Kiernan Rourke hadn't done very much, those hazy months. Things had been a blur but such was the way of a waning bloodbond. He felt withdrawal at first, then fear... abandonment and insecurity. There were things that drove a man to drink and with the quiet that he was left with, all of them crowded the Irishmen like an oppressive heat. He was in the pub frequently, and there was little question as to how he earned enough money to get his tab paid.
Sat in one of the far high tables, Kiernan downed another ale and wiped the foam from his mouth. There were two empty mugs nearby as well as a couple of shots of whiskey - the boy's liver was hardy enough that he could stand it, and his familiarity with Fae wine made it a relatively light night. That corner of the bar was ridiculously warm, heated by the air that hung around the boy and his flushed skin.
Drystan had found himself in the pub on this particular night, as he had been looking for something, or someone, rather. The painting he’d made of the young man surrounded by flames, he’d used old spells and magics to try and will and glean as much information about who it was. All he knew was that he’d know when he saw him, and the faint green glow of the pub lights in the background of his painting had given him the location. How many nights he’d spent upstairs staring at that light through the night?
But tonight he felt it in his guts, he’d find who he was supposed to find. He was feeling a bit punchy in anticipation of what this could mean for him, and when he’d walked into the pub initially he hadn’t seen Kiernan, but he felt him sure enough. It was a feeling found in most pubs - desperation, sorrows, anger. But this one was burning with feelings that evaporated off him. Drystan went to the bar, and ordered a pint, leaning an elbow down while it was poured and had a good look around to seek out this particularly strong flow of feeling. After a couple of blokes had stood up and moved on for the night, sitting in the back revealed the face he’d painted, plain as day. He smiled, despite himself, as the image was uncanny, even for his own talents - the ancient spells had indeed helped him. It was like staring at a still moment in time, fully animated and moving, and - finishing off a drink.
He motioned to the bartender that he’d need two now, and the other glass was filled to the brim. He picked them both up, and weaved his way slowly around the few patrons left, and empty stools to come within a few paces of the young man. His head tilted a bit as he looked at the sad affair that was this young man. His face went from placid to feigned concern as he set the one glass down on the table next to him. “You look like you could use another, hope you don’t mind.”
Kiernan Rourke leaned back for a moment to look at the gathering of empty glasses. He licked his lips and gathered them up, at least still polite despite his tipsy stumbling. He didn't have the coordination for all of the glassware but there was a plant in his pocket, a little red rose whose tendrils lent themselves to supporting the barware as he took them back to the counter - just in time to run into Drystan on his way over, or almost.
He stopped just shy of a collision and blinked up at the man, looking from Drystan's offered glass to the bunch he carried. "Eh... aye, never good ta turn down a pint," he said, the accent stronger in his inebriation. "But lemme... drop th'empties o'er first, yeah?" He sidled his way past and dropped the glassware off at the bar before coming back and reclaiming his seat, squinting at the mug Drystan offered before looking up at the man himself. "...are ye lookin' fer company, or jus' bein' the kind ta buy a pint're two outta pity?"
Drystan watched him curiously, and nodded as he made his way past him, clearing the table, and returned. He considered the question and then shrugged a little, taking a drink off the top of his own before replying. “Suppose it’s a little of both, hm? I won’t bother you too much if you’re looking to be left alone, but…the drinks are always free around me. It’s just..how it goes.” He planted himself down on the stool opposite him, not waiting for an invitation, or whether he’d even want the company. “I’m a good listener, if you’re a good talker.” He adjusted long lanky legs and settled himself in. “I”m Drystan.” He pulled a silver cigarette case out of his vest and opened it, offering one of the handrolls to him, “Made special by yours truly, help chase off your cares.” He popped one for himself out and fished around for his lighter, finding it and putting flame to the end of the thing, creating the hot cherry at the end, and exhaling the smoke up above the pair of them.
Kiernan Rourke considered the man for a long moment before nodding and taking the mug. "Ta that then," he said and took a hearty sip before putting it down and sucking the frost from his lip. The eyes, bright green and rimmed with red settled on the taller male's face. "Kiernan," he offered simply. He paused as if about to say more but ended up shaking his head. "...dun smoke much. Kin offer ye a light though," he said and stuck his thumb out, a little tongue of flame popping up at the tip of his thumb to light Drystan's cigarette. He watched as the man fished out his lighter and shrugged, extinguishing his flame easily. "I like drinkin' - an' other things fer... chasin' things off. Enough smoke happens 'round me anyway, dun much like inhalin' it into me lungs." He took another big sip and set down the glass before peering up at Drystan's features. "...what're ye chasin' off, if ye dun mind me askin'?"
Drystan smiled some when he produced the flame with the tip of his thumb, and made a motion with open hands after slipping the lighter back into some hidden pocket. “Nice trick, must come in handy at times?” He took a long drag and directed the smoke up and away from them, partially just from not being rude and where he moved his head to exhale, but also with silent nudge from his mind to dissipate further from them. He snapped the case closed and set it on the table, then looked over to another table and reached out with long arms and a little lift from the seat to grab the ashtray, and set it on the opposite side of where Kiernan sat. “Drink does quite well, if you’re drinking the good stuff. Other things…well that could be anythin’ couldn’t it? So.. you’re kin to fire..” He reached up and tapped the tip of his own ear. “Never met anyone with any decent firepower, it’s unique.” He tapped the smoke to ash it and then held it under the table, the smoke drifting away somewhat oddly, but who’d care if they’d been in the drink is all he figured.
He lifted his brows at the question and huffed a slight laugh, reaching for the beer and taking a drink. “Oh, you know the usual. The weight of living in this modern world with so many responsibilities, stress from work, etcetera etcetera..” He moved his hand in a big of a redundant circle then set the glass down. “I usually drink to get drunk, because…why not? I enjoy it. Same with this,” He held up the hand with the smoke, “..but this takes the edge off all the frayed edges of nerves worn thin, … suppose that’s what I’m chasing off.” He shrugged and shook his head a little. “What about you? Strong Irishman like you? Please don’t hate me for being British, I had nothing to do with the politics, hmm?” He gave an easy smile and tilted his head, finally singling out Kiernan’s heartbeat from all the rest, and happily listened to the blood moving through the other's body, the thrushing hum of every person was different, like a fingerprint.
Kiernan Rourke shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. Gits me inta trouble too more oft than not," he answered with a shake of his head. "...learned, recently 'nuff how ta control it proper-like but ye know. Ain't shit I kin do with me temper regardless." He took another sip and just breathed, watching the smoke avoid their table with a curious little lift of his brow at Drystan. "...fair folk, half anyhow. More o'that in me now than the rest so... I kinne care less 'bout yer English self - least, 'bout ye bein' English. Callisto's it's own thing outright anyhow, I figure." Despite the alcohol Kiernan's heartbeat was a quick, strong drumming, beating at his veins like it was aching to do something, to keep moving - kept at bay only by the boy's lack of direction. Poor thing felt lost.
"M'just... drinkin' ta drink," he answered and lifted the glass. "Summat cold ta temper the heat. Ye kin like as much feel it, sittin' so close. Takes up... all o'me, every empty little bit that ain't filled by fight or fuck. But it ain't yer l ta listen ta me boo-hooin'..." He lifted the glass in a wordless toast before draining the rest of it and setting the mug down with a shake of his head. "What do I owe ye for the drink, Drystan?" he asked, his red face and bright eyes looking at the man with unwavering expectation.
Drystan grinned wryly and snuffed his laugh through flared nostrils. “Tempers and temperaments are…quite hard to control. I feel for you in that. Truly.” He lifted his glass and drained it after the little toast. “Well, If you feel you must owe me, I don’t accept cash. But there is a place just above that has some of the actual good stuff, not this shyte beer.” He took another drag then snuffed what was left into the ashtray, speaking as he exhaled. “Plus its private so when you fuck me I can enjoy it, proper like.” He didn't raise his eyes till after the smoke was entirely snuffed, then casually looked back at him, one eyebrow lifting lightly.
Kiernan Rourke went from a blush to a beet red, something that spread from his cheeks down to his collarbone and chest. Little lines of glowing fire spread along his veins, shimmering before the Covenant's magic sapped him a little to cover the effect. "...shite," he breathed and looked at the bar then at the table. "...ye dun look like th'bottom type ta me," he remarked, getting to his feet. There was a little half step toward Drystan and a warm hand planted itself on his chest. "....so I'm guessin' ye mean me goin' fer a ride. Aye I'm keen on it. Lead the way, if ye think ye kin handle it fer the evenin'."
Drystan stood as he did, and when he flared, it just danced in his eyes, outlining what he’d already been listening to. He hadn’t used any empathetic manipulation at all, and things just seemed to be falling into place. Less effort for him, was just fine by him. He caught Kiernan’s hand with his own hand over it, “You’d be surprised, looks are deceiving. But yes, I think I’ll be quite able to handle it for the evening. Your concern is, … endearing however.” He smirked a bit and pulled Kiernan’s hand off his chest and turned to see the bar was clearing out as it was so close to closing on a weeknight. “Just follow me.” he said over his shoulder and made his way to the bar, and slapped down enough to cover the drinks and a little extra for good graces. He didn’t look back at his red-headed companion, but stepped outside the bar and held it open with the toe of his boot as he took a deep breath of the fresh air. Once they were both outside, he simply turned the corner and stopped a moment at the doorway up to the now emptied apartment upstairs. He hovered his hand over the handle for a moment, then opened it, no key, it didn't seem to even be locked. He grinned to himself as the warding was still here. “Up we go…” He stepped into the stairwell, and let Kiernan in to walk up the stairs in front of him.
At the top another door presented itself, and Drystan just murmured, “It’s open.” Upon entry they both would be greeted by a large open space, barren of any furnishings, or appliances. Only a couple of random tarps covered the floor's center, and a few wooden boxes had been stacked right by the entry door, filled with packing straw and bottles of much, much older and stronger alcohol. Drystan pulled one of these bottles out and proceeded to crack it open near the door, shutting it and locking it. He turned back around and jutted his chin out to Kiernan. “You wind up with random people to fuck away whatever’s in your head often?” He questioned matter of factly, a look of full expectation of an answer on his face as he opened the bottle and stepped further into the space.
Kiernan Rourke didn't hesitate. He'd never been one for second thoughts or hesitation, fae mischief in his eyes as he followed the man out with a nod to the bartender and a smile for Drystan when he covered the drinks. "Thanks fer that," he said as he made his way outside. The air was refreshing. They were close enough to the harbor that the draft from off the sea brushed against his heated skin, refreshing and reinvigorating. He was a little less drink-hazy by the time they got to the door, enough so that he could hear the lock turn behind him once they entered the space.
The witch wandered around it, taking note of the lack of furniture with a little hum. "These days? More oft than not," he answered, pausing at the base of the stairs to look upward. "Ye take random lads from the pub into abandoned spaces fer a lay often?" It was a cheeky shot back but it didn't seem to stop Kiernan from coming over to Drystan and reaching for the front of his shirt, grabbing for a handful of fabric in an attempt to yank him into a wet and heated kiss.
Drystan had just finished uncorking the old whiskey, tossing the waste from it to the side. “No, not usually. I actually prefer the outdoors for this sort of thing, but the island is just so small and this is just.. Trust me. It’s probably better this way.” By the time he’d finished speaking though, Kiernan had already turned and came at him grabbing his shirt and kissing him. He held the bottle to the side and pushed back, mostly with his face latched onto his in that kiss, he shuffled his feet forwards to bump up against him and push him into stepping backwards, his other hand lifting and landing to grab a fistful of red hair and clench it tight, pulling his head back to exhale hard and lick up the side of Kiernan’s neck, teeth grazing against his skin, and then ending with his breath hot in his ear before he sucked his earlobe into his mouth and grunted a little, it clearly obvious he was already hard being pressed up against him like so. “So eager..” he half whispered as he let go of his earlobe and leaned his forehead against the other mans, hunkering his shoulders down to match height, eyes staring right into his. “You in a rush? Fuck and flee? I don’t think I’d care for that too much.” His voice was low and steady, but his mouth was wet and his lips would quake errantly, entirely holding back the slowly breaking levee in his mind.
Kiernan Rourke offered a surprising amount of resistance for the difference in height but eventually he did stumble backwards, his eyes blaze with the same liquid desire as he met Drystan's stare. The grip in his hair, the little ache it put in his scalp had the Irishman pitching a tent even if the scrape of teeth on his neck elicited something of a hiss. The witch's forehead was warm, then increasingly hot to the touch as the tattoos on his skin shifted, more of his glamour dropping as the alcohol and the lust mingled in his bloodstream. "Nae," he answered, the grip on Drystan's shirt tightening. "Takes a lot fer me ta run outta steam."
He jumped at him, trying to wrap his legs around the man's waist completely heedless of the bottle of liquor in his hands. That rose that was stuffed into his pocket exploded in vines, coils of thorned tendrils moving to entwine their bodies, probing into openings in clothes to try and rip them apart. They focused on Kiernan's first, tearing at his undershirt, loosening suspenders and leaving scrapes and cuts on his skin that healed almost instantaneously - regeneration on par with Drystan's own, or his siblings'.
Letting go of Kiernan’s hair and swinging to grab at the ass that was hanging off him now as he was grappled and climbed upon was no small feat, his feet widening to carry the sudden added weight of a person. He almost laughed, just at the state of things but he actually managed, turning and walking them both forwards towards an old easychair stuck away for storage.
The vines didn't shock him, but he did look curiously at them as they lashed at Kiernan’s clothes and he noted the rapid healing. Fuck. He breathed hard, boxes he’d had closed off and tucked away flying off the proverbial shelves at this possible issue. He didn’t like when this shit didn’t go to plan, and he was SO SURE that this was the one..he..he was it. He had to be. That truth beat hard in his chest above all else, so he’d just have to ..His mind went a little fuzzy and he shoved his face into Kiernan’s locking his lips with his again, sucking and biting at his mouth, running his tongue across the fronts of his teeth, his own heartbeat gaining speed.
“Mmm watch your little plant parts boy..” One of the vines had coiled up around his wrist holding the bottle and he lifted it, tearing the vines and causing the thorns to sink into his flesh, stuck there, his skin healing around them to leave them somewhat embedded. He took a slug off the bottle, and leaned down, dropping the bottle to the floor with too much grace, and then both of his hands were free to grab at his own clothes and start pulling clothes off himself.
Kiernan Rourke moaned against his lips, feverish and hot and unrestrained. His hips rocked and ground against the stiffness in Drystan's pants, separated only by thin layers of fabric until the plants had their way with the fastens of his trousers. Only when he was fully nude and clinging to the taller man's front did his glamour fully drop, embers flying from his skin as he rutted the pre-slick tip of his dick against Drystan's abdomen.
"Kinne help 'em when they're riled," he retorted but the vines didn't intrude further, their task of baring the boy and at least inspiring Drystan's stripping fairly well a success. Kiernan looped his arms around the man's neck, shifting his weight in an effort to help Drystan stay on his feet without toppling over but that was a difficult thing to keep up when alcohol was in his system as it was.
"Not fast 'nuff Drystan," came the slur of a murmur and flames were licking into being, attacking the eldest Windgrace's pants for the purpose of leaving them both nude and ready. Evidently the firebrand had no patience for the delays of drinks or doffing clothing.
Drystan had his pants set on literal fire and he flicked the trousers clasp and danced his way out of them and over them to put out the fire with his boots that he kicked off afterwards. “For fucks sake..” He gasped and he saw the full display of the unglamored Kiernan in his arms. His blood was hotter too, he could feel that, and all those little cuts released the scent of his blood into the air. It filtered up through his nostrils and he started salivating, reaching down to grab at Kiernan’s cock and mash the head of it against his skin, dragging the underside of the head anywhere he could make contact and also stroke him. His own glamors started dropping here and there, he had claws, then his skin morphed and blossomed as black as void, licked with vibrant bright colors, with eyes etched into the skin. He groaned as his own cock caught cool air and would become pressed up between the two of them, and he pulled at the boys hips so that he could grab them both up at the same time and stroke them both. He used his free hand to hold Kiernan by the back of the neck.
Kiernan Rourke let out a laugh as he felt and saw Drystan dancing about. "Weren't gonna burn ye," he said but the fire was stomped out anyway, easily enough considering the pyromancer was quite capable of snuffing it out with a thought. His eyes widened, Drystan's unglamoured appearance stealing away any other thought on the tip of his tongue. Whatever he had expected it certainly wasn't that - not that he seemed horrified; on the contrary the fae witch looked relieved. "...well least ye ain't a feckin' vampire," he breathed, words melting into a moan as Drystan began stroking him. The turgid length in his grip throbbed, twitching at the stimulation as Kiernan thrust haphazardly into that hold. "...nnngh, god - please - '' he whined, the muscle of his ass clenching as Drystan held him up. "...inside. Put it in me - please!"
Drystan flicked his eyes back to meet Kiernan’s when he laughed, “I’d like to be able to have pants to put ON for the walk home to the manse thankyouverymuch..” He tightened his grip, trying to keep the claws from poking and scratching but that was unavoidable with them being as they were, and little cuts and poke holes caused them both to shed little bits of blood from their engorged pricks, and make Drystand fist run more smoothly over the pair of them, reaching up to swab his palm over their heads to use the pre he was at least leaking over the two of them. He shook his head and gasped out a heavy breath, “No, fuck those twats. I’m something entirely different.” He lifted his head as he was begged to fuck him. “Oh..you…have no idea..” He closed his fist around the back of his neck, his claws digging into the skin and flesh there, slowly dragging them in and down to rake through the Irishman's back, not in a quick flash, but methodically and purposefully slow. He could feel blood in his hand, and smell it stronger in the air, grinning a bit at the smell, double rows of sharpened animalistic teeth clacking tightly together while his fist pumped harder rhythmically, before stopping entirely. The hard stop let him take a deep breath in, and control his own blood flow, basically ringing his own cock via blood presure. Fun trick, made him thicken and harden, a deeper shade of red. He stepped to the chair and snarled at Kiernan, “Reach back and hold open our fucking ass.” He had clawed hands holding Kiernan up now, easily using a little mind effort to keep him in place where his grasp was a tad slippery with blood or precum.
Kiernan Rourke let out a cry as he felt the claws carve into his skin. The fae's blood was hot and sweet, addictive and heady. His wounds healed quickly but the ruddy red color remained on his skin even so, painting him vivid red amid the oranges and golds of his embers. He stiffened up when he felt Drystan grab at the back of his neck, a choked noise sounding from his throat at the slow slice through the flesh of his back, severing skin and muscle both only for the latter to begin to mend itself in the wake of those claws. The fae's hot red blood dripped down, following the contours of his body down between his cheeks, slicking his asshole as he leaned forward into Drystan's chest. Eager hands parted his cheeks for the other man's cock, movements of his hips practiced as they rubbed against him. "Christ, fuck yer getting harder," he breathed, feeling the change in the size and shape of the dick about to spear into him. His own leaked pre down his own shaft and onto Drystan's hands from the rising need. "Maybe ye won't be walkin'," he whispered, a promise of his own endurance.
Reaching under them both, Drystan used his hand to guide the head of his cock to press hard against the pucker of Kiernan’s ass. The blood was so strong, a different kind of magic than Hector’s. He pressed his mouth messily against his neck, his chest, lapping at it, smearing it on his face as he did. He didn’t ease himself into Kiernan as he would have anyone else. He plowed into him once his head found capture just inside his ass, forcing him to take him in entirely, holding onto his body tightly, driving his hips upwards till he physically couldn’t anymore, and let out a moan that reverberated low off the empty rooms walls. He held himself there, holding the boy down onto him while his cock got adjusted to the heavy tightness around him, the blood mixed with the absolute needs that began spilling out of his mind bit by bit. He pulled up on Kiernan’s whole body, leaving him to keep his ass as open as he could, because he was now sliding almost all the way out before kicking back up into him, bouncing and jerking him each time, cracking his hips up into ass and thighs.
Kiernan Rourke was not new to bottoming but the sudden invasion of so stiff and engorged a cock tore him, enough that he gasped sharply and his body went rigid. Still, his healing repaired the tissue easily, that spike of pain only serving to urge another dribble of pre from his dick. The boy was a masochist. He clenched down tightly around the cock buried in his guts, his hips grinding to try and get the pressure of it against the sweet spot inside him. "Fuck-fuck-" he panted out, breathless as Drystan bounced him on his dick, his own cock bobbing lewdly between them. "God-so deep - don't stop - " he begged, using the leverage of the grip his legs had around Drystan's waist to help lift and drop himself onto those thrusts.
Drystan had zero intention of stopping. He was too far gone into the haze that had clouded the periphery of his vision since he’d gotten to the pub. The fae blood was sickeningly sweet, it was all he could do to just focus on one element right now, which was to just fuck his ass to withers. He groaned and breathed heavily, moaning out his breath with each deep thrust, cursing and adjusting his hips as he slipped in and out of his ass. He felt the seize when he’d torn him, which only made him smile, because he knew that feeling well, and loved it so. He stood and held the young man aloft, riding into him hard and quickly, but not in a rush to get it over with by any means, but to satisfy whatever his mind felt he needed or wanted out of him. He turned and pulled himself out of him, a small gush of pre leaking out of him as he plopped himself down. “Turn around, and sit down.” While his cock was absent of a tight ass around it, he rubbed his hand all over it, and held it in place for him to get back on.
Kiernan Rourke could not drop certain habits despite the distance and time from them. He matched that feverish pace easily, eventually letting go of his cheek to sling his arms around Drystan's neck and use them and his legs for better leverage. The batter of thrusts against his insides brought him close - just on the edge when he felt the delicious stretch ease as Drystan slid out of him. Kiernan let out a whine but he didn't argue, wobbling a little on his feet as he turned around, bracing himself on the tops of the other man's thighs. Pushing himself down on the slick dick being offered him he impaled himself on it until his ass sat atop the eldest's lap, a shudder of pleasure running through his body as he was filled again. "...fuuuuck, yes- " he groaned, eyes shutting briefly. When he could focus himself he braced himself and pushed, bouncing on that cock until he could build a rhythm again that threatened to force his first orgasm of the night from his dick.
Drystan‘s hands slipped under Kiernan’s thighs and held him while he did all the work and Drysran could sit back and literally just enjoy getting fucked. “Yesss…fuck you’re good.” He huffed and reached one hand further in to grab Kiernan’s balls and pull them down forcefully, squeezing them as he did. He fondled them and then let go, before reaching up and scooping his balls up with his cock to squeeze it around the base. He wanted to make sure that if he came, he’d have to flail himself even harder on his dick just to release. His other hand started to clench around his thigh and claws again pushed into him, but he just slid them out and moved the messy bloodied fingertips up the inside of his thigh to then pierce him again in a spot higher up. A clapping sound began and Drystan leaned back just enough that he was hitting tender beds of nerves.
Kiernan Rourke was a horny and wanton creature. The praise put a squirm to his hips but when Drystan yanked on his balls his whole body tensed, clenching up as the pain shot into his abdomen. He was close - so close that he battered himself on that dick desperately regardless of the pain it caused his testes, forcing out a painful spurt of cum as his body tightened and quaked against the other man. The fae let out a cry, eyes rolling back in his head as the force of the orgasm rocked his body, spattering a mess of hot pearly-white spray onto his own chest, hard enough it hit his chin and lips.
Drystan immediately let go of every part of him as he came shooting it all over himself, and grabbed at his face to lick up his neck, to catch every bit of that cum he could, lapping up to his chin and lips before sinking a deep kiss there, making him taste himself with him, rolling his tongue around with the musky salty cum and saliva between them. He squeezed his own ass because he had to force himself not to cum yet, though he desperately wanted to, it just wasn’t time yet. There was so much more he wanted to do, his mind was already spinning.
As he kissed Kiernan with his cock jammed up his ass into his guts, he allowed that darkness that was around the edges to seep through. Giving up the control to keep madness at bay, felt like he was giving himself over to his higher power, his Patron. He could hear his voice, understand his words though spoken in the tongue he could not master. It both whispered and screamed at the same time, close inside his head and from a distance, echoing upon itself, speaking of sacrifice, of loyalty, of setting oneself free through the blood of others. It sang to him a lullaby of chaos that bred life into the world through death. He was entranced by it and he slipped slowly in and out of Kiernan to the pulse of the voice beating to the pounding of his own heart.
Slowly he pulled his face from Kiernan’s and pulled his jaw open to spit the cum saliva mixture into his mouth, now mixed with intoxicating blood that had lingered on his mouth and face from the Irishman's wounds. “Get up, … turn around, and grab this chair, put your face down, and your ass out.” He almost pushed Kiernan off his cock and got up himself waiting for him to get into position. “You’re a good fucking slut, you know that? Your willingness to please will be rewarded..” His words were hoarse and low, slow..methodical.
Kiernan Rourke nearly fell to the floor but he managed to catch himself, to brace himself against the rigid trunk of Drystan's body so he could use the larger man's more solid frame for stability. The hunger in Drystan, the taste of his own cum made him moan loudly into that kiss, spit and seed dripping down his chin by the time they parted, breathless, and he was left to his own devices. There was a moment where he let his tongue hang out, the load Drystan had spit into his mouth on display before he pulled it in and swallowed it.
Lust and submission were such heady drugs for the witch. "Y-Yes sir," he managed, panting as he turned and braced himself against the chair. Kiernan bent in half easily, pushing his forehead against the cushion and keeping his back arched to jut out his ass properly. It would be entirely too easy for Drystan to shove his face down harder and cut off his air... but Kiernan listened to directions very carefully.
His cock was already twitching itself into another full mast erection. The boy recovered quickly in more ways than one, it seemed.
He bumped up against the back of Kiernan, pushing his body up against him, running his clawed hands up and down his naked body, so fiery and alive. He leaned over him, pressing himself between his ass so he could rock his hips and slip between his cheeks. He pushed his chest into his back, slipping his hands down and across his chest, down his belly to his cock and the inside of his thighs, teasing and touching him, not clawing or drawing any blood that he knew of, just caressing the skin, and gingerly taking his cock into both hands to jerk him lightly. “Tell me…how it feels. I want to hear your voice.. Hear your pleasure..your pain. Understand?” He panted the words into the back of Kiernan’s neck, where he kissed and licked after, still teasing his own cock with his ass.
Kiernan Rourke arched himself against the front of Drystan's frame, languid in that post-orgasmic haze. Then he felt the thick heat of the other man's cock slip between his cheeks. He rocked himself into those movements, helping the slick length rub between the globes of his ass. Even the light touches of claw had him shivering in anticipation, as if he knew what to expect. He had, after all, been a sadist's pet not so long ago.
"Like... electricity against me skin. L-Little sparks... light," he answered, nearly breathless. "Inside... it aches. Like I been... tenderized. Warm, wet... sensitive." He licked his lips and ground back against that thrusting dick. "...but right now - I feel empty. I want - I'm achin' fer yer dick again."
Drystan smiled to himself as the young man spoke, making him use his words instead of just sounds to express himself. He snuffed a hot breath against the back of his neck and lifted himself up, spreading Kiernan’s ass apart, using his thumbs to pull his ass open, and then aimed the head of his cock into the sweet pucker. He pushed against him and slipped his hands around the curve of his ass, grabbing and pushing him together and apart around him, while he rocked his weight lightly against him, teasing his ass. He mindlessly rubbed his hand up his lower back and drew little shapes and circles with his claws, lightly enough to just leave the raised welt of skin behind. Drystan’s eyes were half focused, seeing both what was there and what only he could see. The way the colors of everything shifted under his fingers, creating landscapes of abstract images and signs, guided by less of his own will than what he felt was being funneled through him. His pointer drug into his skin then, carving the markings, circles, star patterns, long swirls..blood seeping and dripping out of the lashes, that along with a movement of his hand he wiped against the patterns to paint the whole of his lower back in red, and then used it to slick his cock and lean into him, pushing himself inside him in one long movement. He let out a deep moan as he felt his balls press into the back of Kiernan’s.
Kiernan Rourke was awful with words in times like these. He groaned as he felt Drystan spreading his cheeks, clenching and squeezing to make his hole pucker and relax until the head of his cock was pushing against it. "God - ye still - feel so hard - " he gasped, trying to push back to fuck himself on that dick. " - I kin... kin feel ye stretching me. Like - like - ffffuuuck, it aches. Burns. I want more - " he panted, gasping sharply at the touch that began carving into his skin. Those welts were ephemeral on someone so quickly regenerative. They evened out quickly, almost as if taunting Drystan into carving deeper, harder. "...that-that stings - " he said, still trying to follow orders as he described the cuts. " - then aches, throbs. I kin... kin feel the air, cold on the cuts an' - oh fuck - please - " he whined at that deep slide. Feeling Drystan impale him again had him throwing his head back, eyes rolling. Kiernan was rock-hard as the blood sizzled on his skin, those carvings stitching themselves shut bit by bit. "More - I want more - fuck me, cut me up - please!"
Drystan let his eyes roll into the back of his head as he pulled himself out and then back in…fucking his ass slow and hard, grabbing his hips to pull him back into him. He was sweating, hair sticking to the back of his neck, grunting while he planted his cock again and again deep into his tight little ass. ‘Ugh yess… fucking take it..” He head fell back and he rolled his back and hips in a serpentine fashion, gliding himself in and out. There was a brightness that was cracking open in the back of his head, one big box slid forward and tumbled its contents out. Around them the tarps fluttered, the bottle lifted to the air, and the boxes by the door suspended themselves midair as well. Windows rattled, the whole of the building seemed to rock and sway a bit on its foundation. Drystan leaned forward and Kiernan would feel his wrists grabbed, and pulled back, but not by anything physical. They were tugged together and straight back, shoving his face more into the cushion while Drystan worked himself into his guts by throwing his hips to smack into the other.
There was something special about Kiernan's regenerative properties, and it was how quickly they reset his ass to virgin tightness. It meant such rough thrusts tore him a little, spread him a little, pained him a little and as deeply as his masochism ran, the sting and the burn of that repeated damage only made rough sex more rapturous. He was incoherent, lost to the slam of sweat and cum-slick hips against his own, unable to register the power seething into the room around him as any kind of danger. The witch let out a cry as his arms were yanked backwards, straining his shoulders to near-dislocation as Drystan stuffed his face into the seat cushion. The red and orange-flecked body rocked back despite the cut off supply of air, desperately fucking himself into those vicious thrusts until survival kicked in and he began to struggle to raise his head.
Drystan let him struggle like that for some time while he tore into him, claws dug into his hips now. He breathed hard and lowered his head and leaned forward again, keeping his arms locked where they were. He pulled his claws from the meat of his hips, and one brought the bloody tips to his mouth to shove in and lick and suck the blood off of. It only added to the hallucinations he was experiencing, his other hand grabbing the back of Kairnan’s short hair and yanking him up, not so that he could breathe, but so that he could angle his body on his cock better, though it did let him breathe again. Once he’d sucked all the blood off his fingers he wrapped that hand under the boy's stomach, holding him up, a mix of telekinesis and his own strength.
Kiernan’s knees would be forced to bend, and kneel into the chair’s cushion, arms bound behind him, cock repeatedly ruining his ass, his prick flopping in front of him and now body bent upwards by the hair, curving him backwards. He found a rhythm that felt like a bow across violin strings and kept to it.
Then a major shift would happen. As quickly as it began it would be over, but Drystan’s entire demeanor changed. The weight in his body shifted, his grips and stance shifted if only just enough to NOT be what or who he was a moment ago. His mouth opened, and a voice came out that was Drystan’s, but twisted into a different tone, a different speech pattern, no inkling of his thick regent accent, replaced by something that sounded more like Chicago-area failed state. “Kid, you get the prize. You’ve won, ya see? He needs you, and I need him, so I’m gonna give you both a gift. No more playing make believe ol’ Stan.. Let me lend yous guys a.. Hand. Or something’ like it.” He kept fucking him, no matter what was coming out of his mouth, even as things under the skin of his back squirmed and wormed under the surface. Drystan’s body sighed deep, the same disembodied sounded voice rose once more. “If you’re the prayin’ type… now would be the time, kid. Good luck!” And then it was over, and Drystan’s presence was back in full force, having not a fucking clue that he’d just taken a step back in his own concious to allow someone else forward. He grunted and moaned out in his own voice, “OHhh Gods fuckk yesss!” Something was swimming around in his back, and he could feel the pressure of it..them causing sharp riots of pain as they tried to press up out of his body, finally busting through bloody torn skin, tentacles slid out..longer and longer..The clubbed head of one punched a hole into his back and sailed out into the air wildly shaking and coiling, opening its mouth and snapping shut over and over.
Kiernan Rourke gasped when he felt the yank on his hair. He arched up, abdominal muscles tightening as he sucked in breaths with greedy, needy desperation. Heat rose from the wounds in the fae's skin in visible waves, hot to the touch, near-burning against Drystan's skin every time he wounded him. He fell to a kneeling position on the chair easily, the taller male's strength and the telekinetic forces at play able to manipulate his body in that lust-drunk state he was in.
He smelled blood in the air and whined. It wasn't his own - it had another taste to it, a tinge of gods that were alien and terrifying, beyond his knowledge of the powers that be. The wounds in his hips became licked with flames that raced along his back and ignited with his hair, his body and his spirit reacting to the very present danger Drystan posed. But Kiernan didn't run, or fight. His body spasmed around Drystan's cock, clenching tight as the forceful railing and the muddled agony brought him to the precipice of another orgasm.
“Fucking cum for me!” He hollered out, the pain of the final eighth tentacle punching through from around his spine, and reeling itself out into the air. They all wiggled and twined around as if uncontrolled, alive on their own, but then they all seemed to connect to the achingly open mind Drystan was exposing to the world and the cosmos. They reacted as a unit, and moved forwards, around Drystan to snake around Kiernan’s body. One slipped around his neck and coiled, tightening. Another snaked its way up and around one of his arms, the other around his wrists. Everywhere they were reaching out and touching and pushing against Kiernan’s skin. One of the clubbed heads sank down and wrapped its clappers around the boy’s cock, milking it painfully, tugging whatever cum it could out of his balls.
Drystan himself was yelling and moaning in one pained and pleasured sound, his claws ripping into Kiernan’s stomach, and fully goring him across the lower abdomen, slicking him wide open, to send a plop of intestine to their feet. The other unattended tentacles honed onto the fae, and dove at him at high speed, piercing into his body wherever they landed. One in under one shoulder and through his lung and rib to come out the other side of his chest. Another caught Kiernan’s thigh and punched its way straight through it like an arrow, shattering bone and nicking the femoral artery. Blood began to spill wildly out of his leg. But Drystan…he was cumming. As hard as ever, he forced his cum deep inside, beating it into his body.
Kiernan Rourke screamed, a cry of agonized pleasure as his cock was milked by the head of that tendril. The noise was choked, cut off and strangled as the other tentacle coiled around his neck, tightening to cut off his airflow and dimming the flames that sprung from his back. His eyes went wide as Drystan tore him open, intestines falling in heavy loops at their feet, leaving his abdomen gaping open as the other tendrils speared through him. Fae blood dyed that seat red, leaving it smoldering and holes were punched through flesh and bone. He healed too quickly to pass out but he was far too weakened by the sudden onslaught to attack the man. Blood gushed from his lips, meant to be a cry. His pierced lung was melding itself around the intrusive tendril, new tissue clinging to it, squeezing around it. His other wounds likewise were trying desperately to heal but their ability to do so weakened the more damage was done.
Drystan could feel the pained heat of the fae’s blood against his skin and it sizzled hot, but he barely blistered. The tentacles seemed to react in much the same way, undulating and squeezing and pulsing around and inside Kiernan’s body. One moved against the bloody mouth, forcing it open and that coupled with meshed power of the mind, Kiernan’s jaw would open and allow it to pass, and hold his mouth open for it. It pushed in and down his throat, gagging him further. Drystan was heaving his breath in and out after cumming, but the fevered energy was still in him, his cock was still hard but he’d released and now there was another need. He used his arms and physically lifted Kiernan up off his cock, and with the help of the tentacles he slammed the fae into the floor, dragging him along as Drystan turned and stepped to him, even as the eldritch parts were already lifting the body of Kiernan and slamming him back into the ground again with the force of what would be like a car slamming into a wall.
“Nyarlathotep sends..his regards..” He panted out and reached down and grabbed his body, tentacles tearing out of his body as he flipped him over onto his back, intestine laying beside them, blood pooling around them. Tentacles punched through calves and warped his legs straight back and out, opening his ass and cock for battery. The one clapper still sucked hard onto his cock, stealing blood and cum out of his cock, and Drystans cock was shoved back into his ass as the smooth head of a tentacle also forced it way inside his ass along with his cock, ripping him as they fucked him. Drystan leaned down and rubbed his face into the hole in Kiernan’s chest, covering his face in blood, claws tearing in and grabbing at muscle, meat anywhere he could…and just pulling it out and away, tossing it to the sides as he did, moaning and panting and fucking himself into the gorey mess.
Kiernan Rourke felt the hinges of his jaw popping, his mandible and the lower half of his face forced open wide for the tendril that shoved itself down his throat. The fae was a bloodspattered and battered mess as the tendrils slammed him down onto the ground. He was still moving when Drystan flipped him over again, struggling weakly until the blood loss and the trauma slipped his mind into blissful unconsciousness.
Drystan batted at the weak fight that Kiernan tried to put up as he was rolled over to his back, but then the light dimmed in the Fae as he passed out. He roared at him, getting over him and screaming into his face. “This is all for you! You’re the FUCKING SOLUTION!” He spat at him as he screamed his nonsense while he fucked him still, grabbing his face between both hands and bashing his head back into the ground every time he lunged into him. One tentacle twisted around the thigh that had been punched through and coiled tightly around it, another did the same next to it, in the opposite direction. Within moments, they had crushed the leg and with some force they pulled against each other, tearing the leg off where the break had occurred. Kiernan’s leg flopped and fell to the ground on the tarp, dead meat.
He worked his hips back and forth even as he was tearing the fae apart. His mouth opened and he dove in, to bite at his shoulder, ripping into his flesh, and tearing it away, spitting it out and going in to do it again on his pec over one nipple. He made strange animalistic sounds as he laid himself against Kiernan and rubbed and rolled into his gaping abdomen, into all the blood, covering himself with it. He stopped fucking his ass and pulled out the tentacle left behind so he could climb up and lay his hips into the cavity, and fuck intestine and organs. Madness fully gripped Drystan now, as he thrashed and rolled into the battered broken body under him. He couldnt see properly because there was blood in his eyes, but it didn't matter. Once satisfied, he slipped in the blood to stand and hold his hands out and up, using his hand to “paint” the air, seeing the abstract angles and trying to recreate the things he’s seen beyond the gate, through Dinah’s eyes. He slipped and fell to his knees and beat his fists into the tarps, screaming at the ground, using his hands to push the pooled blood around and lay ancient design that would only disappear as the blood would rush back to pool once again.
The new appendages got to work grabbing at Kiernan’s body, and dislocated an arm, ripping it from its socket. The other leg was targeted and the coiled torque pulled it free at the hip joint. Soon, all that was left of him was a torso, with a couple of stubby amputations. Even now - he lived. His body fought to regenerate, but there was so little blood left in him. He would have to regrow all his limbs, repair his internal organs. It would take time, lots of it. Drystan sobbed into his fists whispering prayers to Nyarlathotep for guidance, the voice having left him somewhere in the middle of the violence. He whined and pulled Kiernan’s near lifeless body to him, limbs all strewn about the tarps. “You’ll never have another worry again. You’ve given yourself over to the Gods, and they grant you serenity.” His fingers, now without claws, head either side of Kiernan’s sweet impish face. He focused on stopping the flow of blood from all his wounds, which took some time. Drystan just sat and rocked with his body in his arms, whispering and humming while his bloodworking caused thick clots in each wound, surrounding each stub, that would quickly become thick scabs.
Once he was stable as far as bleeding went, He could feel how slow and shallow his heartbeat was. “That will get better over time. No fretting.” He leaned over and touched his forehead to the other man’s and closed his eyes. What came next was a sudden jolt to arc across from Drystans forehead and into Kiernan’s brain, lashing at it, damaging it in particular places. Another shockwaved out of him and caused another couple lesions. Kiernan would not feel the pain, he would not have a thought in his head. He’d stay alive but..diminished to nothing more than a near catatonic state. “There there.. I’ll keep you safe, and protected from this world.” He patted the side of his face, “And you’ll always have my company. No others will die. You’ve solved everything.”
++++++++++
Some hours later, Drystan had showered upstairs and let the blood run down the drain off his body. Downstairs, wrapped in the two tied up tarps were the torso of Kiernan, and the other with his body parts and gore. There was still some blood on the floor, on the walls, and that old chair was soaked in it, but he’d have to just return another time to clean the rest up. He gathered the two tarps together and slung them over his back. They were heavy but using his mind it made them light as a feather. He lifted his hand and slipped a ring on his finger - a gift from the pirate’s treasure Dinah had ….acquired. Suddenly, he and all he held was turned into nothing more than a light gas, a hazy mist. At this hour of the wee early hours of morning there would be hardly anyone out, but they might see that haze float down the road from the pub and all the way up to Windgrace Manor, before disappearing entirely.