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"So were you, uh… conscious? In there?"
Mephiles gives a considering hum. It was not often that Silver brought attention to the artifact that once housed him as one half of Iblis; the Scepter of Darkness. It sits, innocuous and heavy, on a shelf in their bedroom. Rarely touched except when Silver gets the urge to dust.
"In a sense," he says eventually, drifting closer. The other hedgehog's fingers hover over the crystal shaft, glinting darkly in the light from the window. It's almost dark outside, that lovely place where the shadows are long and the streetlights just beginning to flicker to life. "I wouldn't say I was aware, per se, but I remember what it was like."
Gold eyes flick from the scepter to Mephiles. "What it was like?" he prompts, and finally dares to touch it, picking the scepter up almost reverently.
Mephiles' form ripples with ghostly sensation. "I'm still tethered in a sense. Destroying it would not end me, though it would hurt." Now that he is no longer one half of Iblis, no longer bound to that divine destiny.
The gravity of the admission is not lost on Silver. He turns it over in his hands, studying the grooves and contours with new appreciation. "Whoa. So, like… You can feel this?" He taps a gloved claw to the crystal and the sensation echoes faintly through to Mephiles. It's a bit like being tapped on the shoulder, except he can't brush it off or ignore the feeling.
"Stop that, it's annoying."
Silver stops tapping immediately and almost starts to put the scepter back. Mephiles stops him with a hand on his wrist.
"Come. Perhaps I can show you."
Fingering his little lover open is, frankly, one of Mephiles' favorite activities in the bedroom. Watching the way mortal flesh clenches and then slowly yields to his will, the pulse of his fragile heart from within… it tickles his immortal fancy.
That Silver seems to enjoy it quite a lot as well is a bonus.
He's got the boy propped up on the pillows, legs crooked and straddling his thighs so they're spread obscenely wide, while he works him open. Like this, Mephiles has a perfect view of every microexpression that fits across Silver's face; brief discomfort, embarrassed pleasure, the satisfaction of getting three digits comfortably inside himself.
It also makes it so very, very easy to crook those fingers in a 'come hither' motion that rubs deliciously into his prostate.
Silver arches into it, chasing the pleasure with his hips and abs, even as he pants, "Come on, it's not that– gnhh– big!"
True enough. "It's not meant for this sort of activity," Mephiles reasons, even as he curls his fingers again, just to hear him whimper. The sharp end of the scepter sits on the side table, safely removed from the object so that the end is merely a blunt hexagonal shape. Not ideal for penetration, which is why he's going to extra lengths to ensure his lover is quite loose and relaxed first.
He supposes three fingers ought to be enough. Just to be sure, he coats them again with lubricant and presses them all back inside, turning them to coat Silver's interior walls even further. The other hedgehog's cock is resting firm and reddened on his lower belly, twitching with interest as Mephiles gives one last, lingering press against his nerves.
Then he takes up the scepter. The 'handle', he supposes, is roughly one and a half times the length of his hand before the decorative motif. It's about as thick around as a broom handle, though angular instead of round. No taper. No curve.
If it weren't a magical artifact, there would be little draw to misuse it like this.
Silver watches with unveiled interest as Mephiles meticulously smears lube along the handle before lining it up at his entrance. "Ready, pet?"
"I think so?"
Mephiles presses it in. It's almost awkward, given the blunt end, but once it's past his rim the scepter glides into him smoothly. Mephiles doesn't aim to sheathe it entirely, only to fill Silver with it as far as will be comfortable.
Immediately, his own preternatural senses light up with phantom sensation. Heat. Pressure. Slick. It's as Mephiles anticipated. But once it's in as far as he's willing to push it, something else clicks into place.
Silver goes rigid in front of him.
Life. Lifelifelifelivingbreathingflesh–
The sudden ricochet of sensation is intoxicating, the scepter itself no longer merely an extension of his will but a conduit into Silver. Mephiles gives a rumbling, bassy growl of pleasure as it fills him up, as his toes curl and his eyes shut in pure feeling, and lets the part of himself still tied to the scepter flow through Silver in kind.
Silver feels it immediately. The rod itself isn't that big– it's just a little long, and the blunt end isn't exactly the best feeling, but it's not bad either.
That is, until he feels a coil of something both more visceral and less corporeal inside him. It twists experimentally, prodding at his walls in a tentative sort of way– then Silver gasps as it begins to unspool into him, like ink across paper.
He blinks and has a flash of seeing himself. Red in the muzzle, ears drooping forward in pleasure, his own eyes looking back at him as he's filled. It's disorienting to say the least– he opens his eyes again and realizes that he's seeing what Mephiles sees.
"Whoa," Silver pants. The unraveling feeling in his core spreads, warm and silken, his own words making it pulse back with pleasure. It's like… like they're sharing sensations.
Mephiles gives no response. He's pouring into Silver as wine into a glass, and the eddies of his mortal beloved's pleasure wash over him, almost alien in their physicality. He feels Silver's arousal, the thrum of blood in his cock and his lips and the tips of his ears, the way it makes his fingers tingle and it. Is. Heady.
Neither of them notice the white of Silver's eyes begin to darken, black bleeding from the corners towards the gold of his iris like veins. He tips his head back and shudders a moan as the feeling of being invaded doubles in on itself, spiking into heat that has his hips arching up even as it fills his throat and threatens to choke him. He wants more.
"Oh man. Oh– that's–"
The sound draws Mephiles back into himself. Or at least, draws his awareness back to the physical. He blinks up at his lover as Silver spasms again, fingers curling into fists, another wave of dark pleasure crashing over him. He can still feel it, the near overwhelming lust–
"Meph, it– I'm–"
Silver throws his head forward as he curls in, knees squeezing Mephiles' flanks hard, and suddenly, abruptly cums. It feels like drowning, like ascending into the clouds and falling into an abyss and it's utterly overwhelming, dragging a ragged keen from his lips. The ejaculate that spurts forth is tinged with grey with Mephiles' own essence, his mortal body tipping them both into bliss.
Silver takes him like he was made to. His open heart, his trust, his devotion, all of it shaping him into the perfect vessel for Mephiles' will. Nearly drunk on the feeling, he lets more of himself flow into his lover, filling every corner, every crevice, until he thinks surely Silver will overflow.
And overflow he does– Silver's mouth opens in a wide 'O', shuddering and twitching and utterly unable to control his limbs. Psychokinetic energy sparks around his hands, his blackened eyes, but he has no control over it. Mephiles' essence coils and lashes inside him, making his fingers flex and hook into claws with nothing to grasp onto, no tether to cling to apart from that great, terrible darkness.
It's too much and yet he wants more, more, even as his blood curdles and his nerves light up with pleasurepain, lightning and fire and a great, roaring darkness with serpent eyes.
He cums again, harder than before, a conduit for his half-god boyfriend's pleasure– and something starts to crack. Mephiles purrs darkly, blissfully, and reaches for Silver with shadowy tentacles and mobian arms both, gathering him to his chest like a beloved doll, their souls singing together in an unholy choir–
Only to draw back as he feels some of his own ichor spill onto his physical form. Silver's eyes are rolled up in his head, stark black surrounded by silvery fur, and he's…
He's leaking Mephiles' essence from his mouth.
Their delirious, mingled ecstasy abruptly sours. Mephiles rocks back to his senses, a sudden wave of fear rolling through him and into his precious mortal. It's too much. He draws back, physically and metaphysically, but the echo of his own emotions claws through Silver. He feels himself catch, like hooks digging into his insides.
"Silver. Silver, let go," he rumbles, forcing himself back together to form the words. Silver spasms, an unnatural jerk of limbs and head, and his psychic powers spark erratically. He's holding on too tight. "Let go!"
He can feel panic fraying at their edges, the quivering of flesh nearly into pieces, his own immortal essence sundering Silver's frail form.
He can't survive like this.
With a tremendous heave, Mephiles wrenches them apart, fingers slipping around the scepter before getting a good enough grip to tear it out. Silver chokes as more ichor erupts from his mouth and down his front, leaking down black eyes and oozing out of him as if like syrup from an uncorked bottle.
The scepter is flung across the bed, well away from them both, even if the sudden loss of proximity after pouring himself through it so much hurts. Mephiles grabs Silver's shoulders and shakes, gently, frantically. Come back come back comebackcomeback–
It feels like an eternity before Silver suddenly, raggedly inhales, as if having been held underwater to the point of unconsciousness. He sputters, then starts hacking, more and more of Mephiles spilling out. His eyes, when he stops scrunching them shut tight, are…
Gold.
Relief nearly makes him sag, but Mephiles keeps his hands on Silver to stop him from crumpling. "Good, that's good, Sil. Just breathe. Breathe…"
It goes on too long for comfort. Mephiles dares not reach with his incorporeal self towards the other hedgehog, not even to try and extricate himself from him less painfully. The thrum of their souls entwined was– it was ambrosia to a half-god. He doesn't know if he'll be able to untangle them if they intertwine again.
Silver empties himself breathless, and when it seems to have passed he goes limp, lying on the pillows in a disheveled tangle of sweaty fur and ichor. Mephiles reaches out tentatively, wanting nothing more than to gather his sweet mortal into his arms and shield him from further harm. But– he was the harm. How can he shield Silver from himself??
"I'm okay," the other hedgehog pants, tipping his head so Mephiles' hand brushes against his temple. He's clammy to the touch. "I'm… what was that…?"
"Me," Mephiles breathes, making himself say it.
"Oh…"
And then Silver's eyes slip shut in exhaustion.
Mephiles can't bring himself to move for a long, long while, staring intensely at his little lover's chest, the rise and fall of his breathing. Alive. Alive.
Eventually he musters the will to look away, even half-afraid he'll look back and Silver will be still again, his eyes black pits, his voice choked out of him. He needs to… clean this up.
The Scepter of Darkness catches the light as he moves, as he starts slipping off the bed to gather Silver up. Mephiles narrows slit eyes at it and considers destroying the thing himself. It would hurt, oh it would hurt quite a lot, but…
He's not thinking clearly. One thing at a time. Get Silver tended and comfortable. When he's sure everything is back to rights, then he can deal with the matter of the scepter.
Oh, how Mephiles hopes that things can go back to rights.
I made a mistake. I'm… "Sorry."