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As warm air faded into cool, compressed air conditioning, combat boots pattered faintly as a ranger followed the path of his ever-silent person of interest.
At each turn, Hyperlaser’s steps displayed the exact curiosity and uncertainty of someone who had never been in this building while sober. He was certain he’d look a bit odd to passersby, especially after the performance he gave out there on the field, but that could probably just be chalked up to one too many post-game beers.
Faintly, he wondered if the same excuse could be used for the one he intended to meet.
After the spectacle and sensationalism of the Phights wore off, the subsequent evenings were always slightly cumbersome, especially for those such as Hyperlaser, who usually kept their violence to themselves. Having his dealings broadcasted like that was more than a little unusual, certainly—but, at least it eventually led to quieter times like these, as well as a bit of extra pay from the hosts.
Then again, Hyperlaser did have a lifetime of experience when it came to killing, so maybe he was at a bit of an advantage.
Continuing down the halls, Hyperlaser heard a few people cussing out his fellow players, and he silently hoped he wasn’t on some random Inphernal’s shit-list after getting his own kicked in by some Playgrounder. Come to think of it, when, where, and why did that region even get that kind of technology…?
Finally, somewhere along the way, Hyperlaser remembered to desummon his eponymous Gear, the railgun flickering out of existence in a flash of blue-white. He adjusted his collar, pulled up his belt, and checked his sleeves for dust and dirt. All very unnecessary courtesies, but they helped soothe the nerves of his warming, ashy heart. He was a little giddy, a little dirty under his boots. It made him feel about ten years younger than he actually was. He held onto the feeling, noticing how wood floors turned to carpet then back again, up until he finally came upon apartment number 48.
Hyperlaser sighed, silently praying that he didn’t misremember the number. He knew how much his host valued his silence, but that wouldn’t be lasting for much longer, anyway. A gloved fist came up to knock at the door once, twice, surely bringing both of them back to reality.
Silence. The obnoxiously cold air of the AC nipped at Hyperlaser’s neck as he listened for any signs of life. Then, just slightly too late, came the shuffling of fabric and the thumping of footsteps. It seemed like the impatience was mutual. Hyperlaser briefly considered just walking away, but something in him knew that he couldn’t if he tried—if he wanted to.
Like a truly honored, commendable guest, Hyperlaser was welcomed at the door, obscured eyes briefly meeting as he stepped in. The apartment itself was much stuffier than even the complex’s lobby, though he doubted that that was to any fault of Katana’s.
In fact, the first thing he noticed was the apparent lack of homeliness to the whole affair that was Katana’s home. Cream-yellow walls were decorated solely by the occasional, invasive vine, flowering in various shades of pink. By the northmost wall was a large shikibuton with the comforter neatly laid over it, all white. It was remarkably simple, if not a little foreign to someone who had previously only ever been there when they were blackout drunk.
Hyperlaser craned his neck up and over to Katana, watching him lock the door and silently walk past the mercenary, opting to quietly fish through a set of drawers on the far end of the room. They had half a mind to reckon that this wasn’t exactly the proper way to treat a guest—especially not one who had purposefully brought themselves to your doorstep—but they surmised that whatever Katana called them there for would make this all worth it.
In Crossroads, it was famously difficult to find a moment of peace; but despite that, Katana, in his own elegant, otherworldly way, had carved out a place of silence for himself. He had mentioned the benefits of meditation to Hyperlaser before; he remembered it happening at a bar in the middle of the city, the words spoken between small peeks beneath his mask as they drank. And, though the circumstances were certainly different, Hyperlaser could see what he was getting at now.
Still, it all felt quite elusive to Hyperlaser’s mind. Suddenly, their shared, contemplative silence broke with the scratch of a lit match, followed by the lighting of an incense stick.
Hyperlaser followed the cue, taking off his bulky jacket and slipping off his shoes, trying to seem comfortable and nonchalant. Despite the lack of decoration, the place felt… homely enough, Hyperlaser supposed, to warrant the gesture.
“I see you’ve made this place a home,” Hyperlaser mused, taking a second, possibly selfish look around.
“As much as I could,” Katana replied in that usual cryptic, reflective manner, finally doing the hospitable thing of desummoning his own Gear. Although Hyperlaser wouldn’t admit it, he’d miss the presence of that cunning blade.
Usually, Hyperlaser and Katana would spend an evening like this out drinking, sharing stories and fighting back the impulse to take things too far once the liquor hit. This time, though, Katana insisted on bringing the mercenary back to his, something they’d only previously done on nights where they’d drank too much, got too close, and… regrettably, acted upon those aforementioned impulses. But those instances had grown less and less common over time—or at least, less saturated with alcohol. Perhaps, in this way, bringing Hyperlaser here was a show of respect on Katana’s part, of intimacy beyond what they shared at barrooms and intermission lobbies.
Speaking of… Katana didn’t really think his intentions were that unclear, did he?
Hyperlaser’s eyes flicked up Katana’s frame as he stepped closer to them, the wood floor creaking with the motion. It was hard to resist the temptation to imagine Katana getting ready for Hyperlaser’s appearance—how long had it been since he’d moved away from the crowd? Was the last word he gave Hyperlaser planned beforehand, or was it all on an adrenaline-fueled whim?
(He had snuck up behind Hyperlaser when emotions were high, giving him an ever-so subtle nudge: “I expect to see you at mine soon.” Mere minutes later, Hyperlaser went to reconvene with Subspace at the Flipside Tower’s lobby, as usual. He had to have known where they were going, right?)
“You look rather pensive,” Katana mused, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Are you displeased?”
“No,” Hyperlaser replied, the sound more like a dull, filtered note in the back of his throat. Not nearly as impassioned as Katana hoped it could be, but exactly what he expected for the moment.
“Were the other contestants giving you a rough time?” Katana tried to make conversation, cutting through the self-imposed smoke of quiet.
“As they usually do,” Hyperlaser replied, sighing. “I will admit, they’re hard to keep up with at certain moments, but I think I do enough among them to balance it out.”
“That you do. You outran and outsmarted me numerous times out there, certainly.”
The fond lilt in Katana’s voice came as a surprise, to say the very least. “You seem to be proud of that…”
“I take no pride in my shortcomings,” Katana clarified, then changed the topic. “I hope that your detour did not interfere with any preestablished plans?”
“Oh, no. Subspace is still out there, I’m pretty sure.” Hyperlaser appeared contemplative, but in a distinctly knowing way. “I doubt she cares where I go, as long as I come back punctually.” The words came out methodically, almost mechanical in nature as Hyperlaser explained himself. Nerves, most likely, or maybe just a learned inexpressiveness.
Then, Katana asked the question of the hour. “How much time do you have?”
Hyperlaser paused, as if about to tell Katana some dreadful news—and, though he couldn’t see their expression through their helmet, Katana couldn’t help but feel like he’d hit an especially tender spot on an already scarred body.
Hyperlaser could guess what Katana was getting at with the question, but even it felt much too unreal to his sober mind. Meeting like this was already unusual for them; there was no need to let it get to his head.
“I don’t think you would’ve invited me over if you thought I was in a rush,” was all Hyperlaser replied with. The simplest of his absurd thoughts.
“You think correct. But that does not answer my question.”
Oh, damn it. Hyperlaser felt like he could suffocate on the smoke in his lungs right then, and absolutely nobody would notice nor care except for Katana.
The ranger cleared his throat. “Point being, I think you know I have all night.”
Katana’s smooth, deep voice was always a pleasure to hear, especially when it sounded like he was about to burst into laughter. “I see.”
After that, Katana inched closer once more, examining Hyperlaser much like he would an enemy—or, more accurately, how an owl would examine a tiny rodent. Almost instinctually, Hyperlaser immediately felt smaller under the weight of his gaze, the shift in balance strangely natural on both ends. There wasn’t much use in words now, was there?
Still, Hyperlaser felt the impulse to get the last word in. “You’re usually only this bold when we’re drunk.”
As if on cue, Katana’s thumb slotted into the underside of his mask, a smile evident in how his jaw twitched slightly. “Are you displeased?” He asked again. It was all so horribly indulgent on both sides.
Hyperlaser did something rare for someone with a throat clogged with ash—he chuckled. “Depends on how you’ll make it up to me if I am.”
Katana, ever interested in balance, tranquility, and all other unrealistic, otherworldly things Hyperlaser couldn’t dream of touching, responded in kind.
“Very well.”
…
The clamor outside had long turned quiet, completely overcome with quiet promises and unspoken desires. Peaceful and chaotic all at once, for one night alone. Losing himself in that haze, Hyperlaser ended up in the same position as he had many times before, crowded in by the scent of hyacinth and Katana’s weight alike.
Katana’s mouth ran over his ear, down his neck, making blood run hot beneath scarred skin. It hadn’t been long since Hyperlaser discarded his helmet, and so he was left to helplessly palm at Katana’s body to gain purchase as he went, feeling bulky muscles tense and flex beneath the meager touch. For all the fight he felt he could put up while he was being broadcasted, he was always rendered so profoundly helpless the moment Katana got his hands on him privately.
Gods, he felt lightheaded.
Katana’s hands covered a truly obscene amount of area on Hyperlaser’s body as he groped at them, his tongue and teeth continuing their way along their throat. Then, suddenly, those callused claws found their way around Hyperlaser’s waist, thumbs pressing hard enough to ache. Hyperlaser hissed, but otherwise didn’t resist.
Typically, Katana had a rather stingy personality, and he was good at hiding his true feelings behind his mask when it mattered. But, he seemed to always forget about that code of his when he had Hyperlaser beneath him—smaller, weaker, and completely under his command. Call it a weakness—Katana certainly would. Or perhaps, it was instead a blessing in disguise. After all, it did prove that, despite himself, he still had the ability to indulge.
A blessing was certainly what the ranger would call it, anyway.
While Katana plucked open the buttons of their vest, Hyperlaser’s head fell back, cloudy eyes fluttering shut. His tongue laved over blooming purple marks, ones he wasn’t fully sure Hyperlaser would be able to hide for his boss. He would have to apologize for the trouble later, but something in him felt like it’d be unnecessary.
Katana only pulled back to examine his handiwork, his good eye running over Hyperlaser’s narrow frame, everything he wanted only being hidden away by a sweater and slacks. Still too much clothing. Hyperlaser felt the same way.
Hyperlaser’s hands changed course from limply hanging over Katana’s shoulders to grabbing blindly at his haori, fingers lingering over a broad back and thick arms. Katana offered nothing in response other than a gravelly sigh, tension lifting in every inch of well-built muscle they touched.
“Don’t want to just lie there,” was the justification Hyperlaser gave as he felt Katana’s hands hesitantly part from his body, moving to undo his obi belt. Even without being able to see it directly, Katana’s body was surely something to behold. He had to be one of the largest people Hyperlaser had ever seen. Certainly the largest he’d ever touched, at least. How was it that Katana refused to believe in gods, when he had a body like that…?
While Hyperlaser was lost in his thoughts, Katana had shrugged off his haori, repositioning himself above the mercenary as he did. He noticed how Katana’s form cast a shadow over nearly everything, limiting his perception even more, but he didn’t have the time to react before something entirely different became the object of his attention.
Bold as ever—much like the hand he held over his blade, or on Hyperlaser’s clothes—his palm found its way between their thighs, wedging exactly where Hyperlaser needed it. Hyperlaser gasped out something dry and devastated, and he only grew further disbelieving as Katana sunk downward.
Katana held Hyperlaser over with a few experimental rolls of the wrist, bumping up against their hardening clit through their pants, making them groan. He couldn’t enjoy the sensation for long, though, before Katana had shifted to pull Hyperlaser’s sweater up and over his head. He immediately attacked the newly exposed skin, busying his hands with unbuckling Hyperlaser’s belt, ignoring the small squirms they gave in response to all the attention.
Katana seemed determined to narrow the distance between them at any cost. Maybe a little too determined for his own good.
When Katana pulled their pants off, Hyperlaser honestly wondered if they were drunk, despite not having touched a drop of alcohol all evening. The garment ended up strewn somewhere on the floor, left unaccounted for as Katana lunged to add Hyperlaser’s boxers to the pile.
Hyperlaser sat up slightly, feeling him get dangerously close to his bare body, his breath shuddering. “Impatient, aren’t you…” They breathed, letting Katana pull him in closer by the thighs.
“Mm. Perhaps,” Katana purred, looking down at where his hand once was—where he’d been craving to be. Scarred thighs framed an arousal truly worthy of reverence, a clit that practically twitched under the weight on his stare. His fingers bore down on slender hips, allowing Hyperlaser to spread his legs further, welcoming the intrusion of Katana’s face between his thighs.
Katana’s gaze was palpable in a way Hyperlaser couldn’t really explain, especially when he leaned in to kiss at the top of their mound, down the length of their clit. “Oh—“ Hyperlaser gasped, his head tilting back once again as scarred lips paid tribute to the most sensitive part of him. His hips twitched in Katana’s grasp, though he knew there wasn’t much he could do to wriggle out of it. “R-Right, right… there.”
The words came out mumbling and hesitant, but the same could not be said for the obvious moan Katana let out in response, the sound rumbling through Hyperlaser’s every nerve. They held themself up by their elbows, the lower half of them pinned down as Katana focused his attention on their aching clit, laving an suitably long tongue over the bud before sucking it into his mouth.
He wanted so desperately to twitch and buck into that terrible mouth, but he was an obedient soul at heart; so, he merely let himself relax into it, allowing Katana full ability to do whatever he wanted to him. He felt claws dig into the limited fat of his thighs and ass, Katana’s tongue driving deeper, making him once again selfishly crave the privilege of squirming against it. The palpable tension and resistance Hyperlaser offered sent a thrill running through Katana, not unlike the one he felt when he had someone meet the edge of his blade, or caught in his rope.
Though, when he really thought about it, was this not just a different form of bondage? Of killing, almost?
Still, the rush of fluids beneath Katana’s lips and the vivid warmth of flesh proved Hyperlaser to be all too alive. The delicate curve of ribs led up to small, precious tits that hardly moved, even as the rest of the mercenary’s body tried so very desperately to. Desaturated pinks tinted over deep, dark scars, coming together to form a truly appetizing sight for a predator and a fighter alike. Scum of a heretic he was, Katana could hardly help himself from drinking in the borderline pitiful sight before him, watching intently as Hyperlaser’s back bowed in a desperate search for more stimulation.
Katana’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he continued his ministrations down below, listening in for the occasional, unfiltered moan or cry from the one beneath him. Feeling generous—overwhelmingly so, if the way Hyperlaser was already trembling said anything—one of Katana’s hands then shifted, leaving noticeable indents in the skin of their hip. He palmed at the underside of Hyperlaser’s thigh, then lifted it up without warning, allowing him to press his tongue deeper inside the ranger.
Hyperlaser’s spine bowed once more, the sensations between his thighs eliciting some truly vulgar, embarrassing sounds from his mouth. Semi-coherent words were thrown in—some Blackrock regional curses, too, though Katana was just guessing that for all the words he downright couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t often that Katana showed this level of zeal and hunger in front of Hyperlaser, no matter his level of sobriety. He supposed that Hyperlaser just had to be special enough to deserve it, then.
Gods, he had to laugh. He really was overindulging the poor man into a frenzy, wasn’t he?
Well, it wasn’t like Hyperlaser had an abundance of pleasure in his life. In fact, his desperation to keep this carefree, floaty bliss alive showed in every continuous rock of his hips, the attempt much less futile than it was previously, and much more purposeful as well. He was close, that was obvious.
Sensing the impending release deep in his bones, Katana practically growled into Hyperlaser’s sensitive flesh, tightening his grip on their lower half. The noises were cruder, wetter as he sunk into it, eager to send Hyperlaser over the edge. Hyperlaser’s cries reached a fever pitch, and his hands shot down accordingly to pull frantically at Katana’s horns. The motion was responded with a further constraining grip on the ranger’s thigh, the stinging pain building and building until there was nothing left to do but let go.
Hyperlaser’s orgasm crashed over him in a matter of seconds, with no warning. It was a brutal, devastating kind of ecstasy that Hyperlaser wasn’t sure he could ever truly deserve; as it rippled through him, he grabbed at Katana’s horns helplessly, roughly, as if he may fall over some nonexistent cliff if he didn’t hold on. For all of his shaking, his wanton desperation, Katana had to admit that he didn’t put up that much of a fight. He never did.
One last deep, unrefined shudder let Katana know to back off, a truly nasty noise leaving his mouth as he separated from Hyperlaser’s cunt. Maybe he wasn’t one to speak on what was uncouth right then, when he really thought about it.
Indulgently, Katana licked over what remained of his lips, cleansing himself of his filthy actions.
Hyperlaser struggled to settle his breathing as Katana rose above him, the light of the room coming back into view. They dropped limp as a corpse when Katana loosened his grip on them, finally allowing him to see the fruits of his labor. Hyperlaser laid there just as temptingly as he did before, legs still spread wide, skin slick with sweat and… other things. Katana could still taste the headiness of it all in the back of his throat.
Still, there was one thing in particular that caught his attention almost immediately. Where the tips of his claws once dug, striking red lines had taken their place, beading with the smallest droplets of blood. Soft, meager, small—Katana’s throat bobbed as improper thoughts flooded his mind once more.
Even after bringing Hyperlaser to such a ravaging orgasm, Katana still had it in him to act chaste. The mercenary would surely laugh at him if he had noticed what was happening.
What Hyperlaser did notice, however, was when Katana unexpectedly shuffled away from the whole scene, hurrying to rummage through his drawer once again. Puzzled, Hyperlaser sat up on shaky elbows, his voice little more than a broken, curious murmur. “Where are you going…?” They asked.
Katana didn’t respond, but not out of purposeful negligence. In the meantime, Hyperlaser flopped back down on the shikibuton, closing his thighs only to find them slipping from his sheer arousal. It was almost humiliating, how vulnerable he surely looked… but Katana had to be enjoying it, right? He felt a cooling, wet patch form on the mattress beneath him, and he figured that he already had the answer to his question.
Hyperlaser was only brought out of his thoughts by the all too familiar click of a buckle.
He shot up once more just in time for Katana to fit the second strip of leather across his hip, fitting nicely over the definition of his thigh. Hyperlaser’s heartrate shot up as he realized what was going on, the mere thought of it bringing an even richer color to his skin.
“Apologies for my… impatience,” Katana finally said, turning to face the ranger directly as his hand found its way around a false cock. Katana then spent a moment too long fiddling with the toy, stroking it as if it would bring him any sort of relief. Hyperlaser wanted to tell him it was alright, but he didn’t think he was getting many coherent words out right then.
Regardless, Katana seemed to like forcing his hand, further than he ever thought possible. “You know, I saw you staring at me across the way at the lobby,” he just had to say, once again finding his place above Hyperlaser. “You looked at me for longer than anyone else there.”
When he felt unfairly thick, muscular thighs bully his own apart, Hyperlaser sucked in a breath, trying to find words where there weren’t any. “Well, o-of course… You command people’s attention quite… easily, you know…”
It was definitely a struggle to remain his usual self when he was so close to having it all topple down. “There is no need to act unassuming around me, Hyperlaser. Not after what I have seen from you.”
Ah. Shit, right.
“I know what you were truly missing.” Katana concluded the thought far too matter-of-factly, not allowing Hyperlaser a retort as he drove his hips forward, letting the head of his strap press into them. The realization of all that at once left Hyperlaser reeling—he was soaked, every inch of him tense and throbbing, and Katana was just cruel and sadistic enough to tease him while in such a desperate moment of need—
Katana made every thought in Hyperlaser’s head fizzle away as he braced his hands on either side of their shoulders, bearing in on them once more. Hyperlaser barely had the time to process it before Katana was driving his cock deeper into them. There was no way for them to escape it. Heedlessly and with far too much ardor, Katana carved a space for himself inside Hyperlaser, pushing his limits in exactly the way he was asking for.
At first, it was immensely difficult to adapt to—it always was, which was part of why Hyperlaser enjoyed it so much. He threw his head back almost immediately, fingers bracing against the mattress until they turned white, hissing out numerous whines and curses all the while. Katana himself didn’t seem to be holding it together that well either, if his heavy, labored breathing was anything to guess at. Still, he wasn’t keen on wasting time, and drove on until he felt Hyperlaser’s hips meet his, the sheathing complete with a particularly obscene wet noise, almost sounding like a click.
Though he couldn’t personally see it, he could feel Katana’s stare interrogating him, watching his features with uncanny intensity. Predictably, that gaze soon drifted downward, past a heaving chest and narrow waist, to the exact spot where they connected.
When Katana saw it, he immediately sighed, low and dreamy. He lifted himself off Hyperlaser, snaking one hand down to stake claim. “Look at you…” he muttered, voice drifting off as he pressed his palm into the obscenely, absurdly obvious bulge poking out of Hyperlaser’s stomach, almost massaging it as he drew his hips back.
If he could, Hyperlaser felt like he would most certainly cry at this. Despite himself, he still shook beneath the weight and heat just like their first tryst together—though, he thought he was at least more prepared this time. Their older, less sober affairs had been much less calculated; Hyperlaser faintly remembered how hard he’d pushed himself, how he’d passed out mere seconds after Katana was done with him. But this was much different, having been quite literally planned by Katana, even if it felt like he was somehow holding back on the poor man beneath him now.
Yes, that was what it was; the tremble in his fingers, the shake in his breath. Resistance was something Katana was usually so good at—why did he stumble so openly now?
Hyperlaser had a poor memory, but even they knew Katana’s values, just as well as they knew his limits. Most notably, his violence was hardly gratuitous at all—it was precise and well-restrained, a stark contrast to those around him. While his speed didn’t grant him many favors in Phights, they supposed that such a thing was much more beloved in Thieves’ Den, where integrity mattered more than baseline thrill.
…Still, though—gods, couldn’t he go any faster than this?
While he kept that horribly, torturously steady pace, Katana just couldn’t help himself from staring, letting out an uncharacteristically loud moan each time he disappeared inside them. It was impossible to hide how enthralled, almost sadistically delighted he was to be in this position, his movements only emboldened by the broken sobs that occasionally shot from Hyperlaser’s mouth. Katana’s name came out one syllable at a time, at uneven intervals, as if Hyperlaser was trying to remember how to say it.
As if trying to provide mercy, Katana reached out a few inches to slot his palm into Hyperlaser’s, almost instantly recognizing the difference in size between their hands. Callused, clawed fingers curled around their much shakier counterparts, the ranger’s digits just as uneven and covered in burn scars as the rest of him.
Almost unconsciously, Katana’s pace turned just that little bit more rough when this happened, his hips smacking noticeably against Hyperlaser’s thighs. The slight change in angle and speed all at once stirred something dangerous inside Katana, their mutual arousal now shamefully blatant; it seemed to have a similar affect on Hyperlaser, if his sudden keen gave any clues. They throbbed achingly, the back of their free hand moving to cover their mouth, their eyes squeezing shut as they threatened to break apart on the spot.
The next thing Hyperlaser heard, through a haze of smoke and heat, was a resonant growl. Then, the hand pressing into his lower distend shot up, shoving Hyperlaser’s own away from his face while the other ceased its gentle, loving hold. Some flimsy rope of patience and restraint within Katana snapped, and so he roughly pinned Hyperlaser’s wrists above his head, his other hand selfishly roaming Hyperlaser’s form soon after.
The next few thrusts were nothing short of violent, almost vengeful, rocking Hyperlaser’s whole body. Finally, Hyperlaser’s limited resistance was broken down too, and he responded in kind with an affirmative wail.
Hyperlaser could only imagine that Katana’s expression had to be nearly the exact same as the one he had as he carved his blade through a small crowd, one usually so well hidden by his mask. Something in him felt special to be on the receiving end of it now.
“Yes, this was what you wanted—” Katana purred entirely to himself, a terrible delight in his voice even as he rammed into Hyperlaser. Then, much softer, he repeated something like a mantra under his breath, barely audible under every other cacophonous sound in that room. “—Take it. Take it. Take it.”
His pace alone made Hyperlaser wonder if bruises would show up on his thighs tomorrow, if he’d even be able to walk back to the lobby without a stumble. Still, he felt devastating pleasure coil deep in his gut, threatening to snap at any moment, just as Katana had. There was only one real way to respond to the demand, their voice faint and broken as they babbled.
“Yes, please… please.”
It was a marvel that he even managed to get that out. He didn’t even know what he was begging for, in truth. For the first time that night, the two of them were about equal in volume, a clear indicator of both of them being close. When Katana started placing just a bit too much weight on Hyperlaser, his pace faltering and stuttering, he knew it wouldn’t be long before the end came.
If they could get any closer, they did, Katana’s fingers finally finishing their travel at the notch of Hyperlaser’s jaw. They leaned into it, and Katana found his place in the crook of their neck. Nosing against his pulse point, Katana kissed at mottled hickeys, nipped at scarred skin, then moaned into him with the last bit of air in his lungs, his hips stuttering one last, brutal time.
For the second time that night, Hyperlaser was overtaken by an overwhelming, almost religious ecstacy. Unable to hide anything from the one above him, they immediately broke into cracking, helpless sobs, making up for a lack of tears by gushing out over his and Katana’s thighs. In the midst of it all, Katana attempted to grind against where he knew was a sensitive spot, but even he didn’t have the patience nor the time to keep up any sort of stability. It was almost difficult to imagine how pent-up Katana must have been, continuing to groan gutturally against Hyperlaser’s skin for much longer than what should’ve been appropriate. Not that what was appropriate mattered much to the two of them right then.
How unbecoming of him… rarely was he so unashamed and vicious, even in moments like this. When he loosened his grip on Hyperlaser’s wrists, deep indents—bloodless, thankfully—were visible. It only got worse when he looked down, watching the bulge of Hyperlaser’s fullness slip away as he did, marking the end of their encounter with a disgustingly loud pop. Hyperlaser sighed mournfully at this, plentiful aftershocks hitting both of them at once.
Despite his previous noisiness, Katana was nearly completely quiet then. Suspiciously so, in Hyperlaser’s mind.
Katana’s jaw worked with some incomprehensible emotion, as if discovering something new that he didn’t know how to feel about. His eye flicked down to Hyperlaser’s face, and then stupidly immature redness flushed his own.
Did he really just…?
…
“Mmm, are you still thinking about that… orgasm you had?”
The words came out raspy with exertion, being partially muffled by the pillow Hyperlaser had pressed his face into. He sprawled his naked limbs across the stained shikibuton, trying his best to get comfortable. Honestly, Katana was surprised to find out he hadn’t passed out yet. He’d put out the incense long ago, with the night now being colored a deep, empty blue. Katana had to admit that he much preferred the starrier nights back in Thieves’ Den—but there was only one place that he could have an experience like this.
“I am not letting it perturb me, if that’s what you are asking,” Katana replied, placing his long-discarded haori on top of the pile of their folded clothes. Now, he could see for sure what Hyperlaser meant when they said he wore much less than they did.
“Has that ever happened to you before?”
“Not from what I remember.”
…When he was drunk, probably. But he didn’t want to think about that right then.
“Are you sure it wasn’t just your imagination, Katana?”
“I know the difference between fantasy and reality, and what happened there felt much too real to be the former.”
Hyperlaser shrugged weakly. They’d love to show Katana the joys of a direct, undeniably real orgasm, just as he often did for them, but they were both much too tired for that.
“Whatever you say.” Hyperlaser yielded soon after, rolling back onto his stomach as Katana flicked off the light, walking towards the mattress. Before he crawled in to lay with Hyperlaser—this time in a literal sense—he took one last self-indulgent look down at their body. He happily drank in ash-grey skin, every last inch marked and mottled, an almost romantic sight to lust-tired eyes. Katana was deeply grateful to now be a temporary brushstroke within the greater picture that was Hyperlaser.
Was this what sex usually did to him? Turn him into some amateur poet?
Hyperlaser stirred once again when he felt Katana’s weight sink into the shikibuton, turning over to face him. He briefly enjoyed the way the limited moonlight streaming in through the windows decorated Hyperlaser’s face, dancing over burn scars and the rough bases of four broken horns. It was during this time of night that the most serious—and the most trivial—events occurred.
“When do you have to leave?” Katana then asked, his voice low and conspiratorial.
“I don’t know yet, but she should’ve texted me the details while we were… well, you know,” Hyperlaser chuckled humorlessly. “I assume it’ll be before noon, though. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing serious, I was only wondering if I could keep you for a little while longer.”
“…What for?”
“Well, to be honest…” Katana leaned even closer in, until Hyperlaser’s breath fanned against his neck. He acted as if this matter was deeply, critically serious to him, and that was exactly what let Hyperlaser know that it was actually the exact opposite. “I was hoping that you could stay through the morning, so that we could share some tea and watch the sunrise together.”
It was such an innocent, earnest request, and when spoken in that tone… Well, Hyperlaser’s hand felt forced, to put it bluntly.
“That would be nice,” they replied, offering a small grin to the samurai. “I’ll stay.”
Those two words, spoken like a promise on both sides, finally infected Katana with his friend’s happiness. Their smiles were both rather crooked—both from scarring, from tragedies beyond their control—but that did nothing to negate the genuine emotion behind them.
“That is lovely to hear,” Katana muttered, his voice just a smidge south of sounding giddy. “Now, you should rest.”
Hyperlaser hummed, shifting to tuck their head further into Katana, making him lean back as they rested on his chest. Katana knew what the ranger was going to say next long before he said it.
“You should rest too, y’know.”
Katana would consider it, just this once.