#ohmrilara

[korereapers]

Title: Call me (Little Sunshine)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: D&D, Original stuff

Pairing: Ohmrom von Allmen/Barkilara

Based on this song, of course.

Warnings: Devil/Human smut, expect some things that are not... very nice (but it's loving, nevertheless)

A little explanation of the fic: When Ohmrom loses his powers because of PLOT ISSUES, he goes back on a sacred mission to the Nine Circles of Hell... To get his pact back. AKA he wants to get dick

AO3

Blood drips against the floor, seconds before a way too warm tongue traces the wound, a dangerous mouth full of sharp teeth gently sucking on it.

Ohmrom isn't looking at him, his eyes on the ground, kneeling before the devil. He is tired, emotionally drained, but this is the way he wants it.

"Hell, I really missed your taste."

Something burns inside of Ohmrom, his knees trembling, but he still doesn't move.

"You may not have my faith," he starts, his voice wavering. "But you have my loyalty. If this serves to rekindle our… bond…"

Barkilara lets out a laugh, a big hand still holding Ohmrom's wrist, the wound closing slowly as he drinks from him, exactly the amount he needs, feeling Ohmrom's exhaustion.

"I knew you were a fool, but… coming to me to make another pact with me. Really, human?"

Ohmrom sighs, looking up slightly, still too nervous to face him, physically, for a long time. Red skin, proud horns and muscles. Chains around him, for those he has wrapped around his finger. Maybe Ohmrom himself is one of them. He finds himself not caring.

"I have never been too… bright."

"You can be impulsive. I never said I didn't like that."

Ohmrom's face seems to heat up, yellow eyes scrutinizing him with something Ohmrom cannot quite read.

"I missed you," he whispers, even if he is sure that Barkilara can hear everything. This is his domain, after all. That's him, putting himself in danger, and running straight to a certain death… or worse. Just because he missed him, his sassy comments, his ancient wisdom, his care, the way he took his body and soul and made him feel that everything was fine. That he was fine, that he deserved the affection and hunger in immortal eyes.

He swears that Barkilara's expression becomes a little softer.

Ohmrom is still holding the dagger when Barkilara speaks into his mind, a silent request engraved into his brain. Ohmrom kisses him, tasting his own blood, a big hand on his back as the devil deepens the kiss, so warm it makes him feel feverish.

"Onir… so that's how your skin feels."

Sharp teeth edge around his lower lip for a second. A warning.

"Do not mention his name while you're here. It's only me and you."

There is an unsaid promise in that sentence, and Ohmrom can feel his stomach clenching in excitement. He nods, letting himself be kissed, big fingers with sharp fingernails keeping him close, tangled in his brown hair.

"Call me, and I'll come for you. That's more than he has ever done."

"That's… yeah. Okay."

He is not very eloquent when he is nervous. Insecure and timid, that may be part of his charm, but he becomes speechless when someone he cares about talks to him with such intensity. For better or worse.

His armor falls to the ground with ease, but he is still holding the dagger. Barkilara takes it from his hand and places it on his improvised throne. He may not be a devil prince, or anything close to that, but that doesn't stop him from being full of himself.

"How… it takes me ages to put it on."

Barkilara smiles against his neck, just below his ear.

"Centuries of torture, sunshine. I know your kind really well."

Jealousy bites him from the inside, and Barkilara sucks on his neck with vehemence. He could just kill him, even more now that he is in his realm, and yet… he can almost feel his eagerness to touch him, similar to Ohmrom's.

"Relax. Not the kind of torture I have reserved for you."

His words are weirdly compelling, and even if Ohmrom knows it may be some kind of spell, he doesn’t resist. He feels his muscles relaxing, his mind clear as a hand pushes him downwards with ease, almost gently, making him kneel yet again.

“But you’re going to have to use that sweet, silver tongue of yours to get what you want.”

Ohmrom blinks slowly, shaking hands trying to reach Barkilara’s pants, unbuttoning them with impatience. His head is guided towards the devil’s groin, letting out his breath just before he opens the fly.

He takes him without thinking, his previous annoyance gone in a second. A big hand guides him, keeping him in place at times, making it harder to breathe.

“Use your nose. We have talked about this.”

He feels like a scolded child, but he obeys without question. He still gasps for air when Barkilara pulls him away, his chin wet with saliva, their eyes finding each other just before he is pushed forwards again, not as hard as before, letting him do as he pleases.

He likes the way the eternal body tenses up, how breath seems to fail him from time to time, the steady grip on his nape faltering a little when Ohmrom does something especially nice with his tongue and lips. When he finds the strength to use his hands, still shaking from excitement, Barkilara shows a smile full of teeth.

“There is no need to be nervous. Everything you have to offer, I am more than eager to take it.”

Ohmrom just lets out a small chuckle.

“Likewise…”

He almost feels proud of himself when he feels the devil tense, a sound caught in his throat that Ohmrom can feel deep inside his bones.

“Not as spineless when you’re truly passionate about something…”

“Someone,” Ohmrom corrects him, his eyes unfocused. “I may lack faith in you as a god, but I have devotion to spare.”

That’s enough for Barkilara to make him stop, making him get up yet again, and crashing his lips against Ohmrom’s. It’s somewhere between affectionate and violent, and Ohmrom finds himself moaning against his mouth, a big hand palming him, apparently done with his own pleasure for the moment. Which is a shame, to be completely honest.

The thought makes Ohmrom shiver.

Barkilara doesn't kneel before anyone. The moves him without effort, even if Ohmrom is a sturdy fighter, proficient with martial weapons decades before he even dared to make a pact. Toned legs tense when the rest of his clothes are gone, his knees on Barkilara's throne, strong arms trembling when he grabs it, visibly exposed.

He feels his ears getting red.

"I'm… kind of a mess. I fought my way down here, I'm all sweaty, and bloody, and-"

"Good."

That's the end of the discussion.

The good and bad thing about Barkilara is that he knows him. He has lived in his head for months, maybe years by now. They have been partners in more than one sense for a long time. He knows what makes Ohmrom tick, which buttons to push. Not that Ohmrom doesn't have the same knowledge about him, but he is not, and never will be, cunning enough to test it all. Barkilara knows what Ohmrom likes, and it involves this… evident power imbalance you get when you're in a relationship with a being that is millenia older than you, who is also a hundred times more powerful.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

"Overthinking…" is everything Barkilara says before Ohmrom feels his tongue on his neck, tracing an old scar. Barkilara loves those. Proof that he bled, and survived nevertheless. Proof that he will keep surviving. He knows them better than Ohmrom himself, keeping track of them after every fight. Tracing them with different fingers everytime, and now, touching them with his real ones.

"You're taking your sweet time," Ohmrom half complains, almost feeling Barkilara rolling his eyes, just before he feels a smile against his back.

"Anywhere else to be?"

"Yes, I mean no, but-"

He hears a chuckle, and it's embarrassing enough as it is.

"We have both wanted this for a long time. If you were a quick fuck to me, I would have discarded you ages ago."

Fuck it, that's even more embarrassing. That's probably the closest he'll ever get to a confession, and he is fine with it. He doesn't have to talk about what he feels in his brain and body every single day.

"That doesn't mean I don't want a bite."

That, Ohmrom can grant. He relaxes his neck and shoulders, stretching his neck to one side. There is no doubt in his movements, no fear. The devil holds his head, a sulfuric breath on Ohmrom's nape before it's on his neck, drawing a line on it with his tongue.

"Just like that? That easily?"

"I don't really see why not."

Barkilara kisses the spot between his neck and shoulder, his favorite place to drink from.

"Aren't you afraid?"

Ohmrom lets out a dry chuckle.

"I'm always afraid, as you probably know."

There is a smile against his skin, lips sucking on it immediately after, warming it up. He doesn't know if it's for his sake, to make it all feel less intrusive, or if Barkilara has his own reasons. He is not complaining, though.

It does hurt. It always does, his skin sensitive to the intimate pain. In this form, he can almost feel it feeding the devil, his muscles tensing, stronger than before. There is a noise, a wordless concept in Infernal, that Ohmrom feels deep in his bones. It is expressed among whispers as the devil licks his skin downwards, following the blood's trail.

He feels a big hand around his cock, almost dwarfing it. Barkilara's voice sounds positively hungry when he speaks, and Ohmrom feels himself getting harder against his palm.

"That's it… good boy."

They are close, he realizes. So close, it doesn't take much to feel him just behind him, hard as a rock, his hand masturbating him so slowly it's driving him mad. The other hand is on his neck, grabbing his throat without strength, as if he could break him effortlessly. Because he can.

Ohmrom may be a seasoned fighter, but he is still a mortal. He is no match in strength for someone almost twice his size. Barkilara drinks from him like dealing with the sweetest delicacy, and he moans, not so secretly dying to be bent over the throne and fucked raw.

"Nuh-uh. We cannot have that yet. Now that I finally have you here…"

Ohmrom's mind goes blank for a second, his words deep inside of him.

"I… you know I won't last."

A smile curls against his neck just after a particularly wet kiss on his skin.

"I know. But that doesn't mean I'm going to be done with you just yet."

Ohmrom gulps, the hand on his neck tightening a little. Just a little.

"I can make you beg. You know I can. I can keep going until your body gives up and your mind isn't even fully here anymore."

Ohmrom just nods, trying not to focus too much on his words, trying to keep himself from coming, a thumb on his tip making it fucking harder.

"You would love that, wouldn't you? Aren't we a match made in hell…"

Ohmrom swears that his sight is getting blurry, his breath uneven, voice broken.

"Yeah, I…"

"My sweet, little toy… let me take care of you."

And just like that, he is done. He doesn't know if it's the praise mixed with the slight degradation, or the way he can feel Barkilara's hand tensing around his cock. Maybe it's the calculated tone, the words, the precise effect they have on him. As if he were important, as if he were-

"Good, you're so good."

He almost lets out a whine.

“That wasn’t fair…”

The air in the Nine Circles feels even more stagnant than ever, both the exhaustion of fighting and sex catching up to him. He feels dry blood in different places, and he blinks slowly, trying not to think about it.

“Is that a complaint?”

Ohmrom just sighs, his legs aching because of the posture. He says nothing when Barkilara’s hands help him yet again, making him sit, fingers distractedly caressing his thighs. As if trying to ease the pain a little. He doesn’t register it at first, but he is, indeed, sitting on Barkilara’s throne. They have been having sex on Barkilara’s throne. He perks up, his ears burning in embarrassment and… something else.

He looks up, yellow eyes glinting as the devil licks one of his fingers, seemingly unaware of Ohmrom’s internal turmoil. He knows that’s a lie, though. A big, fat lie.

“I… I don’t know if I can keep ruining your furniture.”

The devil raises his eyebrows, a grin going back to his features.

“Why not? I am ruining you in return. I’d say it’s a fair trade.”

This time, the heat flows everywhere in Ohmrom’s body. He swears he can feel himself blushing in places he didn’t know he could blush. He still opens his mouth, a little bit of cheekiness left in him. Even if his voice is trembling.

“Wouldn’t a fair trade be me ruining you in return?”

And, Onir be damned, he swears there is something in the air the moment he speaks. A click, somewhere, like when Brea or Cash manage to open a lock on their first try. Like one of those tomes Noire manages to crack after hours of study. Like Natura’s smile, bright under the sun, flowers in her hair, as if she understood something about the world that he doesn’t.

And in that moment, he does. He swears he does. He opens his mouth, but says nothing. Barkilara’s expression is intense, but there is no anger there. There is nothing that actually makes sense, nothing that explains the way that Barkilara gets closer to him, making him tilt his head slightly, their lips almost touching.

“You can be bright. Impulsive, but you aren’t bad at reading people, aren’t you?”

Ohmrom knows a liar when he sees one. He is one of them, after all. A coward hiding behind façades and false information. In that sense, Barkilara has always been way more honest than he is.

He does the only rational thing. He closes the gap between them, kissing him eagerly, trying not to think. There is no violence in the kiss, but Barkilara doesn’t seem to have any complaint. Both his desire and his insecurities can be felt in the air, dense as fog.

“Lord. Fuck me. I’m not going back without…”

He feels a smile against his lips. A promise.

“That was the plan from the very beginning.”

He doesn't have to ask him to get rid of his clothes. A pointy tail circles one of his ankles, a warm caress while strong hands position him. Ohmrom doesn't really know when he got hold of one of the convenient bottles he saves in his backpack, the ones that aren't full of blood to drink. The ones for more pleasurable matters.

"I'm not going to give you more than you can handle," Barkilara says, almost smugly, and Ohmrom would like to retort, but he has no reason to. He has felt his length in his mouth, and even if he can probably handle it, it's going to be a tight fit.

"I think I'd like anything you give me…" he manages to mutter, trying not to look too much at the way Barkilara coats his fingers with the oily substance. He can feel his eyes on him, and that's more than enough for his sanity.

"I know."

Even his fingers are bigger than what he is used to. Ohmrom likes bigger men in general, but this is dealing with a whole different species, and he cannot avoid tensing a little when a finger slowly gets inside of him, warmer than it should be.

"Relax…" he hears, and he feels the word in the back of his brain, reverberating inside of every nerve. He doesn't resist, and he can feel his body relaxing, accepting a second finger not long after.

He feels full. His eyes feel a little heavy, his muscles slowly regaining full agency. He tenses around the devil's fingers, the involuntary movement rewarded with a smile.

"I really, really want to feel that around my cock."

The words go straight to Ohmrom's cock, and he swears he is getting a little hard again, the fingers inside of him curling slightly, testing the waters.

The devil knows where and how to touch. He has been exploring his body for some time now, and he has known his mind for a longer time. Ohmrom bites his lower lip, trying not to make any embarrassing noise. Barkilara seems to take it as a personal challenge.

"You cannot win this game. You know that."

Ohmrom knows, but he has always been good at pretending.

"Sorry," he answers without thinking, and it's enough to earn him a chuckle.

The devil's in the details, though, and he can feel it in the way the fingers curl inside of him, the motion slow and calculated. Barkilara's arm tenses, and Ohmrom exhales when he moves, almost melting against the throne when he finds his prostate.

"Fuck, that's…"

Barkilara just hums, smiling slightly wider when Ohmrom grabs his shoulder, not to make him stop, but to get something to hold onto. The hand touches his neck, and then his face, going up to the horns and tracing one of them without thinking. It's only when he feels the devil tense, his skin slightly warmer than before, that Ohmrom stops, his hand trembling in the air.

"I never said you should stop," Barkilara says, a second before Ohmrom apologizes. "That was just unexpected… not unpleasant in the slightest."

It's Ohmrom's turn to smile a little, his hand back on one of the horn's roots. He traces the rough skin, mesmerized, and Barkilara has to remind him whose mind and body is getting wrecked. What’s the status quo of their relationship.

"Comfortable?" He asks, sardonically, and a row straight, human teeth greet him.

"Sorry. I got a little too excited."

The movements of his fingers become rougher, more insistent. Ohmrom lets out a small sigh, and Barkilara quickens the pace, enough to draw a low moan out of him.

The caress on his horns becomes more distracted, but he doesn't let go. Barkilara lets out a chuckle, oddly fond.

"Look at that… you really love it."

There is tension building up in Ohmrom's expression. His face is a little flushed again, drunk with pleasure and feelings that threaten to drown him. He looks at the devil with hungry eyes that remind him of himself. Jaw clenched, sweat on his forehead, biting his lip softly when he is afraid of being too noisy.

Barkilara's other hand travels to Ohmrom's mouth, his thumb effortlessly getting inside. If he is going to try and be silent, he at least wants to be able to feel every noise. For now.

"Bite," the devil orders, yellow eyes darkened with lust. "You won't hurt me."

Ohmrom knows it's a bad idea to be blind with trust, especially if it's towards a being like him. He still muffles his next moan with Barkilara's finger, biting it without holding back. His mouth suddenly tastes like something like blood, and his face goes white with both fear and regret. Barkilara keeps him in place, grabbing his face with the remainder of his fingers.

"Drink it."

Ohmrom does as he is told, his lips stained with the devil's blood, his eyes still wide, his body trembling. Barkilara licks his own lips, a smile back on his face. Ohmrom still doesn’t know, but that’s exactly how they’re sealing their new pact. Drinking from each other until they are linked by blood.

"You look so fucking pretty with my blood on you…"

Ohmrom moans at his words, the massage on his prostate both teasing and calculated.

Barkilara takes the thumb out of his mouth, and Ohmrom's expression seems so genuinely disappointed he wants to kiss him and make it better.

"I want to fuck you so, so bad. Would you like that?"

Ohmrom's words definitely sound like a yes, but his voice is hoarse, uneven. Barely human.

"My sweet, little pet…" Barkilara murmurs, his hand back to Ohmrom's nape, holding him dexterously, his fingers tangled in his hair, keeping him still when he kisses him. Ohmrom opens up to him eagerly, like the most delicate flower, and Barkilara feasts on it like a ravenous beast.

Ohmrom complains about the emptiness inside of him when Barkilara's fingers leave him, but he knows that something better is coming. He obeys when he is told to get up, and lets out a strangled sound when Barkilara sits on his own throne, gesturing him to get closer. A single finger telling him to take a seat on his lap, a promise between his legs, big and proud.

Barkilara's nails not so gently dig on his butt when he sits, Ohmrom's legs around the way too warm body. They have done this many times, in many different bodies, Ohmrom guiding his cock until he feels it slowly penetrating his rim, closing his eyes and enjoying their intimacy, the entangled thoughts and feelings, the pride of having such a powerful being looking at him with those eyes. 

This time feels different, though.

It's not just about the length. The temperature and texture of a devil’s skin is different, and Ohmrom wonders about all of those mortal women getting pregnant by different devils, giving birth to cambions, dying during childbirth most of the time.

Ohmrom can understand how and why someone would willingly have sex with a devil. Barkilara is thick inside of him, slowly pushing himself deeper and deeper, Ohmrom's throat hoarse, his eyes bright with tears because of the intensity of what he is feeling.

He doesn’t cry, but he is awfully close. It’s all a mix between worship and degradation, about sharing your darkest parts and being… understood. About not feeling lonely anymore. Neither of them.

"Good?" The devil asks, his voice not as confident as it usually is, maybe sensing Ohmrom’s emotional turmoil.

"Perfect…" Ohmrom sighs, and Barkilara smiles, his cock pulsating at his words.

He can also like praise, after all.

He can almost feel Ohmrom's thoughts, spilling all over the place. He digs his nails into them, and the kind of satisfaction they bring him could only be compared to the physical sensation they are both feeling. Desperate, overwhelming.

He wants more of it.

The funny thing is that they don't really last long. Their limbs are entwined, hands wanting to be everywhere, Ohmrom's movements messy, Barkilara's ones so precise and yet becoming more and more erratic.

"Fucking tight…" the devil half complains, half praises. He chases Ohmrom's orgasm with insistence, even more when he feels him squirm on his lap, his cock largely ignored while his prostate receives most of the attention. His thrusts are not gentle, but also not quick or brutal like they are both used to. They can't. Not this time.

"Big… you're so…"

Ohmrom's muscles tense around him, and that's enough to push Barkilara over the edge. It's surprising, to say the least, when he had mostly forgotten about his own pleasure, wanting to grant Ohmrom his second orgasm, but not last.

Luckily for him, when he spills himself inside of him, Ohmrom seems to react to it, a tired moan masking the intensity of his own orgasm.

Ohmrom lets out a weak laugh, and Barkilara smiles in return. This human of his, he can be kind of cute when he isn’t even trying.

"Now breathe… and try to cast an eldritch blast."

Ohmrom raises his hand a little, slowly darkening because of the use of his magic. Just another proof of how linked they are. Ohmroms eyes become red, the same as when Barkilara uses his magic, and his hand starts glowing in a crimson color, even darker than it used to be.

"So, the pact…"

"It's done, yes. Rekindled."

Relief washes over Ohmrom's expression, and Barkilara shares the sentiment, but he is still not satisfied. He probably never will be.

"Don't even dare to think I am done with you, though. This was just… an appetizer of sorts."

Ohmrom's smile becomes something between a bashful and an anxious expression.

"You're going to get me killed…"

Barkilara's eyes shine, a finger tracing the human's features, but his expression remains only slightly amused. Confident. In control. Ohmrom closes his eyes, breathing down, enjoying his short rest.

"Nothing you cannot handle, sunshine."

[korereapers]

Title: Better than the best wine

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Original, Dungeons and Dragons

Ship: Ohmrilara, Ohmrom von Allmen/Barkilara

AO3

The delicious smell seems to be able to cross planes, has been since the beginning. The way his heart beats, like he is going to die at any moment, even in moments of respite, making him breathe harder, his blood fresh and oxygenated.

Ohmrom fights, hard, blood that isn’t his own staining his blue armor, the shield he refuses to let go of so drenched that Barkilara knows the stains will never go away. Chestnut hair, messily tied in a half unmade ponytail, falls in front of his face, his breath keeping it out of the way, so exerted that Barkilara can feel every twitch in his muscles, every move.

Amber eyes close, and the human plunges his sword in the wet ground. Barkilara knows that the blood and guts will make the earth flourish, because it’s what Ohmrom tries to tell himself after every battle. Maybe that excuse of a pseudo infernal is rubbing off on him, given how often and how long she thinks about flowers and dead things.

Ohmrom smells of blood, inside and out, oxygen inside of his blood vessels, still recovering from the frenzy of the battle. Anxiety fills him, oozing from every pore, and Barkilara licks his lips, his smell driving him crazy with a badly concealed hunger, that luckily enough, the human hasn’t noticed.

Yet.

“Onir, I hate this.”

I fucking love you.

It’s a private thought, one that he doesn’t allow to reach the human mind, but he is sure that Ohmrom can feel his glee. He does, in fact, breathe down, a gloved hand trying to smear the blood out of his own face.

Barkilara wishes he could kiss it, lick it clean.

A divergence of opinion?

How odd, right? I, as usual, think you look good.

His paladin of blood and war. He could be so much, do so much, if he wasn’t wasting time, looking at the horizon as if haunted by everything around him. He has tempted him endless times, with no avail. There are other things to tempt the human with. Things that keep their bond… strong. Interesting.

You always think I look good. I can’t say I understand.

There is a soft flush spreading through his skin, making him look like a ripe fruit, ready to be eaten. The devil chuckles inside of his mind, his cards close to his chest, delighted at the way the smell fills his nostrils. If only he could bury his face on the human’s skin, lick the blood and sweat off. If only he could sink his teeth on his shoulder, and drink from him until he felt sated, without killing him in the process…

Barkilara has perfected the art of tiptoeing around the human’s limits, pushing them but never breaking them, mathematically careful, knowing that a mortal is fragile, knowing that his mortal is precious but breakable, like the most treasured gem.

You don’t have to understand. You just have to accept it.

Ohmrom nods slightly, as usual, trying to conceal the fact that he is, in fact, not talking to himself. Barkilara wonders what it will take to make it public, to show his true side to everyone he knows. The pious man who would give anything to a devil like him, his love so palpable it almost feels solid.

His blood seems to keep concentrating on his face, and Barkilara's hunger becomes more pressing. The smell is sweet, the human's breath uneven. It's not the sweetest he has ever smelt, since panic and arousal tend to be the emotions that make him the most appealing to Barkilara. When it's both, at the same time? It drives Barkilara mad.

You're such a pretty fucking boy… you look so good... You smell so good…

Ohmrom looks at himself, tired and bloody, amber eyes blinking slowly. His lower lip trembles, and Barkilara realizes that he is trying not to laugh. He can be a cheeky bastard, after all.

I knew you like this, but damn, this much?

Ohmrom hates violence with all his might. He doesn't kill because he enjoys it, like Barkilara does. He does it because he has to, because it's a mission, because it's righteous. And even with that, he has refused many, many times. He feeds Barkilara better than he would have ever dreamed of, though. Better than his predecessor ever did.

Faustino isn't fun even for torturing. He uses him to rest his feet, a proper end for someone who worshiped him so blindly. Maybe he should gouge his eyes out and put them back again. Maybe that would be funny.

He doesn't want that from Ohmrom, though. He wants his warm smile on his face, his lips against his own, his strong legs on Barkilara's wide shoulders and-

Fuck. He wants to dress him in the finest clothes and feed him the most delicious meals. He wants him calm and happy, but also excited and so crazy about him as Barkilara is. He wants his sweet smell everywhere, filling his nostrils just before he has a bite, nothing too painful, just enough to taste his adrenaline on and under his skin.

Your blood. He says without thinking. I want your blood. Whatever you're willing to give me.

Ohmrom does look a little bit incredulous, but what amazes Barkilara, what makes his chest expand (something he would only admit in the lowest whispers) is how the man doesn't hesitate. He takes out one of his gloves, the skin on his hands blackening thanks to him. The more magic he uses, the more he belongs to him. The more bonded they are, the more it shows on Ohmrom's body. It used to be something to feel shame about, but as they are, hiding himself, themselves, is only about self-preservation.

He then does something Barkilara wasn't expecting, because his sword is still on the ground, its tip deep inside, but Ohmrom takes something out of his boot, and Barkilara recognizes it instantly. 

The ruby glints, the curved ritual dagger greeting the sunlight. That's his dagger, alright. Barkilara's dagger, the one he uses for finesse, for sacrificial reasons, and not just mindless violence. The one that sealed Ohmrom's destiny forever.

Is this okay? He asks, carefully, blissfully unaware of what he is making Barkilara feel. Or maybe he isn't, and he is more cunning and twisted than Barkilara thought.

His smile is nervous. Sincere. Bashful, even. Not a single rational thought between his ears. Dumb as a brick, sometimes. Barkilara loves that about him.

Yes. More than okay.

Ohmrom, bless or damn his soul, slices the dagger over his palm, offering himself to the devil, a single exhalation being the only sound he makes. He is used to pain, after all. 

Nothing that Barkilara does to him can compare to a lifetime of what he has endured. The thought fills him with rage, and the feeling marinates when the blood flows, not even reaching the ground before it falls inside Barkilara's mouth, crossing planes in less than a second.

It tastes better than the best wine, better than the most delicious suffering. Better than torture, better than violence. Better than war, even if he was born and made for it. He keeps the taste in his tongue before gulping loudly, another piece of Ohmrom's soul becoming his. He licks his lips, and he wants more, but he'll have to keep himself content for now.

Your blood may not be as powerful as dragon blood, but it's ten thousand times sweeter, mortal.

The wound closes almost immediately, and Ohmrom carefully puts on his glove again, the dagger still dancing between his fingers afterwards. Idly, not too dexterous, but still admiring. Warmth fills the human in a second, and Barkilara drinks from that, though, even if it doesn't feed him in the physical way. It's almost better. Almost.

You sure know how to make a man feel special.

[korereapers]

Title: Another cup of tea

Fandom: Original, D&D

Ships: Barkilara/Ohmrom von Allmen, Kore of the Eternal Forest/Mynthe

Warnings: light violence, non explicit things. Devils being a fucking nuisance I guess. Light eye trauma, maybe

AO3

Kore sips from her tea, long eyelashes framing her dark scleras, dull as she looks up. She usually drinks her tea black, no sugar, letting it wash over her, the calming warmth bringing her a well needed solace.

In front of her, the human smiles, an uncomfortable smile that seems to follow him everywhere, as if anxiety was a part of his being. At the moment, he is wearing his growing, brown hair in a messy bun, and it suits him, it suits him more than the rigid etiquette he tries to show when he is pretending to be a model acolyte, without success.

They have a drink together, from time to time. Kore’s bedroom in the Guild isn’t the most comfortable, but it’s still cleaner. She makes sure it smells of flowers, and she chooses the incense every day. Today, it smells of lilies, and a part of her aches, because it makes her remember.

It was Mynthe’s favorite flower, after all.

"So, the goblin king was kind of… how do you say it. A pussy."

Ohmrom's smile becomes less uncomfortable, almost amused. Her elvish accent makes the words a whisper, or so she has been told. The human seems to like it enough, even if elvish is not in his repertory.

"Ah… yes. I couldn't really do much, to be honest. Hold the line and support our comrades. Paladins terrify me, to be honest…"

Mynthe was a paladin, but he doesn't need to know that, for the moment. She is more interested in whatever fear creeps in when he talks about people chosen by the gods, in how and why a pious man becomes nervous around them.

"Any particular reason? You seem kind of… devoted."

He does chuckle at that, taking another sip from his cup. He drinks his tea red, fruits flavored, lots of sugar. She wonders if he can even taste anything under the sugary flavor.

"Alright, says the cleric."

But Kore doesn't buy his deflection, looking at him with her dark eyes, unblinking. That usually works when the person is obviously lying to her, or trying to hide information.

There is a twitch on his lips, and she almost smiles, because she knows a win when she sees one.

"My… ehr… my mentor is a paladin. She is not very happy with me these days."

Kore raises a pink eyebrow, small hands around the cup, warming herself up.

"As a paladin, I wouldn't be happy either if my pupil was bedding a devil…"

Ohmrom flushes at that. It's almost wild, how he can blush like a lantern, like a child. She too is prone to look like a strawberry, but this man doesn't just look embarrassed, he looks anxious as hell. Literally.

"She doesn't… know that exactly. She would kill me."

He says it without emotion, as if being hit or beaten, or god forbid, murdered, was a normal consequence. She knows a haunted person when she sees one, both her life experience (she is one of them, after all) and the little blessings her Lady gave her. She feels death, almost smells it from his fingertips. She tries her best to keep a poker face, but his eyes are knowing, kind.

"Don't worry about it. Everyone says the same thing. It's not… healthy."

She nods, her eyes lost, because it was her mother who taught her, how to pray, how to fight. It was… a twist of fate that Kore had found solace in the Lady Wee-Jas and not just the Eternal Forest. A grave cleric is rare among her people, but so is a tiefling amongst elves.

"Sounds like the healthiest relationship you have is with your… you know."

He sighs, rummaging his backpack, taking out a small, metallic bottle that reeks of alcohol, and mixing a little of its contents with the tea. Kore makes a face, her nose wrinkling, fangs showing a little.

"Sorry. We are talking about difficult topics… I need an extra amount of courage."

"You are a pussy."

Ohmrom laughs a little at that, taking a sip from his ruined tea. She realizes that his hands are shaking, but who is she to judge.

"He is… the realest thing I have ever had. He is not nice, but he tries to be. And… he takes care of me, listens to me… I don't know."

Oh. So it's not just a matter of physical pleasure. She expected him to go on and on about how amazing their sex life is, but as it turns out, what this guy values the most is… companionship. Love.

Something that she has lost. Irremediably. A disemboweled corpse lying around in the forest, too late and too damaged for her to do much about it. Or anything at all.

Lady, has she always been this useless?

"Sounds like a serious relationship to me."

It's something subtle at first. How Ohmrom's eyes go a little vacant for a second, a whisper she cannot hear and that anyone that doesn't know would mistake for being deep in thought. His face twitches, as if being stressed, just for a second, just before he relaxes again.

Kore blinks, unimpressed, when he looks up, eyes blood red, bright and wet, actually dripping some bloody tears when he blinks slowly, as if trying to get used to the motion. The expression is different, too, the way he carries himself, the easy smile that grows into his lips like vermin.

It's unnatural, like the expression shouldn't be there, like those gentle lips are not made to smile like that, confidently, almost looking at her like a funny animal, like the most primitive and diluted version of what he is. A drop of blood falls to the tea, and she grimaces, his smile only becoming more amused.

"Any reason to require your presence, devil?"

The devil takes the cup with care, as if he could break it with ease, getting used to a weaker, smaller body. He takes a gulp, making a sound when he does, and Kore doesn't know if he is mocking her, or actually enjoying it.

"Sweet…" he murmurs, in Infernal, the same clean accent that Ohmrom has, rough fingers cleaning the bloody tears on Ohmrom's face, tasting them a second after. "You were making him nervous, that's all. Poking your cute, little nose into our business… my business."

Kore lets out a bitter laugh.

"You were the one that showed himself to me. Deal with it."

Barkilara laughs at that, and it's different than Ohmrom's one. Less anxious, less kind hearted. Not kind at all. The deep voice must be hurting Ohmrom's throat a little, if he is still somewhere in there.

"He's a pussy and you're a dick. What a lovely couple…"

Barkilara doesn't complain, doesn't react, not in the way that would be expected. He seems to be untouched by her taunts, but Kore knows it won't be for long.

"Tell me something I don't know, princess," is the only thing he says, his tongue clicking behind his teeth.

Kore cannot really stand overconfident men. Especially when they are, at best, mediocre.

"Then you'll know I'm not your type. If you're trying to get another warlock for yourself, I am the wrong person."

He nods, looking her in the eye. She shudders, her mind in panic for a reason she doesn't know, an instinct that tells her to beware, because the way a devil plays can be deadly, and it's always, always painful.

"No, I know. Your type is your dead wife, isn't she? So noble, so proud… it's a shame, really."

Hearing that with Ohmrom's face is confusing more than it's enraging. It makes her feel hurt, a friendly face being outright cruel. She wonders if he is in there, listening, probably begging his devil to cut her some slack. Barkilara still seems unmoving, in control, a smile that would be polite if Kore didn't know any better.

"Is he your type? Or do you sleep with every warlock you get?"

It's subtle, but it's there. Barkilara gulps, his smile tense. Kore can almost feel fondness in his eyes, a second before he answers, truthfully.

"No. I really don't."

Kore's next sip is almost sweet. She got him, alright.

"Oh, don't tell me that you care. Actually, yes. I see it. If there is anyone who could move that cold, dark, twisted heart of yours, it's him."

Barkilara's whisper is deep, almost as if dealing with boredom, but she knows better. He can almost feel his tactics, because she uses them, too.

"You're a bitch, you know that?"

"Tell me something I don't know, devil."

That makes him chuckle again, the bloodied tea seemingly the best thing he has ever tried. As if trying to enjoy the iron-like taste behind the alcohol, the sugar, and the actual tea. It tastes like Ohmrom, Kore guesses. That must be it.

"I like you. I mean, I would slit your throat unprompted if I had the chance, but I like you. And he likes you, too, so… I'm not really that fond of making him sad, you know."

He really cares about him, in his own way. That's the thought that fills Kore's mind. She misses being cared about like that. She misses love, she misses her wife, deeply.

She also makes sure not to show any kind of weakness in front of the devil, who looks at her with the eyes of a predator. Like a cat playing with a mouse just before eating it.

"Oh, I know you make him happy. I see him, and also, sadly… hear him sometimes. What is he like? It seems that whatever you do to him, he enjoys it a lot."

It's a good tactic, to appease the devil's pride. That way he'll forget about her for a moment, and think about himself and his sexual prowess. Still, she watches him tense. 

Weird.

"He is sweet to me. Devoted."

So that's it. He is dying to say it, to give details about how good he is in bed, about what they do, about how mindblowing it all is, but he knows that Ohmrom wouldn't appreciate that. He knows he would feel ashamed and hurt. Not really a man to share his private life, no matter how not so secretly fulfilled he feels because of it.

Kore frowns. Since when does a devil value a human's feelings more than his own desires?

"Yes, well. He seems awfully fond of kneeling before his god, so I guess he does the same for you. Devoted is clearly the perfect word for him."

There is a shadow of anger in Barkilara's eyes. Like she has touched on a particularly dangerous subject. She refrains from adding anything else, not when the devil drinks another sip of tea, his hands so tense that she is afraid he will break the cup.

"Is your curiosity sated, girl?"

Kore nods, knowing that the conversation is over. How odd… almost as if the devil were… jealous? Insecure? A power hungry being like him must surely be dealing with those feelings in the worst possible ways…

"Yes, of course. Thank you for your time. I hope we can have tea together sometime soon?"

Barkilara looks up to her, bloodied eyes drilling into her skull. The image is terrifying, but he manages to resist the urge to start shaking. He doesn't seem to be angry at her, only… interested. His anger seems to be somewhere else, a distrust that reeks across planes. Why doesn’t he just materialize instead of using Ohmrom’s body, anyway?

"It would be my pleasure, mortal. Tell him that the tea was delicious."

And like that, any expression leaves Ohmrom's face for a second, his features relaxing slightly until he comes back, his usual nervousness present when he smiles at her, a silent apology, only to clean his bloody face immediately after. As if nothing had happened.

"Aw, he drank all of my tea…"

Kore snorts at that. They're back to Common, she guesses.

"I'm glad that you're back."

Ohmrom's nervous smile twitches a little, disappearing completely when he speaks again.

"I'm sorry that he was like that to you. I think… I think that he was trying to take care of me, in a way. He wanted to make sure I was okay."

He definitely was, but Kore has no strength to tell him what's obvious, the last sip of her tea a little sweeter. The company is better, after all.

"Don’t sweat it. He is a devil. It's what they do."

Ohmrom blinks at that, quiet, deep in thought. Something dark passes behind his eyes, and she can only watch and hope for the best. A slight doubt. An insecurity. He smiles at her again, as if nothing had happened.

"It's what they do…" he repeats.

Kore's brow twitches uncomfortably. Maybe she has said something she shouldn't.

They can work through it. She tells herself. Love does indeed exist for some people, after all.

The thought leaves a bitter taste on her mouth. She tells herself it’s okay, even if deep down, she knows that that night she will cry herself to sleep, thinking about her lips, about her face. She thinks about devilish fingers caressing Ohmrom’s hair while he sleeps, and jealousy bites at her insides.

What a disgrace you are, unable to feel glad for other people’s happiness. You deserved what you got.

She gulps loudly, but luckily, Ohmrom doesn’t seem to notice. She still feels someone watching her, trying to dig their claws into her brain. A devilish smile curls into her mind. She tells the devil to fuck off, and tries her best to enjoy Ohmrom’s company.

“Another cup of tea?”

The smile he gives her makes it all worth it.

[korereapers]

Title: Never alone (aka, the "get together" fic)

Fandom: Original, D&D

Ship: Ohmrom von Allmen/Barkilara

Rating: Mature, almost explicit

AO3

It’s not often that Ohmrom has indulged himself lately.

Since he found that dagger, there is a voice in his head sometimes, someone that looks at whatever he is looking at the moment, but sometimes, more often than not, Ohmrom can feel Barkilara looking at him.

He felt him closer than ever when Ohmrom managed to have his first time, his mind divided between the man with him and the voice inside of his head, clearly amused, clearly… interested. Interested, in general, because Ohmrom wouldn’t dare to assume otherwise. Maybe Barkilara just found him entertaining, clumsy and emotional. Maybe he found him ridiculous. Maybe…

He sighs against the wall of his bedroom. Joining the Guild wasn’t his first option when he left everything he knew, when he left Natura with a letter and a pool of guilt inside of his stomach. Still, it’s useful. He is meeting people, lots of people, people that make his loneliness more bearable, but that make his guilt even worse. Still, he still can pretend for a little longer, that everything is fine, that the past won’t come back to him to grab him by his neck until he has no other option than to finally react.

His mind goes back to Barkilara, who used to introduce himself as a god, a god of war, maybe trying to tempt Ohmrom into being his “paladin”. A devil has no paladins, though, and sadly for both of them, lies always have really, really short legs. It’s pretty apparent what Barkilara may want from him, but still, he doesn’t press him. Not for a pact, anyways. He shows him images, images of himself losing himself to rage, murdering and maiming in the name of justice. The sweetest temptation for someone who has been taught to serve justice, to protect the innocent.

Only that, deep down, Ohmrom knows that he is not a paladin, and those images do more harm than good.

He has been taught not to trust anything even remotely related to the Hells. And it’s not that he trusts Barkilara, not completely. The devil drinks eagerly from his bloodstream, the pain bearable, but making him feel exposed, vulnerable. Barkilara has a bad habit of reminding him how sweet his blood tastes, how delicious he is, and he should feel revolted, but a part of him… doesn’t.

Onir be damned, that part of him is what keeps him awake at night, thinking about a voice that visits him from time to time, more often as they get to know each other. He thinks about his voice, deep and commanding, about hunger with no mouth, about being the devil’s little bloodbag that he very dearly takes care of. Because he senses it, he feels it, his protectiveness, the deals he makes without him really knowing what’s happening to protect him. How he takes his words into consideration, his feelings. As much as a devil can, of course.

He lets out a sound, eager and frustrated, because he wouldn’t dare to do anything if he isn’t sure that nobody’s looking. Never could, not even when he was a horny teenager. He needs to be alone, and-

Something is making your heart race. One of your favorite books again? Another scene you don’t want me to read?

But Ohmrom isn’t reading anything, which Barkilara can clearly see. He feels panic rising, because being found out is dangerous, it would disgust the devil, it would get him mocked, maybe even killed. Who would even want a man like him thinking about him like that? With those impure thoughts they had warned him so much about? Barkilara would surely feel insulted.

“I… I’m sorry, I…”

He doesn’t need to see him to know that the devil is raising an eyebrow, digging into his thoughts almost immediately. His feelings. His desires.

“No, no, please…”

Barkilara has always told him that his mind is like an open book. Ohmrom may be good at lying, yes, but his feelings are usually bare, raw. Obvious for someone who knows how to look, and where to look. He tries to hide it, he really does. He tries to relax, to make his mind more difficult to read, to stop thinking and just focus on something else.

It doesn’t work. He can almost feel the devil’s fingers delicately reading him, caressing the pages of his mind and heart with utmost care. He trembles like a leaf, because Barkilara’s presence feels intense, almost as if what he was seeing was affecting him. Fear fills him in a moment, and he tries to speak, but his throat doesn’t respond, anxiety dooming his body not to belong to him anymore.

This isn’t exactly what I was expecting…

Ohmrom gulps, making himself look smaller, his knees against his chest, like everytime sister Gretel found out something about him, about his desires, about what he really wanted. Make yourself look smaller, and brace for the punishment. That’s everything he can do.

Not that I haven’t thought about it myself… You can be… attractive, boy. When you’re not trying to be.

Ohmrom’s voice is still not working properly, but he still manages to say something. Anything, anything will do.

“What… what are you…”

Barkilara’s voice sounds closer, as if he were whispering into his ear. Intimate, almost sweet. Full of promises that make Ohmrom’s heart beat even faster, his face red in something that’s not embarrassment anymore.

He tells him what he’d do to him. A detailed list, no amount of shyness in his voice, probably knowing that the thought alone is enough to almost make him faint, even more if it’s said in hushed whispers, in promises that Ohmrom knows that they’re far from empty.

“What’s the catch?” he asks, his voice wavering. “What do you want in return?”

Barkilara’s voice is a deep chuckle, rumbling in every bone of his. He feels the devil’s amusement everywhere, as if the question was… well, stupid.

Your soul already belongs to me, whether you like it or not. This… this is different, though. You are already giving me something I want in return. Your body… your time… Your trust…

Your pleasure.

Ohmrom whines, his body still tense, so hot it could be mistaken for a fever. Barkilara patiently waits for an answer, because he has all the time in the world. Because he already knows what Ohmrom is going to say, maybe before Ohmrom himself does.

“Yes.”

Yes?

“I have thought of you,” Ohmrom relents, embarrassed. “I think of you, often, even if I don’t know what you look like. I want you, like I have wanted other men in the past. Most ardently.”

Barkilara smiles in his mind, like a cat about to pounce on its prey.

You know I’m no mere man.

“I know… and everything I know about your… your kind tells me this is a bad idea, that I am an idiot for even…”

You might be. And it might be a really, really bad idea.

His voice tells him to continue, amused yet curious about what Ohmrom has to say.

“I still want it. I can’t stop myself from wanting it. I have been thinking about you for who knows how long…”

Barkilara’s voice almost sounds sweet. Longing, even. Patient, as if talking to a child, teasing him just the right amount.

I have been thinking about you a lot, too, boy. Bad idea or not… I still want you.

Ohmrom says nothing for a couple of seconds, still assimilating the devil’s words. Nervous, but slightly more relaxed. More accepting.

“What now? What do I do now?”

Whatever you want to do. You were thinking about some stuff yourself, weren’t you? If you want to go through that.

Ohmrom nods, his mind racing, because indeed, he has some things in mind. All of them involving the most commanding and intense voice in his head.

I can guide you through it. It would be my pleasure to see you come undone by me and me alone.

Ohmrom shudders, nodding slightly again. He can do that. It would be nice to do that.

Get yourself comfortable, then. Relax for me, and… mortal.

“Yes?”

Barkilara’s voice is almost a singsong when he answers, his desire so evident it threatens to make Ohmrom lose his mind, a link so obvious and so easy it has to be a lie.

The devil cannot touch him, cannot kiss him, cannot materialize for reasons Ohmrom doesn't know, but he knows that, if he could, the next words would be against his lips.

Be a pretty little thing, and enjoy what I have to offer.

[korereapers]

Title: Brennende Liebe

Fandom: Dungeons & Dragons, Original stuff

Rating: EXPLICIT

Pairing: Ohmrom von Allmen/Barkilara

Warnings: light bdsm, demonic possession (with consent)

ao3

[korereapers]

Title: Gone soft

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Original stuff, Dungeons and Dragons

Ship: Ohmrom von Allmen/Barkilara

Warnings: well, sex with a devil, you know

AO3

Sex has always been merely recreational for Barkilara. The means to an end, just a way out of boredom when things are too still and he needs a very particular itch scratched.

This particular devil he is dealing with, damn, they are attractive, silky skin and a smile that should make his insides burn. This time though, it doesn't.

Unluckily for him, and the first sign that something is not… right.

It's not that he doesn't like them, the completely dark eyes, hands that caress his chest, lips that suck on his neck with a vehemence that almost feels like violence. He has always loved this, the thrill, the thin line between pain and pleasure, the danger of it all. The lack of attachment.

He wonders, not without a hint of desperation, why the hell he cannot stop thinking about a certain human while he is with someone that has nothing to do with him.

The thing about mortals is that they are… well, mortal. You have to be careful with them, ask them only for what they can give you, for what they can take without breaking irreparably. No matter how hardworking and resilient his human is.

Fuck , how well he takes him. Barkilara holds back, of course he does, always in control of the situation, knowing when and how to push until Ohmrom rolls his eyes, his throat hoarse and his body about to give up. Overwhelmed and spent, and still looking at him with those warm eyes…

His bashful smile, skin shining with sweat, body hair Barkilara likes to feel against the palms he borrows for the occasion. A musky smell he eagerly memorizes and that makes Ohmrom blush, his heartbeat faster because with him, he has nowhere to hide.

The other devil's skin is soft, smooth even, far from the scars Barkilara has grown used to, to a body so punished that makes Barkilara shiver with the fact that it's still standing.

It should be easy. Get this asshole in his bed, fuck them senseless, forget about it and never talk about it again. He is restless, his body reacting to their touch, but his mind somewhere else entirely.

"You're making this oddly difficult," they complain, clear annoyance in their voice.

"Maybe you're just lacking in skill to keep me interested."

It's a low blow and a fucking lie, but Barkilara would rather die than to accept that it's far from a matter of skill. That what makes his insides burn is only a couple of hands, shaking and unsure, handling a sword with ease, but too nervous to handle a man. Rough lips that take him with difficulty, trying to keep a pace but losing himself in the process.

"Do you know what I think? What everyone thinks? " They ask, their voice mocking, eyes as dark as Barkilara's soul. " That you have become soft. That you've grown fond of the mortal. What a fucking waste."

Compared to other devils, Barkilara is really not that powerful. Limited in ways that enrage him, he knows he could be so much more than this. To have so much more. He has several poor unfortunate souls binded to him, old hosts whose souls he ended up devouring, that now he keeps chained to him with eternal and unbreakable contracts. He used to feed on them like a parasite, and then go after the next one when the host died or was too weak to hold him.

"So I'm right," he barely hears them say, just before he grabs them by their throat, without thinking, sinking them into the nearest wall.

"Like fucking hell."

The other laughs, unfazed, because the demonstration of strength is just a confirmation. A weak point to attack.

Barkilara knows this is going to have consequences.

"Get out, " he says, his rage cold and unforgiving. " Piece of shit."

"It's in our blood, " the other answers, kicking him hard in the ribs so he releases him. Barkilara groans slightly, letting them go with a menacing growl. " But it seems you have forgotten about that, too."

Barkilara's growl becomes a roar, and the other devil chuckles, letting themselves out of his bedchambers.

"Fuck. Shit."

He sits down, his head between his claws, grunting in frustration. They are right, they are all right. He has become soft because of the human, and the worst thing of it all is that he doesn't really feel bad about it. Embarrassed, maybe, but guilty? Nah.

He licks his lips, focusing after a long, deserved sigh. He wants to see him, talk to him. Relieve himself alongside him.

Luckily enough, Ohmrom seems to be enjoying his free time. Reading one of his books, the ones with torrid romance that he likes so much, with scenes that make him blush but that make Barkilara roll his eyes. Ohmrom's heart flutters, and Barkilara keeps that feeling close to his own heart.

"Having fun?" He asks, and he can feel Ohmrom's face getting redder.

"You could say that."

Barkilara smiles, a mouth full of sharp teeth. He is sure that Ohmrom can almost feel it.

"I have something more… interesting in mind. If you're interested."

He is. Hell , he is. Barkilara can feel his brain muddled, his ears burning with something that is a mix of embarrassment and something else entirely. He closes his book and sighs, looking at the ceiling.

"I can't… I can't really look for someone for you to possess right now."

Barkilara knows how much he wants to touch him, to be touched by him, even if it's in another body, another heartbeat. Different mouths with the same owner, savoring his skin and memorizing the flavor.

It makes both of them twitch in desire.

"We don't need that for what I have in mind. Only me and you."

Ohmrom's bedchambers are austere, and Barkilara reminds himself to suggest him to get a large mirror. He wants Ohmrom to see the kind of wild animal he becomes when they are together, for him to feel scandalized by it.

Fuck, he would love that.

"Undress yourself. I want to see you."

Ohmrom's expression becomes something between bashful and playful.

"I can feel your impatience..."

But he obeys, as he usually does. Not a hint of anything that's not pure devotion and curiosity. Barkilara wants to dig his teeth in such a sweet feeling, and swallow it whole.

Ohmrom stands, naked, in the middle of the room. Barkilara takes a couple of seconds to observe him, so abused in the physical sense and yet so naive in the sexual one. He wants to corrupt that, too. To make him filthy, to teach him that the body can also feel good, the limits of pleasure he keeps reaching with him.

"Good boy. But I want you to get comfortable."

That never fails, Barkilara thinks with a mischievous smile. Tell him how good he is, and he will melt immediately, already half hard.

The mattress sinks a little with his weight, and Barkilara watches every nook and cranny, every muscle flexing, every bit of fat. He has been eating more, drinking more. Ohmrom's fingers twitch in embarrassment, and Barkilara knows he is waiting for another order.

"Touch yourself for me, " he asks, almost breathless, his hand on his own erection. " And know I'm going to be doing the same for you."

Ohmrom's breath hitches, and Barkilara can feel his desire as clear as his own.

"Tell me how."

Barkilara's smile becomes almost sweet.

"However you want me to touch you next time."

Ohmrom nods, frowning slightly. His fingers go to his mouth, trembling with embarrassment, getting them modestly wet (Barkilara would make sure to make it all messier) and lingering a little on his mouth.

"I want to kiss you too," Barkilara admits, and Ohmrom's eyes widen, his smile nervous but strangely… happy.

His hand moves downwards, tracing a couple of scars on his chest. Wet fingers follow the trail to a nipple, gently caressing it, clearly embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

"You love it when I suck on you like that."

Ohmrom nods, taking his time only with his chest. He grows more confident, pinching a nipple softly, and letting out a small sigh.

"You know, I could bury my face in your chest for hours."

That's enough to make Ohmrom almost jump in place. Barkilara worries that he'll come without even getting to the main course, but the experiment is fun nevertheless. He lazily caresses himself, hard as a rock, but still wanting to hold himself together, waiting for the moment of Ohmrom's bliss.

"You're acting strange today."

Barkilara rolls his eyes.

"Can't a devil want to corrupt his host in peace?"

Ohmrom chuckles, and it's different from the devil from earlier. It's fresh, almost loving.

"I want you a lot, too."

It's a small confession, but both of them take everything they can get. Barkilara pictures himself bending him over, burying his face in his shoulder and nape, going down on him at his own pace. He is sure that Ohmrom can feel it, because he lets out a sound, his hand actually moving downwards.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that on my own."

He can, but Barkilara isn't about to show him the wonders of sex toys. Not yet, at least. He keeps some of his fantasies private, for the moment, until the human can mentally take it without fainting.

He does wonder how and why he doesn't faint, because his sexual frustration is so evident it makes him feel dizzy, mad that he cannot bury his whole body into him, lick every drop of sweat. He follows Ohmrom’s hand as it goes down, the trail of hair that descends from his belly button making him picture himself between his legs, following that trail with his mouth.

“You look so good, ” he murmurs. “ Like a goddamn treat.”

Ohmrom lets out a chuckle, and it’s partially in disbelief, but Barkilara can feel his pride. He can feel his chest expanding, his cock harder even without touching it, leaking slightly.

“If I was there, I’d lick you clean.”

That’s enough to send a spark down Ohmrom’s spine.

“If you keep talking to me like that, this is going to be the shortest session we have ever had.”

Barkilara grins, sharp teeth everywhere in Ohmrom’s mind.

“Do you think I’d feel offended? That would just be proof of how much and how deeply you belong to me.”

Ohmrom says nothing, his frown not out of annoyance or anger, but to keep himself under control, focused on the task. Sometimes, Barkilara forgets that the man was actually bound to be a paladin, but destiny had other plans.

“Are you taking care of yourself?” Ohmrom asks instead, in probably the cutest way to ask him if he is just looking or actually jerking off too.

“Don’t worry about that. For now, watching you is more than enough.”

Ohmrom makes a sound, his hand around himself without a second thought, and Barkilara drinks from the sensation with hunger, touching himself too.

“Take it easy, boy ,” he reminds him, knowing how often he doesn’t even enjoy it, wanting to be done with it as soon as possible. “ Think I’m the one doing it.”

Ohmrom’s voice sounds almost scared when he speaks up, so, so quiet that Barkilara actually has to hear him from the inside. From where he cannot hide from him.

“I always do.”

It's enough to make Barkilara's insides burn, his desire so evident that it must feel overwhelming to the poor, not so fragile human.

"Believe me, if I was there…"

Ohmrom's pace is slow but firm, his thoughts about Barkilara, about his hands, no matter the body, about his confidence, his encouraging words. He whispers something incoherent, and Barkilara still keeps whispering, that it's fine, that he is good. Ohmrom stops for a second, so overwhelmed he keeps shaking, his thoughts and feelings so intense and all over the place that Barkilara has to have at least some compassion.

"Just like that. Explore your body, and let yourself feel it. If you need me to stop, I'll stop."

The human just sighs, so hard that it must hurt, and Barkilara feels his words before he even utters them.

"I want… I want you inside so bad. I'm sorry, I know it's…"

Fuck, he really is going to have talk to him about sex toys, isn't he.

"Next time, when you have another little puppet for me. Under your terms."

Ohmrom's smile is tiny, but it's definitely there.

"When we are together… my mind stops. My body takes control, sometimes. It scares me."

He has felt it, the way his rational thoughts shut down. The way he lets himself feel, be taken care of, taking everything Barkilara gives him eagerly, until exhaustion overtakes him and it's just clarity, the calm after his bliss peaking.

How could Barkilara not be addicted to a feeling like that?

"I'm not going to do anything to you that you are not okay with."

"I know. I… I trust you with that."

He really shouldn't. It isn't in his blood not to take advantage of him, not to take more than he is allowed to. Still, he tries. He has felt his sadness, he has felt his disappointment, his betrayal. He prefers his euphoria, his frenzy. The way he kills when it's righteous, when he is angry and needs to take it out. The way he moans, loud, when Barkilara does something especially nice, Ohmrom's legs on his shoulders, comfortable and yet…

"That's teasing…" Ohmrom complains, and Barkilara was probably thinking so hard about it that he sent the image to his mind. No way he's going to tell him it was an accident, though.

"Do something about it, then. Use your fingers."

He doesn't need to be told twice. To Barkilara, that's one of the best sights in the world, and one of his biggest victories. Playing with his ass needs time, patience, and allowing himself to relax, which is something Ohmrom never does willingly. Seeing him so excited about it is a good thing.

Strong muscles tense when he kneels, and Barkilara can see everything from his eyes, the way he sucks on his own fingers, coating them with saliva, probably because he doesn't have any kind of lube on him at the moment.

"You look so good when you kneel… " the devil teases, his own hand moving slowly, just engraving the image into his brain. " I'm almost jealous of everyone that has seen you pray. Makes me want to take your soul from them even more."

Ohmrom shivers, a finger pressed into his rim, breathing down like he has been taught, forcing his muscles to relax. He caresses the skin with mere curiosity, and he bites his lip just in time not to let out a sigh.

"Careful ," and it's not just advice, but a warning. " Are you going to deny me the pleasure of hearing you losing your mind while you fuck yourself? Thinking about me?"

He can almost feel him gulp.

"Sorry."

Barkilara sighs, the human's insecurities a big handicap he still has to deal with.

"What's so bad about enjoying it? Does your stupid religion teach you anything but how to feel guilty about absolutely everything?"

He feels Ohmrom's rage, mixed with something else. He likes degradation, but his religion is a sore subject. Barkilara knows better, or at least, he should.

"It just… enrages me that you feel bad about what we do, sometimes. Wanting is something all beings do."

Ohmrom relaxes, his body tired, but equally determined. Still a little bit defensive about a matter that shouldn’t really be that difficult.

"I'm working on it."

"I know. And know that my people also frown upon what we are doing. But nobody is going to take you from me, you hear me?."

A smile appears on human lips, and for a second, nobody says anything.

"I take I'm feeding you well, then."

Barkilara snorts, and fuck, he wants to kiss that warm mouth and make it his.

"Oh, you give me way more than whatever I could think of when we made our pact."

He doesn’t apologize. He never does. Devils don’t apologize unless it’s to someone higher in rank, and even with that, it hurts their pride. So he does the only thing he knows to do. To be honest, way more honest than his human can be.

“I just want you to enjoy it as much as you can.”

This time, Ohmrom relaxes completely, his smile a little crooked when Barkilara keeps whispering into his ear, so low he could mistake it for a wandering thought, but he knows better. He feels the devil’s joy, his approval, when he circles his ass with careful movements, closing his eyes and letting himself exhale, still not a moan, but better than before.

“Thinking about my tongue, huh? I love to do that to you. I love the way you hold my head because you don’t want me to stop.”

Ohmrom does moan at that, at his words, giving himself a couple of seconds to relax before a finger goes in, probably sensing that he would come way too soon if he just kept listening. Saliva is, of course, not a good substitute for lube, so his expression is uncomfortable as he slowly fingers himself, stretching himself a little.

“If it’s too much…”

“Not enough,” Ohmrom corrects him, his breath uneven. “I want you. Onir , I want you…”

“Believe me, if I could, you wouldn’t feel lonely ever again. Not a single night.”

Ohmrom shivers, his eyes still closed. The discomfort becomes less overwhelming, and he slowly adds a second finger, still listening to him.

“What would you do?” he asks, his voice trembling, a strike of bravery in his little heart. Barkilara cherishes it, feeling the blood pumping through it.

“I would fuck that little body of yours, drink from you and leave you dry.”

The human tenses, his neglected cock twitching as he whines in desperation.

“Would you like that, my little pet?”

He knows he is pushing him too hard, his emotions bubbling, sweat and blush making his skin as tempting as a ripe fruit.

“... Yes.”

It’s worth it, anyways.

“Good. Now start fucking yourself with those fingers of yours. Give me a good show.”

He knows that his legs hurt, the posture not optimal, but so, so goddamn beautiful Barkilara catches himself touching himself faster, enthralled. Poisoned by the sight.

“Curl your fingers ,” he suggests, almost breathless. Ohmrom obeys almost immediately, his movements a little slow, but still quicker than he is used to. It must burn, Barkilara can almost feel it, but he still doesn’t stop, maybe trying to emulate the feeling of being stretched wide by him. “ That’s it. Attaboy.”

His words are interrupted by a moan, louder than before, and the human repeats the movement, his legs shaking in the process, the feeling so intense it reaches Barkilara’s brain, a growl escaping his mouth even before his hand moves.

“Touch yourself. Fuck , touch yourself. I want to see you come.”

He fears that his words are enough to push the human over the edge, but luckily enough, they don’t. He pumps himself with his free hand, and the devil can feel that he is close, struggling to even breathe, moans that feel so desperate that he wants to either put an end to that misery, or keep him toeing over the edge forever. He keeps looking, his own hand faster, breathing down, deeply, even if he doesn’t really have to.

“You… close?” Ohmrom manages to pronounce, his brain muddled with so many emotions and sensations, the cold air around him, but still knowing that he is not alone.

“Yeah,” Barkilara answers, breathless, because he is, because he is indeed getting a good show, his little human so devoted to him, so eager to receive everything he can give him.

Ohmrom smiles, and it’s almost a little smug. Almost proud, another part of him shining through his cracks. The devil loves every single detail, every part of his.

“You’re beautiful… ” he whispers, and Ohmrom blushes, hard, the string that keeps his brain and body together snapping, his orgasm so strong he almost falls, his whole body shaking, ragged breaths coming from his mouth. His hair, long and a little disheveled, has become a mess, sweat making it stick to his forehead, unraveled like a wild beast. “ Fuck, that’s it, you’re so fucking…”

He growls, saving the sight in his brain, keeping it for future needs, so, so frustrated with his previous encounter that his orgasm is almost violent. He spills himself all over his stomach, but he doesn’t really give a flying fuck, because his human is smiling, a ragged chuckle taking his hair out of his face.

“Was it good?” he asks, and Barkilara knows what he really wants to ask if he was good. He decides to give him what he wants.

“Perfect. You were perfect. How do you feel?”

“ Perfect ,” Ohmrom echoes, and Barkilara can feel his pain, but he also feels the way his muscles relax, so spent, his body and mind grateful for the experience. “I don’t know if I can move, though.”

“Rest, then. You know I always have my eye on you.”

Ohmrom chuckles like a teenager in love, and Barkilara strangely finds it endearing. A dark thought that he has had many, many times, emerges from his psyche, and this time, he decides to swallow his pride and just say it.

“Will there be a place for me… ” he starts, uncharacteristically unsure. “ ... when you find someone to give you the life you want?”

A peaceful life. Drinking hot cocoa with his husband, and a myriad of cats. He doesn’t really fit in there, does he?

“If I find someone,” Ohmrom answers, his voice sweet like honey. “You’re still going to be in my life. In my heart. In my bed. That doesn’t have to change, if you don’t want it to.”

Barkilara smiles, relieved. No, even if he does get to feel a little jealous, he doesn’t want that to change. He doesn’t want anything to change.

“You like big ones, ” he says, matter-of-factly. “ It would be my pleasure to have my way with you in such a body.”

“Then I would be glad to offer myself to the two loves of my life.”

It sounds weird as soon as he says it, and the way he blushes makes Barkilara roar in laughter.

“You really have no sense of self preservation, do you?”

Ohmrom’s expression is mortified, afraid of having said something that has ruined the mood. Unbeknownst to him, it’s kind of the opposite.

“You… Do you feel disgusted by it?”

Barkilara looks up to the ceiling, being asked probably the easiest and also most difficult question he has ever answered. He thinks about his previous partner, about how it was physically impossible for him to focus on them, his mind plagued with pretty humans with pretty scars, with the warmest eyes.

“Of course not. Far from it.”

That’s everything he says, but it seems to be a win for Ohmrom. A smile goes back to his features, and everything is fine again.

“That’s… that’s great.”

He lets himself fall to the bed, and Barkilara does the same, the ceiling so strangely, goddamn interesting suddenly.

“Your soul still belongs to me, though. The pact still stands.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Their awkward moment gets interrupted by a very polite knock on Ohmrom’s bedroom. The kind of politeness that augurs a painful encounter, but Ohmrom still gets up, his legs wobbly, putting some pants on and quickly cleaning himself with the sheets before going to the door.

When he opens it, he sees nobody at first, but he looks down, and there’s that pink, tiefling girl. Not like the violet one they used to know. This one is wearing a dark nightgown, and even without makeup, her features look sharp and tired.

“I have been hearing you moan for a while, but I wanted to be polite,” she says with that elegant accent of hers, dark eyes blinking in what’s most likely sleepiness. “I get that you are having fun, but can you… how do you say it… fuck less noisy?”

Barkilara lets out a laugh that contrasts with Ohmrom’s pale face.

“I… we…”

“I didn’t hear any other voice, though. Just you. And you were talking to someone,” she continues, her voice a little absent. He probably woke her up. “That, or you are amazing at pretending not to be alone.”

Barkilara whispers into her brain, in Infernal, loud so Ohmrom can hear him too, because he feels like watching the world burn that night. He deserves that kind of fun.

“As you may suspect, he is rarely alone.”

It’s her turn to get pale as a ghost, which goes strangely well with the kind of clothes she wears.

“ Bon… Well… I… I’ll see you around then.”

And like that, she flees, her paleness becoming a deep blush that makes her look like a little, blooming flower.

Ohmrom closes the door, still speechless. His legs shake until he manages to get inside the bed, screaming into his pillow just a second later.

Barkilara sighs, relaxing in his own bed. A well spent evening, alright.