#lifensfw

Demons are weird. They run too hot, they have weird bumps and appendages, their skin is too hard to hug comfortably, their reproduction system is a bit of a mess—Impulse wasn’t really paying attention to that part of the birds-and-bees talk.

Skizz, luckily, loves that demons are weird. He loves everything about Impulse, always has, since they were kids playing together and learning not to get the other burned or frost-bitten. And he started loving it even more when they got old enough to start fooling around, when he realised that Impulse had a way that was all his own to respond to stimuli.

Now they’re adults; and that way that’s “all his own” includes having, apparently, very sensitive nipples. He’s curled in Impulse’s lap, face pressed into his chest; he’d wrestled his shirt off earlier, whining about wanting to get that sweet, sweet body heat straight from the source. Does that involve covering Impulse’s chest in hickeys, closing his lips around every available square inch of skin to suck and bite at? Ehh, perhaps. Who knows, really. But he’s doing it anyway!

He lays another kiss right under Impulse’s sternum, and another, and another, nestled between the softness of Impulse’s pecs. Impulse is purring above him, strong arms tight around Skizz’s shoulders. He hisses when he suckles a mark on the underside of his left pec, and then again when Skizz kisses his way up to wrap his lips around a perked nipple and suck. It’s warm in his mouth, slightly spicy the way Impulse’s skin always is, and Impy makes the prettiest little whine when Skizz swipes the tip of his tongue on the pebbled little nub, when teeth graze rosy skin. Skizz gives a spirited suck, and when the first droplets of milk fall on his tongue he feels his cock twitch; Impulse’s hips twitch upwards, his erection, clad in the soft fleece of his sweatpants, quivers against Skizz’s hip. 

“Is milk coming out?” Impulse asks, low and breathless. 

Skizz suckles harder, groans around his skin, runs his tongue all around Impulse’s nipple as if trying to get more milk to come out. It’s sweet, a little bit separated, creamy and watery at once with every suck; Skizz is addicted. Impulse’s pec, big and soft, fits perfectly in the cup of Skizz’s palm, and his fingers circle Impulse’s right nipple, brush against the fat, puffy areola, pinch the pretty pink tip between thumb and forefinger and pull until his fingers are wet and Impulse is whining pretty noises and, Gods, Skizz is so hard. He switches over to the other side of Impulse’s chest to take his other nipple between his lips, and Impulse keens, babbles out something half-way between Infernal and Skizz’s name. Skizz gives one more suck before smiling up at Impulse’s face, pretty and flushed.

“Yeah, it is, Mommy-boy.” Impulse always blushes harder when Skizz calls him that, but, come on, what else could one call his big-chested friend who has a tendency to lactate? “You’ve got milk a-a-all over your pretty tits. Lookitcha, they’re so big, must feel so full and uncomfortable, but they’re so soft.”

Skizz rubs his face between them just because he knows it tickles Impulse, sucks a hickey in the tight crevice between them where his face fits so easily.

“You’re being annoying.” Impulse mutters, but his hand is steadily fisted in Skizz’s hair and keeping him close.

“Can I fuck your tits, Impy?” he asks, completely ignoring what he said.

Impulse, to his credit, immediately starts getting into position, lays back on their bed and watches Skizz pull his sweatpants off and climb over his torso until his cock, warm and damp, rests in the crevice of his pecs, slightly wet with milk and spit. Impulse looks down at it, at the red, flared cockhead staring at him, at Skizz’s big hands pushing his pecs together to give him somewhere tight to thrust into, and reaches a hand down and around his lover to paw at his own cock, even as Skizz starts moving his hips. 

It’s a brisk pace, thumbs brushing against Impulse’s nipples just to see them leak white on their skin, just to hear the plap-plap-plap of his thrusts get wetter and wetter with sweat and pleasure and milk. There’s a sticky pool starting to form in the hollow of Impulse’s clavicles, where his cock keeps bumping, and it feels so good, warm and tight around him, that Skizz, already pleasantly full and fuzzy from the milk, feels like he could cum right now. Impulse too, if the wet sound behind Skizz and his scrunched eyes and slack expression mean anything, and when he tugs on his nipples, puffy and red, and a little squirt of milk sprays up all over their skin, that’s when Impulse comes, with a soft, stuttered sigh, and something wet and warm lands on the small of Skizz’s back.

“You look so pretty like this, buddy,” Skizz mutters, because it’s true. Impulse has gone slack in his hold, face turned to the side and eyes closed, “I’m gonna come. On your face?”

Impulse shakes his head, weakly.