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(I Cannot Tame) The Hunger In Me

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I have gone marking the atlas of your body with crosses of fire.

My mouth went across: a spider trying to hide.

In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst.

— I Have Gone Marking, Pablo Neruda

 


 

Boros sits in his throne feeling utterly and completely hollow. This place that they’ve found themselves in, this green and blue planet… His slaves will devastate it to find the one worthy to fight their Lord Boros. He simply has to wait.

There is no joy in breaking the weak. They shatter so easily, burning to ash in the wake of his power. He despises how with every opponent, hope unfurls anew in him, and yet—

The fight is always over far too soon.

This time, once again, he tries not to hope. He waits, listening to the sound of chaos from below. It’s unusually silent, and it appears that the life forces of his slaves are being diminished one by one. Someone strong is coming.

The air seems to roar and shriek a welcome for the newcomer, coalescing and thickening with tension. He rises in his throne, stepping down, each click of his heels thundering across the room. The eye of his ship shines behind him, casting his shadow across.

This human who has casually sauntered into the room—

He exudes power.

It’s dark, looming and electrifying. Much like a storm brewing.

The man sighs, looking completely bored. His carefully blank expression, with such dead eyes…

“You’re the boss of all the invaders?” the man asks quietly.

He holds himself regally, poised and calm. This human is a different kind of beast. A bloodthirsty disaster. His black cape flutters behind him, the underside a deep red color that reminds Boros of a sea of blood.

Black fabric clings to a taut body with toned muscles that ripple with the slightest movement, and the alien’s eyes are drawn to the man’s quiet elegance.

Boros’ veins start to catch on fire with the excitement he feels. His great joy simply cannot be contained and it shows from the cracks in his armor. Pulses of energy are overflowing from his body.

This human

He is strong.

“I am the Dominator of the Universe, I am Boros,” he proclaims, hands held wide as he tries to convey how important he is to the human.

The man makes a face, an eyebrow arched up. “You trashed my planet without first investigating to whom it might have belonged to?”

“And who owns this planet?” Boros steps closer to the man.

“Saitama,” the human replies. He tilts his head to one side. “You have chosen the wrong planet to visit.”

His lips tug down in a displeased line, eyes lighting up with the mildest haze of irritation.

Does this human think that he is superior?

This amuses Boros. The human may be strong… Despite that, Boros has never found anyone whose strength was on par with his own.

This man could give him the satisfaction of a good fight and yet Boros will still win. There is only that.

“There exists a prophecy. Once I traveled the universe, ravaging everything in sight, but I was too strong. Eventually there were none left who could face me. I came to know the torment of utter, all-encompassing boredom—” Boros tells his tale, and he does not expect the human to know the despair of such a pain.

Ah, but the man’s eyes widens minutely and there is a spark of comprehension, of understanding.

Is he as empty as I am? Does he feel the icy claws of startling ennui?

“Then one day a seer told me, on a faraway planet, there exists a being who is my match, one who could rekindle my passion for battle…” he trails off, and grins, mouth opening wide, his teeth bared, “Come, give me stimulation to my existence!”

They rush towards each other in an explosion of stars. Like hurling comets, drawn to the pull of gravity, they move close, spinning endlessly with blows that taste like stardust.

“You’re strong,” the man says quietly, and Boros snarls with pleasure. He too, has come to the realization that the man’s power is far stronger than his initial evaluation of the human.

Boros realizes something else as well.

The emptiness in the human’s eyes

It is the same emptiness he has always felt.

Saitama lands a blow on him, his fist striking quickly, the power behind it devastating, causing the alien to crash to the other end of his ship. The alien’s laughter echoes as he shakes off the remnants of his armor.

The human smiles coldly. “It seems we might have something in common after all. I too know such weariness.” he says with a great sigh. He shakes his head and the man’s cape flutters behind him. “Tsk, I don’t like how you’ve threatened me. Dominator or not, you have outstayed your welcome. I will give you a fitting end.”

Saitama moves like the swift currents of Neptune’s storms. Violently, beautifully, like the billows of methane across the planet, the man swings his kicks at Boros.

The alien’s two hearts beat in tandem, his bead of life vibrating with exhilaration.

Boros has to dodge the blows. With each impact the alien sustains, it destroys his insides, his cells breaking down and reforming in seconds. He is the Dominator of the Universe, and never has he had to defend himself this way.

This human…

He may be an equal to Boros’ strength.

An equal!

Boros’ blood lights up further, sparking, shining through his skin that’s bristling with energy that has lain dormant all these years. He feels so alive.

Their fight is chaos, brimming, total. An unexpected surge comes over him. He breathes in lust, a terrifying lust for battle.

He licks the sharp edges of his teeth, mouth cracking open even wider, skin pulled taut.

The desire is overpowering. He can almost taste it.

Red blood drips down, the first layer shattering under the man’s power. His other circulations remain intact for now, but as one heart slows, and the other tries to catch up—

“Rargh!” he shouts, powering himself up. More, more, more—

They exchange quick blows, punches and kicks that slice through the air like diamond rain on Uranus. The curve of Saitama’s body arches so prettily, the human’s muscles bulging through the thin fabric.

It is as if they are dancing upon Europa’s icy landscape, for there is a chill around them. It is the density of their combined vitality, their powers merging to give the atmosphere a taint that Boros breathes in greedily.

His body bursts, spine creaking as each spike attempts to grow longer, to show his prowess. It is much like a mating dance, this fight of theirs.

Boros will be victorious.

“Meteoric Burst!”

The source of energy that has been stored too long rips through him, blasting the man through the roof. It does not matter if his ship falls to ruins, what matters is this fight that lifts his spirits, giving him new life.

“Only the strong survive in my planet,” he says as his arm regenerates in seconds. The alien feels a pulsation within him that beats in accordance with his hearts. He has a strong desire that he has never experienced, this urge to show the best of him.

He goes on and on about the hardships he has gone through, just to prove to this human that he is indeed a prime creature at his peak.

“Are you done?” Saitama’s voice is flat, yet within them is poison. His eyes are bright with a blazing fury. “You talk far too much for such filth.”

The human spits to the floor, and Boros realizes that the man has not thought of him as superior, nor equal.

Saitama… He thinks of the Dominator of the Universe, the Lord of the Dark Matter Pirates… As lesser than he. Beneath him. Filth.

Instead of feeling insulted or enraged by the thought, he is far more amused. Saitama is a strange one indeed. A human strong enough to cause Boros to use up his strength, to revive the battle-fury within him, to arouse him to the point that he wants to fuck the human to submission—

Boros stops. He allows the Earth’s air to fill shriveled lungs that have formed to withstand this planet’s atmosphere. It has been so long, too long

The tremendous excitement. The urge to tear and roar, to kill. The lust for ripping of flesh and meat, to feel the slick wetness of blood in his hands. To taste the sweet heady flavor of victory as he ruts and fuck his prey.

He shivers as his spine twitches in place. His long forked tongue slivers out, making a slight hissing sound.

Boros can no longer contain his blatant feral desires within him.

He wants to win this fight.

This man, he’s the same way. It’s clear by the menacing aura around him, his black and red suit striking against the pale skies of Earth.

They have both awoken from the deep slumbers of apathy. Saitama smiles.

He trembles at the sight.

Saitama reminds him of Saturn’s super storm, the Great White Spot that had nearly consumed his ship.

This must be what it’s like, to be ravaged and swallowed whole by the pull of power that is incomparable.

Boros’ entire being sings. It is a song that stars cry out before the supernova takes hold of them. It is the song planets sing when they are dying. It is the song of a thousand galaxies forming with a single bang.

Arousal flares with the intensity of suns. His loins burn with desire to give to the man so much more.

“You are a worthy opponent indeed Saitama!” he yells.

Saitama smirks, fists pulled back to send Boros flying and each blow drives the alien wild. The pain that explodes within him turn into bursts of pleasure running down his spine.

Emotions are filling him up, sensations that have been buried down are now rising and churning within his skin.

How glorious it is!

Boros uses all his power, everything within him, even as his body suffers. His hearts shrink as he attempts to regain his strength. His second circulation struggles to supply enough of the blue blood to sustain his limbs, ensuring that they do not get destroyed as he continuously uses up stored energy.

He sends Saitama straight through Earth’s atmosphere with one blast.

Have I won?

He barely has time to think, to breathe, to allow the hollow victory to settle in his marrow when—

The human descends, crashing onto the remnants of his ship and the shockwaves send debris flying everywhere.

“Not yet,” the man says, grinning, eyes far too wide, a manic expression on his face.

“How is it possible?” Boros cries out, mouth splitting, forming to shout his question. How did the human survive that impact? No one has ever survived his ultimate form!

It causes him to quake with trepidation, the human’s unparalleled potential and powers devastating. He stares at the human grinning maniacally.

“You are weak, you are nothing but dirt to me,” Saitama says, and the alien is filled with a strange admiration for the the human’s surety.

His steps are thunderous, his moves lethal. Saitama is fired up and Boros has never seen anything more wonderful.

Saitama is like a supernova, the beautiful destruction at the end of a star’s life. He is the hunger of darkness that devours the universe.

Boros stands to receive each blow, his body molded and carved by the human’s fearsome power.

He bleeds out red and blue, running dry; leaving his skin shriveled and cracked.

We are not equals.

Not at all.

I am lesser.

The thought of it, the fact that he is indeed inferior to the human—

It causes an unnamed emotion to swell within him, to tide like waves that surge up and drown him in their endless despair.

As the Dominator of the Universe lies on the ship that will know no more travels, he thinks of a time when survival was the only thing in his mind.

Boros thinks of his home planet, so many light years away.

The smell of acid rain falling over an unbearable heat, prickling under his skin, dissolving his insides, forming and reforming. Over and over again.

“Not so high and mighty now are you?” Saitama says as he steps closer, heels clicking loudly on the metal.

“I have never felt this way,” Boros says, his voice hoarse, throat collapsing on itself. Soon he won’t be able to speak, not till his cells regenerate again. “Truly you are a force, a power beyond compare, magnificent—”

“We’re not done yet,” Saitama says as he laughs, bright and celestial.

The alien knows that his lungs are breaking apart, rotting, and still he thinks that’s not the reason why he is breathless.

Saitama pulls the alien up by his long white hair. “You have mocked me by coming to my planet, by threatening me. You destroyed so many heroes that I wanted to play with,” The man says, a tinge of amusement in his voice, and yet his smile is thin and sharp like that of a knife.

“You will submit to me,” Saitama says, each word piercing through Boros, like stab wounds that cannot heal, causing him to bleed out amazement, shock and also… an undeniable urge of want.

“Beg for your life,” Saitama says, eyes dark and bright, a condescending smile on his face. “You may call me Master while you do so.”

His entire being blazes, igniting in power and his beauty is ever more ethereal. Fire and dust, the heart of a star. “Please,” Boros begs. The taste is foreign in his mouth— strange. He has never begged before. Not so. Deliciously electric, needle points of pain and pleasure, like acidic burns, with the taste of stardust in the air.

“Please, Master,” he says, and the word sizzles on his tongue.

The man smiles sweetly, prettier than anything Boros has ever seen. Lovely and glorious.

It is the first time he has ever felt the desire to be dominated. The Dominator has fallen, descending into the grasp of this man.

Never before has he lost, never before has he submitted, never.

Until now.

He has been devoured by the human’s strength, and there is no turning back. There is no life for Boros that can be found without the man’s presence. He has been enraptured by Saitama’s grace.

Saitama drives his foot through the alien’s abdomen, red and blue blood splatters upwards, his dual circulation destroyed in seconds.

The carnality the man displays, the brutality of his words and actions— It causes Boros to jerk in place, wishing that he was whole in order to prove his worth to the man.

The agony of being destroyed only serves to add to his joy and contentment. He wants to be torn apart, he wants to be tormented and tortured.

“Take me as you please, my life, my death, it is in your hands,” he says. He wishes he could dance and show off his mating prowesses, for a human as great as he deserves only the finest from Boros.

“Oh?” Saitama says, eyebrow arching upwards. Some of the blue blood drips from his glove. Saitama licks them, his tongue twirling around long fingers.

The sight of it causes arousal to flare brighter and his body threatens to split, to form external genitalia to be fucked with.

Boros breathes in deeply and realizes that it is not his own arousal that thickens the air to be honey sweet. The human’s eyes are dilated; heart rate spiking, and his respiratory rate has become more rapid.

Something’s happening to the Human Conqueror. Boros watches with fascination as the man’s chest heaves, face caught in an expression of rapture.

Saitama shakes himself and he stares at the alien with fury.

His fury is red and turbulent, titanic and persistent like the Great Red Spot of Jupiter.

“What have you done to me?” Saitama says, his voice rough. He clenches his fists and roars, “What have you done?”

 


 

Saitama’s head is spinning, the thunderous roar of his heart is an incessant drumming in his ears. It feels as though everything is hyper-focused.

The villain had meant to play with It, to make It beg, to fill the air with It’s screams. A game, yes, that’s right. He wanted to play a game with It. To make It wonder whether It will die, or whether It will live.

Despite that, he can’t seem to pause long enough to form a plan. Time is moving syrupy slow, and also maddeningly fast. There is no time for games.

Intense desire wars within him. Chaotic and explosive. Saitama wants to do so much, thoughts keep flitting through his mind that have no beginning and no end.

He lifts up his foot that is still deep in the alien’s torso. He shakes off remnants of the strange liquid that is thicker than human blood.

“I don’t know,” the alien says irritatingly. “Your human anatomy is so weak—” Saitama steps on Its throat, crushing it completely through the ground. Words stop coming and Saitama almost regrets it.

He will not be able to hear It scream.

Saitama kicks It again. The sound of bones crunching, of flesh breaking apart—

He licks his lips. The villain wants more of it. It is exhilarating.

This ravenous hunger that overcomes him burns through his veins, making his cock hard and aching. Saitama collapses on the alien, tearing his chest apart with his hands.

He laughs even as the thick blood splashes onto his face, dripping down his chin. The taste of it is addictive.

Tear, bleed, break—

His fingers reach in deep, blood slicking the way as he gropes around the creature’s chest. The anatomy is clearly different, and he feels ribs curving smoothly across firm muscles.

Even as Saitama digs in, the solitary eye tracks his every movement. The alien breathes heavily, making little sounds that are not that of distress. Does he find this pleasurable?

To be torn apart and rebuilt again?

Saitama watches as each part of the so-called Dominator reforms, skin stitching close around his hands. Even the hole in Its abdomen is mostly closed up. It has changed color again, from pink and white to black and blue.

He leans closer to the alien’s neck, licking a long stripe up and it shivers.

The villain bites on Its skin, breaking through the layer. Thick liquid of red and blue squirts out, hitting his tongue, sizzling. The taste of it sends thrills down his spine, making his cock throb.

“Delicious,” he says.

The alien’s blood tastes like ambrosia.

His mind is hazy, his heartbeat pounding in his head. Saitama feels so warm in his clothes, progressively getting sweatier and stickier.

With another bite, he takes more. He rips the alien’s throat with his teeth. The sound of It drowning in Its own blood pleases and soothes the itch in Saitama’s gut.

He chews on the flesh before diving back to lap at the creature’s blood.

Each part of It reforms around his hands, his tongue. Whenever he tears through the alien’s flesh ruthlessly, biting each part and drinking the blood, the alien merely watches him, breathing heavily through nostrils, mouth opening and closing.

“M-mas-ter,” It says, voice cracking with each syllable. His vocal cords must have regenerated after Saitama tore through his throat.

“Your blood, it is doing strange things to me,” Saitama says hoarsely.

There is no other reason for this madness, this blazing desire within the villain. The alien’s blood is an aphrodisiac and it is driving him insane.

He moves away from the alien, the remnants of It trailing down from his hands. Saitama reaches to free his aching cock.

“Ah,” Saitama moans, “Fuck.” The touch of that slick liquid coating his cock as he strokes himself further ignites the fire within him.

He bites his lips, eyes fluttering close as he loses himself. Each touch causes his nerves to light up in pleasure, his skin tingling and sparking. Saitama has never felt this way, as if there is a volcano threatening to erupt within him, to release smoke and ash and burning lava.

It’s almost too much.

The sensations rolls over him, waves and waves of it, startling cold to inexplicably hot. 

“You might actually be of some use,” he says, kicking at the alien.

It lets him maneuver It till Saitama’s straddling the creature. Its body regenerates as the villain rips out one of Its heart to bite on it.

The spill of blood that pours over his face and chest as Saitama tears into the heart makes him moan greedily.

He needs something else, he needs to release this bubbling disaster within him that threatens to overflow. He gazes upon the alien, eyes trailing up and down as he decides.

“How do you fuck,” Saitama asks. The alien regards him with that one eye and he wants to gouge it out.

It shifts, and Saitama feels Its lower body molding and forming.

Saitama frowns when he sees the external genitalia that forms on It. A penis-like projection with thick veins engorging the underside. Below that, pink folds part slightly to allow some slick to dribble out.

His heartbeat starts to thunder, drumming on and on in a wild staccato beat. The sound in his ears is the roar of waves crashing down.

The villain slides his fingers along Its slit. It is wet, very much so and he inhales sharply before he can stop himself. The scent of arousal mingles with the delectable smell of blood.

It is as if a madness has come over him and Saitama thrust in his cock into Its cunt forcefully. The alien screams silently, throat convulsing, fingers digging into the metal covering of It’s broken ship, leaving dents behind.

Saitama doesn’t care for Its comfort, not for such a being. He only needs to release the fire in his veins, the eruption threatening to burst from his blood, the maddening lust.

He sets a brutal pace, fucking into that hot, velvety wetness. It is tight all around his cock, squeezing rhythmically as he thrusts in. It is like a fight for dominance, an itch under his skin that needs to be bled out.

The alien’s cock jerks, the bulbous tip leaking copious amount of fluid that drips down Its length, mixing with Its slick. Saitama’s mouth waters and he swallows thickly, pounding into that soft heat even harder.

“Make some fucking noise,” he says. He wants to hear the alien scream, he wants to hear sounds of terror.

The alien wails, thighs parting to allow Saitama to thrust in deeper, hips arching closer.

“More,” It dares to say, and the villain snarls. He reaches out and grabs hold of the Its arm, ripping it cleanly off, blood splattering around. Saitama bites onto the flesh, allowing the blood to drip all over his face and neck, dirtying his suit.

The blood is as hot as Its cunt, and the taste of that strange dual colored fluid fills his mouth.

The alien grinds Itself against Saitama’s cock, howling Its pleasure as Its arm regenerates in seconds. He grins and moves his hand towards the alien’s chest, scraping his nails close to that eye that stares at him so obscenely as he fucks It to submission.

“You will exist for my needs,” he says, “I own you now.”

Ah, this feeling of conquering. Utterly and completely delicious.

“Yes,” the alien says, “I submit. I submit, Master—”

Its cries rises, deafening, a shrill scream that pierces through Saitama’s eardrums like knives; cunt clenching almost painfully around Saitama’s cock. Its body seizes, clenching hard, muscles stretching taut.

The metal of the ship breaks under Its hold as It digs in hard, body shaking with the force of Saitama’s thrusts.

Its cunt ripples around his cock, sucking him in as he fucks in deeper and deeper.

It feels so fucking good.

The alien releases a smell, a scent that reminds him of ash and dust, what remains after a forest fire blazes through. It is intoxicating and he breathes in, pleasure cresting, surging within him as he thrusts in hard.

He stakes his irrefutable, complete claim over the alien, the Dominator of the Universe.

His orgasm rips through him intensely, a pressure that suffocates him, making him see stars. The sound of the alien’s howls resound all around him. All Saitama feels is the heat that crawls up from his cock to his throat, burning him.

Saitama’s body shakes, wrecked as Its cunt continues to pulse around him, milking him dry.

He cares not about the alien’s release, and It’s cock is still hard, thick and jutting out, clear fluid continuously dribbling from the crown.

He pulls out, his cum spilling from the alien’s red and gaping cunt.

The villain expects the haze to clear with the brutal fucking. Yet his throat still feels parched, as if there isn’t enough.

Ah, not enough. He’s empty, so empty.

“Master,” the alien says, “Use me please, I am yours to defile, to abuse.” Its eye twirls in his chest, a disgustingly long tongue rolling out of It’s mouth, forked and flickering like that of a snake.

“I want to be filled,” Saitama rasps out. “I need to be fucked.”

He rips off his pants, legs trembling with the effort to remain standing. Saitama settles himself so that his ass is directed towards the alien’s mouth as he faces It’s cock.

“Open me up,” he commands. He would press himself against Its cock, fucking himself ruthlessly but not now. Saitama wants to indulge in his own desires and he licks the dark engorged veins of Its cock.

He laps at the alien’s cock, mouthing at the crown, the taste of Its discharge sharp and bitter on his tongue.

“Fuck!” Saitama cries out when the alien mouths at his entrance, teeth catching at the sides, pain lancing through him like wildfire.

He shudders, thighs trembling as he holds himself in place. He looks down through the gap between their bodies to see Its tongue slithering up, saliva dripping down from it in little droplets of slime.

The alien’s tongue is flexible, reaching up and up. The thick fleshy protrusion is scraping at his insides, rubbing tantalizingly, sending shivers down his spine.

Its hands are big and broad on Saitama’s hips, holding him softly in place, sharp nails lightly tracing his bones.

Saitama bends and he takes in Its cock into his mouth, gorging himself on it till it nudges the back of his throat. He’s being filled from both sides.

It fucks him with Its tongue hard and fast, pushing in the thick slime-like saliva into his hole, and he can feel it dribble down. He’s so fucking wet now. He’s being scraped raw, grated into a trembling bundle of nerves with alluring torment.

The alien’s mouth opens wider, jaw loosening, breaking. Its teeth cuts through skin and Saitama can feel little trickles of his blood sliding down.

It’s making greedy noises, humming Its appreciation as It continues ravaging Saitama. When Its tongue flicks against Saitama’s prostate, he keens, hips bucking, pushing down against the alien’s mouth.

He chokes on Its cock, hands gripping the base. Saitama occasionally dips his fingers into Its cunt, three fingers thrusting in and out, and he sees the alien’s toes curl and uncurl, jerking in place as It tries not to move.

This power that he holds, a different sort of power from the victory of battle, it causes him to moan in ecstasy. Its cock dribbles more of that salty and bitter fluid down Saitama’s throat, cunt pulsating around his fingers.

He hollows his cheeks, bobbing his head up and down as his tongue curls against throbbing veins. Saitama’s distracted from his enjoyment of having his mouth full with cock only by the insistent movement of Its tongue, thrusting into him roughly.

The villain gives out little breathless whimpers, gagging on Its cock making sure to run his teeth down Its length.

Saitama wants to feel it, his throat sore and aching tomorrow. He wants to feel open and ready to be fucked easily from how he gapes. It must be the madness in the alien’s blood that causes him to think this way.

He has never been one to seek such frivolous acts without reason, but now, all he wants is to feel.

He pulls off sloppily to moan loudly when the alien’s tongue flicks his prostate over and over again, sending him spiraling, engaging in heedless hedonism. His fingers drip slick from Its cunt and he sucks them, tongue curling around fingers, the sweet taste of it making him lightheaded.

This carnality echoes within him. Saitama comes without a hand on his cock, merely from the sensation of being filled, fucked.

Even as he calms, the fever has not broken. All he knows is this—

Not yet, not enough.

His cock hardens yet again, throbbing red and aching. Needing more release. God, what the fuck is happening to him? The alien— The alien’s blood is sex itself, burning him from the inside out, causing him to rage, and rage on. Seeking and needing more.

“Fuck me now,” he says desperately, his skin itching, as if covered by spiderwebs. He tries to breathe, to calm his rabbiting pulse.

When the alien moves too sluggishly, far too slow—

Saitama is the one that moves, and he lifts himself up before gripping the alien’s cock into him, splitting him open inch by inch.

He whimpers, desperate inarticulate sobs as he’s driven over the edge of pain, pinpricks of agony that turns sweeter as he’s wrecked open slowly.

“Oh,” he says, when the entire length is within him. Saitama closes his eyes and he doesn’t move, relishing in the feeling of being completely filled—

“Let me satisfy you Master,” the alien says, sitting so that his cock pushes in Saitama even deeper and he keens. Saitama rips off his suit, letting it pool around his waist.  Its hands goes around Saitama’s chest, broad and rough finger pads pressing onto his nipples.

He can feel the alien’s breath tickling his ear, long tongue curving around his neck, licking the arch of his shoulder.

“Please let me,” It says as Saitama tilts his head to allow It more access.

“Yes,” he says, losing all rationality, all self-control. “Please me, my thrall.”

 


 

It is an honor to have the man tremble in Boros’ arms. A privilege to have the strongest human seek Boros to search for his completion.

He has enjoyed being used in ways that he has not been touched in years. Boros had no desire to copulate and mating rituals had been merely something to pass time with. Each fuck had no meaning, no joy, just a mindless surging of bodies that ebb and flow.

This time he is filled with the overbearing sensation of ecstasy as his cock is shoved into Saitama. The human is soft and wet with his saliva, allowing him to thrust in smoothly.

Saitama claws at his thighs, fingers digging into flesh, ripping him apart until he reforms again.

He pulls at the man’s pink nipples, tugging them hard. Saitama cries out, moaning and twisting so wondrously in his lap. He raises himself up before fucks himself down, and Boros meets him halfway each time.

Boros thrusts upwards with all his strength, making sure to go hard and fast, a brutal pace that will satisfy his savage Master.

It is as though he is watching the expansion of galaxies, the cosmos extending all around him as the world narrows down to the incomparable presence of Saitama.

He rubs at the nubs as he bites the pale curve of the human’s neck, sharp teeth sinking in deep to tear a little of the flesh away, blood dripping down obscenely past smooth silky skin.

Saitama screams, gripping Boros hard till chunks of his meat is ripped out from his legs. His cunt squirts out cum from the thunderous, electrifying sensation that comes over him.

He laps the blood up, hands running up and down the man’s sides.

“Beautiful like Ganymede, the moon of Jupiter. The majesty of your light, rapturous and transcendent,” Boros whispers as he licks the line of the man’s collarbone.

“Such meaningless words,” Saitama huffs, but he does not seem to deny Boros the need to speak.

His tongue trails downwards all the way to Saitama’s nipples, curling around the pink nub and repeatedly flicking it. He wants to bite the man’s skin, marking the man the same way he has been so completely owned.

Perhaps if he leaves reminders on the man that will not fade, he will come to seek Boros the same way Boros has been searching for him for eternity.

The thought that Saitama may leave him, or kill him after this that he may never again experience this joy—

It fills the alien with such sorrow and anger, and he endeavors to please his Master thoroughly lest he be thrown away too soon.

His hands move to Saitama’s cock, stroking it with the slick from his own cunt. The human thrusts into his hands, breathing raggedly.

Boros’ own breath seems to still in his lungs, unable to make room for anything else. His hearts beat in tandem, pulsing with each push and pull into the human.

“Like Saturn’s rings, you encircle me, you captured me—” he says, groaning as he pushes in deep into that hot, wet space that squeezes around his cock.

Saitama bounces in the Boros’ lap, circling his hips as he drives himself down Boros’ cock; making little sounds of contentment each time it fills him.

He has been experiencing little bursts of completion that causes him to quake in pleasure. Something is building within him now, the final act of this strange mating ritual of rapture and submission.

It is a steady throbbing, a slow thunderous wave that rolls over him in an endless stretch.

Boros nuzzles at the man’s neck, tilting his head till he’s able to bite at the man’s lips. Saitama moves slightly to allow him to do so, his teeth gnawing at Boros. It is a kiss that is as ferocious as their battles and blood drips from their mouths and tongues as they catch hold onto each other.

His hands continue to stroke the man’s cock, faster and faster, tightening his grip that it is nearly cruel.

Saitama arches his back, and Boros slams into him hard, once, twice

Bringing them both to something explosive, brighter and greater than anything else. It is the stellar collision of two white dwarfs, throwing their mass into space, throwing their minds into disarray as only pleasure remains within them. It is a  breakdown of body and self.

They scream and it echoes in the atmosphere, sending the ship spiraling down with the force of their combined ecstasy.

They lie in the debris of the disaster that struck till their breaths dwindle to normalcy, till their pulses smooth away to a steady drumming.

Saitama moves away from him and Boros watches the man’s muscles ripple with each swift motion. He eyes Boros for a moment before he relieves himself close to where the alien lies.

He remains silent even as the man covers himself again, and he silently moans the loss of the beautiful sight of pale skin that shivers under his touch.

Boros does not know whether to speak and fear takes hold of him. A strange sensation that he knows little about, a crushing sensation that grabs both his heart and squeezes them till they can no longer move the blood flow within him. He kneels, the chill of the strange emotion strangling him.

What will the human do now? Will his Master continue to use him?

Am I going to die now?

“Perhaps I’ll keep you after all,” Saitama says, grinning, looking wild and fierce and all of Boros’ dreams come true.

Boros makes a noise of assent, a sound of joy as he bends down to lick the man’s boots, his tongue snaking up the man’s calf.

He bows his head, flattening himself to the floor, hands on his back as expected of a slave.

This must be what liberation is, the freedom from emptiness, the aching loneliness that he has always felt. It has been swept away by the mere presence of a man greater than he. A human that is stronger than he.

Boros is made anew, he is changed.

“Good,” Saitama says, eyes dark like black holes that pull at Boros. He rests his fingers under Boros’ chin, lightly guiding him up.

He looks at his Master, and he merely smiles. Words are unneeded for a slave does not speak unless commanded upon. And he has never felt so free.

 


  

True strength lies in submission which permits one to dedicate his life, through devotion, to something beyond himself.

— Henry Miller