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Percedal sort of figured that the portal out of the Shukrute would take them to the others, so it’s a bit of a shock when, after a dizzying rush that lasts longer than any time Yugo’s pulled him through, he falls out in midair and crashes to the dirt. Rubilax lands beside him, returned to the dagger and buried halfway to the hilt on impact with the soft dirt.
Once he’s recovered, he pushes himself upright and looks around. They seem to be in some kind of forest; his landing was broken somewhat by a dense layer of little red flowers. They’re pretty, but the crash-landing stirred up a lot of pollen, and he coughs a bit before speaking. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Figure it out later. For now, you need to get the hell away from these flowers,” Rubilax snaps. The urgency in his voice has Percedal moving before he thinks to question it, grabbing the Shushu and darting off into the woods.
He doesn’t make it as far as he’d like before he has to stop, breathless and lightheaded. Is it just because he didn’t get time to rest after the fight? It feels like everything is getting too warm… Rubilax curses when his legs give out, muttering something that he can’t quite understand. That might be on him, though — his head is going kind of fuzzy.
“Tristepin.” He snaps back to attention at his name. “I need to taste your blood. There’s still a chance this isn’t the poison I think it is, and I’d rather be sure.” He needs…? Oh. Percedal brings Rubilax’s dagger to his palm; he barely needs to run it along the skin to bring red to the surface, the blade going razor-sharp to bite into his flesh. “Hmm. Yeah, that’s going to be a problem. Alright, I know you’re going to hate hearing this after everything that just happened, but I need you to let me out.”
Oh, absolutely not. In his current state, there’s no way he’s going to keep a handle on Rubilax if they fuse now.
“And I do mean out,” the demon continues. “I’m going to need to be separate from you to help you here — this is a nasty poison, and fusing is only going to make it worse.” The heat goes to ice in his veins for a moment. That’s an even worse idea, but it seems like Rubilax hasn’t forgotten their last fight, either. “Relax. I swear I’ll go back on my own once you’re not going to die. Just this once, though.”
Percedal considers. It’s getting harder to think or do much of anything, but despite it all — after everything they’ve been through, after having his life saved twice — he actually does trust that Rubilax is trying to save him again. He mutters the words to summon Rubilax from his prison, and doesn’t flinch when the Shushu looms over him, or when he grabs Percedal by the wrist and hits himself with his fist until they’re the same size.
“You said… poison?”
“It’s a rare one — I’m not sure if it used to grow in the Shukrute before everything there was destroyed or if it came of mixing magics here, but either way it’s from the days before my kind were even bound,” Rubilax explains, setting his arm back down. “It affects demons, and sometimes others who’ve been possessed enough to… well, leave a mark.” He gestures to the black across Percedal’s cheek and ear. “It’s been known to kill humans, but it’s not incurable. I can hear running water nearby, so we should head there and set up camp. Your first option is to tend to the fever and wait it out. I’d guess around a week to recover, if you don’t feed it.”
A week of feeling like this, like he’s burning from the inside. Maybe longer. He hates even thinking of it. “What’s the second option?”
Rubilax hums. “We give the fever what it wants, and burn it out in a day or less.” Before Percedal can ask what the hell that means, especially that ‘we’, the demon runs a hand along his chest, and he can’t help the sound that comes out of his mouth or how he arches into the touch. Everything is so sensitive, and his skin buzzes in the wake of Rubilax’s hand — the burning softens to a much more pleasant heat that pools low in his belly. Between the feeling and the embarrassment of his reaction, the only thing that keeps his blush from showing is that he’s already flushed red.
And then it’s gone, Rubilax pulling back, and he whines. “What— do that again.”
“I need you to listen to me very carefully, Percedal,” the demon says, deadly serious, and he tries his best to focus on the other’s words. “Indulging the poison will push you to your limits, maybe further, and it will get worse before it gets better. If you think you might back out, you should not start. This is not a challenge. There is nothing to prove. Whatever you decide here, I will follow without judgement. Am I clear?”
There’s a thread of genuine concern in his voice. They’ve been together for a long time; Rubilax is very familiar with the way Percedal overthinks. He could handle this, miserable as it is, but there’s a solution right there. Is it weakness to take the easy way out? It is dishonorable to give in like this to the demon he’s meant to be controlling? It is worse if he wants this, as more than just a relief from the poison?
A hand on his shoulder lights up his nerves again and cuts through his thoughts. Rubilax won’t call him weak for this. If it’s a breach of his oath, then it’s one that no one else will ever know. His Shushu might have loved giving him shit for being a lackluster Guardian in the past, but that was before Rubilax snapped at his king, before he protected Percedal in Hell. And he’s nearly always known when a topic was too sensitive to press.
“Please,” he breathes. “Make it feel better.”
Rubilax picks him up, holding him against his chest with one arm as he goes to find a good spot to make camp. Things start to blur after that — Percedal stops trying to track what the demon is doing, and just tries to rest and ignore the way the burning is starting to turn to an awful, desperate need. He’s not sure when exactly he starts begging; maybe when warm hands lift him up and pull off his torn tunic, laying him out on something soft and cool. “Are you certain?” Rubilax asks. “If you choose to wait it out, you’d be able to change your mind. But as I said, once we start feeding the spell, it will be harder to back down.”
Percedal huffs. “Gonna make me beg? I’m serious, Rubi, I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t mean it.”
“A bit of begging wouldn’t go amiss,” Rubilax purrs, but despite his words, he drags his hands down Percedal’s sides and down to the laces of his pants. “I’m being very generous here.”
“Ha! You’re getting something out of this too, don’t act like you’re being— hah, selfless,” he grits out, though he stumbles a bit when Rubilax finishes tossing his pants and underwear aside and grabs a thigh to push his legs apart. The other hand is brought to the demon’s mouth so he can lick it; when he wraps spit-slicked fingers around Percedal’s dick, the Iop nearly howls, reaching up to grab at his arm like a lifeline.
Rubilax chuckles. “I can’t deny that,” he concedes, running his fingers lightly up and down, just getting to know the shape and weight and ignoring the way Percedal whines and bucks into his hand. “I’ve certainly wanted this for long enough. Perhaps there are benefits to being ‘tame’.”
“You… already wanted…?” Percedal pants out. Focusing is getting harder, with Rubilax so close to giving him what he needs and still teasing. His other hand traces patterns on Percedal’s skin.
“I’ve been inside your head. I’ve known you better than anyone can, but I didn’t get to know this part of you,” the demon croons, pressing him down against the makeshift bed with a hand on his chest. “And I don’t sleep as deeply as you think. I’ve gotten to hear you, even watch sometimes, as you fall apart alone. I wanted to see you fall apart for me. I want to hear you call my name.”
Rubilax has watched him masturbate. That should probably bother him; it’s a blatant disregard of his privacy. But Percedal had always known he was there, and there’s something thrilling at the idea that his Shushu — who rarely expresses a desire aside from freedom and destruction — wants him enough to admit it. And then he tightens his grip, shifting just-so, and Percedal realizes abruptly that he must have been watching closely because he knows exactly where to touch. Finding the right pressure is trickier, but with the pollen raging through his blood it’s hard to mess up — everything’s so good, it’s just a matter of figuring out what’s perfect. Rubilax gets what he wants; Percedal comes apart in his hands, crying out loudly enough that he’s grateful to be lost in the damn woods.
His demon keeps stroking him all the way through the aftershocks before disappearing for a moment. The world is a bit hazy, and Percedal almost forgets about the poison, a bit worn out but less tired than he expects, and feeling more settled than he has in a while. Then the heat flares up again, more demanding than before, and he realizes that he’s still hard; before he can do more than whine, though, Rubilax is back with a vial of oil he must have fetched from his pocket.
“You’ve been forgetting about this lately,” the Shushu notes, mildly irritated. “My blade may be indestructible, but that doesn’t mean a bit of maintenance isn’t nice. We can talk about that later, though.” He pours a bit of oil over his fingers then sets it aside, hooking an arm under one of Percedal’s legs and repositioning him. Percedal is nervous, briefly, when Rubilax reaches further back — he’s only familiar with this in concept — but every new touch sends pleasure sparking through him, and the finger that presses inside him is no exception. Rubilax is careful here; Percedal doesn’t think he’s teasing on purpose, but it’s too slow to really sate the burning, and he starts to squirm.
“Rubi,” he complains.
“Patience, little knight.” He puts Percedal’s leg over his shoulder to free his hand, returning it to his dick to give him something else to focus on while he adds another finger and goes still. “I’d rather not break you in ways I can’t fix, especially not now.”
With a bit of trial and error, he finds the right balance, letting Percedal float in hazy pleasure that doesn’t gnaw at him with an aching need for more. And then those fingers find a spot inside him that makes him shout. It’s like getting struck with lightning, except that it feels good, and he barely notices the reflexive jerk of his leg until it hits Rubilax’s side. The demon curses as he grows larger, fingers pressing harder against that spot in the process, and he lets go of Percedal to grab him roughly by the leg instead. “What did I say about not breaking you?” If it’s a question he expected an answer on, he doesn’t get one — he focuses entirely on that sweet spot after that, and Percedal loses track of any coherent thought.
Rubilax wrings a few more world-shaking orgasms from him that way. He tracks it more by the way the heat builds and falls back, worse each time, than by the pleasure itself — this is so far beyond anything he’s felt before. Eventually though, an ache starts to build, a low buzz that even the pollen can’t make good, until he hisses and tries to pull away from the constant touch. “Too much,” he chokes out. “I can’t.”
“You can.” Rubilax does go still, though, taking a hand back so he can stroke his face and brush away tears he hadn’t realized were spilling. “I know you can do this. You’re strong. This won’t be the end of you.”
“Thought you said… nothing to prove.”
“I also said it would be a bad idea to feed this blaze if you can’t see it through,” he reminds. Then, unusually soft: “I’m not asking you to prove it to me. I’m asking you to let me prove this to you. If you tell me to stop then I will, but don’t tell me you can’t.”
Percedal takes a few deep breaths. It feels unwinnable, trapping him between two painful choices, but they’ve always found a way out of bad situations in the past. And Rubilax has faith in him, enough that he was willing to suggest this in the first place. Maybe there’s something he isn’t seeing yet. “Third option?”
The demon goes quiet, idly petting Percedal while he thinks. It feels nice; not quite enough to soothe the fire under his skin but not adding to either problem. For the moment, it isn’t getting worse. “There might be. It would have long-term consequences, though.”
“Tell me.”
“I could bind our souls together. Just enough that I could bleed off some of that exhaustion and overstimulation the way I could if I were possessing you. It would leave a greater mark on your soul, though, and I don’t know what other side effects it might have. We would be tied together by more than just a promise, for better or worse.”
He should say no right now. He’s gone far enough; this flower is only boiling him alive in the first place because he’s already too entangled with his Shushu. Because he failed too many times. Percedal has fought so hard just to stand on even ground with Rubilax; it would be dangerous to give him any more leverage, show another weak point. And yet… here in his arms, he feels safe. The demon has saved him twice already. The hand brushing so gently over his skin is an attempt at a third.
He wants this; the touch, the vulnerability, the connection. Proof that his trust is worth it. He’s more afraid of the wanting than the possible consequences.
Percedal nods. “What do we have to do?”
“Blood is an easy enough access point. It isn’t enough on its own, though; you still have to put intent into it,” Rubilax clarifies, probably remembering earlier today alongside every other time Percedal has nicked himself on the blade. He maneuvers his knight into a more upright position, back pressed to Rubilax’s chest. Then he bites his wrist and holds it up to Percedal’s mouth, a clear indicator that he should drink.
It’s awful. He can’t place what makes it taste different from a mouthful of his own blood, but there’s something else there alongside the overwhelming taste of iron. Not to mention the way it burns the insides of his mouth. He nearly spits it out on reflex, but Rubilax must expect that, because he immediately shifts to hold his mouth shut. “Don’t just keep it there, you idiot. Swallow it.” Percedal grits his teeth and forces himself to swallow — it burns his throat too for a moment, and then there’s a brand new sensation to get lost in, drowning out everything else for a moment with the intensity of it. “Feel that? Focus on that feeling, and let me in.”
He nods and closes his eyes, doing as he’s told. It fills his whole chest, like Rubilax is carving out a spot for himself inside, but it doesn’t hurt. There’s a slight tugging feeling too, and Percedal thinks of a rope. “Okay, but how do I— aah!“
It barely hurts for a moment. The feeling of teeth sinking into his shoulder flips from pain to pleasure near-instantly, and then everything suddenly sharpens as that rope is pulled taut. It feels like a battle-high; the worst of the aching is gone, replaced by an almost-manic thrill in his veins, but he can still feel the edges of his actual condition. His muscles are starting to burn, he’s running out of energy, and he still needs, so fiercely it might kill him. He grabs at Rubilax, digging short nails into his arms as the demon licks at the wound and twists his fingers inside of Percedal to send another shock of lightning up his spine that fades too quickly.
“Not too much anymore?” Rubilax checks. The knight shakes his head, wiggling a bit to try and get more.
“Not enough anymore.”
“Well then,” he growls, and Percedal can feel the way the rumble carries into his own chest from where he’s pinned, the delighted anticipation that isn’t just his. “Let’s try something else.”
Rubilax withdraws his fingers; he whines and tries to chase them, but the demon manhandles him a bit more until they’re chest to chest, Percedal up on his knees and straddling his lap. After a moment, something presses up against his hole, a hand on his hip to steady him. “I didn’t realize you had… uh.”
“Shapeshifting,” the Shushu responds, digging sharp points into his skin to prove a point. “I have claws, too, but I wasn’t tearing you up, was I?”
Percedal moans at the feeling, shaking his head even though he’s pretty sure it wasn’t a real question. He falters a bit; as badly as he wants, he’s still nervous. “You’re sure it will fit?”
“Just don’t kick me again,” Rubilax says. “Breathe, Tristepin.”
He tries his best, even as the demon presses in and in and in, slow but unyielding. The world narrows to this, here and now — the hand holding him tight as he trembles, his own grip on Rubilax’s shoulders, the cock splitting him open and the way his body yields so easily. It feels like conquest, and he loves it; for maybe the first time in his life, Percedal doesn’t put up a fight. He whines and moans, begging for more, faster, anything, for this heat to stop, for the teeth that scrape over his chest and shoulders to dig in and draw blood, to send another thrill of pain-turned-pleasure through him. Rubilax moans too, growls low and satisfied when he cries the demon’s name, offers little reassurances under his breath. He leans down to touch their foreheads together when Percedal is sitting flush in his lap, stopping to let him adjust.
He doesn’t stop paying attention just because they’re waiting, though — he wraps a hand around Percedal’s shaft again, humming in satisfaction when it makes him cry out.
“You’re so pretty like this,” he says, still face to face. “Strung-out and needy and all mine.”
Percedal didn’t think he could get more desperate, but Rubilax’s words send another bolt through him. “Yours,” he echoes, shifting and grabbing at the demon’s shoulders as he shakily rises up onto his knees and drops back down. Rubilax helps as much as he can without letting go, supporting his weight and setting a combined pace that grows faster and faster until he’s sobbing out the demon’s name and coming again. His legs are too weak to support him anymore, but it still isn’t enough, and he blinks through frustrated tears. “One more,” he pleads, maybe to Rubilax or maybe to the damned flower.
“I have you,” Rubilax says, pulling out just long enough to flip him around and lay him out on the makeshift bedding he’d collected before resuming his pace from before. He keeps talking too, low and soft: “My Guardian, my vessel, my brave little warrior, my Percedal. We belong to each other, knight and the sword he wields.” He says it like it’s the truth of the whole world, voice getting rougher as the words shift to little praises and a language Percedal doesn’t recognize.
It feels like it takes longer to build this time — every word and movement from Rubilax brings him closer to the edge. When his thrusts start to lose rhythm, claws digging into his hips hard enough to draw blood, the pressure finally gives way to a dizzying orgasm, Rubilax following close behind. Percedal cries with the relief of it this time, the awful heat finally abating, and all the energy he had left drains away.
He’s fading fast when he feels Rubilax pull out, then pull away a bit, and a spike of panic pushes through the exhaustion. “Don’t leave,” he mumbles, and the demon picks him up, pressing their heads together again.
As he’s passing out, he can hear Rubilax say something else, almost too quiet to make out. “I will stay by your side for as long as you live.”
It sounds like an oath.
———
Percedal wakes up in a pile of big, smooth leaves, clean and re-dressed. His head is on Rubilax’s chest, and turns a little bit pink at the memory of the night before. His Shushu doesn’t say anything, unusual as it is, just offers him some water and lays quietly with him.
“Thank you,” he says eventually, voice small. “For everything, not just for saving my life.”
Rubilax doesn’t respond, but he does relax slightly beneath him.
Neither of them brings it up again through the morning, and when another portal appears a few paces away from Percedal, his Shushu returns to the dagger as promised. The others fuss over him when he steps through the portal — fair enough, considering he’s had multiple near-death experiences recently and this was his second time disappearing. At some point, Evangelyne notices and informs him that the demon-marks now run all the way down the left side of his neck and under his tunic.
He gives the short version: Rubilax has saved his life again. The demon, as expected, makes a fuss about his pride and how he never does things that don’t benefit him; Percedal doesn’t press, ignoring it in favor of the gentle warmth that hums in his chest, and the way it swells when he runs an idle thumb over the dagger’s hilt.