Work Text:
“Eww. Nasty, nasty boy.”
Scar froze. He had not heard anyone enter — but Grian had left his front door open, and also he had not been focusing on anything except his current predicament. He had just managed to roll down from his shop counter, hands still tied together and attached to the ladder with his own belt sash, and was desperately trying to find something to grind against. Currently the best he got was the floor. On his knees, legs spread as wide as possible, back arched and the sash supporting the weight of his upper body, he was dragging his dick over the rough stone and regretting every moment of it. That’s when someone spoke right behind him. He recognised the voice.
Grian had left less than two minutes ago. There was no way he would have had time to make good of his threat of summoning the mad enchanter. But how, then —
Scar heard the swing door of his counter creak, and heavy boots hit the ground behind him. “Turn around,” Joel said.
The spiteful tone made a cold shiver run down Scar’s spine. He frantically tried to reset his brain to produce even one useful thought instead of repeating flashes of previous events and Grian’s smug face. He should move now, he should do something, but he didn’t, and then a hand pressed on his shoulder and forced him to turn.
He fell on his back, the belt painfully yanking his wrists and keeping his arms up and shoulders elevated. He scrambled backwards to lean against the wall. His robe was in a tangle behind him. There was no way to hide the fact that he was naked from the waist down; there was no way to hide how stupidly hard he still was.
There was even no way he could close his legs, because Joel was now standing between them.
“H-hi, Joel!” Scar said, shaky and high-pitched. “Welcome to — to the Wizard’s Hut! I — is there — are you looking for something special, or — ?”
“I’m looking for you,” Joel said, sneering down at him. Red streak down his forehead, eyes crimson as ever. “I came to check what all the racket was about. Waited until my new best friend Grian was done with you, and here we are.”
“Y-yeah. Okay. We are here, right. So — can you help me out?” Scar almost got his voice under control, smiled as charming as he could manage and tried not to think of Joel hearing him beg for Grian’s mouth. It didn’t work. He was thinking of it now. For once, he couldn’t completely brush aside the feeling of mortification, nor the accompanying strange thrill.
Joel crouched, to bring his face more in level with Scar’s. “Help you out with what?” he asked. “This —” He pointed at Scar’s tied hands. “ — or this.” He pointed at Scar’s cock. His nostrils flared, like he was an animal scenting the air.
Scar couldn’t smell anything. His mouth was dry. He was scared, this could get bad so fast, with Grian there had been fear too, at first, but —
But he knew Grian, even without remembering how, could predict him a bit, could trust that they wanted each other, even if the reasons were muddled and twisted by the game and by Grian’s red soul. He would have bet all his lives and the enchanting table (if he still had it) that they had done all sorts of dirty lusty intimate things together before. No such familiarity with Joel, though; there had been recognition, at the start, which he took to mean that they had probably met in their previous existence, but nothing beyond. Later, they had agreed to be partners (strictly in the business sense, for the time being). That didn’t turn out well. And now Joel was so far gone.
Scar didn’t have even an inkling of what he would do.
Scar said: “Any help you can offer is appreciated.” And he didn’t let his smile drop. Because danger, while terrifying, was also exciting. And he was a man of good decisions only when it came to business.
“Hmh.” Joel stood up again and let his eyes slide down Scar’s body, all the way to his crotch. “You do look very fuckable,” he said, “but you also look very killable. And since we are friends, I feel like it would be bad manners to first fuck you and then kill you."
“Then let’s make a deal here,” Scar said, fast. “Don’t kill me, and you can do whatever else you want, and — and! You can take any one item from the shop! Doesn’t that sound like something you want to agree to?”
He was a man of good decisions when it came to business only most of the time.
Joel’s expression was hard to read. It was doubtful if reason could still reach him. There was a slight tremor to his hands and a glint behind his eyes that made it seem like he had unbridled energy inside him, waiting to burst. He was scratching his beard, considering, maybe. Scar did notice his breathing had quickened and the hand that had been resting on the axe on his hip was now hovering in front of him, fingers twitching. “It does sound like a good deal,” Joel mused, “but I also really want to kill you.”
Scar very covertly twisted his wrists, hoping that the knots had magically loosened enough for him to pull free. They had not. Bummer. He had life aplenty, but he still didn’t want to lose it for nothing, and he especially did not want to be killed. Still, somehow, his arousal had not completely faltered in the face of threats to his life (a curious detail, not entirely surprising), which made it both easier and more convincing when he spread his thighs a little bit wider, took a deliberately shaky breath and said, “Whatever you want, Joel. Your wildest fantasies could come true here,” trying for the most lascivious tone. “I will not fight, unless you want me to, of course, and I will never tell a soul. This is more than a good deal. A true once in a lifetime offer! Just for you!”
Joel’s hand had slipped inside his robes. Scar could only see the cloth shift, but he imagined Joel shoving that hand into his pants to work his dick. Good, that was good. The tinge of fear was still there but Scar forced himself not to care, no matter how exposed he was, no matter how unhinged he knew the man staring down at him to be. He thought himself to be an open-minded individual; even if Joel wanted things he wouldn’t like, he would get something out of it, he was sure.
“I don’t know, man,” Joel said. His hand was moving now. “That sounds fancy, and I’m a simple guy.”
“Simple, simple is fine too.” He could sell this. He would sell this. “I like simple. Did I mention the items? I have TNT — which you have been spending quite liberally, I hear, so…”
Joel’s hand sped up. His robes were parted and Scar could see the head of his heavy cock, flashing in and out of his fist. “I could use that to blow you up,” he growled.
No. Nonono. Wrong line of thought! Simple, keep it simple. “Why not let me blow you instead?” Scar countered. “I promise I will do good. Or you can just fuck my mouth.” Push my head against the wall and press your boot on my cock and fuck my mouth so deep I’ll choke, he didn’t say, but he was thinking it. “Or fuck me up the ass, it’s, I’m, I’m still open enough that you can do it easy, but it will still hurt if that’s what you like?”
He could feel Grian’s come, now cold, trickling out of him. Joel could probably smell it. Scar hoped he did. The initial feeling of shame had subsided, anything that backed his sales pitch was good. Scar had never valued dignity very high; or, rather, what dignity he had could not be so easily stolen. He would take what the world would give him and he would relish it, as long as he could, be it pleasure or pain, since the ending was inevitable either way. He only wished he didn’t have to do it alone.
Joel didn’t say anything. He let out a huff, and with every stroke of his hand his thumb was brushing over the head of his cock. Scar couldn’t look away. The red sorcerer was jerking off with serious intent, his lips were parted, showing teeth, and his eyes were almost too open, bloodshot, blackened, wild. No doubt whatsoever that he was turned on, but it was unclear whether it was Scar and his talking doing it for him, or if it was about power, being feared and in control, or just red instincts amplifying every little urge.
“Joel,” Scar tried again, “Joel, listen, what do you want?” There was desperation in his voice now. He still couldn’t wiggle his wrists free, and he watched the vigorous, frantic back-and-forth movement of Joel’s hand and he wanted that hand on him, on his cock that Grian had not touched, that nobody had touched in this cursed little world.
“Uh,” Joel grunted. “Oh, f- — ah —” His gaze drifted upwards, he gave a couple sudden, rough tugs and his come splattered on the floor, on Scar’s stomach, on his dick. His breathing was heavy, rasping, as he turned to look at Scar again. He wiped his hand on his robe.
Scar’s heart was racing. He only now became aware how cold the air was, how hard the stone. Joel’s eyes were inhuman, red and jet black, he was beyond bargains and pleads; and even though all Scar remembered was vibrant green, control and safety and everything else that entailed, he felt that on some guttural level he knew how it was, he could recall, he understood.
“Shit,” Joel said. “Didn’t work. I still want to kill you.”
He grabbed his axe and swung.
—
Scar felt his skin grow over the bones knitting together with cartilage, the initial rush of blood when his new heart beat the first time, the hair sprouting from his scalp and teeth from his jaw. It was all in his mind, of course; his senses were trying to cope with the miracle of appearing from thin air, fully formed and whole. No horrifying gashes, no splatter of blood, but the moment of terror still lingered, and under it all the agitation and arousal. His heart was beating wild and blood still packed between his legs. He opened his eyes.
There was a tall, dark figure standing by the bed, looking down at him, red eyes gleaming.
“No,” Scar gasped, trying to scurry backwards, “no, no no no, go away, leave me alone!”
There was nowhere to go. His hands were free but he was fully naked now and his spare clothes, his tools, his weapons were in a chest on the other side of the room and he would never reach that in time. Joel hunched over him, leaned on the side of the bed. There was blood on his fingers. There was blood on his face.
“I feel like I did you dirty,” he said. “Friend. I feel like I owe you one.”
“We — we can’t really be friends, though,” Scar whispered, even though it was a stupid thing to say, stupid to do anything but agree. “It’s, it’s fine, not that I don’t cherish what we had, but —”
“No, man, I let you down.” A crooked smile, a deep inhale, a twitch of fingers again. “It’s only fair if I get you off before I go.”
Scar forgot how to breathe. The brief silence stretched until it was no more a natural pause, but something heavy, something laden with a dark-tinted promise. Oh no, he should have said, no need to bother, I’m fine, I can take care of myself, you just go and no hard feelings, haha, really, there is no need — but…
Joel was leaning towards him, staring at him, with his silly blood-red crown and reeking of blood; inhumane, maybe, but for this, human enough. Scar gulped once, then breathed, “Yes,” let his head hit the mattress and closed his eyes.
A hand curled around his cock and he let out a sound he didn’t know he could make, between a sigh and a high-pitched mewl. It was not soft, nor gentle, and Joel’s hand was sticky with blood, and it felt so good. A few quick jerks and he was hard again, and right away terrified that it wouldn’t last, that any wrong move on his part would lead to Joel stopping short, leaving him hanging once more. And still he couldn’t stop the words rolling out of his mouth: “Don’t —” A gasp. “Please, don’t hold back.”
“What’s that?” Even though he knew Joel was right by him, it was still a surprise how close the voice came. He could feel Joel’s breath. “I’m not a teasing kind of guy. This will be fast. Or do you want something more? Do you want me to hurt you?”
“No!” Wait, what was the question? Thinking took an effort, every stroke of Joel’s hand pumped more blood into his cock and sent a wave of pleasure up his spine. His mouth was dry and his tongue sluggish. “I mean, maybe — I’m not against it, if you —”
“I just like murder. I suck at finesse.” Nonetheless, Joel tightened his grip and scraped the nails of his other hand down Scar’s chest, and it wasn’t that Scar liked it, he didn’t know if he did, but with the hurt he felt real and he could take much, much more if it meant there were hands on him. Even if they were the cold hands of a man half-dead. “Speaking of finesse,” Joel went on, apparently way less in his head, “Who bothers to shave their balls in a world like this?”
“Ah.” Said balls tightened as Joel’s fingers brushed over them. “I, you, ah, should know I — that aesthetics is always my first concern.” Well, second concern, but there was no need to get that specific.
“You’re weird,” Joel scoffed, but his hand kept moving and he raked his nails over Scar’s skin again, and that was what mattered.
The scratches were burning. Scar’s cock was burning, he felt raw and oversensitive almost, he should be coming at this point already but he was not; the heat was building up but the end line was at the same pace getting further away, and he rocked his hips into Joel’s grip, desperate for more, although he didn’t know what the more was.
Joel was grunting now, digging his fingers on Scar’s side, and Scar was gasping, fighting to let go of whatever it was that was holding him back, he just needed not to think. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded. There was a red man in his home, in his sanctuary, and he was helpless and he had died and he could die again, but he wanted this. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, Gr- I mean Joel.” Shit. He blinked his eyes open. Joel was still staring at him with his unnatural, all-black eyes. “Sorry.”
“That’s fine, man,” Joel said. His teeth flashed white in the lantern light. “Though it’s a bit pathetic.”
“I know.” Pathetic and foolish. “It’s just —”
“I don’t care.” Joel yanked at his cock and stroked him even faster than before, and Scar was thankful for it, really — he was, he should have just taken it, but he had a bad habit of sometimes talking before even knowing he had thought in words.
“Do you miss Lizzie?” he asked.
Something dark and mad flashed behind Joel’s eyes. “Shut up,” he said. He turned his head and stooped down even lower, leaning on Scar’s hip, pressing against the criss-cross of red welts. “Shut up.” And he took Scar’s cock into his mouth.
He didn’t bob his head. He didn’t play with his tongue. Instead, he just sank lower and lower, like he wanted to devour Scar’s dick whole, to force his release, not through any tricks but just by ever-increasing pressure and heat. His unkempt beard was scratching Scar’s balls, and he was gagging now, but he didn’t seem to mind. Breathing heavy through his nose, Joel stuffed all of Scar’s cock into his mouth and throat, dug his nails into Scar’s thighs and held.
Wet, hot and incredibly tight, dangerous and obscene, it was finally enough. Scar’s body twitched and he groaned in blissful relief as he came in Joel’s throat and in his mouth and when the last throbs of his cock were helped by Joel’s hand, after he had pulled away.
Joel rose and spit a glob of white to the floor. “There you go,” he said.
“Thanks.” Scar brought his hands to his face and let his eyes fall shut again. He was sweating. He probably should have taken this moment to plan how to get to his gear, but he didn’t want to.
“I hope you die soon,” said Joel. His voice was moving away, a little bit. “I’ll be waiting.”
“I appreciate the sentiment.” It would be nice, to have someone watch his back; even if that someone might stab it, too. “In the meantime, could you murder Etho for me? I’ll give you lifetime free enchanting, once the enchanter is home again.”
“I’ll consider it.” Joel was at the ladder now. “I mean it, Scar. Get rid of those lives. I already kind of want to kill you again myself.” Scar opened his eyes just a crack, to see Joel disappearing through the hatch, adding as he went, “Maybe next time.”
Maybe. Next time.
Scar let out a long, shuddering breath, scrambled down from the bed, crossed the floor and locked the hatch.