drassix (drassix) wrote in nihilo_crack,


I do believe I am that much closer to BURNING IN HELL for this!!

This is it.

Drassix. Xepyr. Fucking. More or less. Um. Please keep a bucket next to your desk either for puke or drool or whatever twitches your happy-place. WARNINGS: GORE, VIOLENCE, RAPE, MAYHEM.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Drassix was sprawled out somewhere in the castle, all bored, and annoyed, and somehow irritated in a way that wasn't necessarily connected to any of his emotions. At first, he couldn't exactly figure it out, since much of his memory was lost to the darkness of having no heart. But then again... it wasn't that difficult, when certain things began to appear. His skin was a little feverish. And his body was hot. He sat up, and stared at his crotch as if it was all its fault. >_<

If Xepyr was irritated, he wasn't showing it. Oh, no, he was being his usual dementedly cheerful self, strolling down the hallways and finally selecting one to turn into. And look, it was his favorite shadow-stalker, Drassix!

"Draaaa-ssix~" he called, grinning with all his sharp pointy teeth. "What're you doing? Did your crotch grow spikes?"

Drassix lifted his eyes - or rather, lifted his head, since he always had to wear his goggles in a place so full of dull, bright, sinister light. He blinked... he wouldn't have put it that way, necessarily, and not in so many words... but he nodded... and considered Xepyr from another, interesting point of view... he crawled toward him and reached over to grab his hair and yank him closer.

With the sudden yank came a sudden cry of surprise, and Xepyr started flailing immediately. He hadn't expected to be pulled forward by Drassix; for all he knew, the man wanted to bite his face off.

"HELP! FACEEATER!" he screamed, his arms waving wildly in Drassix's general direction.

He stumbled slightly, falling on top of the other as he flailed, and laying there, feeling the other writhe and struggle, getting almost whacked in the head with those arms, he had no idea what was going through his mind at that point. But he grabbed at his arms and pinned them, eyes narrowing behind his shades before he pressed his head forward and bit his lip.

As spontaneous as he was, Xepyr wasn't expecting /that/. To be bitten so suddenly on the lip, pinned down as quickly as he was, brought him some manner of faux surprise that would have been readily apparent if he had eyes.

"Ow! Get off me!" he yelled, his grin jerking a bit in odd directions. "I'll ram a blade so far up your rear end it'll come out your bellybutton! Now leggo!"

The shadow-Nobody gave a slight jerk, releasing his lip immediately. Then he attempted to assuage the bad feelings by petting him. "Sorry." And he petted and petted, all over, leaning away to give him room.

And apologizing at least four times more. Seeming "genuinely" sorry.

Xepyr squirmed under Drassix's pettings, not minding them at first (and not at all believing the apologies but not caring much either way). But when they started moving lower, those hands roaming over his stomach and legs to the point where Drassix was pulling away just to touch him, well, that was when he started moving again.
"Stop it, that's weeeird."

Drassix grinned slightly. "Weird?" His hand then immediately reached to grab at the edge of the waisband of his pants. There was something erotic about Xepyr, something desirable which he couldn't place at all. And the irritant that was stirring in his loins proved an inevitable catalyst for what he did next. With a careful, precise flick of a knife that had come from nowhere, he cut them open without doing him too much harm and started to push the other down, tongue stroking at his nipple.

That was the point when Xepyr started to panic - or at least engage himself in the memory of panic. He started screaming then, not out of fear or anything, but just general screaming to fill what he was sure would be the general silence.

"Hey! Stop that! That's not cool! It's kinda hot, but it's not cool! I liked those pants! Go awayyy . . . "

He trailed off as Drassix's tongue ran across his chest and muttered something that sounded almost like a moan. Hey, if he was missing something inside, maybe this would fix it . . . ?

Drassix's knife was just getting in the way now. He considered stapling one of Xepyr's hands to the floor with it when the other started to grow quiet somehow. That was a relief. He didn't want to kill him and then have his way with a corpse. That just wasn't fun at all. He licked and nipped the tender skin, curious to see whether or not Xepyr still remembered how to enjoy sex. He wasn't sure himself whether this wa sthe right way, but curiously, instinct had a way of filling in the blanks.

His other hand dove down the front of Xepyr's cut up trousers, searching for - something - that might equate to the pleasure he wanted to receive, which he was going to receive, soon enough.

Xepyr squeaked when the hand disappeared down his pants, but that quickly turned to a muffled cry. He sucked on his own bloody lower lip and quickly shed the belts from his hands, giving his fingers the freedom they so often called for, and dug the sharp tips into the ground (instead of into Drassix's body, like he might have). No strips of memory came back to him, so he was confused but pleased; what now? What would happen now?

He figured the coats they both wore would get in their way... So he took a moment to press his knee into Xepyr's gut to hold him down, while he shrugged off his white Servant jacket and shuck it aside. He was muscled, and full-bodied and strong, with scars on his body like there were stars in the sky. Jail time did that to a man. But he couldn't tell Xepyr where any of them came from, even if he felt like talking.

However, this wasn't about words or scars. He lifted his knee from his stomach, yanking the other Servant from the floor to shove his jacket off too. And then, spreading the jacket on the ground, he guided Xepyr on top of it and turned him over, pulling his pants down from his rear, exposing it to the cold light.

His claw-tips were yanked out of the floor, and with another squeak, Xepyr found himself being held down by a knee to the stomach. He started making general noises of discomfort and complaint at that point, even when he was hauled up and his coat jerked off.

Drassix sure had a lot of scars. He reached out to touch them with his claws, but he was abruptly shoved back down on his stomach. And then his pants were pulled down and it was /cold/!

"Hey! Stop it," he whined, trying to raise himself up off the ground (awkwardly, thanks to his fingers).

Drassix pulled off his goggles then. Even if the light hurt his eyes. He just wanted the other to see them, just once... just to see them, and know what was inside of them: lust.. lust that would be satisfied, and that was all. There could never be love in it, not even affection, because in the end, he wanted Xepyr at his side if things went wrong. But right now... it was just Xepyr he wanted. In any way he could get him. "You'll like it," he said, saying perhaps the longest sentence he's ever spoken to Xepyr. "Somehow." And he cut his palm with his knife... letting the blood drip freely down his fingers. Regeneration would come eventually - he knew that much, from personal experimentation.

And then he slid his blood-soaked fingers against his ass, and pushed inside one hard, brutal digit.

Did he? Would he? Xepyr craned his head back as far as he could and saw those white-glinting-silver eyes, temporarily forgetting the situation he was in and trying to reach back to touch the eyes. They were so /pretty/ . . .

But then Drassix cut himself with the knife and suddenly something cold (no, hot! It was warm, there, that's a good way to say it) dripped onto him and then /into/ him. Arching abruptly and dropping his head, Xepyr let out with a keening whine - although not one altogether unhappy with the situation.

The shadowmancer gave a little satisfied chuckle, heartless and emotionless as always, slowly sliding it deeper, the blood from his hand making neat, long dark lines down his pale skin, down the insides of his thighs, and dripping from whatever-he-had between his legs. There was certainly no guesswork like with Xellkos. He buried the knife in the floor before holding onto his hip - rather bruisingly hard. And he decided right then he didn't feel like waiting. He unbuttoned his pants, unzipped them and nudged them down, and there It was, hard, aching, and downright scary if one thought about all that tight space it was supposed to fill. He squeezed his cut over his cock, hissing at the heat of his own blood before grabbing Xepyr, and shoving hard right there inside, a tight gasp of surprised pleasure following thereafter.

The blood felt nice. Really, it did. Trickling down his thighs like that, he really didn't mind it. The finger inside him was a little more painful - as far as he could remember (and that really wasn't very much), nobody had ever put anything in there that didn't belong there. (Or rather, anything at all.)

So when Drassix suddenly pulled his finger out and there was a pause and the hiss and then something really deep inside him and it hurt like all hell/, he unleashed with a scream he hardly knew he was capable of making.

Drassix shuddered with primal pleasure at that scream. It was almost as good as hearing someone scream and die, listening to their last breaths escape, or tasting the clean fresh air of freedom when he stood - like a human being - alone on the highest point... and the tightness was divine, squeezing when the other cried out and tensed. He didn't wait for him to get used to it, but started moving, slick blood wet and hot dipping from his cut. He was light-headed a little, but nothing he hadn't suffered before as he fucked him, pushing him down a little bit, before reaching his bloodied hand around and reached down. He grabbed him there, red bright dots appearing on the jacket underneath them as he started to caress with bloodied, wet fingertips his flesh.

When Drassix started immediately thrusting, Xepyr moaned out of the sheer /agony/ of such sudden tearing pain inside him - but also out of the joy and pleasure of actually feeling something, /anything/, after all this time of trying to fill up an emptiness inside him.

And then his moans turned to real pleasure. Drassix had reached down and was touching him /there/, somewhere that even /he/ didn't go near. And oh god was it nice.

He hadn't expected him to like it so quickly... even if it hurt him, he couldn't feel bad. But it brought him a keen sense of accomplishment to fulfill *something* in this strange turn of events. And eventually, he didn't let himself think at all, and he pushed deeper, leaning close and laving his tongue against the other's cheek, pausing only if to turn him back over onto his back. Instinct said he didn't like it that other way.

There. Now he could see his face, and enjoy that look that flickered, unfamiliar and strange, over Xepyr's strange eyeless visage. He leaned close and licked his cheek again, groaning as his pleasure mounted with sudden intensity. Abruptly, he pulled out, and contained it, stubbornly. Something about that face was even better than fucking him. And if he did it willingly? Even better.

He crawled up along Xepyr then, positioning the head of his cock against his lips. "SUCK," he growled.

It was painful, hideously so, and when Drassix turned him over he made a rather loud noise of discomfort which elevated into a scream when the rather larger Nobody pulled himself out without warning. Then there was the figure climbing over him and then he had /that/ right /there/.
The command was abrupt. Xepyr didn't move for a moment, then lifted his claw-like hands to clench tightly on Drassix's hips as he followed the order he'd been given, tasting both of their blood at the same time as he did so.

And it was hard, trying not to thrust. Just the wrong way, and he'd bust a hole through his skin on one of those mean little fangs. And even though he was careful he could still feel them. Hard, pointy little things... things that he shuddered when he thought of how they'd feel if he'd bitten him somewhere else other than on his dick. It was dangerous... sort of a kind of chance he'd taken. And somehow, it made his blood boil and his breath fan faster against his skin as he started to slowly sink his fingers into the other's hair and hold, leaning the other hand on the ground by his head, crouching as he shivered at the touch. He nudged deeper, encouraging more, and waited.

There was /so much/. Xepyr coughed and choked around it, but didn't pull away, didn't stop what he was doing, and didn't pull his rather deeply-sunk claws out of Drassix's sides. He could feel the pulls on his hair, feel his own body aching and needy for the same kind of release he was bound to be giving the silver-eyed man over him. It wasn't /fair/ like this, but all the blood was really making him light-headed. (Or maybe it was the blood /loss/. Either way, he was squirming now, legs shifting and body twisting under Drassix as he tried to free himself rather unsuccessfully from the grip he was in.)

He was enjoying it but only as much as he could allow. Finally he quit, and pulled back, the hunger abating slowly. No, this wouldn't do either. His eyes hardened into angry silver little coals, as the shadows swirled around them, flickering like tentacles around their bodies and encasing them in a caring shell of cool, passive darkness.

He didn't know how to make love, or anything fuzzy or lovey-dovey like that. But he was slowly becoming a Nobody's equivalent of frustrated. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his shaven head and wondering what he could do to actually soothe this little problem of his. He scooted back, glaring at Xepyr as if this was his fault. "....."

He was doing fine, or so he thought, still choking and in some amount of pain, when Drassix pulled away. His claws came out of the man's sides (oh look, he was bleeding now! just like his hand! how delightfully tasty) and he fell back onto his jacket, sprawled like he'd just been rolling down a hill and not getting screwed.

"It's not /my/ fault," he whined in response to the look, ignoring the tendrils of shadows rising up around them. "It's yours, isn't it?"

As a matter of fact, bleeding hips and injuries were probably why he wasn't getting any closer to feeling relief... he smiled an unrelenting smile of cruelty and shrugged his shoulders, as the shadows curled around Xepyr's waist, indefinitely sliding underneath him. The shadows were sliding around Drassix too, enveloping his midsection in a cocoon which would eventually provide him with an equivalent to that pleasure which he wasn't getting. He nudged the other's legs apart again. He didn't answer.

When the shadows formed that circle, that little cave around them, Xepyr tilted his head from side to side in a questioning manner. His grin stayed where it was, faded and lopsided but still quite firmly on his face, as he watched the shadows curl around his legs.

"Aw, what're you doing now?" he asked, as his legs were pushed further apart and the shadows drifted across his bared midsection.

The shadows formed solid enough looking hands... slender and not like Drassix's hands at all, but they would serve. The fingers closed around the other's erection, and slowly, torturously resumed what Drassix had neglected to. With gleaming eyes, Drassix kept his victim held down tightly, but lifted his rear end so he could push himself roughly back inside, once again. More shadowy tendrils flickered across the other's belly, up against his chest, underneath whatever clothes he still wore, tickling his nipples before laving them with chilly, solid-enough caresses. He started to move, muscled legs and chest flexing once or twice as he started to find his rhythm again, driving deeper, and slowly, into the Servant's body. "..NGh... "

Oh. Ohhh, that was cold, that was nice. Xepyr let out a whine as the icy shadows clenched around his member and his chest, sliding up along his skin like the hands he'd never had. When Drassix forced himself back into him, he whined again, keening slightly as his claw-like fingers dug into Drassix's sides and into the floor and now into the shadows.

"Nnnmm . . . s'not nice, not niiice . . . "

He softened his grip. Ugh. He didn't *have* anything to make it any easier. But he waited, and steadied, waiting for Xepyr to grow used to it again, while those dark presences continued their careful torment. Then he slid back and thrust in again, uttering a slow, deep growl as the friction rubbed everything just the right way... if only he could do it again... so he did, rocking his hips forward and back, reaching to dislodge the claws from his sides, and pin them to the ground. "....Hurts."

He whined again - that high-pitched, fading into low-toned cry that left Xepyr wondering briefly if he had become a dog or some sort. But then Drassix had paused, and he shifted, and then it all started up again and it was nicer than before, oh yes, much nicer.

But his claws - why did he have to go and move them? Xepyr frowned at Drassix through the heat and sweat and nearly pouted.

"So? Pain's good, isn't it? I could be sticking them up your ass, but 'm not . . . "

Surprisingly, Drassix chuckled, pulling his claw up and licking at one of the talons to get the blood off. "...And if you did, I'd kill you. I'm not stabbing you with my knife... so you shouldn't stab me with your hands... and I'm sure this--" He said, thrusting sharply and deeply, quite different from before, "--feels much better than claws or knives..." He pinned it down to the shadows again, and the darkness tightened, raking a chill fingernail over the sensitive tip over Xepyr's cock.

Now that - /that/ one thrust there made Xepyr moan and lose all sense of his un-self for at least a few seconds. And then the fingernail on him made him cry out again, writhing against his jacket and arching against Drassix's hold.

"Not faaaiir," he whined, not meaning it at all and just feeling like saying something.

"Mm.. If you say so..." He kept at it. Harder, this time, furthering his efforts by driving deeper, and his mercy dwindled as the pleasure mounted, scraping away what little sensibilities for Xepyr's comfort he had. He bent his legs apart about as much as they'd go, while those vicious hands took up the same pace, raping the Servant's senses, stroking thighs with cold fingers, until it was as if there were about half a dozen hands touching him, everywhere... even so much as sliding fingertips into the other's mouth to suck on - no wait, that was actually Drassix's hand! He panted slightly, beads of sweat dripping from his temples, hitting Xepyr's naked skin. He was getting close now... wanting more sounds like that, and anything more and he'd combust.

So much touching, so much contact, so much -- well, everything. Xepyr should have been sore, should have been screaming from the pain of his legs being bent so far up and his body being abused like this, but he liked it. It was so nice, so painful and wonderful because he was actually /feeling something/.

He cried out still, whining and keening and twisting under the shadows and Drassix's own hands. His claws bent and flexed as he tried to get hold of something - did they cut into Drassix's arms? Did they cut into /anything/? He didn't care. He just /felt/.

They did indeed latch eventually onto his arms. The constricting pressure encasing him drove him, and he gasped for one more breath before he shuddered, pace quickened, viciously raping the rest of his way to orgasm until he came, the delightfully pleasant noises rippling down his back in the form of violent, hysteric shudders as he, finally, came, biting back a snarl of gratification, as if he too were in agony - which he was, in one fashion or another. He tried to switch his hold on Xepyr's arms quickly, to pin them down, in case in his own climax he took a slash at his face or his eyes.

And when he felt that heat filling the already bloody insides of him, Xepyr unleashed with a final cry and he, too, hit his climax. The shadows were still there and he felt himself vanishing into the hideous white pleasure of agony, and his entire body bucked violently in response; whether it was aiming to tear Drassix apart or just curl in on himself wasn't clear.

But Xepyr slowed eventually, falling limp on his jacket, panting, sweating, his grin actually gone from his face for once.

Blood and semen dripped from between them. It stained the whiteness of his coat, the floor, and the front of Drassix's trousers, where he hadn't bothered to tug them down more and out of the way. He sagged across from him, and the shadows were melting, and where they weren't melting they were drowsily playing with Xepyr's hair or stroking his arm, soothing his twitching muscles... generally being kind to the poor worn out Servant.

And more blood was pouring from his arms where his veins suffered wounds, and arteries sluggishly pumped out its contents. He pulled out loosely, and a sickeningly hot mess landed on the ground underneath them - a mess of coagulated blood, gore, come. But he strangely could not find himself to be disgusted. Just slightly perturbed because for the moment, he couldn't see it, didn't want, and couldn't care less.

Thank you, Sakki, for providing me with insanity. Otherwise, I wouldn't be half of the crazy person I was tomorrow.
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