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Peaks and Depressions, Valleys and Lakes

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Outside the border of Cities B and C, a clawed paw emerges from the earth and plants itself down on the ground, hoisting up a furred beast hailing from the scorched underside of nature, wearing the scars of yesteryear and the anger of today, the size of a skyscraper, the hunger of a feral animal; a titan of a monster through-and-through.

The sirens sound, reverberating in every corner of the twin cities. Following the ear-piercing screech of automated warning, a female voice repeats over the speakers: “A monster has been spotted 8 klicks from our border. Estimated disaster level: Demon. If you live in these areas, please evacuate...”

Garou angles his head to the noise like a dog, moving against the wave of evacuees fleeing to escape inevitable peril like a maverick, smirking, 8 kilometers? Should take that bastard take a hot minute to get here. He glances around, at the people tripping over themselves on the concrete, those tripping over others, and those trying to help. Yeah, I’ve got time.

He cuts through the pedestrians like water, dipping into an alleyway he coined as a shortcut to none other than Bad’s place of residence. He hops a fence, skips across an empty road, hoists himself over a cobblestone wall, and lands on his feet at the other side. Here, in between two brick buildings, there is a stretch of concrete littered with last week’s garbage and a plethora of feral cats feeding on it. Looking at building to his left, on the second story, there is a window open with Bad sitting cross-legged in a chair on the inside, a cellphone lodged in the crux between his ear and shoulder as he does some homework and talks to whatever dipshit the Hero Association has put in charge of the dispatch unit on this blessed day.

“Yeah, I heard the sirens.” He says, annoyed. “Uh-huh... it’s as tall as a skyscraper... uh-huh... I get it... yeah... hey, what’s the square root of 7,890?” They hang up. He snorts, tossing the phone over his shoulder and turning his full attention to his math homework. Garou clears his throat from below, tapping his foot against the concrete impatiently. Bad wheels his chair to the open window and looks down, “Oh, you again.”

“Pfft.” Garou chuckles breathily, “You know how this goes.”

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“Shut up, you love me.”

“If I did I would never tell you. Ego’s bigger than the whole goddamn continent.”

Garou scowls, a smirk tugging at the far corners of his lips. He takes a breath and holds his chest dramatically, “Oh, Juliet! Let down your hair.”

“That’s Repunzel you illiterate dumbfuck.”

Garou blinks. “Oh.”

Bad musses up his hair anyway, wiping the gel off on his sweater. He begrudgingly reaches over to the rotting fire escape, yanking down a ladder so Garou can climb up. The human monster hoists himself up to the window and grins at Bad face-to-face as he sits on the sil like a cat. The hero rolls his eyes, pulling Garou in by his shirt collar and assaulting his lips with a breathy, open-mouthed kiss that gets him stumbling on the carpet. Garou reaches behind himself and pulls the window shut.

He cranes his head forward to avoid breaking contact with Bad, eyes closed tightly. The raven-haired boy kicks against the carpet, breaking the kiss and wheeling himself backwards a distance. He stands, yanks off his shirt, and Garou watches jaw slack like he’s never seen Bad undress before (which is far from the truth). The hero’s immaculate body is like a mountain range with peaks and depressions, valleys and lakes. Whenever he moves, his skin follows every deviation like sweet silk that cascades over taut muscle. Garou wants to lay his hands on him, drink up the lakes, run his fingers over Bad’s valleys, and lay his body against tan skin just to see what it’s like to be graced with silk. Something he can’t always do, but relishes every opportunity he gets. Like on this blessed day.

Bad’s naked now, having kicked off his boxers, and he shoots Garou a glare from across the room. The martial artist blinks, “Oh, right.”

“Yeah, ‘oh, right’, we’re on a time limit, dipshit.” Bad self-consciously covers his chest with his arms, eyes downcast to the floor. “Stop staring at me like I’m fine art, you look like a dead fish.”

Garou wants to say you are fine art but he gets interrupted when he catches Bad’s boxers with his face. He yanks off the underwear, smiles, and shucks off his clothes in record time. He takes Bad by the shoulders, gives him a chaste kiss, and promptly tosses him onto the bed like he were a pillow and not some 170-odd pounds of pure, unadulterated, muscle.

Bad bounces on the mattress, hands grasping the sheets to keep his balance as he stifles a laugh and a slight squeak of surprise at how strong Garou is.

The white-haired boy crawls onto the bed, in between Bad’s legs, and kisses him with purpose, eyes tightly closed. He moves a hand under Bad’s back and grips his thigh with one hand, fingers tangled in raven hair with the other. He’s got a nip at his jaw as he tries without fail to keep in sync with Bad’s erratic kissing and the hero grasps at his downy white hair at the base of his neck and pulls his head down with it until their bare chests are flush against each other. The bed squeaks with violence as they move slowly and quickly at the same time, up and down, here and there, like the tide moving from side to side at the mercy of the moon; or in this case, at the mercy of whatever time they’ve had allotted to them by the impending arrival of a particularly slow monster.

Garou pulls away, breathing heavily. Bad’s cheeks are red and his hair is long and whispy, covering his forehead and the pillow he’s resting on like dark spiderwebs. Garou pushes aside a lock of it tenderly, looking into his eyes as their faces are mere inches apart and they’re sharing the same pocket of oxygen, taking in deep, synchronized breaths. He reaches in between them and takes both of their lengths in his gnarled hand, earning himself a close-mouthed whimper from Bad, and begins an agonizing stroke.

Bad grasps Garou’s shoulders, palms kneading into his collarbone. The hero pops a boner whenever Garou so much as pecks him on the lips so, needless to say, he’s already full-mast and ready to go. While Garou, on the other hand, needs a little extra coaxing. Bad looks up curtly and notices this for the umpteenth time, “Oh, don’t tell me. It’s onset erectile dysfunction.”

Garou snorts, sitting up, “Shut up.”

“Want some viagra?”

He laughs, cheeks pink, “Har har.”

Bad clicks his tongue, “Holdup.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and gets on his knees, “Come here.”

“No way, we don’t have time. We’ve still got to prep you and—“

“Way ahead of you.”

Garou cocks a brow quizzically, staring down at him from the bed, “Nuh-uh.”

“Yep.” Bad says, popping the p.

“Dude, I got here in like five minutes. How the fuck did you have the time to do that, get some pants on, and do homework?”

Bad shrugs and looks up innocently like he’s a kid getting chastised in a principal’s office, “I’m good at multi-tasking.”

Garou huffs, “whatever. You’d better do it again because you’re gonna get a limp and then you’re gonna bitch to me—“ he leans over, digs into Bad’s nightstand, fishes out a tube of lube and raises his voice to a mocking octave, “—‘Garou, I can’t fucking walk’ like it’s my fault.” He tosses Bad the container. “Get moving.”

Bad grumbles something unintelligible, pulling back raven locks. “How about this,” the hero roughly grips Garou’s hips and yanks him forward so his length is dangerously close to a tan cheek and says in a tone like whipped cream over velvet, “you shut up and let me do my thing, yeah?”

He wants to say something smart but seeing Bad’s pretty face in between his legs like that makes his mind go blank. He grips the sheets behind him and Bad smirks, thumb teasing the tip of Garou’s cock momentarily before taking the entirety of it in his mouth like a natural, all quick swipes of the tongue and the suffocating warmth of a vice. Garou hisses out a “Nnnggh...”, head tilting back involuntarily.

While Garou is preoccupied, Bad takes a free hand and litters it with the tube of clear liquid. Sure enough, when he takes that same hand and roughly fucks himself all over again, his entrance is sticky with almost dry lube from having previously done this the moment he anticipated Garou’s inevitable arrival. He has mercy when Garou gets careful about things because he’s only careful about a select few instances, one of those being sex. He doesn’t know why and he doesn’t care to ask but he likes that about him, among a great many other things.

He pushes in a finger and curls, “Hff...” his free hand is in a fist on the carpet, his toes curled under the base of his thigh.

Garou looks down, two hands in Bad’s black hair, “Oh,” holy shit, he breathes erratically, the crest of ecstasy boiling in his gut, he really is good at multitasking.

He grips Bad’s hair and pulls the hero back, Garou’s now fully-erect member leaving his mouth with strings of saliva following after. He removes his hand from himself, wet with lube, and wipes it against his chest. He’s embarrassed, “I, er, I did it again. Since you’re so particular.”

“I know and it was beautiful.”

“If we don’t fuck right now I’ll just finish the job with my fingers.”

“And I won’t complain if you take me in your mouth again.”

Bad’s ears grow red, “Hmph.”

Next thing they knew, Bad was on his back again and Garou’s hips in between his legs, two lengths pressed against each other craving delicious friction. He sits up, takes his own in his hand and holds Bad’s thigh above the mattress somewhat. The hero looks up, and Garou says in between breaths, “You ready?”

“I’ve been ready.”

Just for that smart-ass remark, Garou jerks his hips unforgivingly and plunges his entire length into Bad with no mercy. Bad jolts, the veins in his forearms popping out, and he grips the pillow to either side of his face like he were holding on for dear life. “Oh my god!” He yells out in a broken voice, “You’re such a—“ Garou moves back and forth once marginally, “—Mmmngh.” The furrow between Bad’s brow dissipates and he relaxes around Garou, legs coming up to straddle the hero hunter.

“Did that hurt?” Garou says, half concerned, half sarcastic.

“N-No...” Bad groans, “Just get moving,”

“Gladly.”

Garou leans forward so their bare chests are flush against one another once again, taking one hand in Bad’s tightly on the underside of the pillow and the other groping his tan peaks and depressions, drinking in the lakes. He starts a pace, slow at first, unforgiving, though he usually takes his time to get attuned Bad’s hoarse squeaks and moans, he can afford no such privilege and rather gets acquainted with assaulting the hero’s prostate the best he can.

Bad carves red cuts on Garou’s back with his free hand and the hero hunter welcomes the pain, digging his white-haired head into the pillow next to Bad’s ear and muffling his own moans into the down. He rolls his hips, Bad grips him tighter, and repeat.

Bad takes his hand off of Garou’s back and reaches between them to jerk himself to the brink of too much and not enough, biting back every curse and groan and gritting his teeth hard enough to shave off the enamel.

Garou can feel the crest of ecstasy again, and he can tell Bad is close as well by the way the hero trembles around his dick, by how erratic his breaths are getting, by how hard he’s trying to keep quiet. Mercy escapes Garou. He sits up, pausing the pace.

“What?” Bad says, strands of sweat-slicked black sticking into his forehead, “What are you doing?”

“Hff,” Garou grits, gripping both of Bad’s tan thighs, “Shut up.”

He pulls back, his cock sliding out of Bad with an unrivaled slick. He hoists Bad’s thighs over his knees and flips the hero over like a goddamned pancake. Bad flops against the bed, stomach-down, and turns his head over his shoulder to cuss Garou out when the hero hunter plunges back in full-length like no prior lessons have been learned. Bad curses out, digging his face into the pillow, his two hands gripping the corners of the case hard enough to hear the fabric pop each time he ups the intensity on his white-knuckled clutch.

Garou smirks. He plants a hand on the back of Bad’s neck and uses the other to balance himself on the mattress. He rolls his hips with borderline grace, and snaps them back into place once. Bad groans, muffled. His back muscles tense and Garou watches with fascination, wanting to run his hands along Bad’s peaks and depressions, lakes and valleys. The hero turns his head halfway, cheeks cherry-red, and shoots Garou a rebellious look. The hero hunter takes the invitation, resuming a pace that just isn’t fair.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Bad moans, open-mouthed. “Don’t stop, mmph!” Garou holds tight his neck, thumbing his erratic pulse. The hero hunter moves, back and forth, back and forth, like the tide at the mercy of the moon.

He’s dangerously close. He loses the rhythm, jackhammering into Bad and growling into his ear, “Fucking take it, take it.”

The hero curls his toes, back arched, and lets out a hoarse cry as orgasm overtakes him. Garou fucks him senselessly until he himself falls off the crest and follows Bad, losing balance on his one arm and resting his weight on the back of the hero as they convulse in ecstasy together, toes curled, backs arched, sharing the most indignant of moans, “Aaaaahhn!”

Ecstasy leaves. They tremble. Garou rolls over and lays next to Bad, pale skin glistening with a thin veil of sweat like freshly fallen snow. Bad smiles, his release sprawled on his stomach akin to an abstract painting and says, tone like whipped cream over velvet, “Did we just come together?”

Garou giggles (he always gets giggly after he comes, Bad’s not sure why but he likes that about him, that among a great many other things), “Yeah, yeah we did.”

“God,” Bad rolls over, a hand on his forehead as his own seed glitters on his belly. “Can you, erm...”

“Oh, right.” Garou sits up and reaches over the hero, grabbing a towel off of the nightstand and wiping himself off, then tenderly patting down Bad’s skin soon after. “That feel good?”

“It felt whatever.” Bad snorts, face hot with classic post-coital embarrassment.

“Hey, you’re really pretty.”

The hero looks up and doesn’t argue, “Thanks.” He says.

They stare into each other’s eyes, gold melting into black like speckled stars against the night sky, and they almost meet in the middle to kiss when the female voice resumes over the sirens outside: “The monster has breached the border of City B. If you live in these areas, please evacuate...”

“Oh.” Garou pauses, blinking. “You ready to go?”

“Am I—“ Bad short-circuits, clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah. I think I am.”

“Cool,” Garou gets up and tosses him his pants, “Try to keep up, yeah? I know you’re gonna hobble after that.”

Bad grumbles something unintelligible as the two of them get dressed. He grabs his bag in one hand and Garou’s grasp in the other as the hero hunter perches himself on the windowsil, “I meant what I said.”

“What?”

“You’re really pretty.”

Before Bad can respond, a chaste kiss is planted on his lips. Garou leaps out of the window and glides gracefully down the fire escape ladder. He taps his feet impatiently on the concrete below as the hero makes his way down with everything short of grace. They share a glance at the monster over the orange horizon. And then they share a glance at each other. Yeah, let’s do this.