*rubs hands some more*
Can't believe I forgot to tag this lot from the kink meme way back, but anyway, may as well get them posted and sorted now - overall rating NC17 like HAHA OH WOW;
1. Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne, Dante/Nyx: Flirting - So a devil hunter walks into a bar...
A devil hunter walks into a bar and says "Ouch".
This is largely because the devil hunter had been around lower level demons long enough that any attempts at seduction had largely been reduced to "With tits like that you must be a goer".
Lady Nyx was of a higher class of demon.
A higher class with a voice that could burst eardrums. And a slap that could floor God.
Some time later, a devil hunter walks into a bar and says "Sorry".
It's a good start. Lady Nyx is of a higher class of demon and knows how to accept an apology.
The devil hunter sits down and orders a drink, doesn't look away when she bends over to retrieve glasses from beneath the bar, and in between looking says, "So, what's your star sign?".
"All of them," Nyx replies, but for all the sternness of her expression, it never quite reaches her eyes.
A bar in the underworld is as much the center of activity as bars in the human world had ever been, and Dante finds that even demons are quite capable of hating each other with enough organisation to warrant hiring hitmen. He wouldn't have classed himself as a hitman before, but when it's demons killing demons there's no real hiding the lack of distinction between friend and foe.
Lady Nyx doesn't mind the visits. Customers with a vocabulary beyond "drink" or, on special occasions, "gimme drink", are rare. And sometimes appreciated.
And Dante very clearly appreciates her, though these days at least there's more to his appreciation than the depths of her bosom and curve of her ass.
"Gotta love a brain like that, babe."
"You'd have to look a little higher to see it."
Closing time - more on account of Nyx's need to restock the bar than for any actual need to rest or any acknowledgement of the time - and Dante helps out with taking out the trash; Loki's deceptively heavy which might have something to do with being a condensed frost giant, or could just be from drinking enough to drown a whale.
It's Lady Nyx's turn to smirk and raise an eyebrow as she asks Dante if he'd be interested in going to hers for coffee.
With Nyx out of the bar Dante suddenly realises that she's a good foot taller than him.
And that is hot.
"Hot and strong, just how I like my women."
"You have no idea," Lady Nyx replies.
A devil hunter walks into a bar and says "Ouch". It isn't a complaint.
Still, the good, very good whisky does help distract from the bruises that'll last for days.
Dante's hoping next time he'll get a scar. Just a little reminder.
Lady Nyx is as flawless and unruffled as ever.
But she is a higher class of demon.
2. Elizabeth/Tia Dalma. Fascination. The existence of the sea means the existence of pirates
Tia Dalma is stained teeth and marked skin, silks shredded to rags, a woman but something else entirely beneath all that. These are the things Elizabeth can see; the things Elizabeth knows, because for all her adventures, part of her cannot dream as she wishes it could. She is a practical young woman and she knows what is real, does not believe in what lies beyond that.
As long as there are people and as long as there is a sea, there will be those who seek to conquer it.
And as long as there are those who seek to conquer, there will be those who push against that.
Barbossa and Jack Sparrow have taught her that the sea isn't something all men want to conquer; some dance with her, want to worship her, take her tempers in stride and love her truer than they did any other woman.
Elizabeth does not know when she started thinking of the sea as a woman, but as mired as she is in common sense, she forgets a lot what drives her into making some of her decisions. Willfulness, her father called it.
Tia Dalma says it's the right of a woman.
Elizabeth rests her head against smooth, dark thighs, amazed by the heat hidden here despite knowing full well her own legs hide the same secrets. Tia's hair is as dark and unruly down here as it is above, and she tastes like seawater, salt and wet and dark, hidden depths. Elizabeth doesn't think in terms of sins and virtues anymore; she knows what she wants and she seeks it out whatever way she can.
"You have the soul of a pirate," Tia had told her, and then laughed, because Elizabeth was more than any pirate; she was the king of pirates. Daughter of a Governor, and now this.
Tia rises and falls, aches and moans like the Black Pearl itself as Elizabeth's fingers move inside her, and Elizabeth shivers herself, pants for air as if her corset had been sliced open, and she is fearful of this freedom but needs it. Needs it more than anything, more, nearly, than Will; and she cannot share this with him. Will is normality and not knowing secrets hidden by the earth and the depths of the ocean.
Tia, without even needing to say anything, shows Elizabeth what she wants to know and more, and all the while looks back at her with eyes that know more than others could ever discover. Maybe more than they should ever discover.
And Tia's groan as Elizabeth brings her to the edge is at once unholy and divine in a way the gods in books are too frightened to be.
3. Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth/Vincent, Hair kink
"You don't belong here", Vincent had announced, calm and steady given he had long since worked out what Kadaj was hiding inside him. The tall image standing there - and despite its physical ability to touch, it was still only an image - did not belong. This was not Vincent's fight, had not been for a long time.
Sephiroth seemed disinterested, and Vincent returned the disinterested expression as he looked up even if having the silver-haired man's hand fisted in his hair and holding his head back was getting uncomfortable. Some part of him that had yet to be corrupted by Chaos still reacted to the shape of that face, the particular angles even if the eyes were different, cruel in ways hers could never have been. "This is Cloud's fight, not mine."
"You started all this," Sephiroth replied; some sentience then, despite lacking the full abilities bestowed by a reincarnation.
"Your father would have made you with or without me," Vincent said in turn, gritting his teeth slightly when Sephiroth pulled harder before relaxing again, refusing to inspire, refusing to be anything Sephiroth needed to get his grip back on this world.
"I had no father," Sephiroth spat, flinging Vincent back against one of the brittle trees, eyes narrowing when Vincent righted himself only to brush off and stay steady, making no attempts to escape. "Only mother, and -"
Kadaj shuddered, the image flickering and then disappearing altogether back to the half-being, and Vincent nodded as Kadaj got back first his breath, then his overpowering sense of rage, grabbing his sword and slicing through the tree where Vincent had been but a split second ago; the toppling branches made for a poor foothold though, so Vincent took to the other trees, letting Kadaj follow him for a little while before returning to the shadows.
Sephiroth was not his to fight.
It was time Cloud learnt that too.
4. Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth/other SOLDIERs, Strip club, we can't take you anywhere
Any other man. Any other man, even if they weren't into girls, would have at least reacted.
Sephiroth's expression didn't change once as stark naked tits rubbed against his face, and that was fifty gil down the drain and another bet lost to Zack who'd sworn Sephiroth wouldn't budge.
No arousal, no disgust, no fury, nothing. Nada.
It wouldn't be as bad if she'd been ordinary looking, but she'd been hot, and more than that, she'd been in a leather bodysuit to start with. How could anyone with blood just sit there as blank as if he'd been zoning out of one of Heidegger's speeches?
Zack was smug enough as he collected his winnings when the girl got the hint and moved on, though Aingeal fared little better, winking at Zack and -
Oh. Oh?
Reassessing Sephiroth under the assumption he'd been in on this was... weird. He didn't have any telltale sparkle so it could just have been that both Aingeal and Zack had known how Sephiroth would react, but even so, Sephiroth had been pretty phenomenal on recon missions so it wasn't as if he lacked acting skill.
Couldn't take the bastard anywhere and trust him to act normal. Couldn't even trust him to act like himself, especially whenever Zack or Aingeal were around; Aingeal might play stoic, but every once in a while... and Zack went without saying, enthusiastic to the point of insanity about everything he took up. The way Sephiroth would stick around you would have thought he hoped the enthusiasm would wear off.
Suspicions were definitely raised when, shortly after finishing up with his takings, Zack walked over to Sephiroth and Aingeal, handing something unseen to Aingeal - that sneaky bastard - before leaning into Sephiroth and talking. Hard to tell if it was a whisper or not given the noise of the club covered up the sound anyway, but with Sephiroth's hearing it could have been either.
Sephiroth tilted his head just slightly, a faint smile on his lips and something in his eyes softening, unsheltered for a split moment before he straightened and nodded to Zack, straight as an arrow once more.
Zack wasn't, and when he planted a firm kiss dead center of Sephiroth's lips before hopping over to the bar, you wouldn't have known which of them was playing games anymore.
5. Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne - Futomimi/Sakahagi - Noncon - You were born beautiful, and it went downhill from there.
Perhaps because of his prophetic abilities, perhaps because of something else, Futomimi had never been able to shake the feeling he was forever skirting around the edge of some huge revelation. He daren't ever say a great revelation because it didn't feel good - in contrast, it felt terrible, something cruel and bloody, something that drew him to places he ought not to go.
Something that let Sakahagi catch him.
"It's no fun chasing you," Sakahagi had said the third, fourth time this had happened. "You don't mean it like they do."
So violence had stopped being enough for Sakahagi, and he'd turned to other means. Futomimi remembered Sakahagi starting out - remembered him emerging from the mud, looking more startled than the others ever did, and he'd taken one look at Futomimi before running away.
It wasn't long after that Sakahagi first attacked him, and Futomimi first realised he knew how to fight. He did not know how he'd learnt; only that he already knew.
Violence wasn't enough anymore, and stretched out, pained, sand-textured faces slicked with blood pressed against him; Sakahagi didn't like to hurry stripping, liked to make sure Futomimi knew exactly what he was dealing with here, what Sakahagi had done. The pained faces were familiar in more than that he'd known who contributed to the grotesque suit, and that unsettled him more than anything else he'd had to deal with, felt like teetering on the edge of the blanks missing in his memory, and he had no idea how far the fall could be.
Perhaps he'd already fallen, as he lay still while Sakahagi's knife streaked blood that belonged to neither of them down Futomimi's face, a free hand pulling up on Futomimi's legs and sliding between them to where he was already hard.
He felt sick and he still wanted it, would not fight against it.
"So pretty, our great leader," Sakahagi cackled, fingers coarse against Futomimi's inner thigh, almost painfully abrasive, and then cloth was pulled aside and Futomimi felt the air where he was exposed long before roughness stroked there too. "So fucked up, and it's because of me, isn't it? I remind you, don't I? And I won't tell you."
Futomimi hasn't argued back since the third time because he can't argue back. He'd made the mistake of asking for answers that third time, and Sakahagi had spat, "I don't owe you anything", and then it had hurt.
Sakahagi's slicking him with something this time and he daren't ask what or why, though he's sure the latter is because last time it wasn't only him left chafed and sore, and it almost feels good as Sakahagi shoves into him, but it hurts too much to be overcome by that feeling something was missing before without him even knowing it.
Sakahagi pulls him up into his lap as he fucks him, his hands gentle in Futomimi's hair and his eyes wild with madness and cruelty and something lost Futomimi wishes he could touch and taste and see. He alternates between silence and muttering, almost chanting nonsense into his ear, as though this is a ritual, as though this is some sort of punishment Futomimi should acknowledge in the same way he should admit that he likes this, in the same way he should admit he doesn't want Sakahagi to tell him what lies in the abyss. The frantic hand between his legs is rough and harsh and it hurts but he's crying out for it, begging without words, needing it as much as he needed to be caught.
Sakahagi pushes in hard as Futomimi comes and holds him close, whispers in his ear, "I want to feel you give in".
And he does, he comes and he holds Sakahagi back because he hates it but it feels so good to hurt, it feels as though he deserves it, and Sakahagi holds the secrets that would break him if he heard them, that he knows would break him.
Sakahagi only said one thing about the secrets even Futomimi did not, could not know.
"You were born beautiful, and it went downhill from there."
6. Digital Devil Saga - Gale/Fred - fetishizing the father figure
Five years now, the world had been saved, and Fred still remembered the Embryon clear as the day they'd left him behind. With time it might have been expected he'd remember them in vaguer ways, knowing only general facts like how short Cielo had been, the weirdness of their hair colour and even weirder matching of their hair and eyes; but he remembered everything, clear as day. The most important hours of his life.
Unfortunately, years passing by meant a few pretty major changes in him, not least of which being hormones kicking in with a vengeance; and while they'd only started work around the time the Embryon came along, that didn't mean he missed out on their making an impression.
He remembered them exactly, and that meant for some uncomfortable revisiting those hours; because the Embryon, for all their being warriors, were not exactly ugly.
Okay, so Serph was a little bit too feminine for his - apparent - tastes, and Cielo had been that much of a kid it felt weird that anyone would think of him that way, but Gale and Argilla?
Argilla had been so beautiful, and flirty too with Roland at least, and sometimes, when sitting down, he could have sworn her skirt hitched higher than it was meant to, showing not only thigh but a little bit of hip -
So, yeah, she was definitely someone that popped into mind when jerking off although he had to be real careful to try and put out of mind the fact her breasts could have mouths.
And Gale - well, damnit, Gale was... different. He couldn't categorise Gale, not now, not ever, and he'd worked that out when he was checking out a sleepy-eyed chick and caught himself thinking that it just wasn't the same. Because Gale wasn't just a guy, or just sleepy-eyed gorgeous, or a little bit weirdly symmetrical; Gale was... well, Gale would have looked after him, and he hadn't forgotten that. Gale would have brought him up given Roland had tried but that hadn't worked out so well, and as kind of creepy as it was, these days he was really attracted to that. It wasn't exactly that he wanted looking after or that he wanted someone to give him rules, just - Gale had been the first figure of authority he'd really respected, because Adil had never really known what to do with kids and Gale had just bypassed that by treating him like a grown up.
He missed that, he honest to God missed looking up to someone taller than him who would just look back at him steadily and let him know exactly what was going on, whether it was bad or not. And he missed that quite glint of recognition he'd seen when Gale had remembered his dad; he'd wanted to know everything Gale knew about his dad, or, well, not-dad, but close enough to count. Gale would have told him everything, he knew that for certain.
And when he thought about Gale, he thought about having a home - not a house, just somewhere he could come back to and have certain things be steady and solid. He'd stroke himself and he could almost feel cotton sheets under him, Gale solid and lean and stretched out next to him, legs seeming to go on forever, and sometimes he'd picture Gale touching him, sometimes picture himself touching Gale; it just felt... weird, and a little unsettling, but right at the same time.
Funny, but it didn't always occur to him the other really, really obvious reason why he always thought more of Gale than he did of the others when stroking himself; Gale had been the only one he'd seen in a sexual situation. Admittedly it had been with Roland, but Roland had been like a dad - a crap dad up until late, but still a dad - and so he was ruled out straight off. But he remembered opening the door and only catching a brief peek before he'd mumbled some sort of apology and ran away, and he remembered Gale's legs clamped tight around Roland's waist, remembered the curve of Gale's spine up into his neck, the weird lack of scars, the strain in his arms and concentrating look on his face and -
Yeah, that pretty much always did it. Just, remembering Gale, and scanning that memory from feet pressed awkwardly top-down against the bed, up atma-marked shin and thick-muscled thighs, all the way up to that expression, and it always made his stomach unsettle and his cock twitch painfully. He hadn't meant to see anything but it was there, it was his authority figure in bed and it wasn't a mental image that was going away easily.
He'd find someone else, eventually, he was sure of that. But Gale was a one-off, and he might as well enjoy the memory in any way he could.
7. Trigun, Milly/Meryl, anime-verse, Hos before bros, Wolfwood was a shitty lay anyway
Meryl hated long trips.
Given she'd never had that much of a family - certainly no family like Milly's, anyway - she wasn't all that used to germs and with this many people in sweaty, close proximity, it wasn't really that much of a surprise she'd caught a fever.
A-damn-gain.
It felt like she'd been sweating for a day and she certainly had the headache to prove it even if Milly had been kind enough to give Meryl some of her water rations, not to mention traded a few spare bullets for salt lick. Both were easy enough to come by and with Milly's size and gender, she'd been able to get a pretty good deal.
Funny that, still thinking through business even when it felt like her skin was good to melt off.
But there were advantages; Milly didn't have the world's most ravenous sex drive, because she'd been raised on open physical affection and was kind of hard to wind up as a result - but she was generous to a fault, and Milly's ease with her body and others meant she'd learnt a really useful tip; orgasms distracted you from just about anything, including fevers.
Probably not the soundest medical advice but given the ship's doctor had recommended she sleep this off, medical advice could go screw itself.
Milly's hands felt huge and hot against her skin, cupping her breasts before stroking down her sides to ease the aches in the muscles, and it felt like a perfect forever before her legs were lifted and separated, Milly's head dipping between them and licking her open.
Her legs ached even with the tiny effort of holding them apart but Milly's hands helped her stay steady, her tongue determined when she wasn't pausing to suck at her clit, and Milly just seemed to know when she was getting close without even being told because she freed a hand to slide her fingers inside, giving something to hold onto as she orgasmed.
The best thing was, Milly didn't have any qualms about going straight to sleep afterwards, and Meryl knew that the need to wash her hands was as messy as anything would get between them; Milly just thought of this as an obvious thing for friends attracted to each other to do, and never bothered to get jealous afterwards.
Admittedly, it didn't stop Meryl from occasionally feeling jealous, but she'd never say anything about it all.
Probably.
8. Metal Gear Solid, The Sorrow/The Boss. Close quarters combat, if you know what I mean.
'This is a woman I could worship' thought The Sorrow sometime around the point when she first broke his arm.
To teach him a lesson, of course; on the battle making as stupid a mistake in battle as he had then could cost him his life. By all rights it should have done, but it was a time when she considered herself a teacher as much as a soldier; just temporarily, just until there was a sign that someone could near her level.
She hadn't had cause to break his arm since then, though she had dislocated it on more than one occasion; he'd managed to return the favour once.
Just once, but he was fairly certain that was the reason she'd allowed him to be more than just a colleague.
She was beautiful but there were no surprises in that - beauty had no negative effects on talent; if anything, it came as an added bonus to a true soldier, was bargaining material, distraction material. The Sorrow knew better than to trust a beautiful woman, unarmed or otherwise.
Sex between them was good; always good, but important. Sex was another thing one could acquire anytime, or live without, as and when needed.
But she let him kneel to her; let him do more than slide his cock home while they were alone and fulfill the minimum requirements. When they were on missions and all that was required was their watching in silence, she would let him unzip her pants and kneel before her, slipping in fingers and tongue, would ride his face in silence without ever losing concentration, could and had fired off tranquiliser darts mid-orgasm.
She had berated him in the past for the fact his glasses often steamed up from the close proximity to so much damp heat, but when he in turn reminded her no glasses-wearing soldier would be enough of an idiot to go into battle without spares he could switch to in an instant, she'd had no protests.
Only one thing could ever be reserved for when they were alone in safety, and it was something no civilian would give two thoughts to; the opportunity to kiss.
Kissing on a mission was idiocy tantamount to tranquilising one's arm; it disabled you, left you hoping that for the next couple of seconds no enemies would happen upon your position. Two sets of eyes with blocked vision. It wasn't practical.
At whatever base happened to be called home, they kissed enough to be nicknamed limpets, the opportunity to share this most basic and most desired of intimacies appreciated beyond all telling of it.
They knew better than to share sweet nothings; knew what could happen any day to either of them.
But The Sorrow had no qualms about symbolism, and he would kneel to her any day.
9. Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne - Futomimi/Shu - First kiss.
He wasn't sure what had made him do it - the reasons why he would want to do it were obvious, given that Futomimi was one of the most beautiful creatures he'd met in the Vortex world and moreover, one of the most human - but here he was, with Futomimi, alone, the rest of the team sent away to recover at the fountain.
And he was going to kiss him, or at least, had planned on it and now all of a sudden was feeling really, really uncomfortable with the idea. Because Futomimi was loyal to him. Because it felt like taking advantage.
He'd actually interrupted the kiss by thinking aloud "Oh thank fuck," when Futomimi clasped his head between both hands and brought their lips together; didn't know whether the manikin had made the decision of his own accord of if somehow he'd always thought this was going to happen.
It was an uncomfortable thought and Naoki - no, Shu, Naoki was for his blind life before all this - found himself shaking it away, wrapping both arms around Futomimi's waist and pulling him into his lap, kissing him firmer this time, and it was strange how easily the niggling little aches from awkward positioning could be ignored now that he was used to 'little ache' meaning half an arm was hanging off and needed healing back in place. And he knew it was rude, but he kept opening his eyes for brief moments, pulling away to look at Futomimi properly before moving back into the kiss.
For once he felt like the luckiest person in the Vortex world. Futomimi wasn't drunk or charmed or in anything but full possession of his faculties, and he'd still chosen this - was as perfect up close as he'd seemed from a distance, lips softer than Shu had thought a guy's lips would be but then, how many times had he kissed guys before?
More than anything though was the fact that despite the sandy, almost gritty skin of Futomimi's skin, inside his mouth he was still all wet and slick and giving, tongue same as any human's, and for all the apparent prowess of other team members, Futomimi's gentleness and refusal to try and taste the back of Shu's tonsils felt right. It felt like kissing someone just a little older than him, which was probably a damn good thing given what his peers were -
Shu twitched despite himself and moved one hand up into Futomimi's hair, feeling scalp and reassuring himself that everything here was intact and unbloodied and would never be otherwise again. The world had been quite insistent that like all the other manikins, Futomimi wasn't supposed to exist. Twice over wasn't supposed to exist.
Shu realised he'd bit Futomimi's lip a little too hard, pulled back to soothe the tender skin with licks, and frowned when Futomimi's hand came up to brush away tears he hadn't felt falling.
He'd get the manikins what they wanted, and if he couldn't, he'd make sure no one else had satisfaction either.
10. Devil May Cry novel, Tony/Grue: Oral sex - Why do you look so young, why do you feel so old?
Didn't matter what anyone else said or thought; Grue was a man who stuck to his guns regardless of what anyone else thought was right and wrong. Too many shades of grey in the world to go with moral absolutes; you had to pick your own ideas and go with them, hoping for the best.
Tony, on top of being a flirt with anything that had a pulse so long as he was in a good mood, was pretty. Prettier than half the girls in this part of the city - his girls aside, of course, and if anyone so much as touched them he'd have ripped their balls off - and yet wasn't in any way shy about throwing that pretty around. It would have been dangerous if it weren't for the fact he could do things with a gun that were downright inhuman.
Work long enough with someone that pretty and that flirtatious, with a wife long since gone, and it was inevitable you were going to give in some time. Grue had sense enough to know that, and had a few more little flexible rules set up to deal with this.
First, no letting this get in the way of their working relationship. They could be friends but nothing mushy was going on. As rules went, it suited Tony just fine, given there were few things he hated more than girls - and the occasional boys - hanging on in the morning as though he'd fallen in love with them overnight through the power of their genitals.
Condoms were a must, because with Tony's habits, he had no idea where the kid had been before. Tony seemed to consider taking offense for about two seconds before shrugging it all off.
Third and final rule, no penetration until Tony gave him some sort of proof of age. Didn't matter that Tony acted convincingly enough like a twenty-something - hell, if the looks weren't saying otherwise, he could act convincingly enough like a thirty-something or forty-something, kid had talent - he still looked like he could be anywhere between seventeen and twenty-five, and Grue wasn't taking any chances. Wasn't just a legal thing, he wasn't fucking someone who alternated between feeling like a kid and feeling older than anyone else Grue had met - and that in and of itself said something given the people you met around here. Old, old eyes.
Tony's mouth was hot as hell, hot as burning around his cock, and damn clever too; probably all the practice and there went a thought that depressed Grue more than he'd expected it to, although he had no qualms about returning the favour, Tony stretched out over him with his cock pressing a little awkwardly into Grue's mouth.
Still seemed weird as anything that Tony had silver pubes, but then, he'd never seen Tony with roots and there had always been something slightly wrong with how natural light reflected off Tony's arms.
Strange, pretty, conflicted and tough as coffin nails; Tony was describable only in that he seemed to have a share in every adjective going.
Tony came first, which didn't surprise Grue at all, though he did appreciate the fact the kid pulled away before gritting his teeth instead of taking the risk he could control that instinct to bite down; probably practice again, teaching him that, and Grue was torn between wincing and smirking at the idea the first person to take advantage of Tony like that would have had a harsh lesson in morals.
Funny was how Tony was better at giving head after orgasm, seemed a little more relaxed, concentrating easier and seeming to enjoy it more; it helped overcome the discomfort Grue still felt at how he'd basically had to guide Tony through removing a condom properly, as if he wasn't used to doing it. Some time Grue was going to have a word about the legion of mini-silver haired mercenaries that would turn up on Tony's doorstep someday if he didn't take more care.
It was a decent enough orgasm when it - or rather, he - came, but Grue still didn't feel quite right about the whole thing, even as Tony moved to lie next to him, stretching out like a satisfied cat across the sheets and shutting his eyes almost instantly. No post-coital chat then, and Grue bit his lip, missing his wife that little bit more once again.
Too young, that face, as it slipped into sleep. Everyone around here aged to match their eyes quicker than they should, and Tony seemed a reverse on that trend, muscles like some Greek idyll and they'd been so very fond of their young boys too.
Didn't feel right, but Tony had sense enough to hold to their bargain. This didn't have to happen again, not if it still felt strange in the morning, and no one was going to get all dramatic about that.
If it weren't for the fact the kid fought like a demon, Grue wouldn't have wanted him in this part of the world at all, anymore than he wanted his girls suffering the same.
But in the meantime, compromises like this would have to do.
11. Persona 3, Kenji/Junpei/Akinari/Akihiko/Shinji/etc/Minato, Kink: The boys attempt to figure out how many cocks Minato can take.
"It wouldn't have to be hard," Ryoji soothes, voice so gentle, so sweet, so damn typical of a personification of death. "I could always give you a few false memories, to fill in the time you'll lose. Then you won't miss the finer details as much."
"What could you do?"
Ryoji bites his lip, flushing slightly. "You can decide afterwards what you want, but I can give you a show."
Minato gasps for a second as Ryoji enters his memories, drawing out thoughts he'd laid to rest along with his dreams, and barely feels the warmth of Ryoji's arms as they ease his collapse against the bed.
He feels like he's about to tear open, his mouth, his ass, his hands all busy and he's the center of everyone's attention, and he's so lost in sensation he can only barely register who everyone is, knows Shinji and Akihiko are sharing his ass when Shinji's not kissing the side of Akihiko's mouth, unable to close his lips fully over Aki's because Junpei's got his cock in there and Minato almost feels jealous because Aki's kiss and cock-bruised lips are obscene, obscene as his own hands working on - he strains to look and Ryoji's there, on his left, Kenji to his right, and it's funny because every time he gets his pace back with one he loses it with the other because they're so beautiful, so fucking, fucking beautiful, Ryoji all shivers and moans and dark, damp hair, Kenji burning bright and loud like the sun -
It's only when he has to concentrate on breathing through his nose to get any breath back that he looks up, tilting his head back awkwardly to see whose cock he's sucking, and he can't help but moan when he sees Akinari there, leaning over him, moving slowly and carefully and taking deep breaths, and as much as Akihiko and Shinjiro are hot, and the others are sweet, it's Akinari who makes him so hard he hurts because Akinari has always been his. Everyone else has someone they pair up with, Junpei and Chidori, Akihiko and Shinji, Kenji and Emiri, hell, even Ryoji sort of has Nyx. Akinari is his. He can't take his eyes off Akinari, even as Akihiko and Shinji's cocks near split him open and he feels Kenji's climax all over his hand; he can't take his eyes off the faint trembling of eyelashes and lips, finds himself raising his newly freed hand to stroke Akinari's chest and moaning even louder as he leaves white streaks where his fingers drag, and oh, why, why couldn't he have had more time for Akinari, why only Sundays, why had Akinari been so ill they couldn't go have the adventures he'd dreamed of, and -
It's not real, it's not, even as he eases away from the others when they're through to concentrate on Akinari and shift to sit in his lap, to take him in, he knows it's a lie, it's a lie and the world is about to end and Akinari is dead and it's not fair -
He blinks away the lie and wants to sink into the bed, drown in it, forget the reality. Ryoji is still flushed and seems distressed, but his eyes are gentle, understanding, and no surprise there because they're technically part of the same person. "I only meant it as an example," Ryoji says. "I could still give them back to you. Not Shinjiro or Akinari, I couldn't let you notice how they were missing. But I could give you enough."
Minato looked up at Ryoji, taking one hand so he could help himself up into a sitting position, and using his free hand to stroke his friend, his other's face. "You want my decision?"
"It's vital," Ryoji replied.
Minato nodded, licked his lips for a taste that wasn't there and had never been there, Akinari's taste.
"I can't kill you."
12. Digital Devil Saga - Gale/Heat - blood, violence, vore - Gale takes Heat up on his offer to eat him.
Varna was dead.
Vayu didn't have as clear a sense of loyalty as Gale, but he knew full well who his leader was.
Dead or not, you did not eat your leader, nor did you try.
Heat had made the mistake of attempting to break the rules; Vayu had to step in. Heat would not eat their leader. Only the leader of the tribe who killed Varna had that right.
He'd stood in front of Varna's corpse, thought that would be a clear enough signal; held a bladed foot up to Heat's neck when the red-head attempted to force his way past.
Heat had returned the favour by blasting Vayu clear in the chest with a grenade, and it was not appreciated.
Easy enough for his blades to separate armour he knew as well as his own flesh; every detail that made up the Embryon as a whole he'd studied and memorised, and for all their differences in psychology, they had yet to alter the way they dressed. Plates came loose and with those loose it was easy to sink his teeth into a bared shoulder, disabling the armed limb, and pin him to the floor.
Varna was dead, Heat would not eat him. It was not his right.
Heat glared up at Vayu, eyes faintly glazed despite being narrowed, breathing uneasy, and Vayu realised with a strangely disappointed sensation that the uneasy breathing had been caused by the shoulder bite; in his haste he'd been a little sloppy in aim, and punctured one of Heat's lungs.
Vayu allowed Gale to resume command, human fingers better suited to exploring the wound, investigating the possibility of repair. But Argilla and Cielo were absent, and no other friendly forces in the facility; to move Heat would only cause the injuries to worsen faster.
Pity, he'd been an excellent fighter, and would have been useful to their new leader.
Gale closed a hand over the puncture holes dotting Heat's chest, found himself licking his lips at the sight of blood despite it belonging to a fellow Embryon, and looked up at Heat, who nodded faintly in lieu of being able to speak comfortably.
Vayu could finish the job of tearing through flesh and bone, but even a human tongue could open a wound, lick past the coagulated blood to the fresher source, cleaning the wound. Covering Heat's mouth with his free hand to prevent the yells of pain gathering unwanted attention was a simple enough decision to make, and after another moment he corrected himself, extending the reach of his hand to cover Heat's nose as well; given the slow asphyxiation resulting from the collapsed lung, there was no reason to hold off the forthcoming death.
Gale licked blood spurting faster as a struggling heart attempted to pass oxygen that was not coming through Heat's bloodstream, used the weight of his body to reduce the impact of Heat's spasms as he neared unconsciousness. It would be easy soon, smoothed out once the urge to struggle was lost.
Heat bucked a final time, the sudden movement bruising Gale's lips, and fell back against the floor.
It was frustrating to have to transform to finish tearing flesh that his human body could not entirely stomach from Heat's limbs, but Vayu was keen to take over and it was an easy enough surrender.
Cielo and Argilla were both inconsolable at the combined death of their leader and comrade, but Lupa was a fair leader, strangely accepting of Serph's folly in leading the Embryon into Wolf territory despite the Wolves being a far stronger tribe even with Vanguard and Maribel back-up. And for all Argilla's refusal to be reasonable and accept that Gale's decision had been the logical one, Cielo seemed as keen as ever to try and put a positive spin on things; after all, as Cielo pointed out, Heat had been the one who first asked if Gale wanted to eat him.
13. Persona 3/Nocturne - Collector Manikin/Akihiko - Collector fetishizing Akihiko's human body.
The first thing Akihiko noticed on waking up was that he had a blinding headache. The second thing he noticed was that he was apparently bound and tied. The third thing he noticed was that he had absolutely no idea what had happened between Fuuka yelling in a panicked voice for everyone to regroup and Tartarus disappearing.
"I got one, I got one!" Came a voice from nearby, the patter of feet suggesting a celebratory dance was accompanying the words.
"You can't keep him."
"Why not? I caught him, he's mine!"
"It isn't right to keep him. Remember what the Mantra did to us? Besides, he might be of use to us."
"You take the fun out of everything," grumbled the voice closest to him, and Akihiko blinked rapidly as his blindfold was removed at the sudden exposure to sunlight, shaded his eyes with his hands as soon as they had been freed too.
They didn't look particularly threatening, for captors, even if they were... well, a little strange looking, but after a couple of months in Tartarus you did start to revise your definition of 'strange'.
"Hi," began the one whose face was half covered, words coming rapid-fire as if he was afraid he might run out of breath if he didn't get everything out in one go. "I'm the Collector, this is Futomimi, it's so great to finally meet one of you, this is the best day of my life, what's your name, can I keep you?"
Floored a little by the rushed statement and thankful that the more serene looking of the two seemed faintly exasperated by his comrade so at least they had something in common, Akihiko opted to reply to the first question his brain could process. "Akihiko Sanada, I, uh - what happened?"
"I caught you, you're my human! Er, if that's okay." The second part was more a statement than a question and Akihiko blinked again, wondering if his headache and overall feeling of sleepiness had something to do with the very nasty bump he could feel at the back of his head.
"My - your... human?" Akihiko began, brain slowly processing that huh, apparently being a human was unusual, and given his eyes seemed to be taking a little while to catch up with everything he looked at that nasty bump seemed to have brought on concussion.
"I think we should explain when you've had a rest," The serene one said before backing sharply away as the one with the covered face caught him mid-fall.
Falling without noticing the lack of balance coming on, probably not a good thing, and as he passed out Akihiko wondered if he was hearing straight or was having a mild delusional fit, because he could have sworn he heard the one who'd caught him announcing, "He's pretty, isn't he? Can I keep him?"
An inauspicious start, but after some time spent in Asakusa - and he still didn't quite believe it was Asakusa, or that humans were apparently a rarity now, or that the world had ended - Akihiko was getting rather used to having the manikins around. It helped to have Futomimi as a source of sanity and the Collector as... well, as the closest thing to human he knew around here, even if he did have a slightly weird tendency to just... buckle. He'd stopped catching the Collector mid-buckle on noticing all the other manikins did the same thing, even Futomimi although the manikin leader seemed to catch himself before anyone noticed, although the Collector protested at no longer getting special attention.
What he couldn't quite get used to was the fact the Collector did still seem to think of Akihiko as being 'his'. Not in any really creepy way, but he'd occasionally walk over and adjust Akihiko's clothes or push hairs back into place as though he was tidying up a... well, a mannequin, and that was a slightly uncomfortable comparison. And okay, it wasn't quite creepy because it seemed innocent enough and for some reason being looked at through a mask wasn't as awkward as being looked at normally, but he still felt odd about the way the Collector would watch him sleep.
He hadn't meant to give much thought to Reasons, but Futomimi's lengthy discussions made him think of some of the words he'd had with Minato and the others on occasion. Despite being human, despite being one of the only ones who could choose a Reason, he hadn't thought himself entirely capable of that single-mindedness.
Then Chiaki came.
He'd hidden with the others from the worst of the first wave, but Futomimi had been in Mifunashiro, her starting point with the winged bastards, and Naoki had been too late.
He, the Collector, and a few of the braver survivors had to see, and they had stood around Futomimi, their fallen leader, thinking of nothing but the evil of power, the right everyone had to live in peace, and maybe it was his thinking of Minato that brought it on, maybe it had been an accident...
Messiah had stood with them for a moment, and he didn't know what he would say to Naoki about it all on the demi-fiend's return.
He couldn't say anything at all, as it turned out. Naoki had taken one look at Messiah with dark eyes, and then his team followed him into Asakusa, silent as they passed through the town.
And at their back, eyes darker even than Naoki's, Futomimi followed without a word.
He couldn't sleep, no matter what he tried, even Messiah's constant, silent presence no true comfort. Even though Akihiko hated death, he was almost used to it. Futomimi's coming back as a shadow on the other hand... The Collector fared little better, walking out of the room after shifting uncomfortably in his seat by Akihiko's bed one too many times.
He hadn't quite expected the Collector to return, but Akihiko followed a long, unhealthy pattern as soon as he did by pulling him into bed with him. He'd always had people to go to previously on losing someone, Shinji after Miki, Junpei after Shinji, but now everyone was gone, and he had only Naoki, damaged, broken Naoki to count on as saviour.
The manikins were the only people Akihiko knew here with no interest in killing him, and the Collector was the only one of them who would show him anything resembling friendship. But the Collector wasn't what he needed; the Collector was so gentle, holding him as if he might break, probably thought him fragile as a statue, and goddamnit, his strength meant nothing.
He'd started touching the Collector before even thinking of things like permission, had begged, no, demanded the Collector touch him back when he realised nothing was being reciprocated, and he couldn't tell with the mask blocking so much expression but he thought he'd heard a slight shake in the manikin's voice while asking, "I'm allowed?"
It should have been messy and violent but the Collector's hands were reverent, faintly dry, scratchy fingers moving over his skin as if he were made of satin or something equally pleasant to touch and he just wished, just wished he could have the sense fucked into him by Shinji because he didn't deserve to be treated like something special. He didn't have the right to survive where the others didn't, not in a world where his strength meant nothing, and it hurt; they had all left him, he was forsaken, and -
The Collector brought those dry hands back up to his face, spreading his legs under Akihiko and looking at him with eyes Akihiko could not see and, by this point, almost didn't want to. "Don't break," he said, voice quiet. "Please."
"What if I'm already broken?" Akihiko asked, wishing he knew what was wrong with him, why he seemed to have been born useless.
"You don't feel broken," The Collector replied, fingers moving as if he were checking that theory, looking for any possible signs of damage, and only relenting once sure nothing major was wrong. "You're not broken. I won't let you."
"I'm usele-"
Akihiko found himself cut off by an awkward kiss before the hand not wrapped around his cock pressed fingers to his lips as if surprised the kiss had actually happened. "I - um. You're not useless. You have a Reason."
"It was an accident, Messiah belongs to you more than me," Akihiko replied, a little shaky, the Collector's breath against his lips doing things to his insides he hadn't quite expected. "I'm not strong enough to give you a Reason." Something settled in his nerves, almost as if Messiah's voice was travelling through them, telling him he could have this.
"Messiah's not my Reason," the Collector replied, breath coming in faint pants now and Akihiko was relieved he at least had that sign of arousal to let him know if he was doing a decent job.
"Then what is?"
The Collector went quiet for a moment before shaking his head and kissing Akihiko again in what definitely felt like a request to shut up, Trying words after that only met with a similar solution.
It was only the morning after, waking up sticky with the Collector once again staring at him albeit from a different position to usual, that he thought to ask what the Collector's Reason was. He never could decide if the answer was the truth or the Collector deliberately ignoring the question; either way, he felt strangely comfortable with it.
"You're mine."
14. Digital Devil Saga: Lupa/Gale/Jenna, he gave you honor, what have I ever given you?
She didn't belong here.
Angel had nothing against being dead - given that she had died from a stab wound to the stomach, she was simply relieved that her death had been quick rather than slow agony from half-bleeding to death, half her body digesting itself.
And even though he wasn't David, could never be David, her killer was almost as beautiful.
Now she had David again, knew what she had done, and was waiting for Serph and Sera alongside the other residents of the sun. And while she wasn't one for self-pity, had never been that way inclined, she knew full well that her being here - that almost everyone's being here, for that matter - was her fault. She didn't belong here, surrounded by those she had hurt; that much was clear to her, logical. But for all his own grasp on logic, David was insistent she forgive herself, and refused to leave her alone until she had words with the man who had tried to free her, earning death as a reward.
Gale seemed almost serene as he talked with Lupa, and it felt strange to be approaching someone who could have been David's twin and someone she knew only as a program her daughter had created. She had watched over so much of this with disinterest, the final steps as the residents of Sera's junkyard developed full personalities, and it was easy to recall the turning moments of each who had interested her; she knew all of the leaders, how they had developed, and most of their second-in-commands; Gale's change she had only noticed because of his proximity to Sera at the time. And she knew full well how it had happened.
Lupa nodded to her but did not leave Gale's side when she approached; and she found herself unsurprised when Gale was calm in her presence. There was a steady cool to him that she envied, one she had always wanted for herself and been attracted to in David.
She still didn't truly know what to make of Gale, but even dead, it was never too late to make a start, and he seemed as keen as he had been before to make the same effort. "I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted," Gale replied, glancing over at David with a quick, almost puzzled frown before returning his gaze to her. "You understand now what Sera and Serph are trying to accomplish."
"I believe I do. I made a mistake." Several mistakes, Jenna, some crueller part of her reminded, but she tucked the thought away, refusing to give it air, found herself frowning when Gale lifted his hand to cup her cheek. She couldn't help but feel uncomfortable; despite the gesture being tender there was almost no emotion to Gale other than curiosity, and it felt unnatural, scientific.
"I can see why David loves you," Gale said after a moment before pressing a brief kiss to her lips that seemed uncertain if it should be chaste or otherwise, settling on chaste as he pulled back. "But you were right. I am not him." He frowned a little in thought. "I had thought I would love you too."
"It doesn't surprise me," Angel replied honestly, aware of the casual contact between Gale and Lupa's bared arms, the near electric tension between the two of them, and she leaned forward to say quietly for his hearing only, "He gave you honor. What have I ever given you?"
While any answer dependent on emotions could never be as satisfying to Gale as solid facts, she knew there was a logic to her statement he would find undeniable. He deserved peace over what had happened between them far more than she did; his unsettling remarks could well have been the sole reason she ended up like this, rather than one of the endlessly cycling demons further below the surface of the sun.
She owed Gale more than she could say, but some small inroads could be made in this life, some small balance shift in her karma.
The Junkyard's residents had never been given sex education, and there was nothing wrong with whispering a few additional pointers in Gale's ear.
1. Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne, Dante/Nyx: Flirting - So a devil hunter walks into a bar...
A devil hunter walks into a bar and says "Ouch".
This is largely because the devil hunter had been around lower level demons long enough that any attempts at seduction had largely been reduced to "With tits like that you must be a goer".
Lady Nyx was of a higher class of demon.
A higher class with a voice that could burst eardrums. And a slap that could floor God.
Some time later, a devil hunter walks into a bar and says "Sorry".
It's a good start. Lady Nyx is of a higher class of demon and knows how to accept an apology.
The devil hunter sits down and orders a drink, doesn't look away when she bends over to retrieve glasses from beneath the bar, and in between looking says, "So, what's your star sign?".
"All of them," Nyx replies, but for all the sternness of her expression, it never quite reaches her eyes.
A bar in the underworld is as much the center of activity as bars in the human world had ever been, and Dante finds that even demons are quite capable of hating each other with enough organisation to warrant hiring hitmen. He wouldn't have classed himself as a hitman before, but when it's demons killing demons there's no real hiding the lack of distinction between friend and foe.
Lady Nyx doesn't mind the visits. Customers with a vocabulary beyond "drink" or, on special occasions, "gimme drink", are rare. And sometimes appreciated.
And Dante very clearly appreciates her, though these days at least there's more to his appreciation than the depths of her bosom and curve of her ass.
"Gotta love a brain like that, babe."
"You'd have to look a little higher to see it."
Closing time - more on account of Nyx's need to restock the bar than for any actual need to rest or any acknowledgement of the time - and Dante helps out with taking out the trash; Loki's deceptively heavy which might have something to do with being a condensed frost giant, or could just be from drinking enough to drown a whale.
It's Lady Nyx's turn to smirk and raise an eyebrow as she asks Dante if he'd be interested in going to hers for coffee.
With Nyx out of the bar Dante suddenly realises that she's a good foot taller than him.
And that is hot.
"Hot and strong, just how I like my women."
"You have no idea," Lady Nyx replies.
A devil hunter walks into a bar and says "Ouch". It isn't a complaint.
Still, the good, very good whisky does help distract from the bruises that'll last for days.
Dante's hoping next time he'll get a scar. Just a little reminder.
Lady Nyx is as flawless and unruffled as ever.
But she is a higher class of demon.
2. Elizabeth/Tia Dalma. Fascination. The existence of the sea means the existence of pirates
Tia Dalma is stained teeth and marked skin, silks shredded to rags, a woman but something else entirely beneath all that. These are the things Elizabeth can see; the things Elizabeth knows, because for all her adventures, part of her cannot dream as she wishes it could. She is a practical young woman and she knows what is real, does not believe in what lies beyond that.
As long as there are people and as long as there is a sea, there will be those who seek to conquer it.
And as long as there are those who seek to conquer, there will be those who push against that.
Barbossa and Jack Sparrow have taught her that the sea isn't something all men want to conquer; some dance with her, want to worship her, take her tempers in stride and love her truer than they did any other woman.
Elizabeth does not know when she started thinking of the sea as a woman, but as mired as she is in common sense, she forgets a lot what drives her into making some of her decisions. Willfulness, her father called it.
Tia Dalma says it's the right of a woman.
Elizabeth rests her head against smooth, dark thighs, amazed by the heat hidden here despite knowing full well her own legs hide the same secrets. Tia's hair is as dark and unruly down here as it is above, and she tastes like seawater, salt and wet and dark, hidden depths. Elizabeth doesn't think in terms of sins and virtues anymore; she knows what she wants and she seeks it out whatever way she can.
"You have the soul of a pirate," Tia had told her, and then laughed, because Elizabeth was more than any pirate; she was the king of pirates. Daughter of a Governor, and now this.
Tia rises and falls, aches and moans like the Black Pearl itself as Elizabeth's fingers move inside her, and Elizabeth shivers herself, pants for air as if her corset had been sliced open, and she is fearful of this freedom but needs it. Needs it more than anything, more, nearly, than Will; and she cannot share this with him. Will is normality and not knowing secrets hidden by the earth and the depths of the ocean.
Tia, without even needing to say anything, shows Elizabeth what she wants to know and more, and all the while looks back at her with eyes that know more than others could ever discover. Maybe more than they should ever discover.
And Tia's groan as Elizabeth brings her to the edge is at once unholy and divine in a way the gods in books are too frightened to be.
3. Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth/Vincent, Hair kink
"You don't belong here", Vincent had announced, calm and steady given he had long since worked out what Kadaj was hiding inside him. The tall image standing there - and despite its physical ability to touch, it was still only an image - did not belong. This was not Vincent's fight, had not been for a long time.
Sephiroth seemed disinterested, and Vincent returned the disinterested expression as he looked up even if having the silver-haired man's hand fisted in his hair and holding his head back was getting uncomfortable. Some part of him that had yet to be corrupted by Chaos still reacted to the shape of that face, the particular angles even if the eyes were different, cruel in ways hers could never have been. "This is Cloud's fight, not mine."
"You started all this," Sephiroth replied; some sentience then, despite lacking the full abilities bestowed by a reincarnation.
"Your father would have made you with or without me," Vincent said in turn, gritting his teeth slightly when Sephiroth pulled harder before relaxing again, refusing to inspire, refusing to be anything Sephiroth needed to get his grip back on this world.
"I had no father," Sephiroth spat, flinging Vincent back against one of the brittle trees, eyes narrowing when Vincent righted himself only to brush off and stay steady, making no attempts to escape. "Only mother, and -"
Kadaj shuddered, the image flickering and then disappearing altogether back to the half-being, and Vincent nodded as Kadaj got back first his breath, then his overpowering sense of rage, grabbing his sword and slicing through the tree where Vincent had been but a split second ago; the toppling branches made for a poor foothold though, so Vincent took to the other trees, letting Kadaj follow him for a little while before returning to the shadows.
Sephiroth was not his to fight.
It was time Cloud learnt that too.
4. Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth/other SOLDIERs, Strip club, we can't take you anywhere
Any other man. Any other man, even if they weren't into girls, would have at least reacted.
Sephiroth's expression didn't change once as stark naked tits rubbed against his face, and that was fifty gil down the drain and another bet lost to Zack who'd sworn Sephiroth wouldn't budge.
No arousal, no disgust, no fury, nothing. Nada.
It wouldn't be as bad if she'd been ordinary looking, but she'd been hot, and more than that, she'd been in a leather bodysuit to start with. How could anyone with blood just sit there as blank as if he'd been zoning out of one of Heidegger's speeches?
Zack was smug enough as he collected his winnings when the girl got the hint and moved on, though Aingeal fared little better, winking at Zack and -
Oh. Oh?
Reassessing Sephiroth under the assumption he'd been in on this was... weird. He didn't have any telltale sparkle so it could just have been that both Aingeal and Zack had known how Sephiroth would react, but even so, Sephiroth had been pretty phenomenal on recon missions so it wasn't as if he lacked acting skill.
Couldn't take the bastard anywhere and trust him to act normal. Couldn't even trust him to act like himself, especially whenever Zack or Aingeal were around; Aingeal might play stoic, but every once in a while... and Zack went without saying, enthusiastic to the point of insanity about everything he took up. The way Sephiroth would stick around you would have thought he hoped the enthusiasm would wear off.
Suspicions were definitely raised when, shortly after finishing up with his takings, Zack walked over to Sephiroth and Aingeal, handing something unseen to Aingeal - that sneaky bastard - before leaning into Sephiroth and talking. Hard to tell if it was a whisper or not given the noise of the club covered up the sound anyway, but with Sephiroth's hearing it could have been either.
Sephiroth tilted his head just slightly, a faint smile on his lips and something in his eyes softening, unsheltered for a split moment before he straightened and nodded to Zack, straight as an arrow once more.
Zack wasn't, and when he planted a firm kiss dead center of Sephiroth's lips before hopping over to the bar, you wouldn't have known which of them was playing games anymore.
5. Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne - Futomimi/Sakahagi - Noncon - You were born beautiful, and it went downhill from there.
Perhaps because of his prophetic abilities, perhaps because of something else, Futomimi had never been able to shake the feeling he was forever skirting around the edge of some huge revelation. He daren't ever say a great revelation because it didn't feel good - in contrast, it felt terrible, something cruel and bloody, something that drew him to places he ought not to go.
Something that let Sakahagi catch him.
"It's no fun chasing you," Sakahagi had said the third, fourth time this had happened. "You don't mean it like they do."
So violence had stopped being enough for Sakahagi, and he'd turned to other means. Futomimi remembered Sakahagi starting out - remembered him emerging from the mud, looking more startled than the others ever did, and he'd taken one look at Futomimi before running away.
It wasn't long after that Sakahagi first attacked him, and Futomimi first realised he knew how to fight. He did not know how he'd learnt; only that he already knew.
Violence wasn't enough anymore, and stretched out, pained, sand-textured faces slicked with blood pressed against him; Sakahagi didn't like to hurry stripping, liked to make sure Futomimi knew exactly what he was dealing with here, what Sakahagi had done. The pained faces were familiar in more than that he'd known who contributed to the grotesque suit, and that unsettled him more than anything else he'd had to deal with, felt like teetering on the edge of the blanks missing in his memory, and he had no idea how far the fall could be.
Perhaps he'd already fallen, as he lay still while Sakahagi's knife streaked blood that belonged to neither of them down Futomimi's face, a free hand pulling up on Futomimi's legs and sliding between them to where he was already hard.
He felt sick and he still wanted it, would not fight against it.
"So pretty, our great leader," Sakahagi cackled, fingers coarse against Futomimi's inner thigh, almost painfully abrasive, and then cloth was pulled aside and Futomimi felt the air where he was exposed long before roughness stroked there too. "So fucked up, and it's because of me, isn't it? I remind you, don't I? And I won't tell you."
Futomimi hasn't argued back since the third time because he can't argue back. He'd made the mistake of asking for answers that third time, and Sakahagi had spat, "I don't owe you anything", and then it had hurt.
Sakahagi's slicking him with something this time and he daren't ask what or why, though he's sure the latter is because last time it wasn't only him left chafed and sore, and it almost feels good as Sakahagi shoves into him, but it hurts too much to be overcome by that feeling something was missing before without him even knowing it.
Sakahagi pulls him up into his lap as he fucks him, his hands gentle in Futomimi's hair and his eyes wild with madness and cruelty and something lost Futomimi wishes he could touch and taste and see. He alternates between silence and muttering, almost chanting nonsense into his ear, as though this is a ritual, as though this is some sort of punishment Futomimi should acknowledge in the same way he should admit that he likes this, in the same way he should admit he doesn't want Sakahagi to tell him what lies in the abyss. The frantic hand between his legs is rough and harsh and it hurts but he's crying out for it, begging without words, needing it as much as he needed to be caught.
Sakahagi pushes in hard as Futomimi comes and holds him close, whispers in his ear, "I want to feel you give in".
And he does, he comes and he holds Sakahagi back because he hates it but it feels so good to hurt, it feels as though he deserves it, and Sakahagi holds the secrets that would break him if he heard them, that he knows would break him.
Sakahagi only said one thing about the secrets even Futomimi did not, could not know.
"You were born beautiful, and it went downhill from there."
6. Digital Devil Saga - Gale/Fred - fetishizing the father figure
Five years now, the world had been saved, and Fred still remembered the Embryon clear as the day they'd left him behind. With time it might have been expected he'd remember them in vaguer ways, knowing only general facts like how short Cielo had been, the weirdness of their hair colour and even weirder matching of their hair and eyes; but he remembered everything, clear as day. The most important hours of his life.
Unfortunately, years passing by meant a few pretty major changes in him, not least of which being hormones kicking in with a vengeance; and while they'd only started work around the time the Embryon came along, that didn't mean he missed out on their making an impression.
He remembered them exactly, and that meant for some uncomfortable revisiting those hours; because the Embryon, for all their being warriors, were not exactly ugly.
Okay, so Serph was a little bit too feminine for his - apparent - tastes, and Cielo had been that much of a kid it felt weird that anyone would think of him that way, but Gale and Argilla?
Argilla had been so beautiful, and flirty too with Roland at least, and sometimes, when sitting down, he could have sworn her skirt hitched higher than it was meant to, showing not only thigh but a little bit of hip -
So, yeah, she was definitely someone that popped into mind when jerking off although he had to be real careful to try and put out of mind the fact her breasts could have mouths.
And Gale - well, damnit, Gale was... different. He couldn't categorise Gale, not now, not ever, and he'd worked that out when he was checking out a sleepy-eyed chick and caught himself thinking that it just wasn't the same. Because Gale wasn't just a guy, or just sleepy-eyed gorgeous, or a little bit weirdly symmetrical; Gale was... well, Gale would have looked after him, and he hadn't forgotten that. Gale would have brought him up given Roland had tried but that hadn't worked out so well, and as kind of creepy as it was, these days he was really attracted to that. It wasn't exactly that he wanted looking after or that he wanted someone to give him rules, just - Gale had been the first figure of authority he'd really respected, because Adil had never really known what to do with kids and Gale had just bypassed that by treating him like a grown up.
He missed that, he honest to God missed looking up to someone taller than him who would just look back at him steadily and let him know exactly what was going on, whether it was bad or not. And he missed that quite glint of recognition he'd seen when Gale had remembered his dad; he'd wanted to know everything Gale knew about his dad, or, well, not-dad, but close enough to count. Gale would have told him everything, he knew that for certain.
And when he thought about Gale, he thought about having a home - not a house, just somewhere he could come back to and have certain things be steady and solid. He'd stroke himself and he could almost feel cotton sheets under him, Gale solid and lean and stretched out next to him, legs seeming to go on forever, and sometimes he'd picture Gale touching him, sometimes picture himself touching Gale; it just felt... weird, and a little unsettling, but right at the same time.
Funny, but it didn't always occur to him the other really, really obvious reason why he always thought more of Gale than he did of the others when stroking himself; Gale had been the only one he'd seen in a sexual situation. Admittedly it had been with Roland, but Roland had been like a dad - a crap dad up until late, but still a dad - and so he was ruled out straight off. But he remembered opening the door and only catching a brief peek before he'd mumbled some sort of apology and ran away, and he remembered Gale's legs clamped tight around Roland's waist, remembered the curve of Gale's spine up into his neck, the weird lack of scars, the strain in his arms and concentrating look on his face and -
Yeah, that pretty much always did it. Just, remembering Gale, and scanning that memory from feet pressed awkwardly top-down against the bed, up atma-marked shin and thick-muscled thighs, all the way up to that expression, and it always made his stomach unsettle and his cock twitch painfully. He hadn't meant to see anything but it was there, it was his authority figure in bed and it wasn't a mental image that was going away easily.
He'd find someone else, eventually, he was sure of that. But Gale was a one-off, and he might as well enjoy the memory in any way he could.
7. Trigun, Milly/Meryl, anime-verse, Hos before bros, Wolfwood was a shitty lay anyway
Meryl hated long trips.
Given she'd never had that much of a family - certainly no family like Milly's, anyway - she wasn't all that used to germs and with this many people in sweaty, close proximity, it wasn't really that much of a surprise she'd caught a fever.
A-damn-gain.
It felt like she'd been sweating for a day and she certainly had the headache to prove it even if Milly had been kind enough to give Meryl some of her water rations, not to mention traded a few spare bullets for salt lick. Both were easy enough to come by and with Milly's size and gender, she'd been able to get a pretty good deal.
Funny that, still thinking through business even when it felt like her skin was good to melt off.
But there were advantages; Milly didn't have the world's most ravenous sex drive, because she'd been raised on open physical affection and was kind of hard to wind up as a result - but she was generous to a fault, and Milly's ease with her body and others meant she'd learnt a really useful tip; orgasms distracted you from just about anything, including fevers.
Probably not the soundest medical advice but given the ship's doctor had recommended she sleep this off, medical advice could go screw itself.
Milly's hands felt huge and hot against her skin, cupping her breasts before stroking down her sides to ease the aches in the muscles, and it felt like a perfect forever before her legs were lifted and separated, Milly's head dipping between them and licking her open.
Her legs ached even with the tiny effort of holding them apart but Milly's hands helped her stay steady, her tongue determined when she wasn't pausing to suck at her clit, and Milly just seemed to know when she was getting close without even being told because she freed a hand to slide her fingers inside, giving something to hold onto as she orgasmed.
The best thing was, Milly didn't have any qualms about going straight to sleep afterwards, and Meryl knew that the need to wash her hands was as messy as anything would get between them; Milly just thought of this as an obvious thing for friends attracted to each other to do, and never bothered to get jealous afterwards.
Admittedly, it didn't stop Meryl from occasionally feeling jealous, but she'd never say anything about it all.
Probably.
8. Metal Gear Solid, The Sorrow/The Boss. Close quarters combat, if you know what I mean.
'This is a woman I could worship' thought The Sorrow sometime around the point when she first broke his arm.
To teach him a lesson, of course; on the battle making as stupid a mistake in battle as he had then could cost him his life. By all rights it should have done, but it was a time when she considered herself a teacher as much as a soldier; just temporarily, just until there was a sign that someone could near her level.
She hadn't had cause to break his arm since then, though she had dislocated it on more than one occasion; he'd managed to return the favour once.
Just once, but he was fairly certain that was the reason she'd allowed him to be more than just a colleague.
She was beautiful but there were no surprises in that - beauty had no negative effects on talent; if anything, it came as an added bonus to a true soldier, was bargaining material, distraction material. The Sorrow knew better than to trust a beautiful woman, unarmed or otherwise.
Sex between them was good; always good, but important. Sex was another thing one could acquire anytime, or live without, as and when needed.
But she let him kneel to her; let him do more than slide his cock home while they were alone and fulfill the minimum requirements. When they were on missions and all that was required was their watching in silence, she would let him unzip her pants and kneel before her, slipping in fingers and tongue, would ride his face in silence without ever losing concentration, could and had fired off tranquiliser darts mid-orgasm.
She had berated him in the past for the fact his glasses often steamed up from the close proximity to so much damp heat, but when he in turn reminded her no glasses-wearing soldier would be enough of an idiot to go into battle without spares he could switch to in an instant, she'd had no protests.
Only one thing could ever be reserved for when they were alone in safety, and it was something no civilian would give two thoughts to; the opportunity to kiss.
Kissing on a mission was idiocy tantamount to tranquilising one's arm; it disabled you, left you hoping that for the next couple of seconds no enemies would happen upon your position. Two sets of eyes with blocked vision. It wasn't practical.
At whatever base happened to be called home, they kissed enough to be nicknamed limpets, the opportunity to share this most basic and most desired of intimacies appreciated beyond all telling of it.
They knew better than to share sweet nothings; knew what could happen any day to either of them.
But The Sorrow had no qualms about symbolism, and he would kneel to her any day.
9. Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne - Futomimi/Shu - First kiss.
He wasn't sure what had made him do it - the reasons why he would want to do it were obvious, given that Futomimi was one of the most beautiful creatures he'd met in the Vortex world and moreover, one of the most human - but here he was, with Futomimi, alone, the rest of the team sent away to recover at the fountain.
And he was going to kiss him, or at least, had planned on it and now all of a sudden was feeling really, really uncomfortable with the idea. Because Futomimi was loyal to him. Because it felt like taking advantage.
He'd actually interrupted the kiss by thinking aloud "Oh thank fuck," when Futomimi clasped his head between both hands and brought their lips together; didn't know whether the manikin had made the decision of his own accord of if somehow he'd always thought this was going to happen.
It was an uncomfortable thought and Naoki - no, Shu, Naoki was for his blind life before all this - found himself shaking it away, wrapping both arms around Futomimi's waist and pulling him into his lap, kissing him firmer this time, and it was strange how easily the niggling little aches from awkward positioning could be ignored now that he was used to 'little ache' meaning half an arm was hanging off and needed healing back in place. And he knew it was rude, but he kept opening his eyes for brief moments, pulling away to look at Futomimi properly before moving back into the kiss.
For once he felt like the luckiest person in the Vortex world. Futomimi wasn't drunk or charmed or in anything but full possession of his faculties, and he'd still chosen this - was as perfect up close as he'd seemed from a distance, lips softer than Shu had thought a guy's lips would be but then, how many times had he kissed guys before?
More than anything though was the fact that despite the sandy, almost gritty skin of Futomimi's skin, inside his mouth he was still all wet and slick and giving, tongue same as any human's, and for all the apparent prowess of other team members, Futomimi's gentleness and refusal to try and taste the back of Shu's tonsils felt right. It felt like kissing someone just a little older than him, which was probably a damn good thing given what his peers were -
Shu twitched despite himself and moved one hand up into Futomimi's hair, feeling scalp and reassuring himself that everything here was intact and unbloodied and would never be otherwise again. The world had been quite insistent that like all the other manikins, Futomimi wasn't supposed to exist. Twice over wasn't supposed to exist.
Shu realised he'd bit Futomimi's lip a little too hard, pulled back to soothe the tender skin with licks, and frowned when Futomimi's hand came up to brush away tears he hadn't felt falling.
He'd get the manikins what they wanted, and if he couldn't, he'd make sure no one else had satisfaction either.
10. Devil May Cry novel, Tony/Grue: Oral sex - Why do you look so young, why do you feel so old?
Didn't matter what anyone else said or thought; Grue was a man who stuck to his guns regardless of what anyone else thought was right and wrong. Too many shades of grey in the world to go with moral absolutes; you had to pick your own ideas and go with them, hoping for the best.
Tony, on top of being a flirt with anything that had a pulse so long as he was in a good mood, was pretty. Prettier than half the girls in this part of the city - his girls aside, of course, and if anyone so much as touched them he'd have ripped their balls off - and yet wasn't in any way shy about throwing that pretty around. It would have been dangerous if it weren't for the fact he could do things with a gun that were downright inhuman.
Work long enough with someone that pretty and that flirtatious, with a wife long since gone, and it was inevitable you were going to give in some time. Grue had sense enough to know that, and had a few more little flexible rules set up to deal with this.
First, no letting this get in the way of their working relationship. They could be friends but nothing mushy was going on. As rules went, it suited Tony just fine, given there were few things he hated more than girls - and the occasional boys - hanging on in the morning as though he'd fallen in love with them overnight through the power of their genitals.
Condoms were a must, because with Tony's habits, he had no idea where the kid had been before. Tony seemed to consider taking offense for about two seconds before shrugging it all off.
Third and final rule, no penetration until Tony gave him some sort of proof of age. Didn't matter that Tony acted convincingly enough like a twenty-something - hell, if the looks weren't saying otherwise, he could act convincingly enough like a thirty-something or forty-something, kid had talent - he still looked like he could be anywhere between seventeen and twenty-five, and Grue wasn't taking any chances. Wasn't just a legal thing, he wasn't fucking someone who alternated between feeling like a kid and feeling older than anyone else Grue had met - and that in and of itself said something given the people you met around here. Old, old eyes.
Tony's mouth was hot as hell, hot as burning around his cock, and damn clever too; probably all the practice and there went a thought that depressed Grue more than he'd expected it to, although he had no qualms about returning the favour, Tony stretched out over him with his cock pressing a little awkwardly into Grue's mouth.
Still seemed weird as anything that Tony had silver pubes, but then, he'd never seen Tony with roots and there had always been something slightly wrong with how natural light reflected off Tony's arms.
Strange, pretty, conflicted and tough as coffin nails; Tony was describable only in that he seemed to have a share in every adjective going.
Tony came first, which didn't surprise Grue at all, though he did appreciate the fact the kid pulled away before gritting his teeth instead of taking the risk he could control that instinct to bite down; probably practice again, teaching him that, and Grue was torn between wincing and smirking at the idea the first person to take advantage of Tony like that would have had a harsh lesson in morals.
Funny was how Tony was better at giving head after orgasm, seemed a little more relaxed, concentrating easier and seeming to enjoy it more; it helped overcome the discomfort Grue still felt at how he'd basically had to guide Tony through removing a condom properly, as if he wasn't used to doing it. Some time Grue was going to have a word about the legion of mini-silver haired mercenaries that would turn up on Tony's doorstep someday if he didn't take more care.
It was a decent enough orgasm when it - or rather, he - came, but Grue still didn't feel quite right about the whole thing, even as Tony moved to lie next to him, stretching out like a satisfied cat across the sheets and shutting his eyes almost instantly. No post-coital chat then, and Grue bit his lip, missing his wife that little bit more once again.
Too young, that face, as it slipped into sleep. Everyone around here aged to match their eyes quicker than they should, and Tony seemed a reverse on that trend, muscles like some Greek idyll and they'd been so very fond of their young boys too.
Didn't feel right, but Tony had sense enough to hold to their bargain. This didn't have to happen again, not if it still felt strange in the morning, and no one was going to get all dramatic about that.
If it weren't for the fact the kid fought like a demon, Grue wouldn't have wanted him in this part of the world at all, anymore than he wanted his girls suffering the same.
But in the meantime, compromises like this would have to do.
11. Persona 3, Kenji/Junpei/Akinari/Akihiko/Shinji/etc/Minato, Kink: The boys attempt to figure out how many cocks Minato can take.
"It wouldn't have to be hard," Ryoji soothes, voice so gentle, so sweet, so damn typical of a personification of death. "I could always give you a few false memories, to fill in the time you'll lose. Then you won't miss the finer details as much."
"What could you do?"
Ryoji bites his lip, flushing slightly. "You can decide afterwards what you want, but I can give you a show."
Minato gasps for a second as Ryoji enters his memories, drawing out thoughts he'd laid to rest along with his dreams, and barely feels the warmth of Ryoji's arms as they ease his collapse against the bed.
He feels like he's about to tear open, his mouth, his ass, his hands all busy and he's the center of everyone's attention, and he's so lost in sensation he can only barely register who everyone is, knows Shinji and Akihiko are sharing his ass when Shinji's not kissing the side of Akihiko's mouth, unable to close his lips fully over Aki's because Junpei's got his cock in there and Minato almost feels jealous because Aki's kiss and cock-bruised lips are obscene, obscene as his own hands working on - he strains to look and Ryoji's there, on his left, Kenji to his right, and it's funny because every time he gets his pace back with one he loses it with the other because they're so beautiful, so fucking, fucking beautiful, Ryoji all shivers and moans and dark, damp hair, Kenji burning bright and loud like the sun -
It's only when he has to concentrate on breathing through his nose to get any breath back that he looks up, tilting his head back awkwardly to see whose cock he's sucking, and he can't help but moan when he sees Akinari there, leaning over him, moving slowly and carefully and taking deep breaths, and as much as Akihiko and Shinjiro are hot, and the others are sweet, it's Akinari who makes him so hard he hurts because Akinari has always been his. Everyone else has someone they pair up with, Junpei and Chidori, Akihiko and Shinji, Kenji and Emiri, hell, even Ryoji sort of has Nyx. Akinari is his. He can't take his eyes off Akinari, even as Akihiko and Shinji's cocks near split him open and he feels Kenji's climax all over his hand; he can't take his eyes off the faint trembling of eyelashes and lips, finds himself raising his newly freed hand to stroke Akinari's chest and moaning even louder as he leaves white streaks where his fingers drag, and oh, why, why couldn't he have had more time for Akinari, why only Sundays, why had Akinari been so ill they couldn't go have the adventures he'd dreamed of, and -
It's not real, it's not, even as he eases away from the others when they're through to concentrate on Akinari and shift to sit in his lap, to take him in, he knows it's a lie, it's a lie and the world is about to end and Akinari is dead and it's not fair -
He blinks away the lie and wants to sink into the bed, drown in it, forget the reality. Ryoji is still flushed and seems distressed, but his eyes are gentle, understanding, and no surprise there because they're technically part of the same person. "I only meant it as an example," Ryoji says. "I could still give them back to you. Not Shinjiro or Akinari, I couldn't let you notice how they were missing. But I could give you enough."
Minato looked up at Ryoji, taking one hand so he could help himself up into a sitting position, and using his free hand to stroke his friend, his other's face. "You want my decision?"
"It's vital," Ryoji replied.
Minato nodded, licked his lips for a taste that wasn't there and had never been there, Akinari's taste.
"I can't kill you."
12. Digital Devil Saga - Gale/Heat - blood, violence, vore - Gale takes Heat up on his offer to eat him.
Varna was dead.
Vayu didn't have as clear a sense of loyalty as Gale, but he knew full well who his leader was.
Dead or not, you did not eat your leader, nor did you try.
Heat had made the mistake of attempting to break the rules; Vayu had to step in. Heat would not eat their leader. Only the leader of the tribe who killed Varna had that right.
He'd stood in front of Varna's corpse, thought that would be a clear enough signal; held a bladed foot up to Heat's neck when the red-head attempted to force his way past.
Heat had returned the favour by blasting Vayu clear in the chest with a grenade, and it was not appreciated.
Easy enough for his blades to separate armour he knew as well as his own flesh; every detail that made up the Embryon as a whole he'd studied and memorised, and for all their differences in psychology, they had yet to alter the way they dressed. Plates came loose and with those loose it was easy to sink his teeth into a bared shoulder, disabling the armed limb, and pin him to the floor.
Varna was dead, Heat would not eat him. It was not his right.
Heat glared up at Vayu, eyes faintly glazed despite being narrowed, breathing uneasy, and Vayu realised with a strangely disappointed sensation that the uneasy breathing had been caused by the shoulder bite; in his haste he'd been a little sloppy in aim, and punctured one of Heat's lungs.
Vayu allowed Gale to resume command, human fingers better suited to exploring the wound, investigating the possibility of repair. But Argilla and Cielo were absent, and no other friendly forces in the facility; to move Heat would only cause the injuries to worsen faster.
Pity, he'd been an excellent fighter, and would have been useful to their new leader.
Gale closed a hand over the puncture holes dotting Heat's chest, found himself licking his lips at the sight of blood despite it belonging to a fellow Embryon, and looked up at Heat, who nodded faintly in lieu of being able to speak comfortably.
Vayu could finish the job of tearing through flesh and bone, but even a human tongue could open a wound, lick past the coagulated blood to the fresher source, cleaning the wound. Covering Heat's mouth with his free hand to prevent the yells of pain gathering unwanted attention was a simple enough decision to make, and after another moment he corrected himself, extending the reach of his hand to cover Heat's nose as well; given the slow asphyxiation resulting from the collapsed lung, there was no reason to hold off the forthcoming death.
Gale licked blood spurting faster as a struggling heart attempted to pass oxygen that was not coming through Heat's bloodstream, used the weight of his body to reduce the impact of Heat's spasms as he neared unconsciousness. It would be easy soon, smoothed out once the urge to struggle was lost.
Heat bucked a final time, the sudden movement bruising Gale's lips, and fell back against the floor.
It was frustrating to have to transform to finish tearing flesh that his human body could not entirely stomach from Heat's limbs, but Vayu was keen to take over and it was an easy enough surrender.
Cielo and Argilla were both inconsolable at the combined death of their leader and comrade, but Lupa was a fair leader, strangely accepting of Serph's folly in leading the Embryon into Wolf territory despite the Wolves being a far stronger tribe even with Vanguard and Maribel back-up. And for all Argilla's refusal to be reasonable and accept that Gale's decision had been the logical one, Cielo seemed as keen as ever to try and put a positive spin on things; after all, as Cielo pointed out, Heat had been the one who first asked if Gale wanted to eat him.
13. Persona 3/Nocturne - Collector Manikin/Akihiko - Collector fetishizing Akihiko's human body.
The first thing Akihiko noticed on waking up was that he had a blinding headache. The second thing he noticed was that he was apparently bound and tied. The third thing he noticed was that he had absolutely no idea what had happened between Fuuka yelling in a panicked voice for everyone to regroup and Tartarus disappearing.
"I got one, I got one!" Came a voice from nearby, the patter of feet suggesting a celebratory dance was accompanying the words.
"You can't keep him."
"Why not? I caught him, he's mine!"
"It isn't right to keep him. Remember what the Mantra did to us? Besides, he might be of use to us."
"You take the fun out of everything," grumbled the voice closest to him, and Akihiko blinked rapidly as his blindfold was removed at the sudden exposure to sunlight, shaded his eyes with his hands as soon as they had been freed too.
They didn't look particularly threatening, for captors, even if they were... well, a little strange looking, but after a couple of months in Tartarus you did start to revise your definition of 'strange'.
"Hi," began the one whose face was half covered, words coming rapid-fire as if he was afraid he might run out of breath if he didn't get everything out in one go. "I'm the Collector, this is Futomimi, it's so great to finally meet one of you, this is the best day of my life, what's your name, can I keep you?"
Floored a little by the rushed statement and thankful that the more serene looking of the two seemed faintly exasperated by his comrade so at least they had something in common, Akihiko opted to reply to the first question his brain could process. "Akihiko Sanada, I, uh - what happened?"
"I caught you, you're my human! Er, if that's okay." The second part was more a statement than a question and Akihiko blinked again, wondering if his headache and overall feeling of sleepiness had something to do with the very nasty bump he could feel at the back of his head.
"My - your... human?" Akihiko began, brain slowly processing that huh, apparently being a human was unusual, and given his eyes seemed to be taking a little while to catch up with everything he looked at that nasty bump seemed to have brought on concussion.
"I think we should explain when you've had a rest," The serene one said before backing sharply away as the one with the covered face caught him mid-fall.
Falling without noticing the lack of balance coming on, probably not a good thing, and as he passed out Akihiko wondered if he was hearing straight or was having a mild delusional fit, because he could have sworn he heard the one who'd caught him announcing, "He's pretty, isn't he? Can I keep him?"
An inauspicious start, but after some time spent in Asakusa - and he still didn't quite believe it was Asakusa, or that humans were apparently a rarity now, or that the world had ended - Akihiko was getting rather used to having the manikins around. It helped to have Futomimi as a source of sanity and the Collector as... well, as the closest thing to human he knew around here, even if he did have a slightly weird tendency to just... buckle. He'd stopped catching the Collector mid-buckle on noticing all the other manikins did the same thing, even Futomimi although the manikin leader seemed to catch himself before anyone noticed, although the Collector protested at no longer getting special attention.
What he couldn't quite get used to was the fact the Collector did still seem to think of Akihiko as being 'his'. Not in any really creepy way, but he'd occasionally walk over and adjust Akihiko's clothes or push hairs back into place as though he was tidying up a... well, a mannequin, and that was a slightly uncomfortable comparison. And okay, it wasn't quite creepy because it seemed innocent enough and for some reason being looked at through a mask wasn't as awkward as being looked at normally, but he still felt odd about the way the Collector would watch him sleep.
He hadn't meant to give much thought to Reasons, but Futomimi's lengthy discussions made him think of some of the words he'd had with Minato and the others on occasion. Despite being human, despite being one of the only ones who could choose a Reason, he hadn't thought himself entirely capable of that single-mindedness.
Then Chiaki came.
He'd hidden with the others from the worst of the first wave, but Futomimi had been in Mifunashiro, her starting point with the winged bastards, and Naoki had been too late.
He, the Collector, and a few of the braver survivors had to see, and they had stood around Futomimi, their fallen leader, thinking of nothing but the evil of power, the right everyone had to live in peace, and maybe it was his thinking of Minato that brought it on, maybe it had been an accident...
Messiah had stood with them for a moment, and he didn't know what he would say to Naoki about it all on the demi-fiend's return.
He couldn't say anything at all, as it turned out. Naoki had taken one look at Messiah with dark eyes, and then his team followed him into Asakusa, silent as they passed through the town.
And at their back, eyes darker even than Naoki's, Futomimi followed without a word.
He couldn't sleep, no matter what he tried, even Messiah's constant, silent presence no true comfort. Even though Akihiko hated death, he was almost used to it. Futomimi's coming back as a shadow on the other hand... The Collector fared little better, walking out of the room after shifting uncomfortably in his seat by Akihiko's bed one too many times.
He hadn't quite expected the Collector to return, but Akihiko followed a long, unhealthy pattern as soon as he did by pulling him into bed with him. He'd always had people to go to previously on losing someone, Shinji after Miki, Junpei after Shinji, but now everyone was gone, and he had only Naoki, damaged, broken Naoki to count on as saviour.
The manikins were the only people Akihiko knew here with no interest in killing him, and the Collector was the only one of them who would show him anything resembling friendship. But the Collector wasn't what he needed; the Collector was so gentle, holding him as if he might break, probably thought him fragile as a statue, and goddamnit, his strength meant nothing.
He'd started touching the Collector before even thinking of things like permission, had begged, no, demanded the Collector touch him back when he realised nothing was being reciprocated, and he couldn't tell with the mask blocking so much expression but he thought he'd heard a slight shake in the manikin's voice while asking, "I'm allowed?"
It should have been messy and violent but the Collector's hands were reverent, faintly dry, scratchy fingers moving over his skin as if he were made of satin or something equally pleasant to touch and he just wished, just wished he could have the sense fucked into him by Shinji because he didn't deserve to be treated like something special. He didn't have the right to survive where the others didn't, not in a world where his strength meant nothing, and it hurt; they had all left him, he was forsaken, and -
The Collector brought those dry hands back up to his face, spreading his legs under Akihiko and looking at him with eyes Akihiko could not see and, by this point, almost didn't want to. "Don't break," he said, voice quiet. "Please."
"What if I'm already broken?" Akihiko asked, wishing he knew what was wrong with him, why he seemed to have been born useless.
"You don't feel broken," The Collector replied, fingers moving as if he were checking that theory, looking for any possible signs of damage, and only relenting once sure nothing major was wrong. "You're not broken. I won't let you."
"I'm usele-"
Akihiko found himself cut off by an awkward kiss before the hand not wrapped around his cock pressed fingers to his lips as if surprised the kiss had actually happened. "I - um. You're not useless. You have a Reason."
"It was an accident, Messiah belongs to you more than me," Akihiko replied, a little shaky, the Collector's breath against his lips doing things to his insides he hadn't quite expected. "I'm not strong enough to give you a Reason." Something settled in his nerves, almost as if Messiah's voice was travelling through them, telling him he could have this.
"Messiah's not my Reason," the Collector replied, breath coming in faint pants now and Akihiko was relieved he at least had that sign of arousal to let him know if he was doing a decent job.
"Then what is?"
The Collector went quiet for a moment before shaking his head and kissing Akihiko again in what definitely felt like a request to shut up, Trying words after that only met with a similar solution.
It was only the morning after, waking up sticky with the Collector once again staring at him albeit from a different position to usual, that he thought to ask what the Collector's Reason was. He never could decide if the answer was the truth or the Collector deliberately ignoring the question; either way, he felt strangely comfortable with it.
"You're mine."
14. Digital Devil Saga: Lupa/Gale/Jenna, he gave you honor, what have I ever given you?
She didn't belong here.
Angel had nothing against being dead - given that she had died from a stab wound to the stomach, she was simply relieved that her death had been quick rather than slow agony from half-bleeding to death, half her body digesting itself.
And even though he wasn't David, could never be David, her killer was almost as beautiful.
Now she had David again, knew what she had done, and was waiting for Serph and Sera alongside the other residents of the sun. And while she wasn't one for self-pity, had never been that way inclined, she knew full well that her being here - that almost everyone's being here, for that matter - was her fault. She didn't belong here, surrounded by those she had hurt; that much was clear to her, logical. But for all his own grasp on logic, David was insistent she forgive herself, and refused to leave her alone until she had words with the man who had tried to free her, earning death as a reward.
Gale seemed almost serene as he talked with Lupa, and it felt strange to be approaching someone who could have been David's twin and someone she knew only as a program her daughter had created. She had watched over so much of this with disinterest, the final steps as the residents of Sera's junkyard developed full personalities, and it was easy to recall the turning moments of each who had interested her; she knew all of the leaders, how they had developed, and most of their second-in-commands; Gale's change she had only noticed because of his proximity to Sera at the time. And she knew full well how it had happened.
Lupa nodded to her but did not leave Gale's side when she approached; and she found herself unsurprised when Gale was calm in her presence. There was a steady cool to him that she envied, one she had always wanted for herself and been attracted to in David.
She still didn't truly know what to make of Gale, but even dead, it was never too late to make a start, and he seemed as keen as he had been before to make the same effort. "I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted," Gale replied, glancing over at David with a quick, almost puzzled frown before returning his gaze to her. "You understand now what Sera and Serph are trying to accomplish."
"I believe I do. I made a mistake." Several mistakes, Jenna, some crueller part of her reminded, but she tucked the thought away, refusing to give it air, found herself frowning when Gale lifted his hand to cup her cheek. She couldn't help but feel uncomfortable; despite the gesture being tender there was almost no emotion to Gale other than curiosity, and it felt unnatural, scientific.
"I can see why David loves you," Gale said after a moment before pressing a brief kiss to her lips that seemed uncertain if it should be chaste or otherwise, settling on chaste as he pulled back. "But you were right. I am not him." He frowned a little in thought. "I had thought I would love you too."
"It doesn't surprise me," Angel replied honestly, aware of the casual contact between Gale and Lupa's bared arms, the near electric tension between the two of them, and she leaned forward to say quietly for his hearing only, "He gave you honor. What have I ever given you?"
While any answer dependent on emotions could never be as satisfying to Gale as solid facts, she knew there was a logic to her statement he would find undeniable. He deserved peace over what had happened between them far more than she did; his unsettling remarks could well have been the sole reason she ended up like this, rather than one of the endlessly cycling demons further below the surface of the sun.
She owed Gale more than she could say, but some small inroads could be made in this life, some small balance shift in her karma.
The Junkyard's residents had never been given sex education, and there was nothing wrong with whispering a few additional pointers in Gale's ear.