Part 39(1) - Mindless Indulgence[NSFW]

[Non Perma Snuff Warning Below]

Able had spent the better part of the week being dragged around by the bandaged man. He'd taken him to several places, markets and stores, all under the guise of learning about the social structure of commerce. Able already knew these things, but each time he spoke up the bandaged man just dragged him to a new location.

Able was tired, mainly from carrying the bandaged man's things, but also from dealing with him. Able did learn something, the man had an incredibly loose wallet.

They would always end at the spire, and the bandaged man would go on about how it related to a lesson. It often didn't actually relate to what they were doing beyond the most convoluted means. Able settled into the spire, setting down items the bandaged man insisted that he needed. Any and all wines and honeys, however, Able promptly disposed of. He wondered how quickly it'd be before he noticed.

Able: Do you really need all these things? I'm sure you have this exact volume on your shelf.

Able holds up a book.

The Bandaged: Of course I do; that's the point.

The bandaged man turns on Able, gesturing at the bookshelves.

The Bandaged: That copy is for looking nice; this one is for reading, see?

Able places the book to the side, sighing.

Able: Seems excessive.

Able moves to the desk in the corner, sitting.

Able: ...Have you cleaned since I was last here?

The Bandaged: It is not excessive, it's sensible. If you read the same book that you displayed, it'd get worn and dog-eared. That'd be no good. It'd look like you lived in a pigst-

The bandaged man suddenly screeches as Able heads towards the desk.

The Bandaged: -Screechy nervousness.- Now hold on, get out of that desk, there's nothing there!

Able raises an eyebrow, and quickly rummages through the desk.

Able: Oh whoops, my hands slipped.

Inside the drawers, there are several large piles of documents and manuscripts. At the very back, however, there are tiny bottles of concentrated distillations, flavored with fruit syrups and aromatics. The bandaged man screeches, lunging towards the desk. . .

The Bandaged: It is rude to rummage thro-

. . .before crying out as they fall short, their chin slamming loudly into the edge of the desk. They immediately collapse on the ground, curled up in pain as they rub at their jaw.

The Bandaged: -Choked.- . . .d. . .tha'h. . .didn'h hurt. . .

Able: Ah what do we-

Able winces, looking to have been pained by just watching him fall. He closes the drawer, deciding to deal with it later. Able moves to the bandaged man's side, lifting him up a bit.

Able: tss.. Let me see..

The bandaged man whines, pathetically rubbing the heel of their palm into the side of their mouth.

The Bandaged: -Wincing.- Hss. . .oy, its'h perfectly fine. . .

The bandaged man grimaces for a bit, before spitting onto the floor; triangular pieces of enamel click lightly against the floor before resting in a globule of spit.

The Bandaged: -Staring at the floor.- . . .it's probably okay. . .

Able makes a horrified face, his brows extremely furrowed.

Able: . . .That's..

Able grabs the man's face, looking into his mouth and then making an even more distressed face. He groans.

Able: You've chipped your tooth.

The bandaged man swats at Able's hands, groaning.

The Bandaged: Oy, oy! Keep grabbin'h like that and you're gonna get rid of the rest! The bandaged man winces, rubbing the hell of their palm against their lips.

The Bandaged: Besides, it's fine; I'll just borrow someone else's teet'h again, or just'h put another fake one in. . .

Able: ...That's horrifying.

Able is trying not to think about it, but his face is already scrunching up in disgust. He looks away, sitting back.

The bandaged man pushes a finger into their mouth, their index wiggling around for something. After a moment, a small crunch echoes in their jaw.

The Bandaged: -Wincing; slightly slurred.- Hss. . .come now, it's not like they're using it. Speaking of which, do you still have those jars of teeth? Can I write you an IOU for. . .

The bandaged man fingers around in their mouth, wincing as they do so.

The Bandaged: Ah. . .ah! . .two molars. . .hhss. . .and a canine?

Able narrows his eyes, looking at the bandaged man. He did need something from the man. He was currently having his own issues... and it was almost time for.. He hummed, trying not to think about the sounds he was hearing.

Able: You can take whatever you can find. I need something in return, though.

The bandaged man pauses, crunching a tooth back into place before withdrawing their finger, looking at Able with narrowed eyes.

The Bandaged: Now hold on, what sort of business is this, asking your teacher to give you something when, out of the goodness of your own heart, you ought to give regardless?

The Bandaged: . . .what is it?

Able: ..Do you remember that time you wrote on Thomas..?

Able looks away again.

The bandaged man narrows their eyes, before sitting back, resting against the desk. They count off on their hands, nonchalantly.

The Bandaged: Well, I've really written on freckles numerous times, you'll have to specify. Are you talking about the time I had to force into his eyes? Or the internal tangling?

The bandaged man pauses, before speaking towards Able with a bit of a manic energy, gesturing.

The Bandaged: . . .no, wait, is it the orifice tango? That one was fun; did you know, on your eyelid, there's a hole that connects to your nose? Fascinating, right? Ooh, or are you talking about when I made him lose autonomy with his lower half?

Able: Y... Wh... How much have you been visiting with him?

Able blinks, and shakes his head.

Able: Never mind that. Ah, I was merely interested in....erm.. Taking more.

The Bandaged: All the time.

The Bandaged: -Furrowing his eyebrows.- Though, he won't let me in most of the time.

The bandaged man stares at Able, before rubbing their hands together while they chuckle, their eyes sparkling.

The Bandaged: . . .ooohoho, is that it?~

The bandaged man shimmies along the floor, scooting their rear along the floor as they hook an arm around Able.

The Bandaged: -Coquettish; with a crooked smile.- Tell me, then. . .

The bandaged pokes Able's chest, then his stomach.

The Bandaged: Up there, or down there?

Able clears his throat, trying not to show the flush that was quickly spreading across his face.

Able: Er.. Orally.

Able keeps looking away, not facing the bandaged man.

The bandaged man chitters, standing up for a bit, chuckling to themselves as they crawl over the desk.

The Bandaged: Well, now, I have some options available for that. . .

The bandaged man falls clumsily on the seat-side of the desk, rummaging around in their desks. Behind the desk, Able can hear the quiet clinking of bottles.

The Bandaged: -Quietly tipping a small bottle back.- We can. . .mh. . .make it go into your throat. . .past your throat. . .into your stomach. . .

The bandaged man quickly closes the drawer (the bottles clink loudly inside as they do so) before grabbing a bottle of familiar violant ink.

The Bandaged: Mmh. . .how deep do you want it to go?

Able is trying to think about how much he can handle. He isn't sure if he could handle it dipping into his stomach, even if it was highly likely to reach there if it was forced through. Able covers his face, trying to calm himself.

Able: Ah.. Just throat.. I do not think I can... Handle much more.

The bandaged man tuts, walking around the desk.

The Bandaged: Not with that attitude. . .

The bandaged man uncaps their pen, dipping it into the ink before lightly holding Able's head.

The Bandaged: Now, come and tilt your head back, now. . .~

Able sighs, moving his head to the side. He completely forgets about the bite marks already on his neck, they seem to get more concentrated lower down.

Able: Aye aye.

The bandaged man hums, resting an arm on Able's shoulder as they start writing.

The Bandaged: Now, now, happy thoughts. . .trust me, it'll be fun.~

The bandaged man touches the tip of the pen to the lower-right side of Able's neck; the ink is surprisingly cold, the symbol searing into Able's mind as the bandaged man slowly writes a series of detailed sigils.

The Bandaged: -Humming to himself.- Mmhh. . .perseverance of a reclaimed war criminal. . .the former escapee who played with the toys of a daughter. . .hmm. . .~

The bandaged man slowly writes a sigil along the entirety of Able's right side, the ink cold and shivering. It feels like the bandaged man is writing a series of "s"s layered inside of each other, with rotated, letter-like figures.

Eventually, the bandaged man pulls away, sighing.

The Bandaged: -Tugging at their coat; unbuttoning.- Mmmh, now that that's done. . .~

The bandaged man begins unbuttoning, before pausing. They stare at Able for a moment, their eyes narrowing. They suddenly grab Able's neck, pulling him close with surprising strength as they thumb the holes running along his lower neck and shoulder.

The Bandaged: What is this?

Able is trying not to think about getting anything that deep. It was too much for him at the moment, even with pleasant company. He jumps a bit when the bandaged man grips at him, and grabs his wrists.

Able: A-Ah.. Tss..

Able hisses, they were still fairly sore and bruised. He'd have to really find a better way to hide them.

Able: Do not prod at them. Just injuries.

The bandaged man continues prodding at the holes, muttering.

The Bandaged: -Quietly.- . . .Able, these look like bug bites. . .did you fall into a lamplighter hive in the middle of harvesting or something?

Able: E...Erm... Able blinks, pulling the man's hands away.

Able: Well I didn't get stung, is the important part.

Able suddenly stands.

Able: Ah. Thank you.

The bandaged man quickly stands up.

The Bandaged: You took far too long for that to be a legitimate answer.

The bandaged man points at Able, their eyes narrowing.

The Bandaged: . . .so that's what it is, is it?

The bandaged man advances on Able, their eyes flitting about as a manic energy reenters them.

The Bandaged: The bee bites, the deflection towards bugs. . .you didn't fall into a lamplighter hive. . .

The bandaged man pokes Able's chest.

The Bandaged: -Pointing confidently; crookedly smiling.- You're into being bitten by bees. . .you fell in on purpose. Ohoho, Able, you always seemed to be into being terrified. . .but to think you'd go as far as that.~

Able looks a little baffled, and tilts his head. He supposed it wasn't entirely untrue, enough for him to brush it off at least.

Able: Wh-... No I... Able turns around.

Able: Sorry I have to go now. Business to get to.

Able starts heading to the window.

Able: Ah hell I'm going to be late.

The bandaged man runs along, following Able to the window.

The Bandaged: -Bemused; laughing.- Oho, don't worry, I'll keep it a secret, darling! I'll just send you a little, ah, surprise later!~

Able quickly moves outside, and heads down the stairs.

Able: Yes, thank you, bye.

The bandaged man waves as Able runs down the stairs, bemused and chuckling to themselves.

The Bandaged: Ha. . .what a strange child. . .what nasty interests. . .

The bandaged man leans against the window, scratching their nose for a moment.

The Bandaged: -Eyebrows furrowed.- . . .hey, wait. . .where's. . .where's my fucking. . ?

The bandaged man looks down, before slowly climbing out of the window, wheezing.

The Bandaged: -Wheezy.- Oof. . .time to. . .see Thomas. . .

---

Able had fussed a bit with his collar, making sure it didn't scrape against his neck as he walked down towards ladybones. He wasn't sure how long this would last or the properties it held, but if it was coming from the bandaged man it was likely fickle.

Able tepidly enters Virgil's church, peeking in through the door before stepping inside. He wanted to make sure folks weren't following him. It had happened at least once or twice and it was always a hassle.

lower level of the church is empty, save for the numerous candles that are placed around the pews for illumination. The room is warm, as usual, though it's hard to tell if its from the candles or the infernal nature of the church.

Upstairs, there is a new bed. It's presence is only notable due to it being a new addition and the fact that it's not of infernal design (though certainly luxurious); the bed has a pair of feather-down pillows, and the mattress, while a bit lumpy, is stuffed with softly coiled brass springs (imparting a comfortable warmth to the fine fabric).

The deacon is lying down on the bed, lounging in a maroon smoking suit (it looks plain, but the fibers are interwoven in a way that catches the light in a particular, flame-like way) and loose dress pants, reading a palm-sized book that recounts London's attempted invasion.

Able closes the door behind him, quietly moving towards the ladder. He heads up, knocking curtly. He didn't want to invade the man's personal space if it wasn't wanted.

Able: Ah, are you busy? I have something to show you.

The deacon looks up from the book (having paused on the surge of goat-demons) at the door.

Virgil: . . .you may come in.

Able heads in, lifting the hatch. He raises an eyebrow. This was, not exactly what he was expecting.

Able: Er.. is this a bad time?

Able crawls out of the hatch regardless, closing it after he enters.

Virgil: -Lowering their book.- Not at all; why would you think that?

The deacon shifts in the bed, sitting up as they set the book aside on the lip of the lid of the strange metallic coffin(?) in the corner.

Able looks a bit to the side, smiling a bit sheepishly.

Able: You just look.. A bit preoccupied. Though I suppose you would have told me to get out if I wasn't wanted.

Able blinks, looking towards Virgil.

Able: Er.. Is that bed new? He wondered why he'd need a new bed. Lounging, perhaps? He figured it might be a bit difficult to read in a thing of wax, he muses to himself.

Virgil: It is new. If you're going to be staying after often, I thought that it would be best if you could rest comfortably, rather than. . .well, heading home afterwards.

The deacon leans forward, propping their head up in their arm.

Virgil: If I may ask. . .you don't typically stay or. . .really, even come on Wednesdays; what's the occasion?

Able smiles a bit. He felt a bit wanted, and was a little too happy about it.

Able: Ah that's.. That's really nice..

Able moves over towards Virgil, kneeling just in front of the bed so he can get a good look at the sigil.

Able: Oh, right. See I had the bandaged man do me a favor, since, taking any of you is a bit of a strain.. I was perhaps wondering if you were interested in seeing if it worked well enough?

The deacon raises an eyebrow, before leaning down to look at the sigil.

Virgil: Hm. A brave choice, deciding to go to him, given his track record.

Virgil tilts back Able's head, a finger lifting underneath his chin while he looks at the marks on Able's neck.

Virgil: -Quietly.- . . .well, be careful that you don't smear it. . .

Virgil plants a small kiss onto Able's cheek with the slightest warmth.

Virgil: Mh. I'd be willing to try, though, if you'll tell me what it's supposed to do.

Able: Given that Thomas is still intact... I think its a safer bet than most.

Able sighs happily, moving to unbutton his shirt.

Able: I'll get the collar out of the way, then.

Able carefully gets his dress shirt off, careful to not touch it to his neck, his fairly sparse undershirt remaining.

Able: Ah, it is supposed to help accommodate for oral, it seemed the most... interesting..

Able looks up at Virgil.

Able: I have had.. some thoughts that I want to try beyond that, though.

The deacon looks down at Able, shifting in their seat as they lounge with their legs slightly, if lazily, parted. They chuckle quietly.

Virgil: . . .if you wanted to accommodate, practice would've been fine enough. . .ah, but do tell.

Able: Perhaps, but you should get a little bit more enjoyment with this to help.

Able scoots in closer, leaning his head against the edge of the bed, sitting a bit more comfortably on the floor.

Able: Mh, I've been thinking about exploring a bit inside of you. Ah, gently, of course. I admit I'm a bit... interested in seeing how it feels against my mouth.

The deacon pauses, thinking for a moment.

Virgil: . . .well. That's new. I've. . .known many people, but. . .I don't think I've ever had a request like that.

The deacon sits back, spreading their legs a bit as they quietly muse.

Virgil: . . .alright. I'll humor you with this. . .with a condition.

Virgil's eyes seem to glow as their hands move down, the fingers pulling at the bottom button of their smoking jacket and the buttons running along their groin.

Virgil: You won't pull off until you absolutely need to. I expect you to commit and stay, even if it starts growing into your throat, yes?

Able gets a bit flush, but nods.

Able: Ah, of course...

Able wonders how much he could take, hopefully enough give him some enjoyment as well. The thought of being forced to stay though did make him a bit flustered.

Able: Ah... Feel free to er, keep me there... We should decide a way to inform you if it's serious... mm..

Virgil: Well, you're going to be a bit preoccupied; a word isn't going to work. . .

The deacon pauses for a moment, before they reach to their neck.

Virgil: Ah, I know.

They tug on their crooked rosary, pulling it up from behind their smoking jacket and over their head as they set it on their left side.

Virgil: Your hands will be mostly free; if it becomes too much, then you can pick this up and jab it into my thigh. Not too hard, mind you. Is that adequate?

Able: Hmm.. I suppose it would snap you out of it the easiest.

Able was a bit wary of jabbing anything into the deacon, but he was suddenly reminded that the outside was merely husk. He was eased a bit with that thought.

Able: I can agree to these terms.

Able moves back onto his knees, leaning in.

Able: Now, I'm a bit excited to start if... you'll allow me..

The deacon sits back, sighing contentedly as their hands move to unbutton the last row of buttons on their pants; they move aside the flaps, exposing dark chitinous plates covered in a light fuzz.

The husk seems to have a larger hole in the groin than usual; there are black, irregular segments tiling the space around a small slit, the inside colored the same dark color as the glossy surroundings. At the edges, there's small black hairs flecked with yellow peeking out from the edge of the husk.

The deacon sighs, leaning back and propping themselves up on their elbows; they spread their legs, the black plates shifting a bit and showing more of the black slit.

Virgil: Mhh. Come at it, then.

Able very quickly moves in, and pulls the deacon closer to the edge of the bed by his legs. His mouth meets that slit as he pulls him in, his tongue pressing into him eagerly.

Able grips Virgil's hips, pulling him up against him as he presses forward. His mouth seems a bit fixated with the internals, excitedly exploring around and brushing up against the tip just inside. Able makes a bit of a sigh, looking up at Virgil as he continues to eagerly feel around the insides of his slit. He keeps his hands firmly on his hips, not wanting him to pull away it seemed.

The deacon grunts, breathing out of their nose as Able pulls him forward.

The slit feels very firm, like the walls are made of tense muscle. It's not easy to stay in there; the walls are clenching and relaxing in slow cycles with the tenseness coursing from deep inside all the way out. The repeated squeezing could slowly force out Able's tongue if left alone.

Salty-sweet fluid coats the internal walls; Able can feel a gentle numbness on tip of his tongue as the walls clench and excrete more fluid, the moisture wicking away onto his tongue.

At the very back, Able can vaguely feel two points; whenever Able's tongue runs over it, Virgil sighs through their nose, and they slide themselves forward just a bit more before returning.

Virgil: -Breathing warm air over Able's face.- Mmh. . .

They lift a hand, placing it on top of Able's head before letting it fall to the side, the thumb tracing the area right above his left cheek.

Virgil: . . .dig a little deeper.

Able doesn't need more of an excuse to prod deep into the slit, but appreciates the invitation. He shifts himself so he can press Virgil onto his back with one hand before he uses the new position to get properly onto the bed, gripping the man's hips as he adjusts himself all while his tongue is digging deep into the slit, pressing into the tips when he can reach them.

Able finally gets into a position he feels more comfortable with, at least his legs do. He has gotten the deacon onto his back, and himself completely onto the bed, lifting his hips up to stay in contact with his mouth, tongue lashing on and in him a bit aggressively.

Able didn't want him to press away, so he keeps the deacon's hips just barely up off of the bed, his grip firm as he stares at him. Able appears to be a bit dazed, and only makes little muffled sounds of enjoyment.

The deacon grunts through gritted teeth, surprised by Able's forwardness; they quickly adjust, however, moving along with Able and letting their hip be raised as Able pushes deeper into his groin.

Virgil: -Grunting.- Mmn. . mhhhh. . .you're rather eager, aren't you. . .

The twin tips deep inside slither forward a bit, the tips now pushing lightly against the tip of Able's tongue. They feel soft and vaguely textured, the organ warmer than the surrounding walls. Able can feel the tips parting a bit, blindly feeling around before lightly grazing along the top and bottom of the tip of his tongue.

Able focuses on the split in Virgil's member, finding the sensation very interesting. He presses his tongue under them and into the slit, putting pressure onto it before slipping his tongue along them. He knew he'd have to start with the real portion soon, but he didn't hesitate to sate his curiosity.

Able presses the deacon's hip up further, allowing him to deepen his exploration before he'd run out of space to do so. He suspected he wouldn't get a lot of time if Virgil was slipping out so quickly, but even so he was a little saddened by how soon it'd be over.

The more that slips out, the more Able relaxes his grip, eventually finally letting the deacon's hip rest onto the bed as he himself lays on his chest on the bed. His mouth firmly placed on the slit as his tongue coats and explores the deacon's member tips and split. His dazed look doesn't seem to fade, but he seems more relaxed.

Virgil breathes in sharply every time Able slathers his tongue along the twin tips; his eyebrows furrow and his eyelids clench for a moment before he relaxes, a small, deep buzzing reverberating from their chest.

Virgil: Mmnnh. . .mmh. . .dig deeper, while you can. . .

Slowly, as the tips are given attention, a large, smooth-feeling mass slithers forward, pushing more and more into Able's tongue and forcing it against the walls as it pushes for room. The texture is strange; it feels like smooth leather, yet it soft and vaguely spongy-feeling with something coursing deep inside.

The deacon quietly hisses as their member slowly slithers out; it starts growing faster, pushing its way out and, eventually, starting to make its way into Able's jaw.

Hands move to the back of Able's head; Virgil reached both arms around, holding Able's head in place and, slowly, pushing his head hard against the slit. A thumb pulls at Able's chin, prying his jaw open.

Virgil: -Buzzing.- Hhmmff. . .let's see if you can take more this tiiimmhhh. . .

A pressure builds at Able's tongue; Virgil's twin-tipped cock is starting to force its way into Able's mouth, filling it familiarly quickly. Able can hear a quiet coursing inside his head as the member slowly firms up, the tube-like cock slowly forcing its way to the back of his throat.

As soon as it does, the sigil on Able's neck warms suddenly, irritating the holes in his neck; suddenly, it feels more comfortable to accommodate Virgil's cock in Able's mouth, as if it felt just small enough to comfortably fill out without choking (though the gag-reflex is definitely there whenever the deacon's member rubs against the back of Able's throat).

Able makes a sound indicating a bit of distress in trying to keep his jaw from locking up, a small gag and a bit of a huff. He is trying to keep himself steady, but as soon as it hits the back of his throat he feels himself pull back. He was a bit thankful at the hands at the back of his head, settling as soon as the initial distress gripped him.

He makes a bit of a whimper, but doesn't seem to be doing anything to actually stop Virgil. His tongue still feeling the underside of his cock and bottom of the slit. He can't prod it as well, but at least he can now feel it.

As the sigil warms Able finds himself relaxing a bit more, slowly getting used to it being there. His gaze doesn't shift from Virgil's face, however, settling firmly onto him.

The deacon is breathing slowly, each exhale accentuated with a chittering buzz.

Virgil: -Buzzing loudly.- Mmhhfff. . .Able. . .

The hands on the back of Able's head grip tighter, lightly bunching his hair. Virgil is looking down at Able, watching his jaw widen as his cock slides into Able's throat.

Virgil: -With a buzzing undertone; quietly.- Mmhhf. . .look at that. . .you're taking it so well. . .ghhf. . !

The mass filling out Able's mouth suddenly squirms forward, slithering past the opening in the back of Able's mouth and partially firming up; the broad length scrapes against Able's uvula, irritating his gag reflex before slowly sliding its way a bit past and filling out Able's upper throat tract.

The deacon holds tightly onto the back of Able's head, holding his head firmly against their groin as they feel the twin tips slip into Able's upper throat.

Virgil: -Buzzing; reassuringly, but firmly.- Mmhh, Able. . .relax, relaaax. . .just let it in. . .you're doing so good, just a little more. . .

Able looks at Virgil, still fairly dazed as he tries to keep his gag under control. He seems to be doing alright, but he feels like he will need to breathe soon. He whimpers a bit, a little unsure about how much longer he can handle this. Able is a bit more relaxed with Virgil's soothing, but he still gags as more slips down.

He gently presses his head to the side, his neck pressing into the deacon's leg. Just enough to smear the sigil that was keeping him from feeling a lot of the strain on his throat. It very quickly became apparent that the thing was no longer in effect, and Able panics.

His throat clamps down hard and even if he tried to pull out, he can't. He winces, looking around the bed for the rosary. It'd fallen to the floor. Able looks a little worried, tightly gripping at the deacon's thighs, his throat still uncomfortably clamping down and tensing painfully.

The deacon grunts, closing their eyes as their cock slithers into Able's throat inch by inch. He buzzes contentedly with his head resting back, the mass throbbing in Able's throat. . .

Virgil: -Satisfied; buzzing.- Mmhf. . .there you go. . . you're doing so well. . .

. . .before suddenly grunting when Able's throat clamps hard; his cock throbbing hard and spurting a small amount of hot, irritating liquid into Able's throat. Virgil hisses, lifting their head back to stare at Able with slightly fuzzy eyes.

Virgil: -Buzzing; gritting their teeth.- Mmhf! . .mmhh, your throat. . ! . .hhhzzz. . .

The deacon stares at Able, their eyes slightly glazed; they stare at Able gripping his thighs, before letting go of his head.

Virgil: -Buzzing.- . . .hhhzz. . .I got. . .

The deacon moves a hand to Able's forehead while the other wraps their index finger and thumb around the base of their cock.

Virgil slowly, but firmly, pushes Able's head off, their cock catching deep in his throat and tugging a bit before sliding out a bit and repeating.

Virgil: -Buzzing; panting.- Mmhhz. . .I. . .I got you. . .mmhhff, your throat is. . .

Another spurt of hot, barely scalding pre runs down Able's throat. . .

Virgil: -Pushing off harder.- . . .mmhhzzf. . .it's holding on so tight. . .

. . .and another, right below the back of Able's mouth.

Virgil: -Hissing; pulling on Able's head and hair.- Hhgghhff. . .I. . .I got you. . .mmhhhf!

The deacon's cock, wedged in and catching on able's throat, suddenly releases, pulling out quickly and spurting several ropes of searing pre against the back of Able's throat. . .against Able's tongue. . .and, finally, a small spurt on his gums as he finally pulls it out.

Virgil: -Panting.- Hhh. . .hhzz. . .

The deacon's cock throbs, a small spurt of pre dripping onto the bed and pooling around the tips.

Virgil: -Buzzing.- . . .get. . .come here. . .

Able wishes his throat would merely relax, but he can't stop it as it repeatedly clenches tightly onto Virgil's member. He wheezes a bit when he's finally allowed air. He is relieved, and seems to very quickly relax as he breathes slowly. He presses a small kiss on the split of the deacon's cock, a little fixated still.

Able notices the tone in Virgil's words, and stops, moving closer.

Able: A...Ah... Apologies..

Able was sore, and the burning of Virgil's pre in his mouth was exacerbating it a bit. It wasn't pleasant, he admitted to himself.

The deacon exhales when Able kisses the tip of their cock; when he nears, he holds onto Able's shoulders, their eyes slowly refocusing.

Virgil: -Buzzing; quietly.- Come here. . .

The deacon gently wraps their arms around Able, their grip loose. Between their bodies, his cock slowly throbs with visible ripples spreading across from the base towards the tip, the sensation running up along Able's chest.

Virgil: -Buzzing.- . . .are you. . .are you alright. . ? . .

Virgil: -Tilting Able's head back.- . . .you smeared. . .it. . .looked like you were. . . struggling.

Able seems a little surprised, slowly moving his arms around Virgil. This was a bit of a more serious tone than he was expecting. Able looks at the deacon, thinking about what to say for a moment.

Able: ..A touch sore.. The tensing was really what made me panic ah... I'm sorry to have worried you..

Able sits back a bit, staring at him.

Able: ..Virgil.. Ah..Thank you.

Able places a kiss on his cheek, smiling a bit.

The deacon sighs, staring at Able for a moment.

He returns the kiss, planting a scalding kiss onto Able's cheek with a deep buzz, the sensation tickling his cheek.

Virgil: -Buzzing.- Mmh. Don't thank me just yet.

Virgil grabs Able, pulling him down so he ends up on his back. Above, the deacon shifts over them, the length of their warm cock running along Able's torso.

He leans in, biting on Able's neck.

Virgil: Mmhf. If you're going to keep talking like that, you give me no choice but to keep mangling your neck.

Virgil leans in deeper, biting as secondary mandibles slipping past the lips discreetly, but forcefully, puncture the skin.

Virgil:-Buzzing; sighing.- Mhhf. . .oh, but keep going, though, by all means. . .mmh. . .give me that excuse to abstract you and your beautiful soul. . .

Able sighs, wrapping his arms around the deacon's neck, gently pulling him in. He winces, the bites always painful, but exciting for him. He was never much into pain, though it was less about that, and more about a sense of belonging to someone.

He huffs, placing a hand behind Virgil's neck.

Able: Mmhf.. I don't need to give you excuses to indulge, Virgil.. but..

Able moves to kiss just beside his ear, sighing.

Able: Ahh.. Mmf.. you are quite wonderful..

Able bites his tongue, restraining his words a bit. He knows what he wants to say, but he keeps it quiet. Just for now. He doesn't want to spoil it. Just in case.

---

Thomas was a bit busy that evening. It'd been a very long day for the man, organizing and sending out crates. He had to deal with several new orders from a few new potential clients looking to expand their interests in wines and food production.

He didn't care, but he did note it down in case they needed to "talk" about it. Thomas wrote down his invoices for several crates, tying them to the boxes before rolling them into storage by dolly.

He was tired, and he was sore. He still had to do some work in finances though, and went to pour himself a drink. He could at least start to relax, the hard stuff was over.

The bandaged man stumbles, heading towards the front door of Thomas's abode. He falls down the stairs, wheezing as he lands on the ground.

The Bandaged: -Wheezy.- Oough. . .oy. . .oy! Freckle face!

The bandaged man knocks repeatedly and quickly on the bottom of Thomas's front door, too wheezy to bother standing up.

The Bandaged: -Sing-songy.- Oy, fire hair! Freckle face!

Thomas winces, but continues to pour his drink before settling into his seat. He was too tired to deal with him today. He sips at his brandy, sighing.

The bandaged man slowly stands up, wheezing as they lean against the door.

The Bandaged: Did you'se go deaf or something? Freeckles!

The bandaged man kicks the door. . .

The Bandaged: -Crying out.- Ach!

. . .before hopping in place; evidently, the door is reinforced more than usual.

The Bandaged: -Wincing.- Blasted door! . .oy! Fire-headed booyy!

The bandaged man grumbles, squatting as they peer at the door. There are reinforced corners, stronger hinges. . .

. . .ah, but the doorknob hasn't been replaced yet. The bandaged man rubs their hands together, and rest their hand on the knob for a moment.

The bandaged man gives a small hop, raised off the floors as they hold their heels directly against the door. In a moment, they erratically jostle the doorknob, their feet digging into the door as they pull back.

The Bandaged: -Loudly.- Hghhf! Thomas!

The outer doorknob snaps off, pulling the inside rod with it and causing the inside knob to fall to the ground; with a startled cry, the bandaged man tumbles to the ground, wheezing as the impact winds them.

The Bandaged: -Wheezy; slowly crawling up.- Ghh. . .oy, f. . .freckles. . .

The bandaged man slowly stands up, sticking a wiry arm easily through the doorknob hole and awkwardly trying to feel for another lock.

The Bandaged: -Wheezy.- . . .y. . .you really should invest in better knobs. . .shoddy craftsmanship, that is. . .

Thomas looks unamused, but doesn't get up or respond. This didn't seem like his normal breaking and entering. He would replace the knob, though. Ah, perhaps he could get the man to pay for it. Thomas sips at his drink, pulling out a ledger book and writing down the receipt already.

The bandaged man feels around, trying to feel for a lock; eventually, their hands trail over it, and they disengage the latch, before withdrawing and pulling on the door.

They walk in, hands on their hips and nonchalantly kicking aside the fallen doorknob.

The Bandaged: -Outstretching their arms for a hug.- Ah, Thomas; how are you? Have you been feeling well?

Thomas glances over at the bandaged man, raising an eyebrow.

Thomas: Alexander.

Thomas returns to writing up the damage report.

Thomas: What are you here for? Your next meeting is in two days.

The bandaged man pauses, their arms still raised in a waiting hug.

The Bandaged: -Thoughtfully.- Who's Alexander? . .wait, is he one of my connections. . ? . .

The Bandaged: -Gesticulating.- Well, that doesn't matter; I've got a problem!

The bandaged man gestures at their lower half.

The Bandaged: Able asked me for sex, but then he left, and I think he's into fucking beehives? That's not important though! I need your body for a moment!

Thomas pauses, setting his pen down, turning to the bandaged man.

Thomas: Oh? Did he?

Thomas downs half of his drink, sighing.

Thomas: Tell me; how do you know that's what he was asking for?

The bandaged man stands up, holding a hand on their back and on their chest.

The Bandaged: -Pleased.- Why, he asked for my proprietary sigil, to dilate his throat.

Thomas: Oh really?

Thomas downs the rest of his drink, standing, and moves so his papers wont be disturbed. He stands more towards the middle of the room.

Thomas: Has he been playing with others, you think?

The Bandaged: Why, don't be ridiculous; he is not the promiscuous sort, even if he does know you.

The bandaged man pauses, before holding a hand to their chin and grabbing Thomas's cup. . .

The Bandaged: -Quietly.- . . .at least. . .no, he wouldn't.

. . .before shrugging, tilting the cup back; he pauses, peering at the empty glass before tossing it onto the desk.

The Bandaged: -Waving their hand.- Ah, definitely not. Why would he need to create accommodations in his throat, if it wasn't for moi? I don't know about you, but I doubt he'd know anyone endowed enough for it.

The Bandaged: -Pondering.- . . .though he is terrible at oral. . .might as well need it. . .even for. . .normal. . .

Thomas: Oh I wouldn't know. He's been hiding some peculiar marks on his body recently, though.

Thomas moves to the kitchen, uncapping the brandy again, taking down another glass. He pours another cup.

Thomas: Interesting, mh? You'd think he'd gotten in a scuffle with a devil.

The bandaged man furrows his eyebrows. He squints for a moment, deep in thought, before grabbing the tipped-over glass on Thomas's desk. He walks into the kitchen, following behind Thomas and gripping his shoulder.

The Bandaged: -Nonchalantly.- Now fire head, I've told you, he's into being bitten by dangerous bees. I just know it. Speaking of which, I have an order I need to ask of you, but never mind that now. . .

The bandaged man slips his glass around Thomas, resting it on the counter.

The Bandaged: -Low; quiet.- . . .top me up. . .

Thomas grins, tipping the bottle into the glass the bandaged man set down, filling it mostly. He sets the bottle aside, taking his own glass.

Thomas: Dear... You are aware what devils are aren't you?

He takes a slow sip of his drink before setting it down.

Thomas: Mhh, I thought it'd have been a myth, but as my new associate has shown me... This particular rumor is true.

The Bandaged: -Affronted.- Of course I know devils are apian, freckles. My old headmaster was a devilless, and I've seen her parts.

The Bandaged: . . .long story. Had to publish my research somehow.

The bandaged man tips their glass back, draining the glass in one, slow draught. They set the glass down onto the counter with a wet sigh.

They slide the glass back onto the counter, by the bottle of brandy.

The Bandaged: Mmhf. Another. . .besides, those holes were much too small for it to be a devil; you know them and their appetite. Besides, even if he were courted by a devil, I should know; he doesn't seem any more somber than usual.

Thomas: Ah, indeed. Perhaps it is a devil whose appetite is more.... restrained?

Thomas fills the glass again, noting in his head how many he's taking.

The bandaged man scowls, tipping the glass back and drinking a little faster.

The Bandaged: Mmgh. I've never heard of a restrained devil.

Thomas: Mm...

Thomas downs his drink, annoyed.

Thomas: I could name one.

The bandaged man snorts on their brandy, spilling a bit on the floor. He wipes his nose, scowling.

The Bandaged: -Wiping.- Guh! . .oh Lord, that brandy's strong; order that for me, next time. . .who? That sharp nosed devil? What's his name. . .Gerald? Ha! I doubt it!

Thomas: Mh, I'll add it to your usual bill.

Thomas sets his glass down.

Thomas: Certainly not him, dear. It would have to be someone Able trusts... Someone he spends time with... Hmm...

Thomas sighs, a bit more relaxed. Maybe that would get the man out of his hair.

The bandaged man scowls, leaning against the wall.

The Bandaged: That's presuming that it is a devil; I already told'h you, he is into lamplighter bees biting him to near death. Besides, that's not why I'm here. . .

The bandaged man gestures at themselves, groaning wheezily but somehow screeching regardless as he leans against counter; he has his elbows on the edge of the counter, and his legs leaning out exceptionally far.

The Bandaged: I've been stood up! Hoodwinked, without a trace of consummated love! I'm sitting here, needs unmet and love wilted, and yet I still linger on! Waiting for someone to address my needs, and to provide me the release I desperately need! I-

The bandaged man's elbows slip off of the counter; he screeches as he falls, holding the glass up as they land on the ground with a loud clatter.

The Bandaged: Ach! . . .

The Bandaged: -Wheezing; scowling.- . . .just. . .let me use that appointment now, alright.

The bandaged man, lying on his back on the ground, raises their glass.

The Bandaged: . . .another, while you're up there. . .

Thomas: Well, it comes at a premium.

Thomas takes the glass setting it to the side.

Thomas: Regardless I am still busy. You will have to wait.

Thomas fills the two glasses, placing one back into the bandaged man's hand. He sighs. Figures he'd be stubborn.

Thomas: Keep yourself entertained for a bit, and I'll see about it. Once I've finished.

The bandaged man quickly stands up, spilling quite a bit of poured brandy onto the floor.

The Bandaged: Oh, why thank you, you freckle-faced walking hole that is going to be used tonight!

The bandaged man, setting their glass onto the counter, grabs Thomas's hand, kissing the back of it repeatedly.

The Bandaged: -Pulling Thomas down a bit.- Mmhf. . .I have some new ideas, too! I found out that, given enough persuasion, I could get into your ears if I write precisely the right symbols on your jaw. . .

Thomas breathes in sharply, pulling his hand away. He couldn't be distracted now. He sighs heavily.

Thomas: Not now dear.

He hums, grabbing the bandaged man's face in his hands. He was intrigued, but it would have to wait.

Thomas: Mm.. But certainly later.

---

It has been a while since Able had met with the deacon. They had spent several hours working each other up, progressing from the initial biting to more intense grinding, the gentle (and futile) attempts to swallow and take, and the inevitable burns on Able's body.

The deacon is currently topless, holding a small rag and kneeling on the bed. They're cleaning the bed frame, wiping off several, slightly blackened parts and brushing away the thin layer of soot that had formed. Beside them, they have a small cart with several folded fabrics for bed sheets and blankets; small, stuffed feather pillows; and an already opened box of several medical tinctures and ointments.

Virgil breathes slowly, the holes in their husk dilating a bit as they breathe in before exhaling.

Virgil: -Wiping the headboard.- How's the hem of the blanket?

Able was currently helping clean, replacing the bedding, along with inspecting them for damage. He'd been bandaged and covered after he'd wiped all the fluids off of himself. It'd been a lot of work to get it out of his body hair, but he managed.

Able mused a bit about how much it must cost to have these sheets frequently changed. He was a bit thankful he didn't do these sorts of things in his own home, the cleanup would be a bit more tedious.

He sighs, rolling up the sheets into a pile, indicating its having been used. Able was about as much in a state of undress as he was when he started, though he'd discarded the undershirt at some point, unaware as to where it went.

Able: Singed, but not fraying.

Able replaces the sheets, smoothing it over the bed neatly.

Able: ..Mh. You talk a lot about my soul when you get worked up, Virgil.

Able pulls the sheets taut over the bed, tucking in the corners.

Able: ..Are you wanting to take it for yourself?

Able says a bit nonchalantly, moving back to the cart to pull out a fresher set of blankets.

The deacon pauses, their hand paused over the headboard.

Virgil: -Slowly wiping.- . . .depends on what you mean.

Virgil: -Wiping the wooden frame.- Clarify your language; if you mean that I want to own it, in the manner of completing a contract and adding to my collection. . .no.

Virgil: -Flatly.- Though, feel free to talk about it later, if you'd like; the option's always open. So far, it wouldn't be the worst investment I've made.

The deacon pauses, before setting aside the fabric cloth.

Virgil: -Quietly.- . . .it. . .does interest me, though. For a moment.

Able thinks for a moment, setting the blanket onto the bed before getting a cleaner set of pillows. He wonders.

Able: Interests you how? If you aren't interested in owning it, then there must be another quality about it.

Able tosses the new pillows onto the bed. He sits at the edge of the bed, looking at Virgil.

The deacon pauses.

His hands are resting on the headboard; behind, Able can see the holes in the husk's back dilating as he takes a deep breath before turning to look at Able with a deep gaze.

Virgil: -Quietly.- . . .taste, mostly. The deacon turns, seated at the end of the bed.

Virgil: . . .do you recall the, er. . .gift, that Agatha gave you?

Able watches the deacon carefully. He is noting how he is reacting by merely talking about it. Must be incredibly interesting, he thought.

Able: Ah, vividly. Why?

Virgil: I had said that I meant to take the scent out of your throat. That was not a lie.

The deacon sits back, closing their eyes for a moment before staring at Able with slightly dilated pupils.

Virgil: . . .but, I had tasted. . .more. I tasted. . .well. I tasted your soul, as directly as a devil can. Not on purpose, mind you. . .a coincidence, given how deep I had to dig.

Virgil: -Quietly.- Just a taste. . .like taking a swig of wine before spitting it out.

The deacon closes their eyes, breathing in slowly.

Virgil: -Eyes closed; buzzing quietly in their chest.- . . .I want to taste again. I don't think that. . .I should. But I want to.

Able thinks about this, fiddling with his hands. He wonders what he should say, or rather, what he wants to say. He felt a familiar fear creep into him, along with the heat in his face.

Virgil had shown restraint in all of their encounters, but he didn't seem to trust himself, Able noted. He scoots a bit closer to Virgil, pressing his side against him.

Able: I...See.

Able reaches up to touch the deacon's face, staring at him a bit intently. He'd gotten red, incredibly so. Able could swear he felt it reach his ears with how much it flushed his face.

Able: . . .Perhaps.. we could try?

The deacon stares at Able, before raising their hand to gently hold his hand.

Virgil: . . .you should think harder on that, instead of merely humoring me.

The deacon holds Able's wrist, their eyes widening a small bit; the pupils are ill-defined, seeming more like a vague mist as he speaks quietly.

Virgil: -Low; buzzing.- You are aware that, in accepting this, you risk losing your soul; that, as such, you may not be able to reclaim it in a timely manner; and that, as a devil, I would be obligated to, at some point, give it to the Brass Embassy, at which point it would be immensely difficult to return it to you, yes?

Despite the serious tone, Able can feel the buzzing reverberating from deep in the deacon's chest; while not audibly loud, he can feel the vibrations deep in his bones from the intensity the deacon is chittering inside their husk.

Able places his other hand on the deacon's face. He seemed excited, Able noted. Too excited. Able leans in a bit, shaking a little. He was excited himself, though perhaps for different reasons.

Able: Hm... I believe I can agree to these terms. Besides...

Able leans in even closer, placing a kiss just below the deacon's ear, sighing.

Able: You cannot play with it if you pawn it off now can you?

The deacon stares at Able, before lightly cradling his head.

Virgil: . . .you really ought to stop playing around with devils.

Virgil plants a small kiss onto Able's forehead. . .

Virgil: -Sighing.- . . .you need to relax, though. You have to believe you're willing. . .that you want to let go of it. . .

. . .before slowly pushing him over, moving over them while still maintaining a slowly firming grip on his head. Their chest is heaving slowly, his breathing hot enough to cause Able's hair to curl and irritate his forehead.

Virgil: -Gripping Able's chin.- . . .open up. Relax. Let yourself go, Able.

---

The bedroom had changed a lot since the first meeting with the bandaged man. Thomas had added a shelf with various oils and rags, contained in their own jars or boxes. Some of them had labels, most did not. The bed had been replaced several times through his appointments, mainly due to there never being enough space, or the frame wasn't sturdy enough.

The bed frame was solid, and reinforced with steel plates. The mattress itself was a lot thicker, and took a bit of effort to climb onto. The sheets and blankets seemed to be rarely made, just tossed haphazardly onto the bed. The pillows were vaguely in the correct spot, but looked to be feather filled and soft.

Thomas seemed to keep his ledgers in here, a shelf neatly organized on one side of the room, but a distastefully unorganized box with papers off to the side of it. It was filled to the brim with books and half folded papers.

Thomas stepped in, pulling out a paper from that box. He crossed out something on it. It was a set of dates, one of the dates were scheduled two days ahead, of which he scribbled out before shoving back into the box.

He'd still need to file that box, but for now it was fine.

Thomas's room was quite frankly, a mess. Clothing littered in piles and beyond his files, things seemed to be in constant disarray. He'd shoved most things out of the way and against the walls, but it didn't seem to do much but provide access to the floor.

It was a stark difference between the living and storage area, which was always tidy or well organized. His personal spaces seemed a lot more lax in how it was kept.

Thomas finishes fiddling with papers and settled onto the bed with a bit of a huff.

The bandaged man had followed behind Thomas; their outer robe is hanging off of the crooks of their elbows, already partially undressed. Their hair is poking messily between the bandages, and their crooked grin gleams brightly.

The bandaged man jumps onto the bed, lying on their side. . .

The Bandaged: -Sing-song.- So, how're-

. . .before the bed sinks a bit; they fall off of the lip of the bed with a loud clatter as they land on their back onto the ground.

He quickly stands up, dusting himself up. Slowly, without a noise, he climbs onto the bed, before assuming his sideways pose, this time much farther away from the edge of the bed.

The Bandaged: -Sing-song.- . . .so, how're you? How do you want to start?

Thomas slips out of his outerwear, loosening his tie, pulling it over his head before tossing it into a familiar pile of clothing. He keeps undressing, slowly unbuttoning down his dress shirt.

Thomas: Incredibly tired. I could go for some safeties first.

Thomas looks over at the bandaged man, pausing his undressing for a moment. He bites his tongue, his hands stopping just at the ends of his buttons.

Thomas: Unless... You would just like to take me?

He shifts a bit on the bed. He could use a bit of control taken from him, the day had been long, and he really was tired.

The bandaged man coos, covering their mouth with their fingertips as they chitter.

The Bandaged: Oh, why, freckles, you're just gonna let yourself go limp? For me? Not even a little fight? . .ah, but, if you're offering.~ . . Oh, a moment. . .

The bandaged man reaches into their pockets, pulling out their pen and vial.

The Bandaged: -Humming; uncapping.- . . .there we are. On your back, now.~

Thomas lays back, sighing.

Thomas: Who said anything about going limp, mh?

Thomas finishes his unbuttoning, exposing himself just a bit. He watches the bandaged man, lightly pushing his hair back.

Thomas: You know I'll fight no matter what..

The bandaged man crawls over Thomas as soon as he lies down; he straddles his midriff, their heels hooking underneath Thomas's rear as they lean forward, holding their pen over his face.

The Bandaged: -Cooing.- Ah, now that's much more interesting. Tilt your head back.

The bandaged man doesn't wait, moving to write on the underside of Thomas's chin and muttering to themselves.

The Bandaged: -Rubbing their thumb along Thomas's neck; writing.- . . . the strength of a survivor. . .buried early in war. . .mmh. . .did you know that there's a tube that goes directly from the nose to the inside of the ears, Thomas? . .~

The bandaged man continues writing along the underside of his chin, the ink forming a tattoo-like sigil.

Thomas moves his hands to the man's thighs, gently thumbing his inner leg. He sighs, keeping his head tilted back.

Thomas: Oh? Are you trying to get me excited?

He huffs, a little impatient, but waits.

Thomas: At the rate we're escalating I'll be merely no less than a vaguely warm sleeve for your insides, dear.~

His hands move closer to the man's groin, slipping under the bandages and gently tugging. He presses his fingers in, stopping just short of his crotch, a little teasingly as his thumbs feel about the edges of his thigh.

The bandaged man coos as Thomas thumbs their thighs. He pauses in the middle of writing, before pressing the point of the their pen up against the underside of Thomas's neck, the tip depressing the skin.

The Bandaged: -Lilted.- Ah, ah, behave yourself, now. . .~

The bandaged man relaxes their hand, finishing up the sigil with a blotted mark; they move their pen lower, starting another sigil on the center of their chest.

The Bandaged: -Muttering.- . . .the harm given to a loved toy. . .mmh, it'll be the usual this time. . .dilated throat, internal tubular organs. . .ooh, I should try that new eye one. . .

He relaxes his hands a bit, lightly pushing his fingers under the bandages of the man's thighs. Thomas hums, amused.

Thomas: Oh? Now you know injury costs extra... But if you are confident in your sigils...

The bandaged man finishes the sigil on Thomas's chest, and begins appending it with several more placed around the main symbol. Their writing has improved, with the spacing becoming thinner between the lines.

The Bandaged: -Chuffed.- Come now, my work is impeccable. The worst that'll happen is that you'll go cloudy-eyed for a night. A minor setback, and it resolves on its own.

The bandaged man finishes writing the six-petaled sigil on Thomas's chest; he moves the tip of the pen up to his face, writing a small, self-contained symbol.

The Bandaged: -Quietly.- The amazement of a novel impossibility. . .ah, there we go. Now, where's that oil. . .ah, there it is. . .

The bandaged man looks up, seeing the shelf laden with oils, and shifts themselves up; their knee digs into Thomas's midriff, the bones underneath pinching him between their body and the bed.

The Bandaged: -Rifling around at the top; quietly irritated.- . . .er. . . .which bottle is it. . .no, this one makes it bleed. . .hold on. . .

They shift on the spot, their knees putting more pressure onto Thomas's midriff and thighs as they mutter and rifle through the bottles.

Thomas hums, looking down at the sigils. He laid back again, relaxing.

Thomas: Tsk. It better, for your wallet's s- Gggf..!

Thomas wheezes, the shift in pressure sending pain down his abdomen. He winces, squirming under the bandaged man's leg. It was a little bit much, but that's how he liked it. The pain was sharp, but it was the careless disregard for his well-being that finally got him a bit flush.

He grits his teeth, hissing. This man was a bit of a careless idiot, Thomas thought to himself.

Thomas: Ggf... Knee..

He wheezes. He looks up at the bandaged man a bit pathetically. Would he dig deeper, or get off? Thomas wondered, knowing already which he personally wanted.

The bandaged man tuts, still feeling blindly along the shelf.

The Bandaged: -Sighing dramatically.- Yes, I know you neeeed to have the sigil protected. . .

The bandaged man pulls themselves up a little, the pressure relieving for a moment. . .

The Bandaged: -Muttering.- . . .what's wrong with a little burn, anyways. . .your body can always make more blood. . .ah, here we are.

. . .before moving to a kneeling position to lift themselves up and reach at a bottle, the ball of their heel digging hard into Thomas's abdomen.

The Bandaged: -To Thomas, without looking.- Ah, there are the oils. . .which one's the one that stings again?

Thomas sighs, feeling a little relieved, before it was all crushed out of him. He hisses, pressing his head back. He'd certainly get bruised due to this.

He grabs the man's ankle, groaning.

Thomas: -wheezy- Black label. He manages to breathe out. He was already getting a touch excited, the pain searing now. It felt extremely uncomfortable, though certainly not the worst he'd had.

The Bandaged: Oh, black label. . .ah, here it is.

The bandaged man pulls out a bottle filled with tinged oil, happily muttering as they finally sit back onto Thomas's chest, the pressure on his gut alleviating.

The Bandaged: -Raising an eyebrow.- . . .why're you all out of breath? Why, we barely started, and you're already broken?

The bandaged man puts the their hand on the underside of Thomas's chin; they force his head back, not so much tilting his chin up so much as pushing with full force on the underside of his chin with their palm and cramming the top of his head into the bedding.

Meanwhile, the bandaged man haphazardly shakes the bottle directly onto Thomas's neck, sighing as they apply far too much in one spot.

The Bandaged: -Sighing low.- . . .I swear, ever since I fucked between your insides, you started going downhill. If you're gonna get wheezy on me beforehand, why should I bother with you?

The oil soaks into Thomas's skin, vaporizing almost immediately; the room smells vaguely of flowers, but a burning sensation steadily increases as the oil vaporizes off of his neck.

Thomas squirms under the bandaged man's hands, huffing. The pain was gone but he knew it was about to be replaced with another. He wouldn't typically complain, but wasted product is still wasted product.

He doesn't really get his chance to speak up all that much, however. He felt sore in his neck, and more importantly, the burning was starting to get ridiculous. He just holds onto the man's wrist blindly, however.

Thomas: Ghhgf..too much... oil... do not waste it. He finally manages to hiss out. He didn't like the idea of needing to order more of the stuff.

The bandaged man gives a chuffed laugh, pushing harder on the underside of Thomas's neck.

The Bandaged: -Authoritative.- Oy, don't get uppity with me. Unless you want to get burned? The bandaged man peers at the bottle, their squinting gaze unimpressed.

The Bandaged: -Muttering.- . . .s'not like it's anything you can't get, anyways. . .

The bandaged man suddenly gasps, dropping the bottle onto Thomas's chest; the bottle tips over, coating the sigil on his chest liberally in stinging, intensely scented oil.

The bandaged man quickly picks up the 2/3 empty bottle, talking in an hushed, low tone.

The Bandaged: -Hushed awe.- Floral distillations? From a surface distillery? Oh goodness, this must've cost a fortune. . .

The Bandaged: -Holding the bottle under their nose.- . . .fresh-smelling, too. . .

The bandaged man gets up off of Thomas, putting the bottle back onto the shelf in the same manner a monk may replace a votive statue.

The Bandaged: -Quiet awe.- How much would it cost to get that in my next order. . ?

Thomas winces, the glass hitting his ribs in a most unpleasant way. He groans, almost getting up in anger but merely lays back.

Thomas: Tss.. It only comes into season in spring. Do not waste any more.

He huffs, pushing his hair back in frustration. He wondered if it was worth the money. He looks around briefly. Possibly.

Thomas: Put in an order and I'll get you a premium price..~

He hums, stretching himself out a bit more.

The bandaged man crawls over Thomas, smiling a crooked grin.

The Bandaged: Ooh; offer accepted.

The bandaged man raises their hand, clamping it onto Thomas's face and pushing his head into the bed underneath.

The Bandaged: Ah, but enough of business. . .

The palm of their hand blackens; pressure is building at Thomas's mouth and nose as slowly thickening tendrils force their way out of the bandaged man's coverings. They slip past his lips easily, the rubbery flesh creeping between any crack in his teeth with a squelch. Likewise, the tendrils forced up his nostril is squirming it's way in, the slick tentacle irritating the hairs inside. Meanwhile, the bandaged man lowers themselves onto Thomas's chest, their fingers trailing slowly along the middle of their ribs. . .

The Bandaged: -Self-proud.- . . .mmh, this new sigil is an improvement on the old ones. . .hhmmmnf.~

. . .along their abdomen. . .

The Bandaged: . . .mmhh. . .you ought to be able to take it up to the top of your stomach this time. . .maybe further up in your esophagus. . .ooooh, at this rate, I might be able to kiss my cock through you. . .~

. . .and pausing right above their groin. Their hand skirts around his cock, humming as they feel the inside of his thigh before lowering further.

The tips of their slowly blackening fingers rest lightly against Thomas's rear. He lowers his head, laying his ear against the front of Thomas's stomach.

The Bandaged: -Curious; tittering.- . . .oohoho. . .I wonder. . .can I hear it inside you. . ?

The bandaged man pushes their hand forward, the fingertips suddenly mashing against Thomas's entrance.

At first, it's mostly just harsh pressure; however, as the bandaged man's fingers fall apart into slick, slippery tendrils, the pressure gives way as their tentacles force their way in, distending Thomas's anus and sliding in a foot before being stopped.

The Bandaged: -Grumbling.- . . .mmh, not far enough.

If one were to look, they could see Thomas's expression go from his usual annoyance to a dazed sort of look. He doesn't relax, though, gripping the man's wrist tightly.

He'd very quickly taken a breath in, a bit used to this sort of routine. He would likely still pass out regardless, but any extra time to be aware during this was his main goal.

Thomas shudders under the bandaged man's touch, whimpering loudly as he avoids his very excited need. He pushes his hips up briefly, before settling back down.

He feels the very familiar feeling of the bandaged man's hand at his ass, and pressing into him as it falls apart and into him. The feeling was all normal and easy, but he wanted more than just that.

He makes a gurgling sort of whine, his very clear excitement not much of a surprise, but he was a bit squirmier than usual. This seemed to make his cock brush up against the underside of the bandaged man, and he settles, not wanting to mess with that.

His noises are heavily muffled, and yet he still somehow manages to be loud. A talent of sorts.

The bandaged man pushes Thomas's head further down, the tendrils in his nose squirming deeper. The tendril forced between his teeth squirms further back, punching past the curve of his tongue at the back of his throat and joining up with the tendril squirming down his nose in his pharynx.

The Bandaged: -Irritated.- Oy, quit whimpering over there; I'm trying to hear myself in you. . .

The bandaged man readjusts themselves to a kneeling position between Thomas's legs; the added height pushes their blackening hand further up Thomas's rear, forcing it past the protesting tension of Thomas's body and easily sliding his anus up along his arm to just past the middle of his forearm.

Inside, the tendrils at the end of their hand has fallen apart even more; along Thomas's lower abdomen, there is the vague outline of inch-thick tubes squirming and following along the path of his intestines.

The sigil on Thomas's chest glows dimly; underneath, the skin squirms, smoothing out the outline to a vague bulge. The bandaged man lowers themselves, pressing an ear against Thomas's abdomen. Their abdomen pushes against Thomas's cock rather forcefully, pushing it straight down into his body with rather painful force before it slips to the side.

The Bandaged: -Muttering.- Ooh, I can hear it. . .ah, see. . .rings of muscles force. . .er. . .could you not?

The bandaged man lifts off of Thomas's body, looking at his erection.

The Bandaged: -Sighing; scowling.- I'm trying to see if this sigil works, and you're just jabbing into me.

The tendrils in Thomas's mouth pull away; for a brief moment, it feels like a loop of tendrils pulls deep on the inside of his palate before it breaks, the two tendrils pulling out of his nose and mouth. Above, the bandaged man moves over Thomas; he sees a flash of the bandaged man's exposed groin before he slams his hip down and forces his cock between his lips.

The bandaged man places their ear onto Thomas's stomach, sighing; around his cock, the skin blackens, turning into lengthening tendrils that start forcing their way into Thomas's nasal and oral orifices as well.

The Bandaged: -Chittering.- Ooh, much better. . .now I don't need to worry about your cock.

Thomas feels a bit of a burning sensation in his lungs. He'd tried to breathe in when his throat was still occupied, making him inadvertently inhale some fluids down into his lungs as the man pulled out of him. He didn't get a full lung of air before it was replaced with the man's dick.

He was a bit more enthused about this, managing to writhe his tongue against the man's cock with some effort. He makes a slightly quieter muffled noise as he presses his head up into the man's groin. Thomas could feel himself become extremely distended even now. He was impressed a bit by how well the bandaged man crafted this new sigils, remembering how it was still painful before.

Thomas mildly wished it was still a bit painful, but he wouldn't trade that for this full feeling. He squirms, reaching his arms out and wrapping them around the man's waist, pulling him in deeper.

He had quickly become unable to move his tongue, or even attempt to breathe, but this was highly favorable. He felt fainter, but he could hold out, he hoped.

The bandaged man lets themselves be pulled down, comfortably letting all of their weight fall onto Thomas. Their legs straddle his head, forcing his face into his groin.

The Bandaged: Mmh! . .mmhh, if you like being down there so much, how about you just dig in a little more?

Their hip is slowly falling apart into a mass of tendrils, the ends of them familiarly beginning to wrap around Thomas's head; they stick to his cheeks and temples, tugging on them and pulling him into a hip that's slowly falling apart into slippery tentacles.

Meanwhile, the bandaged man leans forward, letting their weight press into Thomas's abdomen and pushes his arm into his anus. Slowly, laboriously, his arm pushes in inch by inch, distending Thomas wider and wider right up to the elbow.

Inside, the tendrils wiggle, the skin of Thomas's abdomen bulging slightly as the tentacles inside prod blindly. This, in combination with the bandaged man putting pressure on his abdomen, makes it feel like his intestines are stuffed completely full.

The Bandaged: -Muttering.- . . .ooh, I can hear it inside you. . .eugh. Your insides sound gross.

Thomas's grip tightens around the bandaged man's waist, his hands slipping between the bandages and feeling for the most solid part to press harshly down. He made sure he was completely engulfed in man, entirely muffling him.

He couldn't hear him very well, but it was enough to notice the tell-tale signs of an insult. He whimpers, though it isn't heard so much as felt. The state of his internals was enough to painfully excite him, his dick leaking pre to an incredible degree.

He wasn't sure how long that would last, but he didn't care, his head growing fuzzier as his dazed state increases. For a while it seems he was able to keep his lungs from burning, but he gags, making his whole body tense before relaxing.

The bandaged man pushes his hip harder down onto Thomas's face; their hip slips down a little lower, opening up and wrapping around his entire head as they do so. Underneath, the tendrils are enveloping Thomas's head, prodding at the holes in his ears, his nostrils, and his mouth.

The Bandaged: -Cooing.- . . .mmmhhh, your mouth feels really good. . .

Meanwhile, the bandaged man works on forcing their arm deeper into Thomas; at this point, the entirety of their limb (up to the shoulder) has decomposed into tendrils coiled around one another. Along his stomach, there are visible bulges squirming along in a lopsided spiral; it's as if woven rope was forcing along, scraping against his insides.

The bandaged man pushes their ear harder against Thomas's lower abdomen, putting hard pressure against the bulges and causing the tendrils inside to catch on the inner walls. The top of their head rubs against the tip of Thomas's cock.

The Bandaged: -Curious; chittering.- Ooh, wait. . .I can hear your sphincters squeezing. . .mmhf. . .that's just fascinating. . .hm?

The bandaged man pulls away, patting the top of their head; a small patch of their hair is slick from the pre Thomas's cock was spurting.

The bandaged man shrieks, shaking off their hand and groaning.

The Bandaged: -Disgusted.- . . .oh. Eugh, I got your stuff in my hair!

The bandaged man wipes at their hair with their free hand, resting on Thomas with the tip of their elbow digging painfully into his side.

The Bandaged: -Visceral.- Ugh, why're you spurting so much? How much did you get on my hair? Stop that, that's gross!

The bandaged man scowls, swatting hard at the inside of Thomas's thighs (which hurts much more than it'd seem, given that their fingers have turned into slippery tendrils; it feels like being whipped by slick pieces of leather).

The Bandaged: -Manic disgust.- Go and stay down, I don't need your fluids in my hair!

Thomas tenses up, almost immediately feeling a searing pain rake through his insides. Usually it wasn't supposed to hurt, which meant something was wrong. He was too dazed to properly notice though, only pressing his head deeper into the man's groin, futilely attempting to slide his tongue along the man's cock. It was a difficult task, and one he was slowly completely unable to do.

Thomas was feeling faint, his need for breathing setting fire to his lungs. He presses in further. He was startled when the man starts actively hitting him, the new pain rushing back his awareness of the situation for a moment with each lash and making his member twitch wildly. It was a bit much for even him, and was a bit disappointed when he finally spurts his release onto his abdomen. He gags, the rest of his air quickly releasing between the spaces of the tendrils and the man's dick. It was too much. The pain in his gut spread through his body, feeling like he was being filled with a scalding water.

He was familiar with that pain. He was bleeding, but he didn't have time to notify the bandaged man of the internal hemorrhage, his body very slowly going limp.

He was miffed. He didn't want to be pulled out yet.

The bandaged man shrieks, swatting at Thomas's cock when he starts releasing.

The Bandaged: No, I said stay down!

The bandaged man sits up quickly, digging the point of their elbow into Thomas as they do so; down below, their arm is pulled quickly out of Thomas's entrance, the tendrils inside catching on the intestinal walls and sliding out painfully quickly.

The Bandaged: -Grimacing; wiping their bandages.- . . .god, I told you to stop. . .what's with you?

The bandaged man lifts their hip a little to look at Thomas, the tendrils wrapped around Thomas's heads letting go with a series of wet squelches.

Thomas had completely passed out, his body limp beyond just his limbs not moving. He didn't look like he was breathing or twitching. He wasn't usually this still unless..

Thomas's gaze was blank, a little eerily. His hands and feet collecting blood with a blueish tinge without it actively circulating through him. Seems he was not just out, but out.

The bandaged man pauses for a moment, staring at Thomas's body for a moment.

The Bandaged: . . .oh. Ohhhh.

The bandaged man lowers their hip, sitting on Thomas's face as the tendrils wrap themselves again around his head.

The Bandaged: -Embarrassed.- Oh dear, I. . .guess I killed him. . .er. . .

The bandaged man stands up on the bed, looking through the upper shelves; Thomas's body moves about limply, their head affixed tightly to the space in-front of their hips as the tightly-wrapped tendrils drag his body around.

The Bandaged: -Muttering; searching.- Where's that notebook he keeps of contacts. . .

---

Able and Virgil had spent a while just getting himself relaxed, a difficult task when he was shuddering from the excitement of the whole thing. They tried a few things, and Virgil had found getting Able off had proven the easiest way to do this. He'd be up again soon anyway, and it wasn't a difficult thing to do with him so excited.

Able sighs, letting himself be pushed into the bed. He'd relaxed considerably, though perhaps not enough. Able seemed to get a bit frustrated, his head edging onto the fuzzy dazed feeling, but never fully entering it.

Able: Relaxing is... a lot harder when you're... trying to do it..

The deacon is lying on Able's right side, the heat of their breath flowing over his cheek and ear. He has a warm hand wrapped around Able's cock, the thumb gently grazing over the tip and the fingers hooked around the soft ridge running along the underside of his penis.

Their fist pumps slowly but firmly, the fingers gripping tightly as it slides down to the base. Virgil whispers gently, their breath warmly tickling Able's ears.

Virgil: -Soothing; with a buzzing undertone.- Mmh. . .don't think about it, Able. . .mmh, just lleett yourself go. . .

Virgil's eyes are slightly glossy, the pupils a mostly cloudy amber. There is an intense, deep buzzing underneath the deacon's whispering from deep within their chest. The noise is hypnotic, a steady buzzing that slowly grows and quiets in cycles; the vibrations reverberate within Able's lungs and head, making it hard for him to think.

The deacon's other arm is wrapped around Able's shoulder, squeezing and relaxing in a rhythmic cycle as they lean in, kissing the side of his neck and trailing slowly along the side of his head.

Virgil: -Buzzing; whispering.- Mmh. . .you're doing so good. . .mmhh, just a little more, hon. . .

Virgil: -Kissing Able's lips.- . . .mmh. . .just a liiiittle more. . .

Able huffs, trying to force himself to relax. This didn't really help him at all in actually relaxing however. He seems a bit soothed but he just isn't there yet, and he makes a bit of a pathetic whimper in frustration. He shudders under Virgil's attention, very clearly enjoying himself, but he still seemed nervous.

Able: Hhf.. I'm trying...

He moves his head up to meet Virgil in a kiss, a hand behind the deacon's head. He could feel the buzzing even here, it was a nice little feeling.

Able: How does anyone.... purposefully relax...?

Virgil buzzes louder, gripping Able's cock a little tighter and pulling back the skin around his head; his thumb massaging the tip.

Their arm shifts behind Able's shoulders, lifting up to hold the back of his head.

Virgil: -Buzzing.-You're trying too hard to relax. . .you can't relax if you're thinking about it. . .don't think, Able. . .just leeeettt yourself sink into what feels good. . .

The deacon lowers their kisses, their hand trailing lower to hold the back of his neck; he pushes his head up, their kisses focusing on the underside of his chin and peppering his neck with small bites. Every bite is accentuated with a small squeeze of Able's cock; every kiss, a stroke up that bunches up his foreskin; every hot breath, a slow massaging of the head with a thumb.

Virgil: -Low; buzzing loudly.- . . .mmh. . .c'mere. . .let yourself go, Able. . .I want you to be mine. . .just relax, and let me have you. . .

Able bites his tongue, feeling a little more faint that he had before. His thoughts slowly clouded a bit, his breathing a bit shaky. His hand firmly on the back of the deacon's head, gently holding him as Virgil kisses and bites his way along him.

Able takes in a bit of a sharp breath, the attention on his cock a little bit much. He rests back, sighing, presenting more of himself to the deacon, allowing him even more access to his neck.

Able: Hff.... you should take me then..

Able feels those words are perhaps a bit much, but his head was a little too dazed to focus on it too much. He sighs, laxly looking up at Virgil.

Virgil: -Low; intensely buzzing.- Mmh hf. . .

The deacon clamps down a little hard on Able's neck, their teeth and the hooks of secondary mandibles catching on his skin; lower down, just under two feet of throbbing devil cock prods against his right side as the deacon pulls his mouth off of Able's neck to stare him directly in the eyes. His eyes are glazed over, the pupils nothing more than a cloudy haze of maroon floating in a globe of amber.

Virgil lets go of Able's cock, his hands moving to prop himself above him. Slick, warm fluids spurts across his chest and abdomen as a tube of cock slides across his sides and settles onto his torso; fluid flows out of the forked tip as if the deacon was pissing pre onto Able.

His hands move to hold the side of Able's face, their gaze unfocused and wild. They adjust their hip, the broad base of their cock putting pressure onto Able's.

Virgil: -Buzzing loudly.- You want me to just take you, then? . .you want to be at the mercy of a devil? . .mmhzz. . .

Virgil: -Breathing heavily; hungrily.- . . .then I'm going to make you mine. You will belong to no one else, and I will make sure everyone knows this.

Virgil leans in towards Able, breathing heavily. Each warming exhale is accompanied with hungry clicking; at this angle, it's easy for Able to see the mandibles in the back of the husk's jaw clicking wildly as remnants of numbing fluid drip onto his chin. Below, the deacon is grinding against Able's cock, the forked tip flaring slightly with each push forward.

The deacon's hands move; one hooks a thumb under his chin, and another moves to hold the back of head still as the buzzing grows louder, louder, and louder. . .

Virgil: -Nearing closer; buzzing.- Mmmhhhz z z, o p e n u p.

This seems to do it, he feels his head go completely dazed and fuzzy, Able feels himself grow a shaky sort of excitement. His arms fall back above his head, and he turns his head to the side. Able is more flush than before, but takes on a lot more relaxed gaze, never moving it from Virgil's.

He makes little more than happy sighs at the attention at his cock, pressing his hips up a bit. He can't focus too hard on much of anything like this, merely doing whatever Virgil seems to push or ask him to do.

Able keeps his hands away, a sort of gesture indicating no struggle will be given.

Able: -Quietly, muttering.- ...Ah... Yours...then...

Virgil: -Buzzing.- Mine.

The deacon, wasting no time, plants their lips onto Able's lips.

Inside, the mandibles quickly go to work filling out his maw; the primary mandibles slide in and open wide, filling in the space between his molars and keeping his jaw propped open wide. The secondary mandibles extend and grab the tip of his tongue, pulling it down and doing its best to keep it out of the way.

A familiar, glossy-feeling intruder prods into Able's mouth a little too quickly; the chitinous tube jabs at his tongue several times before it starts sliding forward over it and across his tongue. In a moment, it quickly slides into Able's mouth, the tube catching a bit on his throat as it tries to dig its way down.

Virgil: -In Able's head; buzzing loudly.- You're going to become mine. You're going to let yourzzzelf go, and you're going to be taken by a devil.

The chitinous tube forces deeper into Able's throat, cutting off his circulation. . .

Virgil: -In Able's throat; buzzing loudly.- Your soul is going to be mine. You are going to let it go. Let it go, Able; give yourself up to me.

. . .the tip dragging deeper and opening up, the thin tongue inside tickling the lining of Able's insides.

Virgil: -In Able's chest; buzzing loudly.- You are going to belong to me forever. This is what you want. You're going to have this soon.

Able makes a bit of a small whimper, though its heavily muffled. He seems to be completely relaxed beyond that, his hands only gently touching Virgil's wrists, thumbing him softly. A bit of encouragement despite the situation.

He does want Virgil to have him. Just him. Each little word burns in his face and sparks new excitement in his groin. He just falls deeper into his head, dipping into a merely lax state. Able doesn't seem to be doing a whole lot, but his thoughts burned when they did peek through the fog in his head.

He slowly grips the deacon's wrists softly, merely needing something to hold with his hands as he feels the deep intrusion. He did want this didn't he. He gags, just a bit, but it seems to be soothed easily.

The deacon digs a little deeper, the sensation dragging deep into Able's insides and leaving a trail of warmth inside with every exhale into his mouth. Every inch deeper is accompanied with Virgil's hips pushing hard against Able's cock.

The slender tongue catches onto something deep inside Able's body, the forked tip curling onto it. The deacon tightens his grip onto Able's head, the fingers digging into his skin.

Vrgil: -Deep in Able's chest; buzzing loudly.- Hhhzzzz. . .there you are. . .come here. . .

The deacon pulls their lips off of Able's, the space between their mouths filled with mandibles and chitinous tubes glinting in the light. Deep in the mess, the chitinous tube is slowly retracting, catching often on Able's throat.

It's not uncomfortable, however. Really, it doesn't feel like anything at all.

The deacon is panting heavily, slowly disengaging from Able's jaw. The primary mandibles close up, scraping against Able's tongue and letting his jaw relax; the secondary mandibles pull on his tongue and lips for a brief moment before letting go; and the chitinous tube retracts quickly, pulling out of his mouth and letting his head fall limply onto the bed.

Virgil: -Buzzing loudly; eyes glazed over.- Hhhzzzz. . .ghhhhfff, there you are. . .

The deacon looks almost horrifying right now; the mouth of their husk is slightly distended, the lips spread wide by parted mandibles. In the very center of the clawed mess, there is a thick, fleshy mass curled tightly around. . .something.

Virgil: -Holding their hands up; loosening their mandibles.- . . .ahh. . .

Their tongue uncurls, the mandibles withdrawing into his mouth. In his palms, the deacon holds what looks to be a melting, waxy lump; the substance seems to be slowly liquefying, revealing a deep blue and flecks of sun-light yellow, like gold deposits floating in a river.

The deacon shudders, lifting their palms to their mouth again.

Virgil: -Buzzing.- . . .Hell, you are beautiful. . .

The deacon shoves the waxy mass into their mouth; one hand moves to cover their mouth, while the other grips at their neck as they quietly taste.

Their cock throbs, spewing ropes of pre onto Able's chest as their jaw shifts, their gaze glazing over.

Virgil: -Buzzing loudly.- . . .rich. . .flavorful. . .

Virgil: -Gripping his neck harder; buzzing.- . . .hhhzz. . .careful, Virgil. . .

Able feels himself... well he isn't sure. He doesn't particularly feel much of anything, he doesn't think. Maybe he does? His gaze moves a bit more around the room before settling again on the deacon.

Able: Ah. That's wet.

Able notices that his surroundings are fairly damp, laxly moving his hand to his chest, barely making an effort to brush off the fluid. He looks up at the deacon again.

The deacon is holding their hand over their mouth, a clouded amber gaze staring at Able.

Virgil: -Buzzing; muffled.- . . .mmhhzz. . .

They lower their hand, trailing their fingers across the pre smeared on Able's chest. Slowly, they lift their hip, staring intensely at Able as their slick fingers slowly lower. . .

Virgil: -Buzzing.- . . .mmhhzzz, I wonder. . .

. . .trailing onto his cock for a moment before slowly fingering the slick fingers against Able's entrance, testing for resistance.

Able looks down, as if he was merely vaguely responding to stimuli. His body doesn't offer more resistance beyond the fact that there was skin and muscle tissue there. No particular tensing or the usual stressful entrance, the deacon could easily press his fingers into Able without much effort. An unusual occurrence.

Able: Mh?

The deacon visibly shudders, their gaze glazing over more. They push their slicked fingers in deeper, their cock spurting a little more pre onto Able before quickly pulling their fingers out.

Virgil: -Buzzing; breathing through clenched teeth.- Oh, Able. . .oh Able, I'm going to ruin you. . .

He moves above Able, shifting their hip quite a bit back so the tip of their immensely hardened cock lines up against his entrance.

They move back over Able, a hand holding tight onto his hips and another holding tighter around his own neck.

Virgil: -Buzzing loudly; dripping with lust.- . . .I'm not going to pass this up. . .

The deacon breathes heavily over Able's face before thrusting forward, jabbing the head of their cock against Able's anus. The twin tips quickly distend it open before forcefully pushing forward, trying to cram in as much into Able in one thrust as possible.

Virgil: -Gruff; buzzing loudly.- Mmmh h h z z z! . .~

Able makes little more than a little huff, merely from being moved with the thrust. There was something in him, he mused for a moment. He looks up at Virgil, as if he would have answers. He gives up on this notion easily, laying back down laxly.

Able: ..Mh? ..Mh..

The deacon lets go of their neck, their hands moving to grip tightly onto Able's hips as he pushes his hips in further, hilting the entirety of his cock into Able's loose entrance.

Virgil: -Buzzing; slackening their jaw.- Mmf. . .you're coming back for thisssszzz. . .

They let go of Able's sides, moving their hands to Able's forehead and chin to pry his jaw open. The deacon opens their mouth, a familiar mess of claw-like mandibles coming out.

A slick, clear fluid is dripping from the ends of their chittering mandibles, the liquid spattering all across Able's face as their mandibles click and squeeze at the waxy bunch falling out of their mouth.

Virgil: -Buzzing loudly.- . . .mmhf. . .I'm in you, Able. . .you're going to feel it soon. . .mmhhff. . .

The deacon plants their lips back onto Able's, their mandibles widening his jaw and planting the waxy mass into his jaw. A chitinous tube extends, nudging the bundle of blue and gold into Able's throat, blocking off his mouth for a moment as it slowly pushes it deeper.

Meanwhile, the deacon has lined themselves up, their arms hooked under Able's armpits with their hands gripping his shoulders as their hips piston into his ass, an entire length of devil cock distending his asshole open with each thrust.

Virgil: -In Able's mouth; buzzing.- I'm hilting you. . .I'm h i l t i n g you. . .m m h z z z. . .

. . .past his throat and blocking his breathing (the thrusts are getting a bit rougher; the head of their cock is flaring, the tips catching on the inner walls). . .

The deacon, deep in Able's insides, is groaning loud, rough utterances of pleasure; there is no restraint here, only an animal-like need for pleasure.

Virgil: -In Able's throat; buzzing even louder.- I'm going to ruin you, Able. . .mmhhzzz. . .I'm going to ruin you so badly that no one will be able to take you away. . .n o o n e will please you like I will. . .hhh h f f z z z . . .

. . .and, finally, deep in his insides, back where it belongs. The chitinous tube retracts only reluctantly, the forked tongue catching on the mass before letting go.

Meanwhile, the deacon is groaning viscerally, the noise drowning out every other noise and thought from deep inside. Their thrusting is blind, shoving in the entirety of over two feet of cock into Able's insides and back again, the entire slick tube tugging on his insides.

Virgil: -In Able's chest; buzzing non-stop.- You're mine, Able; you're going to belong to me forever, and you are going to t a k e it. . .t a k e it, Able, t a k e it! . .m m mh h z z z. . .~

Able is fairly calm about the whole thing at first. He seemed to be enjoying himself, he thought. This seemed to be what he came here for, right? He muses, and then the thoughts slowly connect as he feels himself slowly feel something.

Able: Hhf..? Mmf..?

Able can slowly sense that the deacon is indeed talking about him. Its unusual to hear him so heated though. He doesn't wonder about it too much. As the deacon prods into his throat, though, he can properly connect the words he was saying. He remembers the whole event, but for some reason he didn't act on it much.

Able suddenly wraps his arms around Virgil tightly, his grip startlingly strong as he feels his entire body tense up. He can feel that hot burning deep inside him now, not to mention the recently distended muscles at his anal entrance. He clenches down hard, the tensing of the rest of his body suddenly slowing the deacon's thrusts into him.

He gasps, feeling a sense of fullness but also a somewhat dull if not ever present pain. He'd gotten just past the initial searing pain, now only feeling a constant throb.

Able: -Quietly, muffled.- V...Virgil.. slower... god

He can hardly voice himself, his throat catching on winces and gasps of a mix of pain and pleasure. He never thought he'd be able to take this much in the first place, but the full feeling was something. He is easily overwhelmed, his erection pressing up into the deacon, that small sensation combined with the sudden feeling of fullness and his words quickly brought his release.

Able chokes back a whimper, clenching down even harder at this.

Virgil groans, the chitinous tube quickly retracting and tickling his throat before it returns back to his mouth. The mandibles, however, stay, keeping Able's jaw open and grabbing at his tongue. Their groaning is scalding the tip of Able's tongue, and their thrusting becomes jerky as his clenching catches on his cock mid-thrust.

Virgil: -Groaning; buzzing.- M-mmhfff. . .I thought I told you to relax. . !

The deacon forces a thrust forward, emphasizing their words as they try to push past Able's clenching.

Virgil: -Groaning; emphasizing with a thrust.- You are mmmmhhhine, Able. . .m m h f f, mine, you understand? . .no one else's. . .mine. . .mmmhzzz. . .

Their cock isn't digging in successfully; with Able clenching, their cock only digs in halfway (though that's still a healthy eleven inches) before it suddenly flares up, throbbing deep inside Able. . .

Virgil: -Pushing their hip down harder.- Mmhhhzzz, you belong to me. . .your soul, your body. . .m m mhh hzzz, e v e r y t h i n g. . !

. . .before, in a moment, his insides are flooded. The deacon grabs onto Able, holding their body tightly against theirs as they push hard, their cock bending a bit awkwardly but otherwise forcing in a healthy amount. The massive length throbs inside Able, spurting out steaming-hot ropes of thick sludge into his guts.

Virgil: -Buzzing loudly; incoherently.- M m h h h z z z! H h z z z! . .

Slowly, Virgil pulls out their cock as they ride out their orgasm, filling out the length of Able's guts with thick sperm as they wind down.

Eventually, their (now flaccid) cock flops out of Able's anus with a wet squelch, collapsing their weight onto Able but still gripping tightly onto them. Their penis recedes, sliding along Able's thigh as it does so.

Virgil: -Buzzing quietly.- H h h z z. . .hhhzzz. . .

Virgil: -Lifting themselves up a bit.- . . .hhfzzz. . .well. . .

Able feels him try to force more into him, but only pressing into him painfully, his tensing only relaxing as Virgil does. He feels himself full, but its a little hot for him, he groans, letting his arms fall back with a hefty sigh.

He feels sore as things wind down, his legs feeling like he likely wouldn't be able to walk for a bit. He seems still flush a bit, still thinking about all of what the deacon had said.

Able: Gggf... mmm.... yours only...mh?

Able half-heartily teases. He sighs, covering his face.

The deacon lowers themselves onto Able, their weight resting onto them as they sigh a warm breath onto their face.

Virgil: -Buzzing low.- Yes.

Virgil: -Grabbing Able's shoulders.- . . .and if you're going to be trying to be coy about it, maybe I should fuck it harder into you, hm?

Able groans a bit, placing a hand on the side of the man's face.

Able: Nnf, later maybe. I think I've gotten enough in me to fill a small tub.

The deacon rests on top of Able, sighing.

Virgil: -Flatly; with a buzzing undertone.- Well, if you're going to complain about that, I'd hate to hear what you'd think about a proper breeding. . .er. . .

The deacon clears their throat, looking at Able with clearer, more defined (but not fully defined) eyes.

Virgil: . . .you are alright, yes?

Able looks at Virgil, moving to pull a pillow from the bed to under his head so he can rest more comfortably.

Able: I am now.

Able softly thumbs at Virgil's cheek, humming a bit.

Able: Sore. I will recover. How are you? This was a lot more intense than usual.

The deacon pauses, before giving a small smile.

Virgil: . . .I'm sure you can understand why spending several years with the church may. . .build up some urges.

Able: Oh I know all about that. I could tell you stories.

Able snickers, pulling Virgil to his side so he can pull the man into a hug. He sighs happily.

Able: ..Mh. Virgil... Ah..

Able presses a kiss onto his forehead.

Able: I suppose that means we wont have to rely on grinding so much..?

The deacon raises their arms, hooking Able's torso in a gentle hug. . .

Virgil: Hopefully not.

. . .before slowly raising their hands to hold the back of Able's neck. They lean in, muttering to themselves.

Virgil: -Planting small bites; buzzing quietly.- . . .speaking of which. . .mhf.

Able shudders, squirming.

Able: A-Ah.... again.. already..?