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vacantgodling · 16 hours

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pleasure

wip: paramour (we’re so back baybee)

character(s): hyacinthus shrapnel & amon

summary: amon has one simple request for his birthday—and surprisingly, hyacinthus gives it to him.

tw(s): rough blowjob, face fucking, the most ridiculous narration by the most ridiculous man (amon)

this is specifically a birthday present for amon — whose birthday is 1/29 LMAO. he deserves to indulge after all the bs he gets put through regularly

smut taglist (ask to be + / -): @author-a-holmes / @calicohyde / @multi-lefaiye / @sarahlizziewrites / @jezifster

Surely to anyone, this situation they were currently in would look absolutely ridiculous, and most certainly Hyacinthus was thinking it when Amon had made his request. They were sitting across from one another on the floor of Hyacinthus’s grand chamber. Amon had insisted they be on the floor, and perhaps Hyacinthus was feeling in a particularly giving mood because he didn’t question this aspect of Amon’s request all too much. Perhaps he simply wanted to see where he was going with this—and now that he knew, he was giving Amon the most unimpressed stare that he could possibly muster.

Amon didn’t quite care though; that was the problem—or, would be the reward in his case, as he was asking for it. He grinned cheekily when Hyacinthus finally seemed to find words to put to his incredulity.

“To put plainly—“

Amon couldn’t help but interrupt. “What, you don’t like my embellishments, my lord?” He grinned smugly when Hyacinthus rolled his eyes so hard that they surely gained some musculature for their effort. Hyacinthus didn’t even deign his statement with an acknowledgement. “—For your birthday, you want me to fuck your throat?”

Amon smiled at him, pleased as punch and his eyes tapering at their corners. “Plainly? Yes.”

Hyacinthus stared at him for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why.” It wasn’t really a question, but Amon figured he should answer it anyway. “It’s simple really, my lord.”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

“There is nothing else in the world that brings me such pleasure as pleasuring you.” Hyacinthus made a face and Amon carried on, reveling in seeing him squirm. “However, I am no stranger to sex, in itself.” If Hyacinthus’s expression could speak, it’d be calling him a whore and Amon wanted to laugh. He managed to contain it. “And I must admit, I sometimes long for the far off days of my time at The Nimbus.”

“Where the thugs you just spent ages beating black and blue would do the same to your insides in turn?” Hyacinthus deadpanned, and Amon’s grin was far too cheeky. “Exactly. See, I told you it was quite a simple request.”

Hyacinthus sighed again, but surprising Amon greatly he reached down and with one tug of deft fingers, fully undid the lacing of the corset about his waist. He didn’t even regard it or fold it neatly to preserve its pristine condition, simply cast it aside, which was quite unlike him. “And here I thought you would ask me for that coffee you like.” He hummed. If you looked hard enough, and if the light gleaned this way and that, perhaps you would see the smallest traces of amusement sneak their way onto his handsome face.

Noticing it, Amon watched, a bit stunned as Hyacinthus began to shed more and more of his garb. “You’d buy it for me anyhow.” He said. His eyes dipped, following the trail of revealed skin with hunger alight in his gaze. “You order it and don’t pay your tab.” Hyacinthus corrected, finally casting his pants to the side to leave him stark naked on the floor. “Someone has to keep you out of debtors.”

“I’m quite lucky to have you, my lord.” Amon said sincerely, and wholly not talking about the insinuation of jail time, by the way his eyes swept up and down his lord’s magnificent form. Truly, it was a shame that Amon didn’t have the luxury of seeing it more often. Quite and so as their relationship progressed via the divestation of inhibitions and clothing, Amon found himself more oft than not the naked one between them. He didn’t mind, usually cock was quite the magnificent distraction from any shame he may have felt at the scars that riddled his body. But not often enough was he graced with the visage of the perfect swell of Hyacinthus’s physique that lace, tulle, and shoulder pads usually hid. Not so often was Amon graced with the sight of a pretty thicket of hair that trailed from Hyacitnhus’s mid-belly down to his groin; growing thicker and coarser, bleeding into the perfectly well maintained thatch of hair that framed the beautifully thick spear between his thighs.

Hyacinthus however, was unimpressed with the gawking. Impatiently, he crossed his arms over his chest, as if to protect himself from some imaginary chill. “Are you going to tell me how you want to do this?”

The surprises continued, it seemed. Amon stared for a long moment, before shaking himself out of his stupor. “You—you’re letting me decide?” So apparently, the stupor was still there. Hyacinthus was starting to look annoyed, yet, he still made no move to grab the reins of the situation from him. “It’s your birthday.” Hyacinthus said and oh, his voice was dripping snark and irritation and if Amon wasn’t already quite sure that he was in love with him, the way the rumble of his delicate admission of care was hidden in the everwinding depths of his honeyed voice would perhaps be the serenade that danced him over the line into the inevitable. “You’re right.” Amon conceded slowly, letting a predatory grin climb onto his face that his master was none the wiser of.

“Let me arrange you.” Amon purred.

At Amon’s insistent direction, Hyacinthus found himself propped up on his forearms in a planking position, cock half hard and heavy, tilted down towards the ground. Amon took a second to simply admire him: the way the muscles of his back were braced and taught and unwavering despite the surely taxing position. How the light from the far off window let in sunlight just at the right angle to highlight the dips of his spine, to the dip of his ass. Even how well manicured his toes were, with golden polish accentuating them.

“Have you drunk your fill, butler?” Hyacinthus asked boredly, but his body betrayed his tone. Even as Amon just watched, just quenched himself with the fill of his master’s form, the weight of his stare must be having quite the effect as Hyacinthus’s cock pulsated without even being touched. It was the most delicate of subtle movements—but one Amon knew to search for.

“I can’t help but be indulgent today.” Amon said, and finally he leaned forward from his haunches, discarding only one of his gloves to appreciatively trace a finger down Hyacinthus’s spine. His skin was soft, like satin, plush, like velvet, giving, like a martyr and oh, how Amon wished to squeeze those supple cheeks between his palms and feast—greedy, like a sinner.

But he refrained. For the moment. He was still working up to Hyacinthus letting him rim him.

Deciding that he’d teased for long enough, he finally decided to get on with the main course. He got down and laid on his back, using Hyacinthus’s bundled up pants as a makeshift pillow to support his neck, and shimmied until he was finally align with his task, his present, his wish. Oh—he could wax for perhaps an millenium about the exquisite beauty about his master’s cock; thick and veined and girthy, quite capable of hollowing out any hole that it saw fit; and had; and did. Lesser men wrote poetry about the beauty of the face and the hands; fewer gentleman could truly attest to being a connoisseur of the artistry of the cock, let alone the artistry of any genitalia in its most natural forms.

Some warmth stirred at the sight of it in Amon’s gut, but he recentered his energies to the task at hand. The appraisal had gone on for long enough, and it was now time to devour it.

Once settled, Amon grasped Hyacinthus’s cock with his uncovered hand, bringing the one still gloved up to his mouth to tug at the fabric with his teeth, then he gracelessly spit it off to the side. With the same determination, he spit into this hand, and used it to slick his lord’s shaft, coating it well.

Amon allowed his eyes to flicker up to where Hyacinthus still remained, unwavering like a boulder against a rough current and his head was hung down now, between his shoulders. He had not moaned yet; hardly made a sound. His dark hair curtained his face, concealing any expression he made by the seductive all encompassing shadows of the dark, but Amon could see well enough, as all wolves who hunted their prey could. Hyacinthus’s lashes had fluttered shut and he breathed out deep through his nose. And Amon knew his master, and knew that the fastest way to bring him to climax, to usher him into the hallowed halls of the righteously undone, was to finally put his mouth upon the crest of the glorious crown of his wanton flesh and taste the fruits of the divine.

And so he did.

Amon would admit—he was quite easy to make dick drunk. It’s what made trysts at The Nimbus so much fun as the adrenaline of a good fight ran through his veins like a roaring thunder. There was a certain kind of intoxication there that couldn’t be replaced with simple backalley blowjob. And as of late, Amon had discovered that the only other person that could spark such voracious, starry eyed, enrapturement was none other than the man above him, his lord, his master, the object of his damned affections, Hyacinthus Shrapnel. Hyacinthus, who waited for Amon’s hands find their way to his suspended hips and grip them tight as a vice, a tether for his sanity, the bridge that allowed him to fall into the abyss of the headspace he’d so lovingly and pleadingly described.

The first thrust of Hya’s hips made Amon sputter, but this was on purpose. He liked when he wasn’t fully prepared for it. Liked the sensation of his head hitting a brick wall as a cock pushed past his lips and grazed his teeth. He was always pliant, always willing, but loved the startle of it—how he choked on it and how tears stung against his eyes akin to the far too expensive saltwater his lot in life would never let him see. Yet, as he requested before the game began, Hyacinthus didn’t stop. He thrust his hips forward again and Amon dug his nails into his hips. And again to choke off Amon’s warbled cry of helpless delight. Over and over he drove home, just as he did when he took Amon from behind and Amon could do nothing but indulge in it; nothing but surrender himself to the current of it, to the maddening rhythm that would soon render him speechless. Trapped in his deep black shoes, his toes curled, helpless to the pleasure spiking with each debauched slap of Hyacinthus’s heavy sack against his chin. His eyes rolled back, saliva lolling from his mouth.

Some would argue that Hyacinthus was taking from him; using him—that each grunt that spilled with abandon from his master’s throat, each drive home to the hilt into Amon’s waiting mouth, becoming louder and more akin to snarls, that Hyacinthus was the one in control here. And perhaps in some ways he was, or Amon liked to let him think so. But both of them knew—even Hyacinthus deep down—that everything they did Amon would ask for, would even, perhaps, beg for. That he controlled the pace, controlled their coupling, controlled the breadth of noises that spilled from his own throat as it was thoroughly debauched. That their pleasure rested upon his broad shoulders, and he would take that torch, take that medal, that responsibility just as he took, took, took every thrust that Hyacinthus’s strong hips would give him.

It was the tremble of Hyacinthus’s thighs in his iron grasp that was the only signal Amon had to tell he was coming. The only warning he had was a deep groan like the rumbling of stones grinding against one another, before Hyacinthus buried himself in deep and spilled, heavenly, blessed throes of cum down, down, down Amon’s awaiting throat. He lapped it up. He grinned, around the flesh still shoved haphazardly in his mouth. With the most unbecoming of keens, did he let Hyacinthus ease himself back, and then fully dismantle himself from his plank, to sit astride him. As it were, he looked unaffected, sans the angry deep brownish red his pretty cockhead had become, still slick with spit, and saliva, now cum, and how every moment or so often, it would twitch.

Amon had catalogued the reactions of his master’s cock quite well, unable to help the dopey, adrenaline laced smile of bliss that spread across his face.

“Are you satisfied, butler?” Hyacinthus questioned when Amon fully began to come back down. In a rare show of tenderness, Hyacinthus swiped his thumb against some of the drool still lolling out of Amon’s mouth and rubbed it against the carpet. Amon’s dark eyes glittered up at him, an inferno still raging behind his pretty lashes.

“Not yet.” He said, his voice still far too much in tact for what he’d hoped. After a moment, he pitched himself onto his side, grateful for the large hand that came to caress the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He would’ve leant into them, had they not swiftly shifted upwards to grip his hair so tight fresh tears brimmed on his tear ducts. This had to be heaven, Amon was sure of it.

“I am not planning to let up until my voice is hoarse.” He said cheekily, still grinning like a fool, perhaps a madman, as Hyacinthus tugged his head towards his lap.

“Insatiable.” Hyacinthus murmured above him, far too bemused to be cross and making Amon’s blood sing. “You should be grateful at how I indulge you.”

“The pleasure is all mine my lord.

And it was.

#abnormal about these two again #i will never be normal they've infected my dna #self rb

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vacantgodling · 2 days

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Pride & Justice: Corner Store Rejection

warnings: making-out, semi-public displays of horny, transphobia Banner art by @auroblaze P&J Taglist (Check out my Google form to get added): @elegant-paper-collection @auroblaze @zeenimf @vacantgodling @foxys-fantasy-tales @stesierra @noblebs @thelaughingstag

It was their standard shoplifting procedure.

Pride shouldered the door of the convenience store open, ancient hinges squeaking in protest. The cashier near the wall glanced at him briefly, but offered nothing by way of greeting. He didn’t blame her—the lukewarm air would have made anyone indifferent. Besides, he wasn’t here for pleasantries.

Turning down a random aisle, Pride walked up and down between the rows of packaged and canned human foods to keep up the illusion of a shopper. In reality, he scanned for other customers, cameras, and strained for any sin he could exploit.

They chose the right time to hit this place—as Pride glanced around, he was the only one in the store. He idled to the back near the fridges and pulled out his phone.

nobody else in here, he told Ollie. no cams. cashier bored as hell, should be an easy one.

k, she replied. Business as usual.

Pride opened a random fridge and grabbed the first drink his hand brushed. He still hadn’t picked up a sin from the cashier, which would make this a little tricky. There was always the chance she could be goaded into one, but there was no guarantee. Only one way he could find out.

Decoy purchase in hand, Pride swung back to the front of the store. On his way there, the entrance squealed again, with Ollie, Sofía, and Dante entering soon after. They didn’t acknowledge him, and Pride kept his beeline for the cashier, treating them like normal human strangers. But still no sin. He grabbed a bag of chips to stall for time. Nothing.

He was ready to call his mission futile until the very last second before he stepped up to the counter. A faint tingle wormed its way onto his tongue, the subtle flavor of roses and red wine heralding lust. Weird, but whatever. He could work with that.

“Hey,” he said, stacking his drink on the counter.

“Hi,” the cashier said. She took his drink first, swiping it across the scanner.

“Slow day…” Pride glanced quickly at the nametag pinned to her shirt. “Trinity?”

An unhappy smile twisted her lip. “It definitely isn’t a fast one.”

“I believe it.” He put his elbows on the counter, leaning in. “I don’t think anyone would blame you if you took a nice, long break.”

Smoke poured out of his horns, now perched at the top of his hairline. His tail swished back and forth above the floor. Trinity stopped and stared, eyes mimicking his scarlet glow.

“Take a break?” she repeated.

“Take a long break,” he corrected. “It’s what you deserve.”

“Like I don’t know it.”

“Exactly. You don’t want to stand here all day, do you? In fact, I bet you… want some more satisfying things.”

The tingle of lust bloomed, flooding his mouth. Trinity scratched the counter with chipped nails, gazing across the store at a door marked Employees Only.

“If you’re thinking what I’m thinking,” Pride urged, “you should disappear for a while.”

“It’ll be fast,” she agreed, but it was almost a question. She glanced at him, and he gladly stepped up to answer.

“Why bother? After all, the only thing that matters”—he leaned forward on his palms, close enough to see himself reflected in her eyes—“is whatever you want.”

Without any further prompting, Trinity abandoned the counter. Pride released his influence and plopped back down on his heels, satisfied with a job well done. Another sin for the counter, and Ollie and the rest would be able to grab whatever they wanted. Being the distraction was the best.

But when Trinity circled the counter, she didn’t go across the store like he expected. She came up to him.

“Hey,” she said, smiling coyly. “I just decided I’m on break, and you should come with me.”

“Me?” he asked.

“Yes, you.” Trinity took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Do you see any other cute guys around here?”

His eyebrows may as well have shot all the way to Heaven. Little did she know, Pride knew exactly what she was proposing, and had quite a hard time believing it. He’d never once considered humans for sex—they were all weird animals, not worth thinking about. But now that this one wanted him, a Rube Goldberg machine of decision making fired off in his mind.

Sure, Trinity was a human, but she wanted to have sex with him. She wanted it enough to sin. Pride couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept with someone this excited. And he had convinced her to do it in the first place, so it would only be fair.

“Sure,” Pride agreed, returning her grip on his hand. “Let’s go.”

Eagerly, she dragged him off toward the marked door. He was only too happy to follow, head held high in pre-mature satisfaction. On the way, they passed his friends crouched at a low shelf. Trinity paid them no mind, but Pride caught Dante’s baffled eye. They mouthed What? as he passed. Pride could only grin and shrug in response before Trinity hauled him out of view. They stopped at the Employees Only door a second later, and she fumbled for a key on her lanyard.

“Hope nobody hears us,” she muttered, a thrill in her voice.

Pride snuck his arms around her waist, mouth pressed against her ear. “I hope they do.”

She turned the door handle with one hand and dragged him by the collar of his shirt with the other. By the time Pride pulled the door closed, she had her arms around his neck, and practically pounced on him for a kiss. He returned it was as much fervor as he could muster through his shock—were all humans like this? Because if they were, he’d have to adjust a few plans for his stay on Earth.

The door turned out to lead to a room not much bigger than a closet, stuffed with cluttered shelves and things crowding the floor. In the dark, Trinity kicked some aside until there was room to shuffle. Pride took the opportunity to push her against the nearest empty wall and give what he was getting.

All that sin-talking must have worked wonders because Trinity flooded his mouth with lust. Knowing it was for him made Pride groan, pressing the kiss deeper. She accepted it with a high, eager noise, mouth dropping open to invite him inside. Surprised again at her openness, Pride tasted the inside of her mouth, drawing his tongue across hers. Her hips jerked and Pride his own forward to pin her, and had to laugh when she whined.

“You really want it, huh?” he teased, bending down to nip her jaw.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “But, uh—” She pushed at his shoulder until he separated. “Do you have a condom on you? I don’t think I have one.”

“I don’t need one.”

She raised her brows. “Yes, you absolutely do.”

Pride rolled his eyes a little. “No,” he reiterated, and popped his fly open. He took her hand and stuck it down his pants until it rested against his crotch. No bulge, but her fingers were long enough to press against the folds of his cunt through his trunks. “I really don’t.”

“Oh.”

Her lust disappeared. Like it had never been there, Pride couldn’t taste a single fleeting thought. Once again baffled, he didn’t notice Trinity slipping her hand free of his.

“I changed my mind actually,” she said, voice clipped.

“What do you mean?” Pride asked.

“I mean, I don’t want this anymore, so.” She flicked her wrists, trying to shoo him away.

“Why?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. Just—leave.”

Pride took a step back, eyes narrowed, but didn’t leave. “You’re the one who dragged me back here, I feel like you do owe me an explanation actually.”

She huffed, and suddenly what Pride tasted was a cold snap of wrath. “Leave me the fuck alone, or I’m calling the cops.”

“For what?”

She didn’t answer, but dug her phone out of her pocket to menace him with it. Pride threw up his hands and marched out of the closet. He didn’t bother closing it behind him, yanking his fly back together as he stomped across the store. On the way past the check-out, he swiped his decoy purchases off the counter and out the door.

Out on the street, Ollie, Sofía, and Dante were standing around waiting, their theft apparently successful. Pride didn’t bother explaining before stalking down the street toward the train.

“Whoa, hey,” Dante called, jogging to catch up. “That was fast.”

“Did something happen?” Ollie asked, also catching up, with Sofía on her arm.

“Nothing happened,” Pride spat, face twisted up sourly. He didn’t know why he was so pissed. He hadn’t cared about fucking that human, or any human, until she brought it up.

“Why not?”

“I don’t fucking know! Apparently not having a dick is a dealbreaker.” All three of them made noises of disgust at that.

“Then she wasn’t worth it anyway,” Sofía declared.

“Too fucking true,” Dante agreed.

“I hate those people,” Ollie said, and put an arm around his shoulder. “Listen, I can hook you up with some people who are into pretty much anything if you want.”

Pride waved her off. “It’s not a big deal, I’m fine.”

There was a beat of awkward silence, filled in by the cars rushing down the street. “On the bright side,” Dante said, “we got a lot of stuff.”

A conversation began about the ease of their haul, but Pride tuned them out, stewing in his frustration. They all commiserated with him, agreed how ridiculous it was, but none of them were surprised. Ollie confirmed there were more people like Trinity out there. People who would want him one minute, and hate him the next. Were humans like this? The thought stung more than he expected.

More so because he was having fun, at least for a little while. It might have turned his idea of humanity around. There was a human who was willing to fuck him without even knowing his name, and he wanted to fuck her too—a human! He would have laughed at the idea mere hours ago.

The idea rolled over and over in his mind. If there was at least one human who wanted him, surely there had to be others. Surely some of them wouldn’t have ridiculous, unspoken caveats like Trinity. And what would it be like, to be with someone who wanted him? To be with a human, who had no idea what they were getting into bed with?

Pride nudged Ollie with his elbow. “Hey,”

“Hey.”

“So those people who are into ‘anything’… how much of ‘anything’ are we talking?”

#trinity's name does not escape me i love the ref #but also she can kick rocks LMAO #i love your writing sm i'm gonna eat this thank u for the food etc etc #friends tag

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