Work Text:
“Hey, hey, Horror!”
Horror wakes up with a start, wide eye looking up at Dust, who’s hovering over his bed with a sly smile that tells Horror he’s up to something right away. He just hopes he’s not included in whatever elaborate yet probably stupid idea the other came up with.
“What?” he bites out, annoyed that he was woken up. It was a miracle he’d even managed to fall asleep in the first place, what with Killer deciding to cause a ruckus in the middle of the night.
“H, can I borrow your axe?” Dust asks, doing that thing with his eyelights that makes him look like an innocent puppy begging for a treat. He couldn’t be any further from ‘innocent’, though.
Horror blinks up at the request in confusion. “...why?”
“I need it for something. Come on, just for a bit. Please?” He stretches the word, smiling softly while he pierces Horror with that puppy stare, adding to it with a wobble of his teeth.
Horror groans, turning over to face the wall instead. “Sure, whatever... just let me sleep,” he mumbles sleepily, irritation slipping out of his voice only to be replaced by drowsiness.
Dust's teeth twist up in a satisfied grin; he snatches the weapon from its usual resting spot against the bedside table and quite literally runs out of the room, only throwing a ‘thanks, sleep well!’ behind himself.
Cross is easy.
Don't get him wrong, Dust loves the fact. For as much as Cross likes to pretend he's fully composed at all hours of the day, it's shockingly easy to get him riled up.
Dust winds his arms around his waist and brings him closer, backing them both up towards the bed.
He tugs Cross down, onto his back and hovers over him, smothering his grin as he kisses along Cross' neck, teeth clinking against each of the vertebrae.
“I want to try something,” he mutters into the crook where Cross' neck meets his clavicle.
“What is it?” The other cranes his neck to give him more space to work as he lets out a little mewl when Dust's tongue flicks out to run over his shallow bite marks.
“You’ll see,” Dust grins, deft fingers starting to work the overcomplicated uniform off of his mate.
Cross regards him with a dubious look, but he does help Dust get his clothes off by wiggling out of them. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to what is coming next.
He shakes even before Dust's fingers touch him.
Those fingers roam his body purposefully, running over all the spots that make him writhe and magic boil; his neck, his collarbone, the leylines between his spinal vertebrae... It doesn't take long for his magic to come alive, manifesting in a swirl of purple wisps.
He is about to tell Dust to hurry up, but he seems to read his thoughts as he finally encircles his newly-summoned cock. Though he will act as if Dust dragging him off to bed is something terrible, he becomes putty in Dust’s hands embarrassingly quickly.
Dust’s teeth leave small nips all over the exposed part of his neck and he can’t keep down the small sounds escaping him. He knows exactly how much Dust likes hearing them, at least by the grin that is still pressing against the juncture of his collarbone.
He’s not even sure when Dust gets a bottle of lube, but when he hears the other opening it, he pushes himself up.
“I can do it myself,” he rasps, his voice cracking in the middle there and he hates it, absolutely hates it.
He has to keep a little of his power over the situation, though, or he feels like he’ll go mad.
“No can do,” Dust replies immediately, hand on his shoulder pushing him back down again. “I’m doing everything today. If you don’t like that, I can always tie your hands.”
Cross frowns up at Dust. “Don’t threaten me, Dust,” he growls lowly.
“What’ll you do about it?” Dust asks, voice rising in a sing-song tone as he pulls away to let Cross see the shit-eating smile that somehow makes his whole face glow beautifully. It also makes Cross want to punch it. Or kiss it. He just wants it gone, either way.
He fists the front of Dust’s hoodie. Dust is kind enough to help him, or... well, he did say he wanted to do everything today.
Cross leans back, his back hitting the cool bed sheets that feel like heaven against his heated skin. He’s just letting Dust go through with this, yeah. He’s in total control of the situation. Complete. Control.
Dust gets the rest of his clothes off no problem, even though he has to deal with all those straps. Well, it comes from practice, Cross thinks. He can get his own clothes off pretty quickly, as well.
And then the bottle is back - where did Dust even put it? more importantly, where’d he get it from? - and Dust squirts the translucent liquid all over his fingers. The air is filled with a faint scent of strawberries. They both unconsciously lick their teeth.
“It doesn’t taste good,” Dust mumbles, smiling somehow bashfully.
It takes a second to process and then Cross’s brows draw together, his teeth twisting down. “You tasted it?”
Dust laughs quietly. “Guilty as charged.” His dripping fingers move down and Cross automatically moves his leg to the side. Then he catches the movement and places it over Dust’s shoulder instead.
The fingers press against him and he tenses unconsciously, but Dust’s other hand touches his thigh and he starts peppering kisses along the sensitive flesh. Cross shivers, turning his head to the side and hiding it in the pillow. The soft touches, however, had the desired effect, and his body relaxes slowly.
When he looks at Dust again - just for a moment; his cheeks are flaming hot and he doesn’t want Dust to see. not that he hadn’t seen them like this before, but still - Dust meets his gaze with his own, teeth curling into a smirk as he releases Cross’s flesh from them. A vivid mark dominates the expanse of his thigh and Cross’s breath hitches when he notices it.
“Dust…” He intends to growl, but his voice comes out as a sigh instead. In all honesty, he loves that. He loves that he has lasting proof of Dust’s love. He knows that if the others knew, they’d never let him live it down.
One of Dust’s fingers presses into him, slick and hot and Cross chokes on his breath, caught off guard.
“Don’t keep your voice down,” Dust whispers into his ear. It’s soft and more of a request than anything. Cross knows he does that so he wouldn’t feel the need to fight back as he absolutely would if it sounded like an order. He consciously relaxes his jaw so he's no longer grinding his teeth together.
The finger presses further, until Cross can feel Dust’s hand pressed as close to him as possible. It’s not enough. He grinds his hips down, though it does close to nothing to alleviate his need.
Dust doesn’t tease, though — at least not this time. He moves the finger back and forth, crooking it here and there to coax Cross’s walls to relax further. He adds another finger, scissoring them slowly.
A needy sound leaves Cross’s throat and his hands fist the bedcovers, leylines fading from the force of his grip. He shuts his mouth with a click, and then relaxes again. He might as well make Dust as flustered as he is, right?
“Dust— Fuck, Dust,” he moans, sockets squeezing shut as Dust’s fingers crook just right, sending a strong jolt through his whole body. “Dust!” His plan seems to backfire when Dust’s eyelights take on a darker glint and he keeps pressing the pads of his fingers against his prostate.
He keens, hips bucking up off the bed in an unconscious attempt to get away. His swollen cock is leaking precum all over his stomach.
And then, just like that, the fingers leave and he heaves a long breath. His heart stutters and his summoned muscles twitch and he just takes a moment to compose himself. Or, at least he wants to.
Something presses against him again, something bigger than Dust’s fingers and he gets startled — when did Dust get himself prepared? But when he opens his eyes again and looks up at Dust and then down at himself, he sees it’s not actually Dust pressing into him.
“Dust…?” he questions, propping himself up a bit to see exactly what was going on. Dust doesn’t seem to be too bothered and keeps pressing the thing inside, slowly. “What—?”
The thing is long and wooden and Cross catches the glint of a blade. His sockets widen and he tries to back off, but Dust’s holding his hips and preventing him from moving. “Dust!” he cries out, “Is that Horror's—?!”
Dust hums in agreement. “Yeah, he let me borrow it,” he says, sounding too pleased with himself. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Cross wiggles, but he can’t deny that the axe is rubbing against him in all the right places. It’s slightly wider at the end, spreading him apart inside, and Dust only pushes it in so far, making sure it wouldn’t be too much. It already feels like it's pushing his breath out of him. “Dust, he’s gonna— Fuck…” He’s losing his coherency, but he knows Horror won’t be happy with this. He’s gonna— Fuck, Dust really does know how to make his brain a mush.
“Don’t worry,” Dust cooes, moving the axe out only to push it back inside. Cross can’t stop himself from bucking. “I’m sure he’ll be the next one to have it in himself.”
“Dust, n—” Cross cuts himself off with a whine, high-pitched and drawn out. His teeth are parted to allow him to pant harshly. Dust’s tempo speeds up, the axe sliding smoothly in and out and then Dust angles it upwards and the next thrust has Cross keening, back arched off the bed beautifully as he struggles to breathe with the loud moan still leaving him, choked and breathless.
Dust vehemently keeps the axe aimed that way, making sure it brushes Cross’s prostate with each thrust. His SOUL swells with satisfaction when he hears all the sounds Cross is making, from mewls to throaty moans and gasps.
“You look so pretty like this,” Dust says, drinking in the blissed expression crossing Cross’ face. “Even more than usual. H is losing out on so much, not seeing you like this,” he chuckles.
“Nah, I’m not losing out... on anything,” comes a third voice from behind them.
Cross stares at Dust with sockets wide as saucers, tears gathering at the corners of them. “Horror, it’s not—”
“So this is what you wanted my axe for?” Horror turns to Dust, who, while startled by his sudden appearance, is still grinning.
“Yeah. Your axe is just perfect to fuck Cross' brains out,” Dust explains. The fact that Dust and Horror are holding a conversation like it’s not a big deal that Horror's priced weapon is shoved so far up Cross’ ass that his vision is already dotted with dark; it puts Cross even more on the edge.
“Huuh,” Horror cocks his head to the side, eye roaming all over Cross’s body and settling on Dust’s hand, which still maintains its steady pace. “I never… thought of that,” he says finally, “but you’re right.”
“Check this out,” Dust drawls, grinning slyly at Horror, and the next thrust is so much stronger that Cross bucks straight off the bed, cock leaking precum in a steady stream.
His breath hitches, hands shaking as they hold onto the covers for dear life. He tries to catch his breath back, but it doesn't work, because that's just the force Dust is using now. And he never stops moving it.
And then Dust’s lithe fingers curl around his cock.
“Dus—!” Cross exclaims, saliva dripping from the corner of his open mouth as he stutters out moans. His teary, blurred vision rests on his mates as everything becomes too much. “Dust!”
Cross cums all over his stomach and Dust’s hand. Dust mercifully pulls the axe out, but Cross still shakes in overstimulation. His cheeks feel wet and he doesn’t have to touch them to know they aren’t sweaty. “H…” he croaks, voice throaty and decidedly destroyed. “It’s not… It was all Dust’s idea…”
Horror grabs Dust's hand and licks the purple magic off his fingers, not looking bothered at all. Then, when Dust's fingers are clean, he levels him with a heated look, and his eye glints lustfully. “I want... the axe inside of me. Now.”
Dust's teeth curl up into a lopsided grin, one he hides by leaning in and smashing them against Horror's. He glances to the side at Cross.
"Told you."