Work Text:
Vega, as intrusive as ever, hadn’t intentionally been on the hunt for treasure when he appointed himself the task of rummaging though the Warden’s Department-issued duffle bag. In fact, he didn’t really know what it was he was looking for. Maybe some close-to-the-vest intel or an eye-catching case file. Something fun. But the item he found instead was delightfully deemed even more worthy of his attention and interest.
The correctional behavior specialist usually kept that larger duffle bag hidden away, carefully shoving what documents and folders they actually needed into their beloved, faux-leather messenger bag Vega noticed they brought to work each shift. The black duffle bag, however, was an obligatory hand-out given to every Department employee who worked within those containment facilities.
The contents of the bag consisted of “just incase” tools and supplies, such as pepper spray and tear-gas cans, wire muzzles and tactical stun batons. All of the kinds of animalistic supplies that’d prompted the Warden to make silent vows to avoid using the brutal accoutrements, only to give in if someone’s life had truly depended on their protection.
It was heartbreaking. The last thing the Inchoate wanted was to further sever what pitiful relationship they had left with their race any more than they felt that they already had. They’d make valiant efforts to try to hide away those cruel pieces of equipment that were typically used on rabid things, on wild creatures that bite…
Whenever the specialist had been in need of a more pacifistic item from the bag, a tool kit or clipboard, they would make a sly job of retrieving it. They’d reach into that duffle with such haste that one would think that a bear trap had been set drawn open and locked, ready to snap down onto their searching hand if they dug around the thing any deeper. Like there was a secret buried deep within the sturdy, synthetic canvas. And to the Warden, there honestly had been.
Vulnerability.
“Don’t you fuckin’ go soft on me, Inchoate,” an empowered co-worker once spat to them upon their refusal of indulging his request for the specialist, a rookie at the time, to threaten another rather mouthy Inchoate with a taser. Like the other Demon was an animal, something beast-like. They believed that the situation didn’t call for such dramatics, and the lawful neutral newcomer knew it would only further escalate the issue at hand. Despite the confidence in their decision, the empowered human’s words sat on their tongue with a bitter weight.
‘Going soft’, the Warden was not, not ever. They were understanding, they were level-headed. And they were tempted to bite back a “go to hell, I’m not ‘soft’,” but when they gripped the stun gun just a bit tighter at the sound of his threatening exclamation… when their hand flinched to actually do the thing… it was then they decided that the stupid duffle bag was going straight to a place that would be for their eyes only, tucked away from any overly-nosy hands.
Just not too tucked away. Just incase.
And the bag clearly hadn’t been tucked away enough. There was nothing of Vega’s fascination in the Warden’s leather courier case, but that duffle bag, emblazoned with the D.U.M.P.’s minimalistic logo, was an entirely different story, as so the Sadist discovered.
Buried deep underneath all of the old and boring case files (boring because they weren’t Vega’s own), various manilla envelopes, and other worthless odds and ends like lint rollers and pencil pouches, had lay the items that piqued the snooping Demon’s interest. One item in particular, however, had taken the cake as the crowned jewel: new territory to exploit and a delicious challenge to conquer, all wrapped into one perfect gift.
The object, again, had been one that the specialist swore to themself to never use against another of their kind, as a shock collar especially hadn’t been the most… humane… methods of correctional treatment, not in the slightest.
Nevertheless, Vega was anything but human.
The Warden would never have imagined this scene playing out before them, considering their reprobate was caged behind warded, steel bars only a short while ago.
But Vega was a curious soul, and as he grew closer to his Inchoate companion, his intrigue grew stronger as well. His sights locked on to the Inchoate, ready to strike when the moment had called for it. Those few times in which his Warden had snapped at him, baring their true and honest teeth, had completely elated the Sadist. Their little game of mental chess had come to an exciting change of pace, one that Vega was more than eager to dig his keen talons into and capitalize on every outburst of pent-up frustration and glint of naive candor.
And the Warden never would have imagined that they would be the Demon who’d first have that strangely-captivating shock collar wrapped so snugly around their own throat, either. That they would be so compliant to another being of their kind that held no official authority over their horned head. That some darkly intrigued and repressed part of themself had wanted to comply, just to see how the situation would play out…
The Inchoate didn’t register that Vega had been waiting so patiently for the right opportunity to pounce on his prey.
Watching.
After stalking up behind his Warden so silently that it’d put a Stealth to shame, he sneakily clasped the pristine shock collar around their neck with a perfectly sinful click. Vega decided that the delightful sound of his Warden’s own startled gasp to of which followed the click was nearly just as satisfying as the way their body jerked upright completely, his sly movements sending a shudder of surprise through their tense frame.
They were frozen in place, like if they had dared to move, Vega’s teeth would tear into them and not let them go. Instead, his deft fingers traced across the base of their throat, moving to the slender back of their neck, though they felt like prey all the same.
It also hadn’t registered what gift the Sadist had adorned the specialist with until they heard the familiar sounds of binding magic locking the clasp into place, the collar only to be taken off by the hands of the magic-wielder who initially snapped the buckles together. It was a safety precaution, usually, and the implications of such measures once threatened to tug the edges of the Warden’s mouth into a slight grimace. But now- now- feeling their captor’s steady hands smoothly slip down their sides and land on their hips, roughly tugging their waist into his broad from behind, that grimace twisted into a stunned and speechless look of dumbfoundedness.
Yet they couldn’t bring themself to pull away.
“Oh? Don’t tell me that I actually startled my darling Warden,” he purred into the corners of their racing mind. He allowed himself a moment to relish in how their heart-rate picked up tempo, shuddering again at the sensation of his breath skating underneath the top button of their shirt and across their collarbones. Caught off guard, the Inchoate swallowed a shaky breath.
“Vega? Where did- where did you get this from… why-” they began.
"Ah ah, shhh.That is no proper way to address another of your kind, now is it?”
“I- look, I don’t think that you underst-”
“I asked you a question; is it?” he pressed.
A pause. Vega’s eyes bore into the back of their head as if he could pick out the Inchoate's thoughts cautiously considering his request straight through their skull, like they were blindly dipping their feet into the unknown and testing treacherous waters. He’d watch with bated breath to see if the Warden knew how to swim, or if his deceptive undertow would drag them deeper into him, his words filling their mind and gasping lungs like seawater. Vega wasn’t worried that they’d choose not to indulge in his little game, not if he pushed hard enough, holding them captive underneath his unrelenting current.
This play of Vega’s was a disingenuous act of mercy, if you could even call it as such. He cast the drowning Inchoate the illusion of a life-preserver, one taking the shape of false pretenses and empty promises of purpose. And they would take it, because the aching flames of a desperate sense of belonging licking and smoldering beneath ones’ lonely skin and bones is one hell of a wicked thing.
To be an outcast, burning alive in your own body- it’s one hell of a wicked thing.
“What the hell do you think th-”
Inside of that same skull, before they could finish their sentence, he hissed their true name. The word neared the edge of a command rather than an insistent query. The Warden audibly snapped their mouth shut; never had he addressed them as such, not once. They were surprised that he even remembered their name at all, as it was always “my Warden, my darling, my dear.” Never just their name, whole in its starry and celestial completeness. Only his.
The Inchoate had given in to Vega’s wishes on occasion, speaking with their mind rather their physical tongue. It felt natural; it felt right. And he knew that. Each time they had indulged upon his guileful requests, something shifted deep behind Vega’s eyes- something poisonous and wolfish, but not entirely malign. Curiosity.
The Sadist’s voice dripping inside the walls of their head felt unearthly, and the Warden supposed that it technically was, but it had felt even more liberating to return the conversation in the same language as he had spoken to them. And he knew that. With Vega, they felt as if they could finally let the breath that they’d been holding for so many years go, and it felt damn good. So they’d do it again, choosing to sink and burn. He had been the only Demon in a time far too long who has permitted them to use such a gift. And Vega knew that, too.
“This is- this is a shock collar, Vega. What- where did you even find… y-you realize I can’t take this off, right?” they whispered, this time not aloud, a bit taken aback at their own bemused reaction towards the other Demon’s doings.
He only grinned, face now buried in the crook of their neck as he leaned down into them. A sharp inhale from the Warden led Vega to chuckle, one of his large hands looping its way underneath the thick, synthetic material of the collar, long fingers tracing around the circumference of their neck. Their skin was soft, but far from fragile.
“Mmm, how observant,” he hummed, triumphant upon feeling the sensation of their uncharacteristically weary voice in his mind. “That it is, and you’ve been hiding it from me this whole time… a little secret.”
“What are you doing? I can’t remove this wi-”
“You’ve been working so hard, darling. It must be tremendously exhausting work to masquerade yourself behind the veil of a name badge day in and day out. You’re tired.”
“Vega-”
“Play with me, won’t you?”
“I-what?” Their breathing stilled.
“I’ve just found a new toy— one that looks especially divine clipped around your neck, if I may add— and I want to take it for a test-drive.”
Vega took his time picking his head up from their neck in favor of nosing along their jawline and mischievously nipping at the shell of their ear. His Warden’s face grew hotter with every little move the other Demon made, and a part of them wanted to shove him off and away from them. But, facing the same fate as Vega had chosen to entertain, curiosity dug its roots deeper, choking out any flicker of rational sense that the Department had taken to half-heartedly praise the Inchoate for having such a solid leash on. Funny how that works.
And, much to their dismay, that same curiosity shattered any feigned facades of apathetic disinterest. Their body betrayed them as it allowed hitched breaths and an involuntary twitch of their hand to slip though those cracks they hopelessly made an effort to stitch together, in search of something- preferably someone- to hold onto.
“And by the feel of it…” Vega hummed, yanking the collar to the side in order to get a better look at how the metal prongs moved with their throat as they swallowed hard, “… your heart rate… your warming skin… it all tells me that you want to play, too. Your magic burns for me. Did I get that right?”
They hadn’t meant to actually consider his offer (was it an offer?), finding what words- if any, really- they had to say, but that silence had hung low in the air for only a brief moment. Before a stream of semi-conscious thoughts could get past their lips, a faint clicking sound could be heard from behind Vega’s back, the noise followed by three higher-pitched, electronically rhythmic ticks. A warning signal.
Click. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
They should have known better; they should have known that Vega wouldn’t give them a second to think for themselves and back away from his indecently venereal suggestion. The Inchoate, wide-eyed, yelped as the forewarned shock of electricity jolted their frame further into the Sadist’s, their back now flush against the front of him. He simpered against their temple, pressing a phantom of a kiss there.
“Shhh shhh, you’re alright. That wasn’t so bad, hmm?” he cooed with a taunting tone. His thumb mindfully stroked at the stretch of skin above the receiver from where the electricity had discharged from. “I’d know; those little wards you and your fellow lackeys incarcerated me behind had delivered quite the disruptive shock when touched.”
“Vega-”
Click.
" Vega!"
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
This shock was stronger than the last, and it sent the Warden’s hands backwards to grip Vega’s hips as their head involuntarily fell back onto his chest- if it was to escape the lightning crawling down their neck or their body subconsciously asking for more, they weren’t too sure. Whichever the case may be, it pulled a strangled groan from their chest regardless, one that Vega was sure to tuck away into his memory to save for another night in which he was alone and all to himself. His eyes blackened with pride for his small act of retribution dealt for being locked away in the first place.
“Veeery good, darling.” He nosed their ear, savoring the taste of their bitter resentment mixed with savory- however begrudging- interest and surprise. “You make for such a pretty pet like this.”
The Warden’s eyes shot open (when had they closed them?) and they jerked their head forward away from the Sadist, bowled over with distaste.
“Excuse me? I am not your pet, you audacious-”
Click. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
“O-oh, fuck!” they exclaimed aloud, voice faltering. Vega scowled.
“Do not make me say it again. In here,” he tapped the Inchoate’s temple with his index finger, “is where you will speak to me. You rob yourself of the opportunity to utilize this gift we Demons share with one another. Take it, my Warden. It’s yours.”
They did want it, they needed it. ‘We Demons’ rolled around their head like a mantra, feeling like fresh water given to a lost and weary traveler. To be given enough grace to live as a Demon the same as Vega had was all they ever wanted.
It was exhausting. Grasping at any remnants of who they were— what they still are— outside of the foggy reflection of a D.U.M.P. rehabilitation specialist was just… exhausting. And so had been direly trying to glue those cracked pieces of a human-like guise back together, so if it meant that they’d be seen as something more than a Department commodity, a pet, then try they would.
The thought of handing the reigns over to another magical being not only born of the same threads, but also one who truly understood the tangled roots of their inner-turmoil and frustrations (albeit untrustworthy in character) would be like giving a dying man something worth living for.
That ‘other being’ in question just so happened to be an escaped prisoner of one of the most guarded containment facilities in the country, one that the Inchoate even worked at and was semi-responsible for. Beggars can’t be choosers, they believed. Alas, beggars still don’t deserve to be named as “pets”, and the Warden believed that too, all evidence of contrary aside. They didn’t want to be, so rather than facing their reflection in the mirror, they chose to close their eyes again instead.
“Just… don’t call me that. I am not a pet. Not of yours, not of anybody’s. I belong to no one but myself, am I clear?” they yielded, muttering into his mind around a shaky breath. Vega grinned once more, flicking his eyes to the Department’s shock collar locked a bit too perfectly around their neck, then back to their downtrodden expression. Even the Sadist could see straight through the Inchoate’s wishful daydreams, that facade molded to the shape of whatever humanity wanted them to look like. And Vega’s got them right where he wants them.
“Of course, darling. Crystal,” he hollowly agreed through carnivorous teeth. He always had excelled in playing pretend to get his way, anyhow.
Vega could feel the conflict rolling off of his specialist like an angry ocean’s tide, the push and pull between want and need and right and wrong. The want to give in. The want to hand themself over to another being crafted of the same magic as they had been, all while still under the assumption that whomever this other someone may be, they would be someone deemed trustworthy enough solely for the virtue of being a Demon all the same, sharing common ground.
They wanted- no, they needed to let go, to breathe as an Inchoate and nothing else. And Vega needed- no, wanted his Inchoate companion to place that power into his vulturine hands so he could hold it as tightly as the collar’s hand-held remote. It made such lovely little sounds. He supposed the remote accessory did, as well.
“Now tell me, my Warden… won’t you rest this heavy head of yours, just this once? Let go. Take this offering as your own… feel all that is around you. Feel me… our magic. Just let yourself go…” His suggestion was met with another cautious pause, and the Warden’s posture stiffened a bit. The Sadist's thumb hovered over the button of the remote, overly-eager to deliver another shock and prevent their mind from making another move when-
“…What… did you have in mind?” They sighed a breath of surrender. Giving up their turn in the game the two Demons indulged themselves with may later become their downfall, but hell if it didn’t feel good to burn alive underneath his touch, Vega’s shared thoughts torching their own. Or maybe they were drowning again, not burning. Did it really matter?
“I’m so glad you ask,” Vega grinned. “Well,” he clicked his tongue, “do as I ask, and I will reward you with a demonstration. You ask for more than you give, so I believe it’s my rightful turn to take. Following orders is a practice you excel in, is it not?”
The Inchoate said nothing. Vega’s eyes narrowed as he ticked the remote dial up a setting or two. Maybe three.
Click. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
“G-GOD! What level did you set that t-”
“Is it not? ”
“Y-yes, fuck! I can… I-I’ll listen…”
"Perfect. Then you’ll show me that you can be an obedient little thing, won’t you?”
“I…y-yes…”
“Speak up.”
“Yes! Yes.”
“Then show me. Feel me.”
Another unsure inhale.
“Feel my fingers… unbuttoning your shirt…” Vega snaked his hands around their waist, one still clutching the remote, and he worked the buttons of their dry-cleaned uniform undone, one by one. He had slender hands, almost gentle-looking, yet large enough to wrap around the majority of the Inchoate’s figure. And they weren’t small by any means, either.
The contact made them feel feather-light, weightless. Or was it grounding, suffocating? Melting further back into Vega, they’d try to turn their head to look at the Sadist as far as their awkward position had allowed them to. Had he always been so tall?
It was… intimate. The way he leaned over— really tall, actually— to bring his face to theirs from over their shoulder. How his deft fingers undid each button with a seemingly-practiced ease. How their noses brushed against each other, and how their flushed cheeks just barely touched.
Others had always played so rough with them. And for a fleeting moment, Vega let his eyes fall closed, too. Breathing each other’s company in. It’d been a long while since he’s held another of his kind, especially like this. Never quite like this.
“Feel my mouth… tasting this beautiful skin…” The open-mouthed kisses placed along the curve of their neck, hot and longing and hungry, had the Warden squirming against the Sadist, their own hands wandering along the sides of his thighs to keep themself steady and present. The movement was arguably less subtle than those of which that followed the first time Vega had shocked them, and it was enough incentive for him to deepen his kisses right above the skin where the metal prongs dug into their neck. The low vibrations of his hums of satisfaction grounded his Warden from sinking too deep, from drifting too far away. He was rolling thunder, their lightning rod.
Once their shirt had finally been unbuttoned, the cool rush of air that brushed over the Inchoate’s chest was rewarded with a stifled groan.
That wouldn’t do. Vega didn’t want all their noises of submission to only fill his mind; he wanted all of them.
His unoccupied hand wove its way through the Warden’s hair, took a handful near the root, and pulled. Their head fell backwards to further reveal the collar’s prongs. There was that startled yelp Vega had been searching for, their eyes still never opening. They didn’t need to see him to feel him. His hands, his magic, his gaze swallowing them whole. Sinking, drifting.
And with a flat tongue, Vega licked directly above the device, relishing how its little green display light flashed red whenever he…
Click. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Oh, fuck— he could feel it, the shock. He could actually feel the electrical currents jolt the Inchoate’s body as his tongue traced over the metal projections against their charged skin. Both Vega and his Warden gasped this time, the physical indication of the Sadist's excitement now pressing hard into the Inchoate’s lower back.
"I know you feel this, as well…” He squeezed his free hand around their waist, pulling them back onto his arousal that strained against the fabric of his pants. “I know you can feel just how much you get to me like this.” He punctuated the word by digging his sharp nails into the Inchoate’s side and grinding their ass down onto him. “How could I not? Obedience just looks so good on you, darling.”
“Vega, you-”
“No. Quiet. Feel my words inside your head, filling in every corner like water. Let them drip across every sweet thought inside that precious mind of yours. Drink them down; that’s all you need tonight. Feel them the same as I feel yours.”
Their shirt was shrugged off and discarded onto the floor, immediately forgotten. No going back.
“This magic… it’s something unique to only us, and tonight, it’s ours. Nothing outside of this room can keep that from us, nothing. Let yourself have this. You’ve earned this pleasure.”
Defeated, they sighed.
“I… I want it. I- please,” they confessed, grinding further into him with an audible whine.
For as dark as Vega’s words had tasted, the Warden relished in how they burned like whiskey sliding down their throat, rubbing them raw just as the collar's sparks of lightning had. They knew if they drank enough of him down, he’d take hold of their mind and turn all of what the Warden thought they knew about themself fuzzy around the edges. But that was a hangover to be left for tomorrow, because tonight, the Inchoate thirsted and ached for a glimpse of the connection they once shared with their kind on Aria, and if it meant being Vega’s acquiescent play-thing for the night- just for tonight- then so be it.
“Mmm, I know,” he hummed. “Then show me. Get on your knees.”
Even though the curious Inchoate’s heart skipped a beat in their chest and their hands gripped the Sadist just a bit tighter, they hadn’t directly complied. Not yet.
Click. The awaited sound was greeted with a breathy moan of electric anticipation.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. There it is.
“F-fuck- oh, thank you, fuck!”
“Good manners do not absolve you of any poor behavior, darling. You heard me. Kneel .”
Once their disobedience was rewarded, they carried out his sultry command. Each shock certainly wasn’t a pleasant feeling, not in any sense of the matter, but it's momentary and not as much unbearably painful as it was intense. Everything, all of this, was so intense.
With their back still tucked into Vega’s broad chest, the Inchoate slid down his front in a deliberate manner so the friction of their body rubbed him perfectly beneath the his leather belt. It was the first time that night that his telepathic walls would falter, an audible huffed grunt falling past his lips, and the sound alone pulled his Warden to the floor with a bit more haste.
“So, I take it you do like this little toy after all,” he laughed, his shoulders lightly bounding with it. Whining in near embarrassment with their eyes still closed, the kneeling Inchoate reveled in the sensation of Vega’s large hand still threading its way through their hair. The recollection of his previous remark, the one he made about them resembling some breed of lapdog as he sat behind those containment wards, had crossed their mind, but only for a moment before the thought was shoved to the back of their brain. I’m not a pet, they’d tell themself. I’m not.
“Oh, my Warden, listen to you. And to think that you’ve been keeping this delightful toy hidden away for so long…”
He sauntered around towards the front of his Inchoate, his hand never leaving its tangled grip in their hair. Another tug at the back of their head had them looking up at the older Demon, their eyes caught in a wild snare and pupils blown with need. The pointed tips of his horns blocked the view of the ceiling light fixture, scattering the light around his head to frame his figure in a dim, fluorescent glow, casting a shadow over his prey. They felt like prey, at least. He looked so much taller- bigger all together, actually- from on their knees, and they found it hard to breathe with him staring down at them like they were, well, just that. Prey.
“Toys like these…” he loomed over them to trace the device once again as if to emphasize that he was speaking of the actual collar, and not his Warden locked underneath it, “… should be played with, not neglected and left to collect dust. Wouldn’t you agree?”
They carefully nodded, still catching the breath knocked from their chest by the latest bout of jarring currents. It was a bit of a lie; they didn’t agree, not entirely. That’s why the device was stored away in the first place, they think. However, now wasn’t the time to sit pretty atop of their “The Abuses of the Department Have Exceeded Beyond My Personal Morals” soapbox all prim and proper. There was nothing either prim nor proper about the fog that glazed over the Warden’s eyes, their lips slightly parted with a beg on the tip of their tongue. A beg for what, they weren’t too sure, but it wouldn’t matter so long as it had been dealt by Vega’s claiming hands.
“Doesn’t it feel good to be so honest? Such a sweet thing,” he taunted, tone sardonic. Any other day, the Inchoate would’ve bite their tongue to keep them from retorting with some snide and witty comment. Although, in this moment, their teeth were far too busy biting at their bottom lip instead. They nodded again, gently. ‘Sweet thing.’
“Come here, move back with me.” Another order. Vega’s thumb hooked itself inside the Warden’s mouth, pressing flat against the back of their lower teeth as the rest of his hand held onto the underside of their chin and he pulled. Never breaking eye contact, Vega guided his Inchoate by their jaw to helplessly crawl- shuffle, really- along with him as he took a couple steps backwards. The backside of his knees found their way to the edge of the single suede-upholstered armchair, and he let himself fall onto it with a forced unph.
The Warden, every once and a while, would find themself caught up thinking about what their reprobate’s long fingers might’ve felt like wrapped around their neck before they’d shake the intrusive idea away, or shamefully wonder if his vocals ever cracked when he moaned. And those were all disgraceful thoughts and deplorable questions, gorgeous and secret, that were never meant to have an answer. Fantasies.
Peering up at the Sadist from between his legs- good god, he looked sinfully gorgeous like this- had been a picturesque sight even better than any portrait that the Inchoate’s imagination could’ve ever painted itself. His thumb behind their teeth. His head tipped back onto the chair. His lustful gaze still unbroken and peering at his Inchoate from behind half-lidded eyes.
They were so dark, his eyes, like you could fall into them and lose every sense of who you were before…
Falling. That’s it; the Warden decided that Vega’s magical signature- him- didn’t feel like burning alive or drowning in seawater. But falling far, and falling fast. Those dangerous principalities of air choking out every thought that wasn’t his. Every corner, every crack, every divot- like air, there was Vega. He was their oxygen, a crucial necessity of life; breathe him in. And he was the carbon dioxide, suffocating and toxic in high doses; breathe him out.
The Inchoate’s gaze fell too, fell to the larger hand tucked under their chin, thumb still curved behind their lower teeth. As they rested their own hands on either side of his knees, they couldn’t help but stare, waiting for their next order.
It may have been the prettiest thing that Vega’s seen in decades, his shirtless Warden kneeling in front of him with the Department’s sleek collar sitting so, so perfectly snug around their neck. Having the roles reversed like this with them being the Demon coerced into submission, with them having to follow his orders? It looked as divine as the taste of their heated skin, buzzed with arousal and unmerited trust.
Insuring to keep their eyes focused on him, Vega positioned himself in the armchair so that one knee bracketed his dazed Inchoate as he used his other to nudge their knees apart, sliding his leg between theirs, underneath them. The Warden held back another covetable noise when they caught on to what exactly the Sadist had in store for them, the tip of his polished, black boot pressing against where they had been aching for him.
Vega, with his thumb still hooked behind his Warden’s jaw, sat up from his lax position and pulled their face close towards his. They could feel his breathing had deepened too, but his stare clouded out those minor observations as the look he gave them, heavy with carnal desire, might as well have consumed them whole.
Like this, the magic radiating off of the two was nearly tangible, curling around one another like smoke. Looking into the pools of ink, pitch black and supernatural, the Inchoate could have sworn they might have seen their horned reflection panting back at them. They were fearful that if they blinked, the Sadist would close his eyes and they would lose sight of themself- like their shared, vulnerable moment’s magical threads would snap and begin to fray all together.
The finger in their mouth glided across their bottom teeth, pressing harder against the points of their canines as if Vega had been trying to prick his own thumb. What caused the air to catch in their throat was the flick of his onyx stare falling to their mouth, but not for want to watch his own thumb smooth over their teeth. He removed it, dragging the digit down their lower lip with his nail- closer to a claw- hard enough for it to skate along the edges of pain, but not to break skin. Down their chin, down their jaw, down their neck, down, down.
He never once looked away from their parted mouth, despite knowing that he’d very much enjoy the view of the red line of agitated skin trailing his nail’s path down to the receiver of his Inchoate’s collar. He could have tugged against the thing just as harshly as the few times he already had that night, but he didn’t. And the Warden almost wished that he would’ve done just that instead of kissing them how he had, long and languid. Because you can’t blame gravity for falling like that.
Down, down.
It was the contrast that had driven the Sadist absolutely insane. Soft skin pricked with searing electricity, and a once-collected disposition cracking and revealing its raw honesty to match. They tasted sweet on his tongue, unlike how Vega had himself. The taste of strawberries muddled with dark smoke. The Inchoate’s typical poised and reserved demeanor being replaced with the sight of them fucking losing themself, composure abandoned, was intoxicating.
He basked in it, the fact that it was him who got to see his Warden- quick on their feet and equipped with a sharp tongue- so pliant, so completely out of it. How he could shatter their resolve with a single thumb running along their teeth, down their neck. How he could bring his Warden to their knees before him with a single show of glinting teeth.
“How far do you think you can bend you before you break?” he asked, pulling away from their lips to mutter the question against their forehead. He placed a kiss there, too. Again, the Warden still almost wished he hadn’t.
They weren't sure whether they owed him an actual answer or not, because the answer was seemingly obvious; Not far. Not far at all. Some walls are so high, and the Inchoate knew they didn’t have the grit to scale them, try as they might. Vega’s seen it before on so many occasions he’d lost count, how both Demons and humankind can be so naive, and how they often bend their perception to their desired reality, donning a pair of rose-colored glasses as it were something to show off. So if they can bend, like glass, they can break.
And tonight— only tonight, they swore— they think that’s what they needed.
“I don’t want to know the answer. Just break me.”
Their plea was a whisper, one sweet like strawberries and velvety in his head.
Falling down, down.
Vega’s expression grew darker, smokier. He settled back into the armchair and studied them once more, taking in every detail. He looked like he’d wanted to say something, maybe about how he pitied them, or about how desperate and quick they were so willingly give themself to the Sadist.
Click.
Their hips rocked up onto his shin before the shock was even administered, a gasp at the sudden, pleasurable pressure between their legs following suit.
“I may already have,” he mused.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
If he were standing, the Sadist’s knees would’ve threatened to buckle at the sound of his Warden’s choked cry from the powerful shock.
“Such lovely noises you make. Are those all for me?” His grin was a wry thing, poisonous. “Tell me who they belong to.”
“Yes, f-for you. Please,” they whine, "I need you to touch me.” They ground down on the low parts of his shin again, right where the buckles and tied laces of the Sadist’s leather boot ended and his leg began. And again, harder and deeper and-
Click. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
“O-oh, fuck me! God, Vega!” This cry louder than the last.
“Ha— well, we’ll have to save that for another night, my dear. You’ve yet to prove yourself that you’re worth my time.” Smug bastard.
“I- I- what… how do you want me? I’ll do it. Just, fuck— please!”
“Greedy. It’s cute. But what I want,” he popped the “t” somehow even still in his mind, “are these wonderful hands to stay… right here.”
He took each of their wrists and thumbed a lazy circle overtop of their pulse-points, feeling their pounding heart try to keep up with their racing mind, and he planted one hand on top of each of his thighs. When his Warden dug their fingers into them, it was all muscle and strength beneath their touch.
“Because you,” a squeeze, “are going to watch.”
He let go of their wrists, trailing his hands up, up, up across those same thighs. Vega groaned as he palmed himself over the dark fabric of his pants just to show off, always so dramatic and sensual (and the Inchoate hated themself for letting it turn them on as much as it had). And then up, up to his belt. It, too, was black and crafted of leather, complimenting the intimidating boots.
“And you’re not going to touch, not unless I instruct you to do so. Am I clear?” he imitated the Inchoate’s tone from earlier, drawing a line of his own in the metaphorical sand.
“Crystal,” they parroted out of spite. Vega grew hungry.
The Inchoate wasn’t sure where to look. To look up to meet the Sadist’s hard stare? Or down at his skilled fingers making easy work of unfastening the metal buckle with a clang, and canting his hips just enough to slip the belt from his waist and dropping it onto the floor.
Vega had fantasies of his own, of course, fantasies of having have all of them. Pliant and shuddering beneath him. Always beneath him. Maybe he’d use the belt to act as a leash for his new play-thing, putting his Inchoate in their place below him.
The Warden decided to break the stare in favor of watching his hand’s focus shift from the abandoned strip of leather back up to their face again, cupping the soft curve of their jaw. Before they had a chance to lean into the touch, almost gentle, the hand smoothed over their cheekbone and over their temple, brushing a piece of untamed hair behind their ear as if he really cared it was in their face at all.
This was too much, yet still not enough. It was too soft for the Inchoate to not subconsciously brace themselves for another shock. But the voltage never came. The Sadist’s hand instead moved from behind their ear to wrap around the base of one of the Inchoate’s horns, and he yanked their head to where Vega had just been palming himself.
Electrocuted or not, the effect was just the same. The air was forced from their chest in one quick exhale, eyes wide with something unfamiliar. Something that made them feel small.
“Teeth,” his gaze flicked back from theirs to the zipper of his pants, “Go on."
It was a claim. No human to walk Elegy had any right to put their hands on neither Daemon nor Demon’s horns unless if given explicit permission beforehand, and even that was an uncommon practice. Most of Demon-kind had chosen to keep those parts of themselves cloaked, safe and secret and protected from any overly-inquisitive and judging eyes.
It had been for the better. A sad sentiment, but a necessity for walking hand-in-hand alongside the more brutal breeds of humanity. The horns were part of what make Demons a Demon in the first place, just as gills make a fish a fish, and wings a bird. Vega, again, was anything but human.
Their horns weren’t sensitive in the same way softer flesh had been. The sensation was just… new. Despite the lack of nerve endings, they still moaned at the touch, eyelids closed and head tilting further into the Sadist’s hand. If only said Sadist was an Inchoate and the Inchoate a human to feed from, Vega would be satiated from the assortment of their rousing emotions for a lifetime, especially when he twisted his hand just like- oh, like that.
To have another of their kind handle them like this, tugging them closer by the elegant curve carved of something that resembled cracked obsidian, was a sensation like no other. A measure of trust, however misguided. It was magic, curling and breathing around the two of them like they were the only beings to exist. To keep your horns uncloaked in the presence of another Demon was an unspoken sign of oneness, and this oneness was especially cherished by the Inchoate, now writhing against Vega’s leg chasing after more. It was a forgotten feeling, and if it weren’t for the Sadist’s zipper between their teeth, tugging it down, down, then they might have earnestly thanked him.
By the time the Warden released the zipper, their focus entirely set on Vega’s dark expression and awaiting for their next order, they couldn’t scramble together any words at all. All they could manage was to grind further down onto his boot and take their lower lip between their teeth.
Click. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
A whine this time, loud and unrestrained. Vega rolled his hips at the noise, inebriated with lust and high off of power. Just the way he likes.
“There, there,” he mocked, “Let’s not get overzealous, darling. Behave.” Vega’s other hand busied itself tangling back in their hair between the two horns, grip tight and so fucking good.
He slid his pants off enough for the material to gather right above his knees, and god damn. The sight of him straining against the thin fabric of his underwear alone would be enough to tempt any being, magic or not, to fall to their knees before him. Still, they needed more.
“Can- uhm, could you take… your shirt off?” If only their empowered colleagues could see them now, so ambivalent and dazed and disheveled. A far cry from what their Department reputation has chocked them up to be. They’ll bury that thought as well, just like they had tried to with that damn black duffle bag. “Please?”
Vega scoffed.
“And show my hand in cards all within a single night? Needy little thing, you are.” No- well, yes, but this was different.
It sent a strange pang of guilt and yearning and envy though his Warden, a poisonous concoction of their own making. More of him, please, more of someone like me. That’s where this envy had took root from, festering and overgrowing into something nasty and invasive. Vega had always lived as no one but himself, and bracketed between his thighs like this, grinding on his boot and squirming under his touch, it almost made them feel like an equal. Almost.
“I’ve… thought about you before, about you like-” they swallowed, “-like this. You’re beautiful. Strong. So fucking good. This… it all feels so good.”
They weren’t sure where the mental clarity to make this honest admission had come from, and his silence was loud enough of an answer to give the hint that he hadn’t cared. But Vega, perceptive and always observing, always listening, caught the heavy mixture of emotions as if they landed in a spider web, waiting to be wrapped in him and sucked dry until there was nothing more of the Warden than a shell of the Demon of who the Department forged them to be. And they supposed that wasn’t particularly a bad thing, as they didn’t used to see that side of themself as a Demon at all.
Vega felt that too, and for a reason unbeknownst to him at the time, the somber lilt of their voice echoing inside his head had had compelled his thumb to instinctively rub a small, soothing circle to the sensitive horn.
“You poor thing.”
Indulging their previous request, he lifted the shirt above his head to toss it to the floor beside the since-forgotten belt, noting how their dilated eyes zeroed in on his movements. Unlike Vega’s eyes, confident and bold, the Warden’s were usually tired and dull, edged with softness. Not a warm or gentle type of softness, per-say, but appreciative and wistful. Like someone had finally thought of them on their birthday, a day in which everyone else had seemed to forget. Eyes that quietly thanked him for his time and attention, lined with a kind of desperation.
Those same eyes took in every inch of him as if their life had depended on it, and at times, it almost felt like it had. Maybe the thought was a bit dramatic, so they agreed to blame themself for it tomorrow. Because tonight, life looked like smooth skin and a pair of broad shoulders dotted with constellations of freckles, like a tone stomach and facial features so sharp they could cut steel. Death looked like everything else that wasn’t him.
“There. No more courtesies. Be grateful for all you have in front of you, my Warden- and there’s quite a lot. Selfishness is unbecoming of something as beautiful as this face.” The words were accompanied with another tug at their hair, another claiming twist of their horn.
Their parted mouth ghosted above the fabric of the Sadist’s last article of clothing, shallow and panting breaths skimming across his hipbones. As- ah, cocky as he’d been, he was right: there was quite a lot. And given the sheer size of the Demon alone, it only made sense. They wanted every inch he’d give them, even if it meant they couldn’t breathe at all.
Vega wanted them too, as if him leaking through the thin material wasn’t enough of a dead give-away, and that visible lust might as well have been injected straight into the Warden’s bloodstream given how it made their head spin, tail flick, and heart to beat faster.
“Kiss it.” His voice had gone low, so smooth. Bourbon and honey, even inside their head.
And who were they to deny the biddings of such a divine work of art? So they did- hungrily, but slow and never daring to break eye contact. Pressing their mouth on him with more longing fervor with each kiss, Vega tipped his foot up into them as to test his Warden’s resolve, watching if they’d bite back the temptation of driving themself further onto his boot or shatter like porcelain below him.
His words… ‘how far can you bend before before you break?’… they ricocheted though every corner of their skull. Humming against Vega above the barrier of fabric, they sucked a rougher kiss over the tip, and his grip on the curve of their horn jerked them a little closer so their chest barely touched the armchair in the space between his legs. Call them greedy; they wanted even more. More of this, more of Vega, more anything he’d choose to give them.
"I'm done with the foreplay, Vega. If you’re truly more than all talk, then… then break me like you said you would,” they snapped. “Use me.”
Vega laughed. Their sharp words were dizzying, and the flare of their frustration serrated to the touch. The flutter of his Warden’s pride for their act of boldness went straight to his arousal, and it made his gaze drop to their mouth once more. Not to kiss them this time, no.
With a finger slipping between the elastic band and his skin, prickling with heat and magic, he made easy work of pulling the damn things down to join the pants bunched around his knees, giving the Inchoate’s curious imagination a break and putting on a lewd display.
“How I delight in when you’re rough with me. Spit.”
They did.
“Very good.” They both watched as it dripped down the length of his cock.
“Go on, you wanted so direly to see all of me…” his nail drew a more jagged pattern into their horn to spur them on, “…and here I am. Show me what else this pretty mouth of yours is good for besides making those delicious sounds.” The hand in their hair moved down to their parted lips, pressing his fingers against their teeth in the way he had before, coercing their mouth open and moving them closer.
It’s just a lick, at first. One run with their tongue from base to tip, drawn out at their own languorous pace and spreading the spit across his burning skin. Vega settled back into the armchair with a growl as his Inchoate traced alongside the ridge where the Sadist had been most sensitive. Wrapping their lips around his cock completely, they sank down slowly.
His Warden started shallow and easy, somewhat gradual and lazy. Just working him up.
His noises were strangled things, subtle encouragements to kick the languid pace up a notch to something quicker or deeper. With feeling his magic, heavy and and blazing and burning the walls of the room surrounding them, they were able to relax their shoulders. A persistent weight lifted from their chest like they’d finally mended a neglected piece of their soul. Do Demons have souls? The thrum of their own heady magic curling with Vega’s like this made them feel like they did. It’s a special kind of high.
The Inchaote’s heart was no larger than any other Demon’s, but it was pounding in their chest as if it were powered with a car battery. It made sense, considering the collar was still fastened as snug as ever around their neck. With how their thoughts buzzed from that lingering electricity, it would be a blatant lie to say that the Warden didn’t enjoy the way the currents of razor-sharp pain bled into their blissful pleasure. A new acquired and bitter taste, once that tasted like him.
The Sadist could feel their mind wandering else where, falling away. With another click of the dial remote, another shock of lightning, and another buck of their hips onto his boot, their attention snapped back to Vega’s body bare of anything but beauty and marvel and a thin sheen of sweat evident from the knees up. And their reddened lips parted around the tip of his cock, of course.
“Well? This is what you’ve been so eager for, is it not?” He grabbed onto both curved horns now, each of his large hands jerking on either side of his Warden’s dizzy head. “So fucking- take it.”
The Inchoate didn’t have much of a choice. Vega tightened his grip, using their horns as leverage to snap his hips up to meet his Warden’s tongue.
The vibrations of the Inchoate’s choked moans sent shockwaves of their own down Vega’s spine, the Sadist spreading his thighs wider for his Warden to fully burry their face against him as he began to thrust into the warmth of their mouth. Their noises- so gorgeous and muffled around him- only urged Vega to hold on tighter.
Magic is a strange thing, and as a physical being stitched together by the aureate threads of pure and peculiar magic itself, who would Vega be to not make use of its perks? Psychokinesis, namely, being one of his favorites. It was like breathing, the way it took nothing more than a mere thought to administer another shock through the collar, Vega as the conduit.
It was the Sadist’s first nature, finding what pleasure that may be found within pain.
The pull of the Inchoate’s skull onto his dick was all too strong to try and back away from- not like ever they would have, if given the chance. And the gratification of being the Sadist’s prey was only amplified by the charged current in their lungs and Vega’s magic in their bloodstream. That and the leather boot pressing further into where they were aching and desperate, rocking against their own heat.
The Inchoate spared no effort towards keeping their cheeks hollowed around Vega, eyes pricking with reflexive getting-your-face-fucked tears, but the rough pace he’d set to rocking into their mouth with had made the task easier said than done.
Indulging themself with another roll of their hips, they snuck a glance at the Sadist, and fuck.
A particularly hard thrust had the Inchoate gagging, yet with his head thrown back and lustful gaze drinking them down, they couldn’t bring themself to at all mind it.
The Warden had never gone to a church before, for it was an experience unique to Elegy that never piqued their interest. Still, they were sure this is what true sin had looked like. Unholy temptation. And if it weren’t for the other Demon’s hips snapping to hit the back of the their throat, one might’ve thought that the Inchoate had been positioned to kneel in prayer. The Warden knew about damnation though too, and the lines between salvation and perdition seemed to blur if they dwelled too much on it.
It was hard to breathe, the burn in their jaw so good. A string of broken moans and stuttering hips against Vega’s leg had told him so.
They sank down completely, held him there a moment, and swallowed around him.
A audible moan crawled from his chest, so deep and intoxicating and alive as it filled the air around them; he couldn’t hold it back.
“Oh, fuck. That’s a good little bitch. Keep taking it, mmph- just like that,” he hissed, back slightly arching from the armchair. Oh…
And as a reward for their obedience, Vega rubbed his boot against them harder than before. It was difficult to find the right angle, the right position, but with a muffled whine and a tighter grip of his spread thighs, the Inchoate began to find a good rhythm. Their pleading noises drove the Sadist to further press into them just- fuck, r- right there.
“Awe, does that feel good? It's what you needed. You like getting your face- fucked- like this. Don't you, slut?” he taunted through gritted teeth.
The Warden pulled their mouth off him with a lewd pop, eager to express their emphatic appreciation for the raw feeling at the back of their throat and between their thighs, as well as for the new (dis)honorable titles.
“I- god, Vega. You taste so fu-” Click. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP, “-mmph!” they spoke aloud in a moment of brief forgetfulness, only to be interrupted by Vega’s fingers squeezing their horns tighter, knuckles white, and jerking them back onto him with an agitated grunt.
“Did I -fucking- give permission for you to speak? Don’t let my- praise- go to waste, darling. It’s not something to be- taken- for- granted,” he growled, burying his Warden’s face- now a definite mess- deeper onto him with each enunciated thrust. Sliding both hands up to the tips of their obsidian points, the Sadist dragged his sharp nails down each horn, clawing at them as his Inchoate worked him over in earnest.
They nearly sobbed at the unfamiliar sensation, of both at Vega filling their throat as well as his hands scraping down the sides of their head. The implications of who they were with, fucking them up like this, who was responsible for the pooling ecstasy burning low in their abdomen, it had made the telepathic bond taste all the richer, so smooth and thick in their skull.
With another perfect and skilled twist of his hand, the Inchoate could only wonder how rough their keeper could play. How rough he would play. Were their horns coarse enough to rub his palms raw? Would they turn his grip slick with his own blood? It was… a morbid thought, yet the night’s turn of events brought on by Vega’s salacious doings had opened a new, curious door. A sadistic one, even. One that unearthed that pleasure found within pain.
They looked damn good like this as well, the pinch in their brow smoothed over with clinging hands grabbing at his thighs for any purchase. Just taking it, all of him, because that’s all they could do. And truth be told, they hadn’t wanted to do much else.
“This… this smart mouth feels exactly how I imagined it to. Oh, wasting my- time- behind the those warded bars- fuck- all alone and nothing short of starved. Mmph,” he laughed. “All of those things I had fantasized about… you swallowing me down. O-oh, gagging on my-dick- like the needy, desperate thing you try to smother out… hiding yourself away for no one to catch sight of.” They gripped his legs even more, grinding onto him harder.
“Bending and breaking… just look at you.” Magic surging, head spinning, and holy shit. The heat spreading beneath the Inchoate’s skin set their nerves on fire, the ache between their thighs building and coiling tighter.
The Sadist wasn’t any better off. Eating down every ounce of power his Inchoate had freely placed into his hands, the hands that held them where only he was to touch, Vega had grown dizzy just from watching how his words tore his new toy apart piece by piece. He felt their hips begin to move with no discernible rhythm, the friction between their uniform pants and his leather boot dancing along the lines of becoming too much and overwhelming.
He could taste blood in his mouth- did he bite his tongue?
“There are no facades, fuck, not with me. Let me give you what you want. That fabricated mask you don to veil what you- really- are… reach back and break it.”
Bending, bowing. The fissures in their composure splintered, cracking wider under the weight of every word that dripped from Vega’s wicked tongue.
As an act of mercy (or was it pity?), Vega decelerated the relentless pace of his movements to a slower and much more forgiving roll, deep and intense. Like this, he could enjoy the drag of his Inchoate’s flattened tongue and how their cheeks hollowed to suck at him, the gentler change of action allowing them to do so once again.
“Mmm, that’s right. Swallow around me again,” he panted.
Click. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
They did, hiccuping around his cock as they swallowed the electricity down with him. It was maddening. Fractures split into fault-lines, bending too far but not far enough all at once. So close.
“Oh,” he chuckled, brows softened with the heat of his own pleasure building in his gut, “you are good at taking orders when you want to. My pretty bitch… it just wants to get me off, isn’t that right?”
They moaned around him, pulling another sinful noise from Vega’s heaving chest that glistened with a worked-up sweat. His predatory claws raking up the Inchoate’s horns from base to tip muffled their hearing with ecstasy. Only the sounds of his pleasure and “praise” filled their mind, and right then, it’s all they could’ve asked for.
“If you want it so fucking badly, then go on, my darling Warden … break.”
Click. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Shattering.
The Inchoate choked out a grateful cry as the shockwaves of their electric euphoria crashed through them, the Sadist’s tearing down their resolve as it were a boarded window with the strength of a maelstrom.
With his boot still driving them into overstimulation, the shuddering Inchoate sank the heat of their mouth around him as deep as they could get it, one of their canines scraping the base of Vega’s slick cock.
That must’ve been the trigger. He let out an obscene moan so deep, it nearly sharpened into a snarl, pointed teeth catching the light cast from above them as he panted with his head thrown back. Muscles tensed as he spilled himself down their raw throat, pulling it back into their mouth, and fucking it down again until it feels too sensitive and he has to pull out.
“Ah ah- your mouth, keep it open. I want to see myself on your tongue,” he ordered.
When he did pull back, the other gasped like it was their first real breath they’ve taken in this earthly body. Sitting forward and breathing heavy himself, Vega slid one hand from his Warden's horn to cradle their flushed cheek. And the same as before, he ran his thumb along their cheekbone, over their swollen lips wet with spit, before finally pressing the finger back into their warm mouth. The only difference this time, he gathered what was left of himself on their tongue and dragged it across their teeth and bottom lip, then their cheek where his hand just had been holding them.
His.
“There we go… my hungry slut's all fucked-out from getting off on my boot. How sweet.”
Eyes closed, they were going to give an acknowledging nod when Vega’s other hand took a handful of their hair and pulled it back, leaving the front of their neck completely exposed once more. It was almost comfortable by now, familiar.
Click.
His Warden tensed, but no warning beeps followed. The collar fell to the floor with a thunk, Vega’s binding magic that kept it locked dissolving like sugar in water.
Their eyes shot open the instant one of the Sadist’s hands clasped over their mouth and held it shut. The other hand found its way around their lightly-bruised neck.
“Swallow it.”
And like feeding a dog a pill, he harshly stroked his hand up and down along their throat where the collar had been as to stimulate his Warden to carry out his final instructions, swallowing the rest of him down. Like a pet.
“Show me.”
They did, sticking out their panting tongue as proof.
“That’s it. Good bitch,” he sighed. Vega sat back into the armchair, lording over how thoroughly ruined his Inchoate looks with their shirt strewn on the floor, hair disheveled, and his cum spread over cheek as another claim. They were usually so neat, so clean.
Breathing heavily through their nose, the Inchoate leaned their head against Vega’s thigh as he cooled down with them. Each of their breathing was the only sound that can be heard in the now quiet room.
After a moment of gathering their bearings and finding their words, the Warden opened their mouth to speak, unsurely closed it, then opened it again.
“Don’t call me that,” they said, voice hoarse from getting their face fucked and throat filled.
“What?” he asked, taken by surprise.
“Vega,” they took a deep breath, “these are… dangerous games we play, you know that? You do. It’s only a matter of time before someone… before someone loses.”
He tipped his head in interest, as if their words were a promising proposition and not a threat. A threat to who, only time would tell.
“What is it that you fear of losing?”
If they were being honest, at this point, the Warden felt that Vega made it harder and harder to lose... him. Because then, they might lose themself. It was ironic. Right here, with the Sadist, they weren’t under the Department’s ownership. They weren’t a rehabilitation counselor or a specialist. They weren’t seen as a ‘feeder’, but an Inchoate, a Demon. Just like him. And they didn’t want to let that go, but they couldn’t yet trust themself enough to ensure that wouldn’t happen when left on their own.
Suppose they were his pet. Dependent on him and wrapped around his finger tighter than they thought they’d ever be. Being his was better than being alone.
And the Inchoate wasn’t ever going to tell him this, of course, yet the knowing glint set deep behind Vega's eyes whispered that he'd already been made aware of their realization long before the Inchoate ever spoke the words into his mind. Always two steps ahead. Always checkmate.
“Just… heed my words. I know how these sorts of things end. Please, be careful.”
Vega reached out, stroking his fingers through their hair in attempts to smooth it out. It was a strangely affectionate gesture.
“And don’t call me a slut. I don’t like that,” they added.
“Of course, darling,” he chuckled, “crystal clear.”
The promise was empty and hollow, but it’s every bit of what they expected. The figurative game piece of the night’s events moved across the board once more, again in Vega’s favor.
As the Inchoate lay on his lap between his legs, the Sadist’s fingers threaded through their tousled hair and soothed the scratch marks on their horns that his claws had left behind, both sitting in complete silence. A few minutes passed before Vega removed his leg from underneath them and stood from the chair, the other's head sliding off from his lap to look up at him, wide-eyed with a painfully puppy-like expression to match.
“Come find me when you’re decent. You should feed, and something tells me you’ll acquire a new taste for the sharp and the bitter. Need I remind you, a sweetness lies beneath that resentful aversion if you take the time to savor it,” Vega said while tucking himself back into his pants. He kicked his new pet’s discarded button-down shirt their direction and turned around. And then he walked away.
Leaving his Demon a kneeling mess on the floor, they only watched as the door clicked shut behind him.
The Inchoate looked down at the shock collar laying unclasped next to their knee. Shuffling off from the floor, they picked the device up and shoved it into their pocket, curious if the empowered containment facility enforcer that Vega held captive in the next room would hate it as much as they secretly hoped he would.