Chapter Text
A lifetime ago, Zaeth and his next door neighbor best friend hugged each other in celebration of some childhood improv game and then forgot to end the hug for nearly ten minutes. They never really talked about it, but Zaeth never forgot that.
Long before any of his peers had figured out what “second base” was, Zaeth had a kissing booth at the county fair. He always wondered why everyone wasn't doing it. As soon as Zaeth was getting hard-ons, he was giving hand-jobs. And he always got paid, abiding by his father's old adage, “if you're good at it, don't do it for free.”
As a teenager, Zaeth was sure his father would have killed him for “being gay,” (he was bi) but when his dad caught him giving a bj behind the barn, he just walked away and asked later, “how much?” Zaeth had only charged twenty-five but he lied: “fifty bucks.” Daddy just nodded approvingly: “not bad.” But he was still too much of a coward to even so much as clap Zaeth's shoulder.
Zaeth's family was white trash, for sure, but they were comfortable trash. At least, until his father's luck ran out. Zaeth took care of himself just fine, and quickly found another Daddy to take care of him. When things turned sour, he left and found another Daddy to take care of him. And so it went.
Handjobs in a movie theater; quickies in a roommate's bunk; sex with a stranger in a piss-stained alley behind a bar: risky sex had always been Zaeth's bread and butter. If his father had taught him how to take a risk, then his mother had taught him how to account for it. His mother never approved of anything Zaeth did, but she always snuck condoms and a cut of her night's tips into Zaeth's wallet.
After Koschei's Embrace was when he really lost his mind.
Fledgling Zaeth was insatiable, and the hunger barely dimmed over time. Anything and everything went inside Zaeth, to the shock and awe of large but cultivated audiences. Koschei the steady hand in the shadows: to kiss, to suck, to lay upon and be held by.
Baseball bats, gear shifts, parking breaks, stationery supplies, tv remotes, handles of all kinds: if it was vaguely phallic, there was a good chance it had been inside Zaeth in one capacity or the other. No inanimate object was safe.
Of course not everyone approved of this behavior, and Zaeth's risk-aware intuition only atrophied. But he was warm in Koschei's dark; sheltered, protected, held. Zaeth would never need another Daddy.
×
“Fuck, so hot, so good for HJ,” he cooed at Zaeth, pulling the blonde's mullet, guiding his head along his length.
“That's a good boy, Zaeth,” LaVonte supplied from behind, holding Zaeth open as he drove in-and-out.
Zaeth's eyes rolled: Heaven. I'm in…Heaven.
HJ moved fluidly; his hips and his hands rolling together in a smooth rhythm. Zaeth took him likewise; his whole body calibrated perfectly, heart beating and breath heaving in time to the tempo of HJ hitting the back of his throat. Transcendent.
LaVonte moved in near-synchronicity with his partner, except a little slower, and with a little more flourish; an occasional note of vibrato among the steady beats. An extra thrust here; one thrust held deeper longer; a squeeze instead of a spank there.
They could give Zaeth a port in a storm, but it wasn't a lasting satisfaction. Zaeth had felt the deepest part of him touched and anything less felt like nothing now. Occasionally a vivid sense-momory would flash through his mind and he felt a deep despair in knowing there were still crevices of Mitch's mandibles that he hadn't tasted yet.
Zaeth groaned, filled in both ends, remembering the stretch of his intestines bloated with the Nosferatu's massive cock. He shivered and goosebumps broke out over his Blushed skin. His dick ached longingly. Fuck.
“What the fuck?” A dusky gravel voice among the music of bodies.
×
Oh, Mitch hated that he was jealous. In that moment, he hated it more than Injustice. This should not affect him at all. At all. He's NOT in any kind of relationship with Zaeth. He has no claim on him. He's not Zaeth's Daddy. He's not. He's not. He's not.
Nothing stopped. Him standing there aghast and chagrined meant nothing; it changed nothing. He knew that this would happen eventually. It had to. He has no claim. He's not.
Zaeth lifted his head off HJ groggily. He turned slowly. His eyes took some time to focus. “Mitch?”
Mitch gasped. Under his turtleneck mask, his mandibles quivered.
“S'that you, boy scout?” Zaeth reached his free hand out vaguely. The other held his cock. HJ still held his hair. LaVonte still fucked his ass.
Mitch closed his eyes. He had fed recently, leaving some drunk under a tree with a bite mark and a bad hangover. He roused the blood in him, knowing he'd probably regret it later.
“Miiitch?” Zaeth called for him weakly.
HJ laughed. “Zaeth, what-?”
“Oh, shit, hey, man,” LaVonte greeted Mitch. “I didn't see you there. Don't mind us.”
“I will,” Mitch replied, fully in his Darkness Man voice. “I will mind. I mind alot.”
HJ giggled. Everyone had noticed the vibe shift between Mitch and Zaeth, but no one had spoken openly about it yet.
LaVonte smiled. “Oh- okay?” He wasn't about to volunteer that they stop on Mitch's account, and he was curious if Mitch was going to step up.
Mitch's meal spread through him, waking his body and allowing him to feel the arousal of seeing Zaeth being used. The jealousy didn't dampen it. Mitch swore it was the blood that made him lose his mind.
“Mine!” He growled and leapt forward.
“Oh, shit,” HJ and LaVonte exclaimed in unison, their tone a fusion of caution and esteem.
Mitch tore Zaeth from their clutches and pulled him close, as if the Brujah were a distressed damsel and the two businessmen brutish villains. Zaeth, hard and leaking, started grinding on Mitch's thigh. With a consoling air, Mitch carried Zaeth over to a couch and sat. He opened his trousers and Zaeth immediately began blowing him.
“Whoa.” LaVonte stared.
“Holy shit,” HJ muttered and lowered red-tinted glasses down his nose.
“A monster,” LaVonte murmured to his partner, leaning in conspiratorially.
HJ slowly shook his head, mouth gaping, as he watched Zaeth wrestle the behemoth in the Nosferatu's pants.
“Look at him go,” HJ whispered.
Zaeth already had the monster so far down his throat that the size of his neck had nearly doubled. Mitch stroked his hair and muttered messily articulated praise. He worked two fingers into Zaeth's ass, and then began to spank it with his other hand.
HJ and LaVonte both groaned low in their throats and leaned back in their seats. They each grabbed their own dick.
When Mitch ceased his attention to Zaeth's ass, the Brujah yowled like a distressed cat and humped the air pitifully. Mitch responded with hard spanks spaced out unpredictability, leaving Zaeth trembling in anticipation. He rested a fraction of the weight of his arms on the back of Zaeth's head. It forced Zaeth further down his cock and jammed himself even deeper down Zaeth's throat.
Finally, he pulled Zaeth up- a deluge of drool pouring from his mouth and clinging to Mitch's dick- and kissed him. His tongue reached between Zaeth's lips, and Zaeth could only kiss his razor-sharp teeth while the tusks of Mitch's mandibles framed his jaw and cheekbones.
“Haawwt,” said HJ. LaVonte contributed: “whoa.”
Mitch pulled away and Zaeth grabbed one tusk in his mouth and sucked it, refusing to let it go.
Mitch let him hold it between his lips while he spoke: “You like this?”
Zaeth gave small, frantic nods. He held his own dick tightly; the shaft was deep red and painfully hard.
“I knew you would, you pervert,” Mitch sneered, his eyes twinkling.
Zaeth released the tusk and smiled and surged forward to lick the tender skin under his mandibles that folded when they closed. Mitch groaned, enjoying the meticulous attention. He fingered Zaeth again, adding another gloved finger. After a few minutes, he pulled his hand out, spanked him, and then used the same hand to pull him by his hair.
“I want you to show them that you belong to me,” Mitch ordered. He teased Zaeth's nipples with his other hand.
Zaeth whimpered. He stood, turned around, and sat in Mitch's lap, leaning back against the Nosferatu's wide, bulky chest. Zaeth pulled his legs up and braced his feet on either side of Mitch's knees.
Mitch noticed that Zaeth let his arms hang limp at his sides, not presuming to touch either of them. Waiting for an instruction, because he belonged to Mitch.
“Good boy,” Mitch told him, breath hot in his ear, mandibles caressing the back of his neck.
Zaeth groaned and squirmed. “Please, Daddy-” he whispered. His legs trembled. His cock jumped. His hole pulsed. “Fuck me, please.”
Mitch reached under Zaeth and guided his massive head into the twitching hole. Zaeth sank onto the shaft quickly, embracing the hard monster instantly with the yielding softness of his body.
“Oh, fuck, yes!” Zaeth groaned loudly. Mitch's dick bulged his stomach as his body ate it up.
Mitch wrapped a hand around Zaeth's neck. He kissed and gently bit his earlobe. Zaeth shuddered and whimpered as teeth and tusks and talons grazed hyper-sensitive erogenous zones. His legs trembled and kicked, spasming from the stimulation.
HJ clamped a hand on LaVonte's knee as both their hands moved a little faster.
“You're mine,” Mitch rumbled in Zaeth's ear. “You belong to me. Tell them.”
“I'm yours, Daddy, I-”
“No, baby, tell them.”
“I-” Zaeth's mind had to churn for a moment to make the words go. “I'm his. I-” Zaeth panted, his mind and body wrecked from Mitch's dick. “I- I belong to him. Mitch is my Daddy.”
“Fuck,” Mitch growled from deep, deep in his chest and he was only embarrassed for a heartbeat when he burst inside Zaeth just hearing the words. “Fuck, fuck,” he growled through clenched teeth as his body trembled, his balls tightened, and he filled Zaeth up.
“Daddy!” Zaeth cried, fleeting warmth blooming deep inside him. It grew to scorching hot as more spasms of fluid shot into him. He had to grab his own dick and pump it until he came; he needed to come with this heat gradually cooling in him.
Mitch let him come. He played with Zaeth's body as he came down from his own high; pinching his nipples and squeezing his balls. Zaeth's body arched, stroking Mitch like it was daring him to go soft.
“Fuuck,” Mitch moaned. He grabbed Zaeth's hips and started pulling him up and pushing him down, using his body like a toy. He felt so desperate even though he had already come. He needed more; he didn't know what. Just: more.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasped everytime he bottomed out, feeling Zaeth's ass smack the hollow between his thighs. He felt his cockhead buried far too deep in Zaeth's guts, prodding into organs it had no business ever feeling.
“Fuck, baby! You're my good boy, aren’t you?” Mitch couldn't help himself, didn't know what he was saying, really.
All he knew was that this man wanted him, all of him, in every way possible. That desire wounded Mitch to his core. He felt broken, in a shambles. All because of Zaeth fucking Bondana.