#doom!au

Living a solitary life was something Simon hated.

For too long, he spent his years roaming the ruined Earth in a blind state of rage. He tore apart every monstrous creature in his path, teeth sinking deep into the cold flesh of demon kind. He became one of them; fueled by revenge and taking pleasure in their pain. Consuming so much of their blood, it fused with his, twisting his very DNA into something unearthly, something sinister.

He changed, a painful angry existence, one that scared away every living thing.

And despite gaining control back, he knew he would never be accepted again. Spent so long hunting alone, not believing anyone would ever shelter him; regardless of if they knew the truth.

And then he was hired by the 141, welcomed into their ranks with open arms. Praise for his skill, his bloodlust.

And then he met Soap. A thick Scottish accent, hair unkempt most days and bags under his eyes that rivaled his own. Bright blue eyes shining with intelligence like Simon's never seen before, and a mischievous smile to match. He chronically smelled of incense and chemicals, ones that could be seen scattered throughout his laboratory. He fought fiercely, yet seemed to enjoy the thrill of the hunt, with the wild way he would laugh as his devices would erupt with deadly explosions.

Simon wants to keep his distance, to prevent himself from hurting when Soap eventually rejects him because of what he is. But Soap is addictive, so enticing and just barely out of his reach.

It's maddening to be tormented by this temptation without the release of sin.

To make matters for the demon eater worse, one of Soap's fire sprites has taken a liking to him, hardly ever leaving his side except when Soap retires to his quarters for the night. It's how Simon knows the Scot is staying up late in his lab, as the little red sprite bounces around Simon's head, occasionally resting in the crook of his neck.

It's warm, a comforting presence at Simon's side in the darkest moments of his self-imposed solitude.

A kind being, vibrant and full of life: all of Soap's traits that draw Simon in. This Soap will never reject him, though. Its eyes remain filled with unending desire, staring at his twisted appearance in adoration.

It may be projection, Simon thinks, the sprite's warmth reflecting red in his eyes.

But he's going to take what he believes to be his. A dangerous grin slides onto his face as he lifts his mask off, revealing sharp teeth and gray scales. Small spines cover the top of his head, giving his hair a more white than blonde appearance. A forked tongue flicks out of his mouth, lashing over chapped lips. He leans towards the sprite where it rests on the desk in his quarters, the only light in his eyes a red glow. Ghost watches in amazement as the sprite grows bigger, soon sitting on the desk in a humanoid shape, one that vaguely resembles Soap. A husky laugh passes over Ghost’s lips as he smiles at the creature, a dangerous thought crossing his mind.

He leans forward lowering his head to the crook of Dearg’s neck, inhaling deeply through his nose. Ash and smoke invade his senses, and the burn of incense runs through him, setting his hair on end. A deep chuckle reverberates in his chest as a soft hum flows from Dearg, and the demon’s head floods with thoughts of nothing but the warmth radiating from the creature sitting before him. He lets out a soft growl as he licks a stripe up the sprite’s neck. It’s a surprisingly pleasant feeling, the sprite being smooth and warm, a new experience for Ghost.

And he tastes divine.

He tastes exactly as Ghost dreams Soap tastes: bitter like incense yet sweet like honey. Something addictive, enticing, meant to cure ailments and promote peace.

Something Simon has never deserved, yet something he’ll take to feed his own insatiable greed.

He laps at Dearg’s warm neck again, hands finding their way to his waist. Dearg is soft, pliable under his harsh grasp. He gently digs his claws in, lips and tongue exploring every inch of the fire’s neck. It’s a dizzying effect; the creature’s inherent incense burning against the demon eater’s lips and tongue, yet a feeling he craves, takes pleasure in. Addictive, sending Simon into a frenzy as greed and lust flood his senses, driving him further.

Unbeknownst to him, on the opposite end of the base, sat Soap in his lab, suddenly aware of the phantom sensation of lips and tongue on his neck, of hands pressing roughly into his waist.

The first touch, the subtle brush of Simon’s crooked nose against Dearg’s neck, sends a jolt down Soap’s spine. The demon hunter had been zoned in on his work, trying to put together a new type of explosive device to be used against the demon hordes. He snaps upright, looking around the near empty lab in confusion. He counts his other fire sprites, all three present with him. Soap is about to brush the strange sensation off, assuming it was a small brush of someone against Dearg. And as much as Soap didn’t want to admit it, deep down he knew the little red sprite is glued to Simon’s side, and there could be no other person touching Dearg.

But he can’t brush the second touch aside; the sensation of a tongue running up his neck, warm and hot against him. Soap jumps off his stool, eyes wide as he stares in quiet shock at the worktable in front of him. The other sprites blink up at him, equally in shock. A deep blush descends down his neck and onto his shoulders as the sensation of chapped lips kiss greedily at his throat, tongue mapping every curve. It’s an overwhelming sensation to suddenly be thrown into, and he shakily sits back on his stool as the sensation starts to physically affect him. A quiet whine escapes him as he presses a hand against the growing bugle in his jeans. A phantom sensation of rough hands grasping the fat of his hips sends chills down his spine.

And in his mind, he can see gorgeous brown eyes gazing down at him like a thing to be claimed.

A guttural growl leaves Simon as Dearg’s more human form wraps his legs around the demon eater’s waist. Inviting, begging.

Fueled by nothing more than lust and a hunger for a man he’ll never have, Simon lifts the sprite off the desk and moves over to the bed. He sets the surprisingly heavy creature down gently despite the bruising grip he has on the thing’s waist. He nips at the neck again, the hum from the sprite growing only louder. Simon wills himself away from Dearg, peering down at the sprite as it lies sprawled on his shitty little bed. Open, willing, begging.

Ghost quickly sheds the rest of his clothes, eyes never once leaving the sprite. A thick tail, muscular and covered in ashy skin, flicks behind him, a predator ready for the hunt. He lowers himself over Dearg once again, this time between the legs. He mouths at the smooth surface of the fire creature, the warmth burning into him with every swipe of his tongue, every touch of his lips.

Soap momentarily mourns the loss of touch, strangely conflicted in his lab, the loud music he keeps playing being nothing but buzzing in the back of his head. But soon enough, the rough hands are back, this time on his thighs. He gasps as he feels lips and tongue taking in every inch of his inner thighs. The rough hands find their way to the back of his legs, and soon pressure forms on the back of his legs, a clear indication they’ve been thrown over his mystery lover’s shoulders.

But it isn’t a mystery. He knows exactly who it is treating Dearg like this. He can practically hear Simon’s deep voice whispering filth in his ear, can feel those droopy brown eyes gazing at him like a hungry predator. He knows it’s Simon, but at the same time, it feels so strange. The teeth nipping feel a bit too sharp, the nails a bit too long, the tongue a bit too much for it to be Simon. Because he knows Simon, he knows the man and he knows what he’s feeling can’t be the other hunter.

A groan forces itself out of Soap as he feels a warm tongue slide over his asshole. Phantom chapped lips scrape against sensitive skin as a firm open kiss is placed over his hole, sucking gently before peppering light kisses up and back to his thighs. Soap takes a shuddering breath as the onslaught pauses for a moment. He leans over his desk, letting the steel cool him off. His hands find their way to his belt, shakily unbuckling it and fumbling with his zipper. A long sigh escapes him as his hard cock springs free, all in time for the phantom sensation of a tongue returns to his skin. It runs along his hips, just above his cock, tickling along his happy trail, and back to his inner thighs.

It's heavenly, feeling so known, yet knowing damn well the person on the other end is only seeing a small glimpse of his soul. Only seeing Dearg, a fire sprite lacking all the details that makes Soap uniquely himself. The scars along his torso, arms, and legs, the various tattoos, the mole on his hip.

The onslaught of tongue and lips on his asshole begins again, and Soap lets out a deep moan at the sensation. He pushes off his desk, glancing around the lab like he were about to be caught committing a crime. But it’s his lab, and everyone else has retired to their quarters for the night. He knows this, as Price’s military days still show through a strict routine, and Gaz enjoys solitude at night, even if he doesn’t sleep. Soap bites his lip as he pushes his pants down further, letting them drop to the floor around his ankles. A shaky whimper escapes as he runs a hand over his leaking cock. The tongue curls around his asshole, pausing before disappearing once again.

A guttural growl echoes in Ghost’s chest as he feasts on the pliant sprite beneath him, and soon he notices something intriguing.

He pauses, opening his eyes to investigate what he felt with his tongue. An impish grin spreads widely on his face as he licks his lips, carefully placing a finger against Dearg.

“Didn’t think you’d ‘ave one o’ these.” His words are slurred from pure ecstasy, a growl now accompanying each syllable. The hum emanating from the sprite increases in intensity as Ghost slowly eases his finger in, and he’s greedily welcomed. Pleased, Ghost’s chest rumbles with a brief purr, twisting his finger in a teasing manner before pulling back out.

He repeats the process until three of his fingers are buried inside the sprite, adding a finger each time with ease. Pushing inside, teasing, and leaving. Ghost places rough kisses along the crook of Dearg’s neck, pressing his weight against the sprite as he pushes his fingers inside once again.

“Such a needy thing, yeah?” Ghost whispers against the sprite’s neck before nipping at it, licking and kissing the spot in apology. He takes his time twisting and pumping his fingers as his mouth continues to explore the sprite’s torso. Ghost’s tail flicks, thumping loudly against the wall, as Dearg’s humming starts to seep under Ghost’s skin and scales, running along every scar and marking. The demon eater pulls away from the sprite, gently rubbing his hard, leaking cock.

And for a moment, Simon considers stopping right then and there. His pleasure high starts to subside, and a numbness begins to spread throughout his body, starting deep in his chest.

Because the thing laying out on his bed, open, begging, gazing at him with nothing other than adoration is not what he wants. It’s not the one he wants.

It isn’t Soap.

Ghost isn’t even entirely sure what the sprites are, and he frankly never cared to ask. But now, he’s afraid to know. Afraid he’s overstepped some kind of boundary, afraid he’s ruined the only good thing in his long, miserable life.

He’ll never get the one good thing he desires, so he decides to take this moment, to take every little thing he can before he loses it all.

Soap takes a shaky breath as the hand leaves, as the weight against him subsides and he’s left sweating and panting. He hadn’t even realized he had made it to the floor, face pressed against the flannel shirt he’d thrown down. He manages to take a few deep breaths during the absence of touch despite the creeping feeling that all of this is over.

It isn’t, he quickly learns as the pressure of hands against the back of his thighs appears, pushing against him. He arches his back, knowing he should probably mimic the same position Dearg is in; laid out on his back with his legs up. But Soap finds himself frozen in place, on his knees with his chest pressed against the floor. His hands curl into fists around the flannel as he takes a deep breath in preparation for what comes next.

It starts slow, a building pressure slowly easing its way inside of him.

Soap moans in pleasure, cutting himself off as he bites his bottom lip. He doesn’t think of his mystery lover’s name, only thinks of the thick cock being slowly eased into him. Carefully, gently, lovingly.

Soap shudders, hips bucking in search of something, someone, that isn’t there, but he can feel bottoming out. The weight across his body returns, against his stomach and connecting with his chest. Soap whimpers as the phantom hips roll against him, teasing his prostate and drawing him to the brink.

And when he squeezes his eyes shut, he can feel those chapped lips gently touch against his. A soft kiss, different from everything else this night, a silent confession and an unspoken apology for something Soap can’t understand. Hands cup his face as another, firmer kiss graces his lips, not as greedy but rather begging.

And for a second, Soap catches the brief taste of blood and something rotten.

Simon licks his lips after sharing the soft kisses, a moment of vulnerability he rarely shares, even with himself. He focuses on rolling his hips, starting slow and deep, subconsciously wanting this moment to last forever.

But his greed overcomes him, and soon he’s picking up the pace into something rough. He sits up to grip the sprite’s hips, sharp nails digging into the pliant creature beneath him. A deep rumble rattles in his chest as he continues to snap his hips, chasing a high he believes he’ll never get again. It’s a dizzying feeling, the warmth underneath him, the pleasure shooting up his back and covering his skin in goosebumps.

Ghost leans back in as the pressure builds, biting down onto Dearg’s shoulder. Marking what he has, not what he wants.

Because if it were up to him, he’d have the curious demon hunter strapped to his bed, marked with his teeth and claws. Totally willing, begging for Simon to keep going, to make him Simon’s.

But he doesn’t have that, and an anger wells in Ghost’s chest as he realizes he very well may never have. He stares into the pitch black eyes of the sprite, only to be met with his reflection.

Red eyes, surrounded by black and grey scales. Horns peeking out through his white hair, and sharp teeth exposed by the scowl on his face.

A monster, a being of pure evil; exactly the thing Soap has dedicated his life to eradicate from this world.

He will never love something as disgusting and violent as Ghost.

Ghost lets out an otherworldly wail as he comes hard, body shuddering as he struggles to keep his pace. He gasps for breath, slowing down as his senses return to him. Ghost sighs as he pulls out, and he silently thanks the sprite for remaining in place. He steps away from his bed, running a hand over his face as he stares at what he’s just done.

Used a spirit of an unknown kind to get himself off.

Bile rises in his throat as Dearg suddenly returns to his normal size and shoots out of the room from under the door. A deep fear that the spirit is going to tattle on him to the very object of his affection settles deep in Ghost’s chest, and in an effort to ignore all of those thoughts, he rips the soiled sheets off his bed and steps into the bathroom for a shower.

Soap gathers himself and his clothes very quickly, head still spinning and legs shaking from how hard he came. The clean up was quick, and not as precise as he would normally be, but he needed to get out of his lab and somewhere far more private. He ignores Dearg as the sprite returns to him, humming contently. Soap needs his journal and time to think over the events of tonight.

So many questions are flashing through his mind, but one stands out above the rest. He thinks back on the sharp nails he felt, the strange tongue that had to be split, the strong bite that if it had been him would have drawn blood.