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Cross flinched as the cold metal grazed his bare back, beads of sweat trailing down the side of his face, getting caught on the thick fabric wrapped around his head, keeping him blind. His breathing is heavy, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He’s not sure why he agreed to this; the concept of the training was simple enough, but he’s not sure what he was expecting when it was Killer who came to him. He was smarter than this. He could barely believe where he was, and part of him was expected to wake up from such a…vivid dream. It wasn’t a nightmare, at least he couldn’t reasonably consider it one.
It was a nightmare of many people, he was sure. To be in Nightmare’s castle, in Nightmare’s dungeon, blindfolded and mostly naked, and, most terrifyingly, at Killer’s mercy, was something that made people piss the bed at night.
Yet, there he was, in that exact predicament, having agreed to the idea.
Not only had he agreed to the idea, he was sort of enjoying it as well.
It wasn’t often he was at the mercy of another, much less willingly, and much less with Killer. He still wasn’t over that. Killer had come to him with this perverse idea under the guise of ‘training’ and Cross, like the idiot he was, had agreed! He knew this was a flaw of his: if something was worded as training or getting stronger, who was he to say no, but he’s also not that stupid. At least, he didn’t think he was.
“You’re so cute when you twitch like that.” Killer murmured, pressing his lips against his shoulder. The tip of Killer’s knife trailed down the crease of his spine, stopping right before the rope keeping his wrists together. The knots were simple enough—Killer used the same type of knot every time he used rope, so, whatever—and Cross could get out of them if he really needed to, but there was something addictive about simply being in someone else's hands. Even if those hands were stained a million times over with the blood of innocents; his hands weren’t exactly clean either.
“Re-Remind me what’s this for again?” He didn’t like how his breathing hitched as he spoke. He tilted his head uselessly in Killer’s direction, he couldn’t see the bastard, but it was an instinctual action nonetheless. He jolted violently as the knife grazed against his cheek, his head being forced in one direction by Killer’s grip on his chin.
“It’s for training, obviously…idiot.” Killer snorted, and the cold blade was removed from his face. “I thought I said that. Do I need to cut open your ears too?”
The threat was empty, Cross knew that, but his body didn’t. His heart rate began to increase as he shook his head free from Killer’s grasp, the small ponytail that his hair was in smacking against his shoulders. “Training for what, asshole?”
Silence.
Killer barely breathes, barely makes any sound, which is a frightening thing for a murderer to be.
Then, warmth.
A lot of warmth.
Cross’ lap was being straddled by Killer, and he knew it well enough. The bulge in his pants was being pushed up against Killer’s crotch, which forced out a warbled groan. The cold of the blade ran between his pectorals, down the center of his torso, and eventually stopping at his belly button. Killer snickered, his free hand grasping and groping at Cross’ chest. He did that a lot, so Cross shouldn’t be surprised, but the warmth from his skin compared to the chill of the blade made him tremble.
“I forgot. Heehehe! Isn’t that fun? I don’t know what I’m training you for, but I’m sure training you.” An affectionate kiss was pressed against the side of Cross’ mouth. Cross was impressed by Killer’s restraint to not make out with him. Killer’s hand kneaded at his crotch, only making him more aroused. “You’re such a little shit, though. Getting hard at this? Pervert.”
“You’re the pervert here! You’re the one who suggested this-!” Cross’ sentence didn’t come out as sharply as he wanted it to, as his voice squeaked, a little, sad sounding yelp. Goosebumps appeared along his skin as the blade followed the curvature of his pectorals. The pressure was just enough to make him squirm, just enough to cause his breathing to hitch, but not enough to break the skin. Killer was more than familiar with breaking skin, the restraint he must’ve had to not stab the knife into him must be immeasurable. The knife follows along his muscles, as if it was trying to map it out, trying to memorize each and every part of him.
The tip of the knife stopped in between his collar bones, and all he could hear was Killer’s faint but clear breathing.
“I wanna make you bleed, big guy.” Killer’s voice is breathy and far closer than Cross expected him to be. His hot breath against Cross’ neck made him shiver; their hips were nearly flushed against each other, and it took all of Cross’ self control to not buck his hips upwards to grind against Killer’s. “Let me. Let me, please, Crossy.”
“…Just don’t lose your mind.” The words were barely out of Cross’ mouth before a quick but sharp pain went burning across the front of his chest. It was like when he would yank a hangnail or stub his toe, sudden, painful, but nothing else. The tip of Killer’s knife had nicked his skin, just enough to cause pain, just enough to remove the first layer of skin, just enough to make him bleed.
“Fuck, I forget how pretty your blood is.” Cross never understood Killer’s obsession with blood, especially his own, but he supposed it just came with the territory. Yes, sure, his blood was a lilac purple, but they lived with a man who bled teal, Killer bled black, and Dream’s blood was so bright you’d think his veins were full of fire, so it’s not something that unique. He felt what had to be a bead of his blood slowly roll down his chest, only for Killer’s cold tongue to replace the sensation. Killer’s tongue lapped up the blood that rolled down his skin, and then his tongue reached for other places. He pressed kisses against his skin, memorizing the shape of his collarbones with his mouth alone. Kisses and hickeys began to decorate his skin, and Cross couldn’t stop himself from letting out a moan. It’s embarrassing but it’s shameless, there’s no one down there will him, he can let himself go.
Killer grunted before throwing his knife across the room, and Cross knew he did because he heard the whizzing of it as it flew by and thunk! it made as it struck into one of the wooden support beams. Both of Killer’s hands dug into his chest, his mouth attempting to make a ring of marks around his neck. It’d be useless, since Cross always covered his neck with clothing and scarves anyway, but maybe that was the point. Marks only the two of them knew about, a secret of affection between the two of them.
…At least, a secret until Killer inevitably blabbed about it to embarrass him.
That was something Cross had learned, there were no secrets when it came to Killer, merely things that had not been exposed to the public yet.
“I think I also forgot how pretty you are, big guy…” Killer sighed, rubbing his hips against Cross. Cross groaned, squirming in his bonds as he attempted to reciprocate as much as he could. “Like, shit, look at you! Squirming and looking perfect and sexy for me and no~ one else.”
“God, you're embarrassing.” Cross muttered under his breath. As stoic as he tried to be around Killer, his face always gave him away. His pale skin did nothing to hide his purple blush, and he could feel the heat radiating from his face. He was easy to fluster and he knew it and he hated it. Killer used it against him all the time and, honestly? It wasn’t fair. “Are we going to have sex or are you just- ngh, going to hump me like a dog?”
“Nah, being a dog is your job, isn’t it?”
“What?! No!”
“Oh yes it is! Don’t deny it, orrrrr, I won’t take your pants off!” Killer pressed a kiss against Cross’ cheek, taking his silence as compliance and not the startled embarrassment it is. There’s the unzipping of pants and, much to Cross’ dismay, it’s not his own. The situation is hilarious to Killer, as he giggles quietly to himself, “Fuck, you’re so cute. Let’s play, yeah?”
The sensation of Killer’s dick against his stomach isn’t unfamiliar, but it still feels strange. He’s hard (Cross has found that he usually is) and, thankfully, isn’t wet. Yet. Killer had no qualms with coming on Cross, but Cross certainly did! He bucked his hips upwards, meeting Killer’s ass with his bulge, causing the other to yelp in delight. Killer cackled, his hands finally removing themselves from Cross’ chest to work on his pants. “Gonna untie me or…?”
“I was thinking about it but…” Cross’ cock was finally freed from its underwear prison and Killer’s hands immediately did what they did best: get handsy. “I think it’s a lot more fun this way.”
Cross tossed his head back as he groaned. He was plenty worked up already, but with Killer slowly jerking him off, it only made it worse. He hoped that when he threw his head around, the blindfold would loosen, and he’d be able to see, just a little sliver of Killer’s face is all he wanted. Yet, Killer had put the damn thing on tight, and even as he shook his head, it refused to move. It made him question if he even could get out of his restraints, but now wasn’t the time for that. “Really? Hfg, then what? You’re just going to sit on my lap?”
“And grind against you like a dog in heat, baby!”
Killer slammed their lips together, and Cross knew that he’d be in for one hell of a night.