the other into lightless dark. Humanity, it seemed, had surpassed him, and themselves. Absurdly, he appeared too human now, with his flesh rejecting every implant, optic fiber cables winding themselves back out of his sockets, tattoo ink seeping from his ashen skin.

One day, perhaps, he'd be the very last organic relic of humanity, grafted from ancestor-parts, and mankind's electrical children would decipher their own history from his tangled DNA.

The addict had broken down weeping over the sink while Adam dried off his hands on the ancient cotton of his frazzled shirt. What little he could offer was a blink of sympathy, chest hollowed out by the roots of sorrow as he'd long understood that mankind had unlearned to even see it. A pat on the back might startle this being to death, if they could still be considered alive at all.

What was life, anyway. If this being took twenty more shots, would they still be a someone?

He ought to be less cynical.

Theo was waiting for him.

Adam tore himself away from the bathroom mirror with a grunt, pushing the filthy door open with his elbow. Music spilled against his scrunching features, burrowing deep into his eardrums. Heavy, booted footsteps entered the chrome- and poster-paneled corridor, fur and leather swinging from his shoulders. The air was putrid, drawing a pearl of sweat down the forever-cold sutures of his chest.

Couples kissed, fucked; goons trading cocaine and butterfly and Xtazzy. A maybe-someone was throwing up purple bile.

Between plastic legs and metal hooves, Adam Frankenstein was not the only fully organic being who had prevailed. Tiny paws pitter-pattered in the post-human madness of it all, stomachs hardened to recycle nutrients from chemical waste and cigarette paper.

One persistent little friend held their proud whiskers high, chopped tail following busily, until—

The chrome-capped boot of a Tazzy purposely collided with the harmless rodent, flinging its patchy body where it landed in front of Adam's feet. He turned his face, pupil flashing a sulfurous yellow.

Adam's palm slammed into the culprit's chest, shoving them into the wall with barely a fraction of his strength. Some implant buzzed under his hand, easy to crush.

"F-Fuck you, piece o' shit-fucker!"

Neon tubes crackled around his towering figure, red and purple splitting into a corona around his hair as a growl swelled in the pit of his all-organic lungs. No one stood up to fight the hulking creature in matted furs, even though guns were drawn easier than breaths. No point would be made in arguing here, but blood would be drawn. So, he released the Tazzy with a disdainful shove and turned away without a word.

Kneeling down, he offered his large, open palms to the little one who climbed aboard this boat to safety without hesitation, dazed but otherwise well. Lifting the rat towards his face, Adam let its tiny, twitching snout touch the tip of his crooked nose.

"Your name is Ozymandias, King of Kings," he whispered to it, smiling softly behind the curtain of his hair.

Adam cradled his new friend and slipped his palm deep into the shelter of his coat pocket. In his dreams, the fabric still held onto particles of ancient soil, the scent of pine needles and sheep wool buried within the fibers, however faint, however fading. At least a few atoms must have remained. Ozymandias climbed off his palm, small body curling into the earthly refuge.

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and jagged city stretches far away.

Standing up tall with a snarl, Adam strut wordlessly past the scoffing Tazzies. If Karma so wanted it, they'd crush their own bones without the corrective justice of his feet and fists.

Emerging into the main hall, the stratified techno struck him like a physical force, the dance floor doused in a cacophony of multi-layered beats, so that every model of ear implant would get their fill of it. Above, a catastrophe of flashing lasers cracked, like the lightning that had birthed him.

This place brought no pleasure to his soul, but his companion enjoyed.

At the very least, she enjoyed exploring whether this could be a thing worth enjoying; and whatever she'd settle on, Adam would enjoy it with her. Being brought into this world only two years ago, many a thing was new to her still.

Auburn crown poking past the sea of dancing bodies, Adam pushed past a chrome-skinned probably-synth with a malfunctioning motivity module.

Can't save all of them.

He slipped around a red-eyed demon sporting silver spikes in mimicry of hair, dragging a woman off and away by the blonde ringlets of her hair.

Can't save all of them…

Finally, Adam moved past a glass-eyed someone who had less than a week to live, going by the state of the necrosis crawling from the edges of their implants.

If he could save just a single one…

Theo waved at him, matching bracelets to his own sliding down the synth flesh of her forearm, halted by the fur of her jacket, mossy green like a forest clearing. Later, he'd lay his head to rest on the grasses and flowers of her electric heart.

"I missed you!" Theo shouted over the hellish soundscape and caught his floating hands that were already drifting towards her. For every minute that they couldn't touch, he suffered. Adam's eyes closed as she firmly clutched his hands, pressing her smaller body against his chest.

His freakish proportions didn't belong here. Still, he moved with her, most of his awkward dancing constrained to his head and shoulders, swaying left, right, under his companion's cheerful guidance. At the very least, his broad frame created space for her on the seething dance floor.

Theo's hands slid to his waist under his coat, along his stomach, trailing up the shredded ribbons of his shirt, palms flattening against the broadness of his chest. He held her close, long fingers curling one by one into the little divots of her lower back, up her spine under her shirts, her silky skin sweat-free and supple.

Those ignited kiss-me-eyes made it almost worth it to endure the ringing thunder of this deafening cesspool. Snapping her torso to his own with a drowned growl, Adam leaned down to her parting lips, kissing her once, twice, before flexing one arm around her middle and scooping her off her feet.

"I see it in your eyes," Theo yelled at him over the bass and cupped the gaunt bones of his cheeks in her slitted palms. "Shall we leave?"

Of course, she knew how little her love enjoyed this havoc.

"It is alright," Adam rumbled in her ear, grip tightening. This was a much nicer dance. If he closed his eyes and held her like this…

"Please, let's leave. I'm tired, my feet hurt, I'm hungry."

His laughter purred against her stomach as he carved his way out of the crowd, creating a corridor for the three of them with his left arm until music faded into traffic.

Outside, the air was hardly better, just a cooler shade of putrid. Adam set Theo on her feet, taking lungfuls of smog. At least one could glimpse the dark blue curve of the firmament between billboards and starscrapers, but the Milky Way's dotted band had been stolen by the neon haze. Whole generations might rise and fall without ever seeing it once.

Should aliens ever look this way, they'd find this aching globe alight with depravity.

"Careful, please," Adam softly warned, tugging the swinging length of his coat out of the way when Theo pressed herself against his side. "I found a little one."

"Ohhh!"

"I want to set him free."

Even weeds struggled to break past the ultra-dense asphalt. Still, Adam was determined to find at least a somewhat suitable spot. Theo was no longer tired, nor did her feet hurt, and the couple advanced hand in stitched hand into the urban canyons, past throngs of club goers and car parks and brain shops, streets narrowing into alleys where the only fresh air came from the racing metro above, sweeping tumultuous wind into murky concrete chasms. 120s' Music spilled from a seedy bistro a few houses away and two hookers on break traded cigarettes, paying no mind to the synth and the zombie.

This alley was as good as it was going to get.

Adam crouched down among discarded beer cans, gently reaching into his pocket to find the rat's body curled up and warm, whiskers twitching as he slid his palm around the furred creature. Once revealed to the electric streetlights, he drew the tip of one long finger across its frail bones and deemed the little one unharmed.

"Go," he cooed, smiling to the smart kindred. "Be wary of human feet. They will hurt you." Theo squeezed his shoulder.

Ozymandias blinked up at the soulful marbles of Adam's eyes with black, shiny beads before confidently darting away—up into the cozy sleeve of this kind being's coat.

-> CHAPTER 2

If you enjoyed the read, please share your thoughts with me in the comments!!! <33 I will openly stand by my praise kink and say that comments are the most exhilarating and motivating thing ever when posting a multi-chapter fic that's still in the making. And also — I'd love to hear about your theories, your favorite parts, anything that comes to mind 💜

Feel free to check out my other creature x FMC fic, "These Scars Long Have Yearned" 🦌

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