headlocked | slutty dan heng

slutty dan heng

[dan heng didn't mean for it to get this far.

he's been achingly lonely all along. it makes sense. he can't forge bonds without risking them being slain by his ever-hunting shadow. and yet he still craves contact, and his own hands can only do so much for him.

the first time it happened, it was when he was reformatting a small ship's data bank in exchange for a month or so of passage. in the first week, he found the glory hole hidden in the lesser used restroom, adjacent to a janitor's closet. on the eve of his last day aboard, he'd snapped from his own touchstarved loneliness and locked himself in that little closet. he'd shyly wiggled fingers through the hole when he heard someone on the other side, and, well. word got around fast and he'd almost missed disembarking on schedule, come still trickling down his thighs as he and his beat-up suitcase half-jogged down the gangway onto the dock.

he told himself it was a one-time thing, but that quickly proved untrue. when one travels as anonymously as possible as cheaply as possible, it isn't difficult to find places for illicit, anonymous sex, and he didn't manage to resist the next time he found one. rest stops, ships, space stations... he took what he could get. he took the time to perfect his cloudhymn, giving himself a passably human cunt, then worked out how to switch easily between that and a passably human cock. he tried things from the other side of the gloryhole. escalation after escalation, and still his main concern remained never seeing the faces of the people he fucked. if he never knew them at all, he would never have to add them to the body count living in the back of his mind.

and it has gone still further. this evening he's found himself staff at a masquerade of sorts. all manner of people have been invited to this luxurious, hedonistic retreat, offering anonymity to the elite in the form of masks that digitally glitch out the wearer's face with a touch of punklorde reality editing. he was in the right place at the right time with the right hungers and looks, so rather than being a waiter, he's here as entertainment.

hired on with his only terms being that he not be bound or have his face exposed, he's turned loose on the party utterly nude save for the glitching mask. being himself, he hangs near the fringes. it isn't long before someone or some more invite him to a shadowy little alcove, or make use of him right out in the open. whether or not he's found before that or somehow recognized, well... this evening he's given himself a dick and pussy both, so the results will be exciting no matter what.]

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[He had three minutes left.

You can leave at ten standard, Elio had said, and he should have fucking known there was something up with the way the cat had wound around his ankles, black hair on black pants on black dress shoes. Kafka had smiled at him in her usual mysteriously aggravating way, slid the mask Silver Wolf had made for him on his face - she'd yammered something about it being a special edition, Blade was having trouble remembering - and pushed him into the club. Retreat. Hotel? Whatever.

It wasn't his first time in one of these; it wouldn't be the last. He'd been the predator, he'd been the honeypot; it was all the same to him. Sex was a fleeting distraction from the prison he'd been eternally trapped in, and the sooner he could be done with this shit, the sooner he'd be able to go back to hunting. He knew Dan Feng was in this galactic quadrant, but he hadn't been able to do a sweep. Yet.]

Thanks. [He says, politely, to a passing waiter, who'd handed him a vaguely suspicious cocktail. Two minutes and he's gone, and he makes his way out of the alcove he's sequestered himself in. The sound and musk of sex is heavy in the air, and he's thinking about the dry cleaning for this suit, when someone shoulders past him.

Blade pauses. Less to give a shit about being jostled, and more to stare at apparently what was drawing people from all over: one of the perks of the club, glitching face pressed onto a cock as they're being fucked by another one against it. There's cum shiny down the inside of their thighs, dripping dark wet against the carpet. There's a line, even, Blade thinks, good for them, and he turns away to leave, before noticing:

There's a scar down the lithe thing's hip. The exact same place he'd torn a ribbon of blood the last time they'd crossed blades. That can't be, though, he thinks, pushing closer - can it?]

[it looks like the kind of scar shard sword would leave, in as much as it's possible to tell through the crowd, with him being rocked by being fucked from both ends. but blade may be able to pick out more little blemishes like that-- vidyadhara heal well, especially high elders, but they don't heal perfectly. blade has dealt enough damage over the years for dan heng to be a map of very specific, if subtle, scars.

the man himself is a bit too preoccupied for even his well trained intuition to start warning him yet. the cock stuffed down his throat withdraws, and its owner makes a show of coming all over his face. a bit of a waste with the mask, but dan heng doesn't complain, doesn't speak at all, just angles his face for the load. the guest fucking his cunt seems to take exception to his distraction, and slams into him particularly hard, which punches an all-too familiar grunt from the lips hidden behind glitching reality. one way or another, the person who is being pulled by the hair between the legs of the next guest in line certainly made a sound that's a dead ringer for when blade lands a particularly jarring blow.]

[What the fuck?

There's no mistaking that voice. No mistaking the constellation of faint scars. Blade's ears start ringing with the rush of white-hot emotion, he can't even tell what he's feeling, and at what: fury. Disgust. Anger. Horror. Jealousy.

Silver Wolf's mask is good enough to hide the entirety of everything above the collar of his dress shirt, even up close like this, when Blade stalks up to display, close enough to touch, and - watches. He feels like he's going to disassociate.

There's some commotion, as he yanks the guest between the - the figure's legs away, and he curls a broad hand under a hip to hold the thing up. Splashes the cocktail against the swollen mess of its holes. What the fuck, he thinks again, dazed as he drops the glass in favor of thumbing its cunt open, to the side.]

[the woman who was guiding everyone's plaything's head between her legs? wisely backs off. and in that too-familiar voice, the "entertainment" takes on an admonishing tone, though delivery is clearly affected by an overworked mouth and throat.]

Wait your tur-- ah!

[his whole body jerks with the sudden cold burn of alcohol (and who knows what else) against already-inflamed holes. the sound he makes is pornographic, but that's nothing on the sight of that flinching tension forcing semen and lube and other fluids from his used holes in a filthy squirt, especially held open like this.]

[The cocktail, like everything in this place, is geared for hedonism: a fruit-flavored, alcoholic elixir to invigorate - a healing aphrodisiac. It was meant to be taken orally, though, so who knows how it would work like this...

Blade snags another one of the drinks from one of the customers. And in the full view of everyone who's watching this spectacle - hilts three gloved fingers immediately and viciously into his cunt, scooping out the mess, using the drink in a facsimile of washing it out. Off. The snarl he lets out is an animal sound, dark and familiar only in the worst of their encounters.]

[he's fucked-open enough that those fingers, large and sudden as they are, aren't even a particularly tight squeeze save for the shocked tension of him. the unpredictability, the breakneck pace of unexpected manhandling-- that keeps him mostly still, even as he makes a near-wounded sound at the feel of the cocktail being poured inside him, leaving him trembling and gushing diluted fluids with every stunned little twitch.

except then blade growls, and the pretty, agreeable creature that's been sucking and fucking for a good few hours now without complaint starts thrashing like a hooked fish, with a violence that has the crowd scattering.]

[The world narrows down to the body under his hands. Blade threads his free hand up into the hair at his nape, and then fists into the strands viciously, using it to haul Dan Heng up and crush him against the nearest wall.

Like this, he's covering the entirety of Dan Heng's body, his bulk hiding him from view. His other hand is still inside him, and he fucks a thumb into Dan Heng's asshole, holding him up like that, almost.]

Why. [Blade's voice breaks.] Why are you here.

Let go-oh-

[he's snarling, struggling, but his ass welcomes blade's thumb like his cunt welcomed his fingers, so very slick and easy for him. pinned to the wall like this, his panicked bucking does little but fuck him on those thick, gloved fingers.]

[The panicked thrashing doesn't help Blade's horribly confused arousal, either. He'd always been a little (a lot) turned on whenever he and Dan FHeng met again and again but this is beyond the pale.]

I am going to kill every single living thing in this place. [Rasped, as he hitches his hand up, forcing Dan Heng up on his toes. He's never been this brand of angry before.] You are many things, Imbibitor Lunae, but never would I have guessed you would be such a whore.

[his heart drops in the same motion as blade dragging him higher up the wall. this is what he's been trying to avoid: people being killed for touching him. and blade sounds an entirely new kind of murderous this time.

dan heng claws at the wall and both holes clench deliciously around blade's fingers and thumb, but he manages to grind out a response.]

I'm not- that man!

[he is a whore, after all. he's even taking pay this time. that's not the source of the fucking issue.]

How could you do this to me!

[He takes his hand out - only to snake around Dan Heng's front, to palm at his cock, rough and harsh, while he presses into him from behind, arousal unmistakeable.]

This is mine, Dan Feng. When we married you gave yourself to me and me alone, didn't you? You cruel bastard.

What are you talking abo-

[his incredulity peters out into a full-body shudder as dizzying sense-memory tilts his reality on its axis.

he's been fucked in this sort of position plenty of times. blade has pinned him before. but the wires crossing hit him hard with the smell and heat of a forge, the sensation of a warm, large, loved, enveloping body crushing him to a wall for a quickie. huge but dexterous hands playing his body like an instrument. the wild energy of his love in the throes of inspiration, but still making time for him.

dan heng's voice is faint. somewhere between horrified and begging.]

...Yingxing...?

[Blade stills, the entirety of his body seizing up in joy, in ardor, in yearning, he remembers, he remembers--!]

Yeah. [His grip softens, but is no less binding, and he's caressing a broad hand up the column of Dan Heng's throat.]It's me. [And then his fingers tighten, lovingly, bruisingly, tipping Dan Heng's chin up so he can look down into that beloved face.] Your Grace.

[he doesn't understand. how could those warm memories end up like this? how could the beast dogging his footsteps have resulted from the playful, warm man from his scraps of recollection?

the fight drains out of him. his face just looks... lost and wounded. not that blade can see it, with the punklorde identity obfuscation mask.]

Why...?

Edited 2024-02-20 14:57 (UTC)

[He should have listened to Silver Wolf. It's gonna be great for extracting information, she'd pointed out, talking at Blade instead of with him. You just gotta think you're someone and the mask will give the impression of them, isn't that handy?

The mask glitches. If Dan Heng looks, if he sees, there's the smug grin, edged with laugh lines; eyes the color of twilight, hair coated with starlight, calluses fingers ingrained with soot, and-]

You did this to me. You ran. [His fingers press down over the arteries in his throat.] You left me to rot.

[dan heng can't help the lost, pathetic whimper that crawls up his throat. blade can almost feel more than hear it, with his hand where it is. his head is starting to spin, and he's not sure if it's the strenuous activity, the hand on his throat, or the revelations.

the masks are good at obfuscating identity and microexpressions, but larger shifts in the face come across pretty well. blade can see dan heng has squeezed his eyes shut.]

[Blade stills ominously.]

Coward. [And then he moves, bending down and trying to haul Dan Heng into his arms, tightly like a cage. He can't deal with someone else seeing Dan Heng like this. If he thinks about it the mara roils red at the back of his throat, covetous.]

[dan heng doesn't fight it. he's already trapped, and can't make himself run from even a warped yingxing. he just tenses for a moment and goes limp.]

[Blade hauls him off, then; with his monstrous strength it's easy to shift Dan Heng to the cradle of one arm, to summon Shard Sword.

He's going to try and cut down anyone who is literally in sword range unless Dan Heng does something.]

[ok that's a struggle he'll put up. being carried off, sure, but dan heng grabs for blade's weapon arm when he sees shard sword.]

No!

No?

[He digs a violent bruise into the soft, unprotected span of Dan Heng's thigh.]

What will you do about it?

[wincing but grabbing for blade's face with both hands, angling closer, intimate.]

Please. You have me. They're not important.

[That gets the entirety of his attention immediately, maybe the unholy, all-consuming obsession was good for something? Blade halts to stare at him, almost like he's hypnotized.

He leans into one of Dan Heng's palms.]

I do have you now. [Rasped, as he starts walking again, scattering passerby as he makes his way to one of the private rooms.] No more running.

Mm.

[the mask at least allows for telling where his gaze is, and it's locked with blade's. keep focused on him. minimize collateral damage.]

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