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✺Ψ✺
“Make him kneel,” Nova commanded.
Rough hands tightened on Torch’s arms and shoulders, forcing him down. The floor rushed up to meet him. Then, pain. A jolt shot through his knees as bone struck stone. The sound echoed louder than it should have in the tower chamber. Torch sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, a broken whimper slipping out anyway as his body shuddered.
Fear rippled through him. His hands, bound tight in front of him, trembled. He stared down at the hem of a red robe pooling before his knees.
Nova’s robe.
He couldn’t bring himself to look up.
Then, fingers touched his chin. Torch froze. The contact was light at first but it sent a violent shiver down his spine. His breath caught as those fingers tilted his face upward, forcing his gaze where his instincts screamed not to go.
His eyes met Nova’s. Dark brown. Empty. Soulless in a way that made Torch feel transparent, like everything he was and had ever been was laid bare in a single glance.
“Leave us,” Nova commanded, the words calm and effortless.
Nova’s head tilted slightly as he studied Torch like an object at his feet, something broken and interesting. Torch barely registered the movement of the other Bishops until he heard footsteps retreating against stone. The massive wooden door groaned as it swung shut. The sound of it sealing echoed through the chamber.
They were alone now.
Torch’s chest tightened painfully. He jerked against Nova’s grip, suddenly hyper-aware of where he was and what was happening.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He had come willingly. He had climbed every step with intention, rehearsing his words over and over. He had come to abandon Trench. To abandon the Banditos. To submit to Vialism, to Dema, to Nova.
But the moment he’d spoken on the stairwell, the Bishops’ expressions had hardened. Hands had grabbed him. Ropes had bitten into his wrists. No questions. No mercy.
“Torchbearer,” Nova said slowly.
The name rolled off his tongue like a test, like something to be broken apart and examined. Torch’s throat tightened.
“That was… quite a rescue attempt, don’t you think?”
Torch tried to shake his head, tried to pull away, but Nova’s grip tightened immediately. Fingers dug into his jaw, firm enough that Torch felt pressure bloom deep and painful. He hissed softly, eyes squeezing shut for half a second before forcing them open again.
“Was your plan really to come up here,” Nova continued, voice still maddeningly calm, “and convince me to leave all that I have built?”
“N-no. That–” Torch swallowed hard, his jaw aching under Nova’s hand. “That wasn’t my p-plan at all.”
Nova hummed softly. His thumb shifted, moving Torch’s jaw left, then right, as if testing how much control he had.
“No?” Nova said.
Torch could feel the smear of black paint transferring from Nova’s fingers to his skin.
“I came…” His voice wavered despite his effort to steady it. He forced himself to meet Nova’s eyes. “I came to join you.”
For a moment, Nova simply stared at him. Then he smiled. Nova released his jaw abruptly, and Torch nearly sagged forward from the sudden loss of support. Nova turned his hand, inspecting the paint missing from his fingers, flexing them slowly as if deep in thought.
“To join me?” Nova echoed, almost amused. “How… interesting.”
Hope flickered in Torch’s chest.
“Please,” he said quickly, desperation bleeding through. “I-I realize the error of my ways. I should have never led the Banditos. I should have stayed in Dema. You were right about everything. You had always been right, Clan–”
A loud crack rang out as Nova’s hand struck his face. Pain exploded across Torch’s cheek. His head snapped to the side, vision blurring as a strangled gasp escaped his throat. The burn lingered, his eyes stinging as tears welled despite his efforts to hold them back.
“Never call me that again,” Nova spat.
Torch nodded immediately, too fast, too eager. His cheek throbbed where Nova had hit him, the black paint now smeared into a clear handprint against his skin. He forced himself to look back up, tears clinging to his lashes.
“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely. “Nova Bishop.” His voice shook, but he didn’t look away. “As you wish.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Torch lifted his bound hands toward his face to feel where he was hit. He barely brushed his fingers near it before Nova caught the rope.
The sudden stop sent a harsh tug through Torch’s wrists.
“Don’t.”
Torch froze instantly, hands suspended between them. His breath hitched as Nova crouched down, lowering himself until they were eye-level. Nova released the rope, letting Torch’s hands drop back to his lap. Then Nova’s own hand came up.
His fingers touched Torch’s cheek, tracing the very spot he had struck moments before. The tenderness of it made Torch’s stomach twist. The contrast was dizzying – pain followed by care, punishment followed by attention. Nova’s thumb dragged gently over the burning skin, following the shape of his own handprint as if admiring it.
Torch’s pulse thundered in his ears.
Nova studied his fingers when he pulled them back, faded black paint glistening faintly in the torchlight. Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought them back to Torch’s face. This time he smeared the paint across Torch’s jaw. His fingers followed the line of Torch’s bottom lip down to his chin.
The paint spread, warm and slick, dragged across his skin and down his throat, marking him.
Torch swallowed. The contact sent a wave through him – heat, longing, and… pleasure. To be touched by Nova Bishop. It felt like being touched by Clancy back in Trench – those rare moments of closeness, of belief, of being seen – but magnified until it bordered on unbearable. This wasn’t comfort anymore. It was power. And Torch liked it.
“Hmm,” Nova purred. His face was infuriatingly close now, close enough that Torch could see the cracks in the paint, could smell the faint metallic tang beneath it.
“Wha–”
“Quiet.”
Torch shut his mouth instantly, shoulders tightening as Nova stood. He watched from the floor as Nova crossed the chamber, his red robes whispering against stone.
Nova lifted a pedestal from the side of the tower, carrying it to the center of the room and setting it down with a heavy thud. Then he retrieved a bowl, placing it carefully into the holder atop the pedestal.
Torch’s brow furrowed. His knees screamed in protest as he shifted slightly on the stone, but he didn’t dare speak. Every instinct told him this was important. Ceremonial, even.
Nova rolled his sleeves up and cleared his throat.
“Do you truly wish to serve me, Torchbearer?” he asked, voice steady. “Or is this some desperate attempt to either bring me back to Trench… or kill me?”
The words made Torch’s stomach drop. He lifted his gaze to Nova, jaw set despite the ache in his knees, the sting in his cheek, the ropes biting into his wrists. This moment mattered more than anything that had come before.
“I will serve you until my dying day,” Torch said.
The confidence in his voice surprised even him, but it felt right.
“I will do anything,” he continued, meeting Nova’s eyes without flinching, “to prove that to you.”
Nova didn’t respond right away. He simply nodded once and reached into the bowl. The sound was strange. Liquid shifting, swirling in the bowl. When Nova lifted his hands again, fresh black paint coated them entirely, thick and glossy, dripping slowly down his wrists and forearms. Droplets struck the stone floor with quiet, irregular taps.
Torch’s gaze followed the slow trail of it sliding down Nova’s skin, his heart pounding harder with every second.
Nova walked back toward him, paint leaving a trail behind like evidence. Torch stayed perfectly still, excitement curling tight in his stomach. Nova remained standing over him for a moment. Then he crouched.
Nova’s hands came to Torch’s face, the metallic liquid cold as it spread across the exact same paths as before. Over his jaw. Down his neck. Up to his chin. Darker now. Thicker. A mirror of Nova himself, as if Nova had approved of Torch’s answer.
Torch didn’t blink. His eyes stayed locked on Nova’s face, searching for meaning, permission, judgment – anything.
Meanwhile, Nova wasn’t watching Torch’s expression at all. He was watching his own fingers. Studying the way they moved. The way Torch reacted. When Nova’s fingers reached Torch’s bottom lip, Torch’s breath caught. The paint smeared there last, slow and wet.
Then… Nova’s finger pressed into Torch’s mouth, sudden and invasive enough to make Torch jolt backward. His brows knit in confusion, his body reacting before his mind caught up.
“W-what are you doing?” Torch asked, breath uneven, the bitter taste of paint on his tongue.
Nova’s hand snapped up instantly, gripping Torch’s face, fingers digging into his jaw as he pulled him back in. The movement erased the distance Torch had tried to create. Their faces were inches apart – close enough that Torch could feel Nova’s breath, steady and controlled.
“What I want with you,” Nova said quietly. He tilted his head, studying Torch with open intent now, lips close but not touching. “You said you would serve me. Yes?”
Torch tried to nod, the motion awkward with Nova’s grip still firm. He swallowed, the taste lingering, his pulse racing.
“Then serve me, Torchbearer.”
Nova’s thumb pressed down on Torch’s bottom lip, forcing his mouth open just enough to make the expectation known. Then, slowly, Nova’s paint-smeared index-finger slid into Torch’s mouth. The taste was chemical and bitter; it coated his tongue like tar. His first instinct screamed to recoil, to spit, to reject the intrusion – but that instinct shattered almost as soon as it surfaced.
He had asked for this. Had climbed the tower knowing what it meant to stand before a Bishop and offer himself to be unmade.
He swirled his tongue tentatively around Nova’s finger, uncertain, then did it again, slower. The paint clung to his tongue, to the roof of his mouth, pooling at the back of his throat. Heat rose from his chest into his face. He could feel Nova’s fingertip pressing against the spot behind his front teeth, as if mapping him, marking where obedience would live from now on.
The finger retreated an inch, then pressed deeper against his tongue. A second finger joined the first within seconds. Torch’s lips parted to accommodate, and he sucked dutifully at both, breathing through his nose, letting the paint and the salt and the faint coppery tang of Nova’s skin fill his head and coil down his spine.
He could feel lines of paint smearing his teeth, pooling at the corners of his lips where it dripped in slow trails down his chin.
Slowly, Nova pulled his fingers free.
“Well… it seems like you are willing to serve,” Nova murmured.
Torch swallowed carefully, throat constricting, and nodded. His lips felt numb, paint-stained, marked beyond doubt.
“Anything for you,” he said.
Nova smirked faintly, then brought his hand to his own mouth and licked his fingers clean of Torch’s saliva. The sight twisted something in Torch’s stomach. Hunger for approval. For use. For the quiet certainty of being claimed.
Nova’s gaze returned to him.
“Tell me, Torchbearer. How does it feel,” Nova said, his voice silky, almost playful in its cruelty, “to submit to a Bishop?”
“It feels…” Torch’s voice came out quieter than he expected. “…like nothing else. It feels like I finally found where I belong.”
Nova’s eyes narrowed at that, interest flickering.
“Really? Does it feel better,” Nova asked, “than leading your pathetic Banditos?”
The mention of the Banditos struck something raw. For half a second, Torch wasn’t in the tower anymore. He was back in Trench.
The forest stretched wide and green around him, light filtering through the canopy. The air smelled like earth and rain. He could almost feel Clancy’s hand interlinked with his own as they scavenged for materials. Back then, leadership had felt like purpose instead of burden. Like maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could keep them safe. Like maybe he could be whole.
He could have led them forever. Or so he’d believed.
The memory cracked as soon as it formed, flaking apart like old paint. Because even then, there had been fear under the hope. Uncertainty under the defiance. Every victory had been temporary. Every rescue borrowed time.
There was no escaping Dema. No matter how far they ran, the Bishops were always there – looming, waiting. Every attempt to overthrow them had ended the same way: in chains, in blood, in failure.
In Clancy’s capture.
The last mission replayed itself mercilessly in Torch’s mind – the climb, his lungs burning, his feet tripping on stone stairs. He’d been too slow. By the time he reached the top of the tower, it was already over.
Clancy hadn’t come back down with him. Clancy had become Nova.
The thought carved Torch hollow every time it surfaced.
Now, kneeling at the top of the same tower he’d failed to climb fast enough, he lifted his gaze to the man standing over him.
The red robes. The black paint. And beneath it all, the familiar lines of tattoos he knew by heart, though they were buried now under layers of doctrine and power.
Torch let out a slow breath.
This was the truth he’d been circling since Trench fell apart.
Being here was… better. Being with Clancy – or Nova now, whatever name the world demanded – was better than never seeing him again. Better than wondering. Better than the ache of absence.
He would abandon the Banditos again and again if that was the price. Could strip away the old loyalties until nothing remained but this single, steady certainty. Even like this. Even kneeling. Even if it meant bending himself into a shape Dema approved of. Submitting to Vialism. To a Bishop. To the very system he’d once sworn to burn down.
It was worth it.
Because Clancy was here. Because Nova was real. Because this was something solid, something he could touch and look at and devote himself to, instead of chasing hope through trees and shadows until it shattered in his hands.
"Yes," Torch said quietly, lifting his chin despite the ache in his neck. "It feels better than leading the rebels ever did."
Nova smiled, crouching down again, red robes pooling around his feet, eyes now level with Torch's.
"You know..." Nova's voice dropped to a silken whisper, "I could make it feel even better than it already does."
Torch swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly beneath the paint-smeared skin of his throat.
"Even better?"
Nova leaned closer, his breath warm against Torch's lips.
"Like you've never felt before," Nova whispered.
Torch closed the final inch between them, his painted lips brushing Nova's – tentative at first, the texture sticky where the paint had begun to dry.
Then Nova broke, surging forward to claim Torch's mouth with bruising intensity. His lips were surprisingly soft against Torch's chapped ones. Torch's mind flashed to Clancy – the hesitant kisses they'd shared in the shadows of Trench – but this was different. Where Clancy had been gentle rain, Nova was a flash flood, overwhelming and inescapable.
Torch kissed back, matching Nova's fervor, the paint between them growing slick again with the heat of their mouths. Nova's sharp canines caught Torch's bottom lip, tugging hard enough to draw a deep groan from Torch's chest.
Torch strained against the ropes binding his wrists, the fibers digging into his skin as he twisted, desperate to touch, to grab, to pull Nova closer until there was nothing left between them but shared breath.
Nova kissed harder, deeper, then suddenly pulled back. His paint-slick hands shot up, shoving Torch backwards. Torch toppled from his knees, his back hitting the cold stone floor with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs.
Before he could recover, Nova was on him, thighs straddling Torch's hips, the weight of him pressing Torch firmly into the floor. Torch groaned, feeling the heat of Nova's body through the thin fabric separating them, the firm pressure of his thighs clamping around him like a vise.
Nova chuckled, the sound vibrating through Torch's chest as Nova leaned down, hands pinning Torch's bound wrists above his head.
"Are you ready to be undone?" Nova purred against Torch's lips, voice thick with desire, pupils blown wide with lust.
"P-please," Torch begged, straining upward for another kiss, but Nova pulled just out of reach.
Instead, Nova's fingers worked at the knots binding Torch's wrists, freeing them. The moment Torch’s hands were free, Nova grabbed the hem of Torch's green hoodie and yanked it upward. Torch arched his back to help, and the fabric slid over his head, leaving him bare-chested and panting beneath Nova's hungry gaze.
Nova's eyes traveled from Torch's freckled shoulders down to his heaving chest, lingering on the hard peaks of his nipples before continuing to trace the definition of his abs, the dip of his navel, and the thin trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband.
Nova leaned down, his paint-coated hands pressing into Torch's skin, leaving perfect black handprints across his ribs, his stomach, his chest. Everywhere Nova touched, he marked – claiming Torch's body like a canvas, each handprint a declaration of ownership.
Nova lingered on his nipple, twirling his finger around the sensitive tip, before leaning down and taking it between his lips. He sucked hard, then bit down. Torch arched his back, a gasp escaping him as the pain blossomed into pleasure. His cock hardened beneath the weight of Nova's ass, the friction making him dizzy with need.
Nova dragged his tongue down the center of Torch's abdomen, leaving a glistening trail that cut through the black handprints. His tongue dipped lower, tracing through Torch's happy trail. The wet heat of Nova's mouth sent shivers racing across Torch's skin.
Torch threw his head back, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. His hips bucked upward, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of anything Nova would give him.
Nova chuckled and slid his hand beneath himself, palm pressing firmly against the hard outline of Torch's cock through his pants. The black paint transferred immediately, seeping through the fabric to mark even what was hidden.
"You want this so bad, don't you?" Nova said, his thumb finding and circling the sensitive head of Torch's cock beneath the layers. The paint made his movements slick and torturous.
"I w-want you," Torch panted, his voice breaking. He was desperate for more contact, for more attention, for more of Nova's cruel tenderness. His hips rolled shamelessly against Nova's hand.
Nova smiled, canines catching the dim light as he moved off of Torch's body.
Torch whimpered at the loss, then felt Nova's hands at his waistband. He opened his eyes to see Nova yanking his pants and underwear down in one quick motion. Torch's cock sprang free, slapping against his abdomen with a wet sound, the head glistening with pre-cum that caught the light.
"My, my… if only the Banditos could see you now, Torchbearer," Nova said, his voice dripping with malice as he took in the sight of Torch completely exposed. "Is this truly their hero?”
Heat bloomed across Torch's chest, embarrassment burning through him, but it was immediately overshadowed by raw need as Nova pressed his hands against Torch's inner thighs, spreading his legs wide. The handprints there felt like brands, marking him as Nova's in the most intimate way possible.
He stared, unable to look away, as Nova stayed between his legs. The bishop’s tongue flickered over stained lips, and his greedy eyes flicked up to Torch’s face and held there, daring him to look away, to beg, to break first.
Torch didn’t want to. He wanted to see, to burn this entire moment into the base of his skull.
Nova smiled and brought his hand down, blackened fingers curling around the base of Torch’s cock. Nova squeezed, spreading more paint up Torch’s shaft in uneven rings. The cool drag of pigment bit into the heat of Torch’s skin.
Torch let out a noise that might have been a gasp or a moan, and slammed his head back against the stone. The pain barely broke through. He bucked upward involuntarily, grinding himself into Nova’s grip, desperate and helpless at the same time.
Nova laughed and squeezed harder. Torch shuddered, hips twitching again, body moving on instinct now, because every time Nova touched him it was like being torn open and filled all at once.
“Look at you,” Nova taunted, moving his hand up and down in slow strokes. “I had no idea the formidable Torchbearer could bend so easily to my will.”
Torch tried to reply but what came out first was just an open, panting whimper.
Nova's hand on him was all he could think about. There were patches of numbness where the paint was thick and tacky, but the rest of him was hyper-sensitive. Nova's hand twisted, thumb dragging across the swollen head, smearing more pigment into the slit where pre-cum leaked steadily.
"D-don't stop," Torch got out, his voice cracking. The words tumbled over each other, messy with need, his hips jerking upward involuntarily. "Please, Nova, keep–" He couldn't finish. Nova's grip on him changed, slowed to an agonizing pace, then quickened to a brutal rhythm, the bishop's eyes drinking in every shiver, every twitch of Torch's thighs. Paint streaked downward in a slick spiral, sliding past his cock and balls, leaving a trail between his spread legs.
Nova removed his hand from Torch's dick, bringing it down between Torch's legs. Torch moaned at the sudden loss of contact, bucking his hips in the air, his cock bouncing against his stomach, leaving strings of cum connecting to his skin.
"Yes… good. Keep begging for a bishop," Nova purred, bringing a paint-coated finger to Torch's exposed hole, rubbing circles around the puckered rim, the other hand gripping Torch's inner thigh so hard it would leave bruises. “Admit to me what you truly want.”
Torch gasped at the sensation of the finger against his asshole, but obeyed, desperation making his voice raw.
"P-please. I... I want to be yours. I want... I want to be known by you. Please Nova."
Nova licked his lips, eyes glittering with triumph, then slipped a finger in slowly, past the tight ring of muscle. Torch felt the intrusion burn at first, a stretch that made him hiss through clenched teeth, then soften as his body yielded. He moaned, moving his body down against the finger, thighs trembling as they fought against the instinct to close.
Nova pushed his finger in to the knuckle, twisted it, curled it a few times inside of him, and then teased a second at his entrance, the pad of his finger pressing insistently.
"Good, good," Nova said, leaning forward so his face was mere inches from Torch's leaking cock, his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. "Now… do you finally submit to vialism?"
Torch nodded fast, looking down at the bishop between his legs, at those cruel lips so close to where he needed them most.
"And do you bind yourself to me, as your own personal bishop?" Nova asked, pushing the second finger in alongside the first, stretching Torch wider.
Torch groaned, cock bouncing and leaking a fresh pearl of cum from muscle reflex as his body adjusted to the second finger, the burn of it making his toes curl against the stone floor.
"Y-ye–"
Nova pushed a third finger in, bending them inside of Torch, searching for and finding that spot.
Torch swore he saw constellations burst across his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, body shuddering violently, legs shaking uncontrollably as pleasure shot through him.
"What was that? I don’t think I heard you," Nova said, pumping his fingers in and out relentlessly, each thrust angled to brush against that bundle of nerves.
Torch panted with each thrust, sweat dripping down his temples, but forced his eyes open again, looking at Nova through a haze of desperate need.
"I-I do," he admitted, voice raw and coarse with surrender. "I am y-yours, Nova Bishop."
Nova's smile was victorious as he withdrew his fingers, leaving Torch empty and aching. He crawled up Torch's body, his robes dragging across Torch's sensitized skin, and pressed his fingers against Torch's lips.
"Open," he commanded, voice rough with desire.
Torch parted his lips, letting Nova push three fingers deep into his mouth. The taste flooded his senses – acrid paint mingling with himself, salty and earthy. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard, tongue working between each digit. His eyes locked with Nova's, refusing to look away even as he felt the bishop's erection pressing insistently against his thigh through the heavy fabric.
Nova withdrew his fingers with an obscene, wet sound. He examined them in the dim light – clean now, the black transferred to Torch's eager tongue and the inside of his cheeks.
"Such devotion," he murmured, rising to his feet.
Torch watched, breathless, as Nova approached the pedestal where the ritual bowl waited. He submerged both hands into the liquid again, coating them to the wrists. This wasn't merely sex – it was sacrament.
Nova returned, kneeling between Torch's spread legs and pushing his thighs wider apart, leaving fresh handprints over top the already dry ones.
With ceremonial slowness, Nova parted his robes. The heavy fabric fell open to reveal his cock, already flushed and straining upward. He took himself in hand, the paint making a slick sound as he stroked from base to tip.
Torch pushed up onto his elbows, transfixed. Nova's cock was longer than his own, thicker too, with prominent veins that caught the paint in dark relief against the skin. Each stroke left more black streaks along the shaft.
"Are you... prepared?" Nova asked, his voice catching as his thumb circled the head of his own cock.
Torch swallowed, the bitter taste of paint still coating his tongue. He nodded once and spread his legs wider, offering himself completely.
Nova smirked as he positioned himself, the blunt head of his cock pressing against Torch's entrance. Torch drew a deep breath, bracing himself.
The first breach was exquisite agony. Nova pushed in slowly but relentlessly, stretching Torch beyond what fingers had prepared him for. The burn radiated outward as his body struggled to accommodate the intrusion.
"F-fuck," Torch whimpered, falling back against the stone, fingers scrabbling against the ground. His body felt split open, muscles straining and protesting.
When Nova bottomed out, he leaned forward until his face hovered inches above Torch's. Their breath mingled, hot and desperate. Torch stared up, panting through the pain, and saw him clearly – the familiar lines of his nose, the brown eyes with flecks of gold near the pupils, the constellation of light sunspots scattered across his cheeks.
It was still Clancy beneath it all.
Nova tilted his head, studying Torch's face with curious intensity. Then, without warning, he withdrew completely, leaving Torch gaping and empty.
"Wh–" Torch began, confusion cutting through the haze of pain and pleasure.
Nova silenced him by slamming back in with brutal force, driving the air from Torch's lungs and the thought from his mind. He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust bottoming out completely before withdrawing. Nova leaned down, his chest hovering inches above Torch's, their labored breaths mingling.
Torch arched upward, capturing Nova's mouth in a desperate kiss. His teeth caught Nova's painted bottom lip, drawing a coppery taste. His hands scrambled up to grip Nova's robes, bunching the fabric and tugging it from his shoulders.
Nova growled against his mouth, the vibration traveling through Torch's body. Without breaking his relentless pace, Nova ducked his head to Torch's neck, smearing wet paint across the sensitive skin with open-mouthed kisses. His teeth found the junction where neck met shoulder and bit down hard.
"Nova..." Torch moaned, voice shattered and raw. "Fu-fuck–" he whimpered, fingers digging desperately into the remaining fabric of the robes. “S-so good.”
Nova's hips stuttered momentarily as he pulled back, his chest heaving. His eyes raked over Torch's splayed form. He shimmied the rest of his robe down his body, revealing himself entirely.
The geometric tattoos adorning his chest and arms stood out starkly against his flushed skin, even beneath smears of black paint.
"Flip over," Nova commanded, his voice rough with need. He ran paint-slick hands over his own chest, marking himself with strokes before dragging fingers through his hair, leaving streaks of black that dripped down his temples.
Torch stared, mesmerized, before obeying. He pushed himself up from the cold stone and turned, positioning himself on hands and knees. The rough surface bit into his kneecaps, but the discomfort was distant beneath the haze of arousal.
Nova moved behind him, one hand spreading Torch's ass cheeks apart until cool air kissed his exposed entrance. The slick head of Nova's cock pressed insistently against Torch's asshole.
"F-fuck," Nova moaned as he pressed into him again, each inch stretching Torch wider until he bottomed out completely. Torch felt Nova's balls slap against him, and he rocked backward, taking Nova impossibly deeper.
Torch moaned as he established a counter-rhythm to Nova's measured thrusts, fucking himself onto Nova's shaft. Nova's fingers dug harder into Torch's ass, his grip faltering as paint and sweat created a slippery canvas between them.
"I’m… a–all yours," Torch gasped, palms sliding across the smooth stone floor with each powerful thrust.
Nova snarled and snapped his hips forward, angling upward to strike that perfect spot deep inside. Torch’s rhythm faltered as pleasure overwhelmed him, surrendering control to Nova's relentless pace.
"Mine. All. Mine," Nova growled through clenched teeth, his nails breaking skin now, dragging crimson lines across Torch's skin that mixed with the paint in rivulets.
Torch's knees trembled against the stone, arms shaking as they struggled to support his weight. Still, he refused to collapse, determined to receive everything Nova would give him.
"My bishop," Torch whimpered, his untouched cock leaking profusely onto the floor beneath them as his orgasm coiled tight at the base of his spine, threatening to explode without a single touch.
Nova kept fucking him, each thrust striking Torch's prostate. Torch's moans grew frantic, his voice breaking into desperate, high-pitched whimpers.
"Nova... I'm gonna... I–" Torch begged, his cock throbbing, pre-cum pearling at the tip as his orgasm built to an unbearable crescendo.
Then, Nova withdrew completely. The sudden emptiness left Torch gasping, his body trembling on the edge. Desperate, Torch reached down and wrapped his fingers around his aching cock. He managed three frantic strokes before Nova's foot connected with his ribs.
Torch crashed onto his side, temple connecting with the stone. The impact sent stars across his vision. When his eyes refocused, Nova loomed above him, head tilted at a predatory angle, black paint dripping down his chest in rivulets that followed the contours of his muscles.
"Nova? W-what did I do wrong? I-I was just going to–" Torch stammered, sitting up slightly.
"Did I say you could do anything?" Nova cut in, voice dangerously soft. He advanced slowly as Torch scrambled backward across the stone until his spine pressed against the cold chamber wall.
Torch swallowed, his cock twitching against his stomach.
"N-no. I just... I thought–"
"You thought wrong." Nova spat, a droplet of saliva landing on Torch's thigh. "Stand."
Torch struggled upright on trembling legs, back and ass pressed against the rough stone wall. Nova closed the distance between them, one hand wrapping around Torch's throat. The pressure was firm and possessive as he brought their mouths together.
They kissed violently, Nova's teeth catching Torch's bottom lip and biting down until the metallic taste of blood mingled with the bitter paint. Torch surrendered to it completely, opening his mouth wider to accept the invasion of Nova's tongue.
Nova pulled back, a thin strand of saliva mixed with blood connecting their lips before breaking.
"Face the wall, Torchbearer."
A violent shudder ran through Torch's body, but he obeyed instantly, turning to press his palms against the cold stone. His cock brushed against the rough surface, sending jolts of pleasure-pain up his spine.
Nova positioned himself behind Torch, the head of his cock nudging between paint-streaked ass cheeks. Without warning, he shoved in to the hilt, the sudden fullness making Torch cry out. Nova's hands covered Torch's, fingers interlacing as he pinned them against the wall.
"You will cum when I tell you to," Nova commanded, his balls slapping against Torch with each thrust, his cock bottoming out completely each time.
"Y-yes, w-whatever you ask," Torch gasped, his cock dragging against the textured stone with each thrust, pre-cum leaving trails on the surface.
Nova's pace grew punishing, the sound of their coupling echoing obscenely off the chamber walls. His rhythm became erratic, hips stuttering as he approached his climax.
"I'm going to mark you as mine from the inside out," Nova purred against the shell of Torch's ear, his hot breath sending shivers down Torch's spine.
Torch's legs trembled violently, threatening to give out entirely. Nova's hands still covered his own, keeping him upright.
"I–Oh f-fuck–" Nova grunted, his entire body going rigid as he pressed as deep as physically possible. His cock pulsed, each hot jet of cum painting Torch's insides.
Torch felt every spurt flood him, the warmth spreading deep in his core. His own orgasm hovered close, his cock leaking everywhere, balls drawn up tight against his body. But Nova hadn't given permission, so he held back through sheer willpower, even as his vision tunneled and dark spots danced at the edges of his consciousness.
Nova thrust in again, grinding his hips in a slow circle that pushed his release deeper into Torch's body before withdrawing. The moment his cock slipped free, cum escaped from Torch's hole, trickling down his inner thighs. Nova's hands moved from Torch’s hands to his hips, turning him to face forward, his back now pressed against the wall.
Sweat carved channels through the black paint on Nova's forehead, creating intricate patterns that followed the contours of his face. The paint along his jawline had worn thin, revealing flushed skin beneath, while what remained on his neck had become a marbled canvas.
Nova sank to his knees, one hand wrapping firmly around the base of Torch's cock. The contrast between Nova's black-streaked fingers and Torch's skin almost made Torch cum on the spot.
He gasped, his head falling back against the wall with a dull thud. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down hard enough to reopen the wound Nova had left earlier.
"Do you want to cum, Torchbearer?" Nova asked, his voice a silken threat as he tapped Torch's cock against his cheekbones.
Torch nodded frantically, chest heaving with each desperate breath, his abs contracting visibly with the effort of restraint.
"P-please," he begged, hips jerking forward.
Nova's gaze traveled from the throbbing length in his hand up to Torch's pleading eyes, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Then he parted his lips and engulfed Torch's cock in his mouth, his tongue flattening against the sensitive underside before curling around the shaft.
Torch's legs trembled violently, threatening to buckle as Nova hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard. His hand shot down to tangle in Nova's sweat-dampened hair, fingers tightening into a fist that guided Nova's head further down his length.
Nova's throat constricted around the intrusion, a choked sound escaping him before he regained control, bobbing his head in a rhythm that had Torch's hips stuttering forward to meet each downward movement.
Nova slowed his pace before taking Torch's entire length into his throat, swallowing around him. Torch reached down with trembling fingers, pressing against the front of Nova's throat to feel the outline of his own cock distending the flesh there.
"Shit–I'm gonna–" Torch's warning dissolved into an incoherent moan as his orgasm tore through him. His hand clamped down on the back of Nova's head, forcing him down until Nova's nose was buried in the coarse hair at the base of his cock.
Nova's eyes squeezed shut, tears forming at the corners as he fought against his gag reflex. Thick ropes of cum shot directly down his throat, the excess spilling from the corners of his stretched lips along with saliva, dripping onto his paint-covered chest in streams.
Nova swallowed each pulse of the load, his throat working visibly around Torch's cock, choking sounds escaping between desperate gulps.
When Torch finally finished, he withdrew slowly, his cock dragging against Nova's swollen lips. He rested the head on Nova's tongue, tapping it against it a couple times, watching Nova's eyes flutter at each contact.
Nova swallowed one last time, closing his reddened mouth before rising unsteadily to his feet, fingers digging into Torch's shoulders for balance. His chest heaved with each breath, sweat and cum creating a gloss that made him glisten in the dim light.
He looked at Torch through half-lidded eyes.
"Welcome to Dema, Torchbearer," Nova said, voice raw as he brought his hand up to wipe his face, smearing the mixture of cum and paint.
Torch’s breath came ragged as he finally looked down at himself.
Black handprints stained his hips, stark against sweat-slick skin. Streaks dragged down his thighs where paint had been smeared and re-smeared, cold lines marking movement, possession, proof. The evidence of what he had given up – and what he had been remade into – was unmistakable.
He swallowed. When he lifted his gaze again, Nova was already at the far wall.
The heavy red robe slid over Nova’s shoulders. He paused only long enough to rake a hand through his matted hair, dislodging flakes of dried paint, before pulling the hood up. The fabric swallowed his face, casting it into shadow, turning him once again into something distant.
Torch’s chest tightened. He took an unsteady step toward where his clothes lay discarded, legs wobbling from exertion, from kneeling too long, from everything that had been taken out of him. Sweat dripped down his spine; his skin felt oversensitive and raw.
“Don’t bother,” Nova said without turning around.
Torch froze.
“The Bishops will be here within moments,” Nova continued calmly. “They’ll bring you a robe.”
Nova started toward the exit. Panic flared immediately inside Torch.
“Nova, wait–”
Torch moved, crossing the space between them on shaky legs. He reached out and grabbed Nova’s arm. Nova flinched then turned slowly, the hood still shadowing his face.
“What?” he asked, voice even but edged with something Torch couldn’t name.
Torch frowned, words tangling in his throat. He hated how small they sounded once spoken aloud.
“I… I need you,” he said. “Don’t–don’t leave.”
Silence stretched. Nova’s gaze traveled over him – taking in the bare skin, the paint, the tremor still running through Torch’s body. The assessment felt thorough. Then Nova sighed.
“Come with me,” he said at last.
Relief hit Torch so hard his knees nearly buckled. Nova turned and walked back toward the pedestal. Torch followed, steps uneven, acutely aware of how naked he was. The stone felt cold beneath his feet.
At the bowl, Nova’s hood shifted just enough for Torch to see the faint curve of his mouth as he dipped his hands into the paint again. He gestured for Torch to come closer.
Torch obeyed.
Nova’s hands rose, dripping fresh black paint, and he brought them to Torch’s face. The touch was careful this time. More intimate. Romantic if you squinted hard enough. Paint brushed over Torch’s bottom lip, traced along his jaw, slid down the column of his neck. The cold shock made Torch shiver, but he didn’t pull away. He took it.
The paint dripped, ran, marked him anew. Then Nova took Torch’s hands. His grip was firm but guiding, steadying Torch as he led them forward. Nova lowered Torch’s hands into the bowl. The paint swallowed his fingers, slick and thick, coating his palms.
Nova lifted Torch’s hands slowly, guiding them upward. Torch could feel the paint sliding toward his wrists, dripping in lines.
“Cover me,” Nova said quietly.
The words settled into Torch’s chest with unexpected weight.
They weren’t cruel or demanding. They felt… offered. As though Nova were opening a door rather than pushing him through it.
Torch’s heart hammered. He stood close enough to see the familiar angles of Clancy’s face beneath the shadow of the hood, the curve of his cheekbone, the line of his mouth he had once known by heart. For a flickering instant, memory threatened to overwhelm him.
His hands trembled.
Not from fear alone, but from the gravity of what he was being asked to do. This wasn’t just obedience. This was mirroring. Confirmation. A closing of the circle.
Torch understood it then, fully: he had given himself to Nova – but in this moment, Nova was choosing him in return. Not as an equal, not as a savior, but as his Bishop. His authority. His center. The axis around which Torch’s world would now turn.
Nova was everything now. And Torch belonged to him. The thought didn’t scare him. It steadied him.
For a breath, his mind drifted backward – before the tower, before the paint, before surrender. He saw the forests of Trench again, wild and sprawling, the illusion of freedom curling through the leaves. He remembered the Banditos, the way rebellion had tasted like hope, even when it was laced with fear.
That life felt distant now.
His gaze lifted to Nova’s eyes. There was no illusion there. Only power. Possession. Authority worn without apology.
Torch inhaled deeply, grounding himself in the present, in the weight of his hands, in the certainty of the choice he was making.
“Covering you,” he whispered.
Then he touched Nova’s face.
The paint transferred instantly, dark against skin, warm now where Torch’s hands pressed. He moved carefully, reverently, tracing the lines Nova had traced on him – jaw, lip, neck – marking Nova not as Clancy, not as something to be saved, but as what he was.
A Bishop.
Torch’s breath slowed as he worked, each touch purposeful, each mark a silent vow. With every stroke, the distance between them narrowed – not physically, but existentially. The past loosened its grip. The future solidified.
When Torch finally stilled his hands, they hovered there for a moment longer, suspended between devotion and release. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t need to. He had crossed the point of no return. And there was no going back.