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The air of the Hadal Blacksite is uniquely horrible.
Enough to be uninhabitable? No, obviously. You’ve gasped as much of it as you have trying to recuperate behind locker doors. If it’s breathable in those, it most certainly is out of them.
It’s the way it tastes, the way it hangs. The immediate and overbearing salt in it, the aftertaste of decay—not just that of what little organic beings eke out lives and die this deep in the ocean, but the facility itself. Those offices have to be more mold and water damage than their original materials by now, and even the concrete and metal-clad HCZs smell faintly of their age.
The place reeks, and for all the ventilation installed, no circulation makes that blanket of death budge.
It’s even worse when you take pause in Sebastian’s shop and feel it drape against your skin as you peel away the sleeves of your jumpsuit. You wince, glaring towards a slow-moving vent fan overlooking the room, cursing its uselessness.
“That better not be directed at me.” His tone is low, hinting a warning.
You snap around to face him, wary. “I—No, it’s this air. Doesn’t change, doesn’t move, just sits there and stinks. This fucking air.”
He hums amusedly, head cocking. “Yeah, you’re telling me. As if I’m not the one who’s been stuck down here in it as long as I have.”
“…Right, yeah. It’s probably much worse to you anyways.” You pull on a strap of your uniform’s tank top uncomfortably, the high humidity and your sweat rendering it sticky. “I’d still rather suffocate.”
Sebastian grumbles. The air is awful, no denying that, but he’s so used to it by now he’s hard-pressed to remember it much of the time. There’s no need for him to monitor the stench of the environment he’s been forced to call home for over a decade. Rather, he’s drawn to a different smell entirely.
Sweat. When’s the last time he thought about sweat at all, let alone this much? Expendables come to him drenched in it all the time—he doesn’t need to see so much as a drop of it to know it’s always due to panic—but it’s no issue. It’s at most a point to mock them on, then he flashes his razor-sharp teeth at them and revels in their fear. Maybe it’s a little much if enough bodies are in the shop at once, but it’s ignorable.
Why, then, is he so dizzy? Gazing longingly at its shifting sheen over your upper body, drops trailing down the marks left on your skin by the diving gear’s harness, scent wafting as you walk along his tail’s length to mull over his wares—For once, it’s overwhelming him, and it’s because of a single person. Embarrassing.
The forked tip of his tongue involuntarily flicks past his lips, flitting the air to taste it, and he fails to stifle a groan. A jolt runs up your spine, and you look up to see him quite a bit bluer in the face than he was before.
"Fuck."
“Whoa…” Your brow furrows. “Are you good?”
“Take a wild guess, jackass,” he snaps. At least that hasn’t changed.
“It was a genuine question, man, what—“
“How about you use your goddamn eyes and work on your observational skills, then.” The mutant’s teeth grit, each word snarling. “Really, guess! Be my fucking guest.”
“I, uh,” you dribble out. “I feel like whatever I guess is gonna get me shot.”
“You’ll end up shot regardless if you give me a smartass non-answer like that again.”
“O-Okay, holy shit.” Your shoulders roll forward as you shrink. “Gimme a second.”
A second’s all that was needed. His tongue flits again almost as soon as you stop speaking, and he cringes, blushing deeper, tail and flukes repeatedly smacking the wall they once rested against.
“Oh, well,” you perk up. “To be honest, I’m not sure what the worse guess is here between ‘horny’ or ‘hungry’.”
“Get the jumpsuit off.” His voice is hushed but commanding.
“Alright, that was my better—“
“I need to taste you. Please.”
That thought peters away, replaced by a shiver at his whining tone. New drops of sweat bead on your forehead.
Lord.
Sebastian’s bright, glowing eyes bore into you, watching with fierce intent as you fiddle with your waistband then let it drop. He barely lets you wrestle a pant leg and boot off before pushing a palm against your torso and forcing you back several steps, moving with you as he does. You’re ready to scold him for almost knocking you over as soon as you stop stumbling, but the sight of him falling to his hands and leveling his face with your midsection takes your breath away.
“Fffffuck. God.” His growling’s grown thin, desperate. Your heart skips a beat at his hot breath gracing your stomach. “You can’t stop smelling this death trap, and I can’t stop smelling you.”
One of his left hands reaches out to the waist of your boxers, pinning its fabric with an index claw, the dulled sensation of it dragging against your thigh as he pulls them down to reveal your hardening cock making a whimper bubble out of you.
“Ih— It’s my sweat. Is it?” A vocal sigh as that hand draws up and peels your tank off. “Or do you huff phero—oooohh…”
You’re cut off by his enormous tongue pressing itself flat against your front, hands taking grip and twisting into his hair as he drags upward as slowly as he can manage to savor a different kind of salt. It’s so slick with saliva its tip slips and slides haphazardly over the surface of your stomach, but the familiar roughness of human tastebuds glides easily over your chest, coursing over a nipple before his mouth stops below your jaw. A soft whine shakes from you as he retracts it with a quick slurp to press his lips into a crook, that hot breath now wavering against your neck.
“I… Have an odd proposal for you.” He drawls, a gentle rumble against your bare skin. He grips your waist with his right hand.
“Mmh?”
He plants a second kiss against you, then swoops you off your feet, easing the remainder of your bottoms off entirely before holding you at a concerningly ready position above his mouth.
“You wanna suffocate?”
Wait, what?
“So this is how I die, huh?” You squirm in his grip knowing hard and well you’ve no fighting chance. “I get angled in, then you gulp me up and it’s just over for me.” As sarcastic as you sound, it’s a bit too real of a possibility now.
“Oh, come on. I’m exaggerating.” He grins crookedly, shakily inhaling through his teeth. “I’d just be tasting you better. You don’t think I can’t spit you out, do you?”
A pearl of drool falling from one corner of his mouth catches your eye and excites you, but you’re still hesitant. “It’s more that I don’t trust you’ll do that.”
“I’m an asshole, not a liar. Pinky promise.”
“Yeah, with what fuckin’ pinky, Seb?” You raise an eyebrow.
“Shut up.” His expression falls, all three eyes narrowing. He’s cute when he pouts.
The saliva coating your torso prickles you as it dries, feeling a little too good for how nasty it should be by instinct. It piques your curiosity. Surely, the effect would be the same if you were coated head-to-toe in it, right? Your cheeks grow hot just thinking about it.
“Do it.”
Sebastian brightens back up just as fast, a malicious glint emerging in his eyes. He lowers his right to bring you face-to-face with those sharp teeth of his and chuckles deeply, darkly. You find your heart skipping beats again, adrenaline pumping as your brain screams at you for being eager prey.
"Well," he breathes. “In you go, then.”
With no further warning, he gapes his maw, and he carefully slides you head-first onto his tongue, his right hand moving to your ass to push you forward. Those pin-point teeth scrape against your thighs and you’re sure they’ll draw blood, but the wet, sticky cave that is his mouth is so oppressive you can only focus on how hot it is within. That, and just how good his tongue feels—the rugged muscle against comparatively smooth skin, its moistness accenting its rippling against your upper body as he shifts you around his mouth, lapping, rolling, sucking…
Having softened a bit while still in his grasp, your cock throbs back to life, just as helpless to the jostling of his tongue as the rest of your mass already inside his mouth. You can’t help but moan outright, hands balling into fists as you try to grind back against him. His reciprocating groan shakes you enough that you almost miss his palm pressing your feet past his lips, head dangling over the abyss beyond the root of his tongue as he accommodates your entire body in his oral cavity. Fuck, that’s a long, long way down.
"Mmmmnnhh…"
Sebastian groans again, tensing as he grips one of his cocks, struggling to pace himself so he doesn’t cum near instantly. He’s also struggling against his swallowing reflex, a losing battle with you sitting in a prime spot to trigger it in the first place—and, with one huge gulp, he relents, slipping you off his tongue and plunging you into that abyss.
You yelp from the sudden tightness of his esophagus, writhing against its slick, gooey walls in an utterly futile attempt to orient yourself. Being too large to slip much further down without additional heavy swallows is a saving grace, at least. The mutant’s whining rattles his throat, sending shocks straight to your crotch, pleasure surging throughout you to your extremities. What’ll make you climax first turns into a decisive race between the vibrations of his strangled cries and the jerking of his body around you as he sloppily pumps himself. The most you can do in the meantime is keen.
If only you could breathe properly.
That suffocation question was no joke. Of all factors to consider, somehow oxygen deprivation wasn’t one of them—and to say the air’s thin in these relative shallows would be a staggering understatement. You’d panic over your time running out in a far more embarrassing fashion than you originally feared, but you simply lack the energy to. Goodbye world, you suppose.
Sebastian’s asshole-not-liar claim proves itself true, his rather conveniently-timed pivot to retching startling you back to the realm of the living. He lurches forward onto his original arm pair, unseen to you but easily felt, third arm furiously jerking both his shafts as he gags on both your body and his own moans. It’s the violent contractions of his pharynx that finally send you over the edge, body convulsing in tandem as you spurt down the walls of his throat, wailing with newfound energy.
Your legs glide against tastebuds once more a few contractions after the one you came with. A final gag, and you’re tumbling from his mouth, gracelessly falling to your knees, limp feet dragging on the floor. You narrowly miss hitting your head as you flop onto your back with a wet slap, splaying your arms and legs as you take a giant gasp of air. Sweet, sweet relief.
Just as sweet are Sebastian’s ragged whines and heaving breaths as he unravels in front of you, a ramble about how good you taste and all the space you take up within him buried in a stream of pure lust, virtually incomprehensible. It only comes to a stop when he shudders over you and paints your front with his seed, marking you as his like the film of saliva and throat mucus didn’t sell that enough. He’s made a complete fucking mess of you. You’ll deal with it later, whenever that is.
"Rrgh." Muttering under his breath, he carefully undoes his harness and slides the SCRAMBLER off his back. The silhouettes of his scarf, jabot, and overcoat getting tossed to the floor beside it vaguely register through your haze. “Sh-Should’ve taken my layers off earlier.” His recovering composure is betrayed by continued trembling.
He watches you attempt to sit up and assess the damages, then presses a hand’s fingertips to your chest to halt you. You’re too sore to fight it and sink back down.
“Hell’s the rush for? Rest.” His coo tickles your ears.
“Do I really taste that good?” You rasp.
“Ah—“ Blush dusts his cheeks again, eyes widening in alarm. An ear fin swats the air. “Don’t… Don’t think about that.”
You huff, too tired for a real laugh.
Not unlike his coo, the fluid film over your skin prickles the way you hoped it would. The drying process is slower because of quantity, of course, but it’s even further slowed by that unmoving air you scorned.
Maybe it’s got use beyond being a morale-killer.