NOCT OVERFLOW

[swordhardy]

OVERFLOW & EVENTS

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[swordhardy]

[ Satisfying.

It's so damn saaaaaatisfying to stain Six. Downy white's crimped with crimson, fair skin's bitten and scratched and rubbed raw. Perfect wings crumple beneath the jostle of Rokurou's thrusts, cock digging deep over and over, tearing up his ass and making sure no other man can have it. Ruining him, dragging him down to fire and brimstone when he deserves so much better.

With a heady groan, the devil snaps his teeth over a silky shoulder. The imprint of his teeth finds its way across Six's body as urgency spikes and his thrusts hasten. Nails dig in harder, dragging Six's weakened body back toward himself so he can drive in deep, quicker harder faster—! ]

Hhn...!

[ In the throes of pleasure, Rokurou's body seizes, muscles constricting as his gut tightens. A heavy shudder with a quivering heart—slamming his cock in one final time, pressure finally breaks meter, glass snapping as balmy heat overcomes. He comes as deep as his cock can drive, spilling a heavy stream of semen inside of his lover. Enough that it begins to drip out despite how his dick is still buried inside, leaking down Six's taint and thighs.

The barb of his dick digs, hooking him in place. They can't move, locked together, bodies twisted together in smeared blood, sticky cum, and cooling sweat.

Exhaustion doesn't stop Rokurou from grapping Six's hip to shove him over, spinning them again so that he's the one on top, grabbing for the angel's chin and dragging his face up for a hard, demanding kiss. Tongue lashing forward, it's as though he's trying to choke his lover with it in that liplock, or trying to drink him dry of everything he can possibly get.

Who knows? Maybe he's doing exactly that. ]

[wray]

[ the daemon's stain is a mix of white and red, an ugly mark left behind on something so pristine and ethereal. the bed of flowers they've ruined for themselves is a mess after the deed is done, but six doesn't make any attempts to break away from rokurou's grasp. if anything, he relishes in the pain — shivers deliciously when sharp teeth sink into a tight shoulder, trembles delightfully when a sharp cock drives into him over and over and over again.

once he feels so full to the brim, he clings onto his lover even more now that their positions have finally been switched. it takes a split-second before their mouths connect again, kissing rokurou back with just as much fervour as he's been given. the synchrony between them doesn't lie: it's a possessive one that simply says you're mine.

everything and anything rokurou could possibly want from him, six will give it all up, no questions asked.

exhaustion makes him unable to keep up with the daemon's demands, and eventually, his own grip slackens, barely hanging on despite how close they are. there's blood and cum all over where they're connected, but he doesn't want to move away from where they are.

it doesn't matter that the artist over there is still furiously sketching, inspired as he is by the way a devil and an angel made love. ]

... Mm, should we kick him out at some point?

[ he just has to ask. ]

[swordhardy]

Ah. [ when Six mentions their voyeur, mismatched eyes flicker up to where the artist is furiously scribbling, ] I forgot about him.

[ The devil frowns, shifting so that more of his body covers Six's. It doesn't really matter if someone else sees him naked, but Six? No. This is all for him—and if there's one thing Rokurou doesn't particularly care for, it's sharing what's his. The idea of someone else looking at the angel's naked body pisses him off; if he weren't still balls deep, he would get up and slit the man's throat for having witnessed such perfection without permission.

Glowering, he thinks on how to dispatch this nosy artist without drawing his cock from the clutch of Xing's ass.

Poor old Ernesto, for his part, has finally seemed to sense the animosity rolling toward him in thick waves. He looks up from the edge of his sketchbook with a squeak, gathering his things quickly before he's literally murdered; he casts them one last desperate glance (there's so much more to sketch!) before running for the hills, book protectively drawn to his chest.

Rokurou sighs, allowing him to leave without too much fuss. Tending to his lover is more important. ]

Tired? [ it would be a surprise if he weren't; devils are selfish things, and Rokurou's been chugging all the manna for himself this whole time. ] You feel weak.

[wray]

[ six doesn't bother watching ernesto pack up his things with his tail tucked behind his legs. right now, he's more interested in feeding into what his lover wants from him — if rokurou wants all the manna he has to offer, then that's exactly what he'll give him. of course this means that there's not a whole lot left for himself but it doesn't stop him from doing it regardless.

he nods his head once in response before nuzzling against rokurou, tucking himself right in. ]

Mm, a little, but it's nothing I can't handle.

[ all he really needs is to rest and he'll be just fine. the only problem is where they are and how public it is... ]

Should we head back?

[ not like he has any idea how he's going to get himself back, given how weak he feels, but he'll figure it out as he always does. it's not like he can make any attempts with rokurou covering him up like this anyway... so he'll wait until the daemon lets him go. ]

[swordhardy]

[ Letting him go is a big ask. Once the artist scuttles off like the roach he is, the devil sinks, resting his weight against Six in comfortable stretch. Manna hums, liquid fire spinning in his veins. Exhaling, leathery wings shudder and span over them, creating a canopy from the beating sun. There's no one left around to see them, but it doesn't stop him from being protective over what's his. ]

We should.

[ Yet he makes no moves to do so, still buried balls deep—though it's partially due to the fact that his cock has yet to retract, keeping them booked together with its barb. ]

... in a minute. You're comfortable.

[ It will be more than a minute—more than two or three or even twenty before Rokurou finally draws himself out and gathers Six's tired form in his arms. He's the one with all the strength between them, so it's nothing for him to carry Six in the cradle of his arms as he heads back to their shitty little studio. Curling up in bed is bound to be more comfortable than falling asleep on a flowerbed.

The flowers, though crushed and having lost some petals, are still alive. Only the stain of blood amongst the green and a few stray white feathers are proof that they had been there at all. ]