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There was little resistance from Wemmbu as Spoke pushed him onto the bed—because realistically, what the hell was he going to do?
He had sworn Spoke his loyalty, and, despite what people—cough Prince Zam—would say, Wemmbu was actually someone who honored his word. Most of the time.
Especially in situations like these, though, where he was almost guaranteed to get the opportunity to rile up Spoke. The quick fuck he was going to get out of it was really only a bonus.
"So, am I just supposed to lie here and watch, or?" He couldn't help, nor was he going to reduce, the clear mock in his tone. It just seemed to come naturally as soon as he was within proximity to Spoke.
Something he had no control over. Whatsoever.
Spoke stilled for a second, his hands mid-air, bunching up the hem of his shirt, which he had been in the midst of pulling off. His voice was almost scarily calm—though no way in hell was Wemmbu ever going to admit that.
Wemmbu was so used to Spoke showing immediate irritation at his nagging and annoying behavior that this was almost more exciting. It was new. It was unknown.
His thin tail swished over the mattress in long, leisurely swipes akin to those of a playful cat, the spade tip drawing lines onto white sheets. This was going to be fun.
"Can you just do one thing for me, Wemmbu? Just please, for the love of everything that is holy, I need you to shut your mouth. Just this once."
Opening his mouth, Wemmbu was about to retort something annoying to see how far he could push it until the voidling finally snapped, but Spoke's trembling hands caught his attention, letting the words stay stuck in his throat.
It was rare for Wemmbu's gut feeling to tell him to shut up, insults and mocking being his go-to response, so, for once, he actually listened.
Wemmbu kept his mouth shut with an effort he didn’t like to admit, his jaw clenching at the forced silence. He was used to having the last word, but his curiosity won in the end. He wanted to see where this was going. Even if his jabs needed to wait.
He didn't see Spoke as a threat—never would if he was going to be completely honest—but something in the way he was holding onto the shirt, the way the almost glowing white voids that were his unblinking eyes were fixated on Wemmbu, made a shiver run down his spine, the fine hairs all over his body to standing on end, tail coming up to curl around his calf in a subconscious act of defendance.
"...alright." The word left him softer than intended—though that might have actually been for the better. He had never used this tone of voice while talking to Spoke, not even anything close to it, actually, but the way Spoke's shoulders sagged in almost surprised relief, and his hands stopped strangling the fabric of his shirt, made Wemmbu want to use it again.
Okay. Pause.
What was actually wrong with him?
First, having to declare his loyalty to this absolute doofus and now this? What was he thinking?
Swallowing down the insult that threatened to creep up his throat as a means of distracting himself, Wemmbu instead shifted uncomfortably. He was lying there, still on his back, squishing down his wings, feeling pinned down by the weight of his own body.
He wanted to squirm. To reverse their positions and finally take control of the situation again. It would be so entertaining to see Spoke squirming and stuttering under Wemmbu’s authority. He could already imagine the delicious look on his stupid face.
As Wemmbu was stuck in his thoughts, he was also still stuck in his position, utterly helpless and silently seething, there being nothing he could do but lie there and watch as Spoke rid himself of his clothes.
Could what Wemmbu was doing be considered ogling? Yeah, so what? Because again, what could he possibly do? If he wasn’t allowed to nag or annoy, the least he could do to make this worth his time was to enjoy the show.
Spoke actually didn’t look nearly as pathetic as his personality suggested, now that Wemmbu was getting a closer look. Sure, Wemmbu was taller than him, but what Spoke lacked in height, he made up for in mass.
Lean muscle covered his body, and Wemmbu was already back to thinking about the most efficient way to get the other riled up. He didn’t really know Spoke, so he had no idea what he was going to do if his patience snapped. That’s what made it exciting, though.
Wemmbu was slim and lanky, perfect for being aerodynamic, while Spoke was more muscled—though still nothing in comparison to people like Flamefrags or Manepear—and equally as scarred as Wemmbu, it seemed.
It made sense now that he was thinking about it. They had been on Unstable for the same amount of time, and while Wemmbu clearly was the bigger fighter, Spoke had undeniably been in just as many battles and wars as him.
Before Wemmbu could remember that he was supposed to be quiet, a question left him. “So, uhhh, am I supposed to like..” he gestured to his clothes, seeing as Spoke’s were already lying in a heap on the floor next to the bed.
One of Spoke’s eyes twitched, and he audibly took a deep breath in. “Yes, Wemmbu. Yes. This is clearly what’s happening.”
Wemmbu put his hands up in mock surrender, “Dalright,” before getting up and starting to remove his own clothes.
As he was pulling off the last piece of clothing—his boxers—Spoke came back from a little detour to a drawer adjacent to the bed. Before he could make out what exactly Spoke was holding, Wemmbu was pushed onto the bed again—this time face-first.
“Okay, what are you-” He was cut off by Spoke pushing his head farther into the fluffy pillow.
For a split second, sour panic rose in Wemmbu’s gut at how easy it would be for the other to just suffocate him like this. His wings twitched, but didn’t get fully out of control just yet, as there was still some oxygen he was getting, even if sparse. Spoke's clearly irritated voice quickly snapped him out of it, bringing back an odd sense of familiarity.
“Wemmbu. Shut. Up.” His mouth shut with an audible klick of teeth against teeth, even though slightly muffled by the pillow—which was honestly embarrassing.
Wemmbu ground his teeth together; it had been a valid question, or, well, the start of one. So much for playing nice. He probably couldn’t have kept his mouth shut even if he’d wanted to, but now Spoke was going to need something better than a pillow to shut him up.
A startled groan slipped out of him as a slicked-up finger pushed its way inside him, his tail flicking back and forth in distress at the sudden intrusion. It’d been a while since he had last bottomed, and it seemed as though Spoke had no intention of making this pleasurable for him at the moment, merely following the mechanical movements of stretching muscles. And sure, it didn’t hurt per se, but it sure as hell didn’t feel good either.
Both hands left Wemmbu’s body, and he immediately pulled his head up to gulp in a big breath. He didn’t know why Spoke was in this particularly pissy mood; he had been like this even before Wemmbu had annoyed him—nor did he really care—but if he was going to take it out on him, Wemmbu wanted to be at least a little bit prepared.
And, sure enough, a moment later his head was back to being pressed into the pillow as two—almost disgustingly well lubed up—fingers entered him.
Wemmbu couldn’t help the scoff that left him; Spoke wasn’t even trying a little bit to find his prostate. And he full well knew that Spoke could, if he wanted. So sue him for not being able to stop himself.
“You do know that this won't stop me from talking, right? Or are you really that stupid, hm?” His voice was, again, muffled by the pillow, but Spoke had very clearly heard him, apparent by the way he held Wemmbu’s head down with just a little bit more strength and how the two fingers in him were joined by a third.
Wemmbu couldn’t help the little manic giggle that bubbled up his throat. If from glee or panic, he wasn’t really sure himself.
Spoke didn’t say anything in response, though the angle of his fingers changed. Suddenly, they weren’t simply just gliding in and out of his ass anymore, but stabbing his prostate with every thrust. The stretch from the third finger burned, but Wemmbu didn’t pay it any mind; the pleasure being far more overwhelming.
Noises spilled out of him at the sudden change in pace and angle, and although the pillow still muffled him, they seemed to echo around the room, with nothing else but the faint squelch of Spoke fingering him to fill the silence.
Finally, Spoke had seemed to find his annoyingly grating voice again. “You’re pathetic, Wemmbu. Is this really the only way to shut you up? Can’t even do anything properly without being made to.”
His voice was a dangerous purr. Wemmbu could almost hear the smirk in his tone as he tightened around Spoke’s fingers at the insults.
Wemmbu wanted to argue, wanted to retort something back in the hopes of riling Spoke up even more, but all that left him was a whine as the fingers sped up even more, almost sloppily so, though they never stopped targeting his prostate. Wemmbu could feel the heat in his stomach rising, starting to spread out, though at a frustratingly slow pace.
His moans got higher, hands fisting the sheets at both sides of his head, as his orgasm slowly crept closer, even resorting to curling his tail around Spoke’s wrist for any additional stability. And maybe to get back at Spoke just a little bit with the way the spade formed tip of his tail was digging into dark skin.
“Yeah, that’s right. You were so laughable trying to escape that prison. I couldn’t help but take pity on you. You wouldn’t have been able to escape it without me, and you know it, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
Wemmbu groaned, wings flaring at the insult, though he didn’t even try to retort anything this time—not that he really could have. His brain felt like it was melting and seeping out of his ears, seeping onto the pillow below.
“Couldn’t even figure out how to get past the guards on your own. I almost couldn’t believe it. You are so un-be-lie-veab-ly pa-the-tic.”
Every syllable of Spoke’s last few words was accompanied by a stab of Wemmbu’s prostate.
His moans turned breathy and short, little ah-ah-ah’s that followed every hit to his prostate. The inside of his head would probably look like one big slushy if anyone were to look inside.
The lack of oxygen was finally starting to hit him, and everything else except the pungent, all-consuming pleasure slowly faded to the background, becoming a dull mess of noise.
The soft sound of skin slapping against skin was beginning to take less and less space up in his head, Spoke’s intense presence above him seeming more and more like a soft glow instead of the burning flame it had previously been.
Wemmbu’s senses zeroed in on the feeling of Spoke’s fingers inside him to a point where he couldn’t even hear his own moans anymore, only feeling the vibrations in his throat as they left him, consumed by the pull in his core and tension in his stomach.
Just as the edges of Wemmbu’s vision were starting to fade to black, his grip on the sheets loosening little by little and his wings merely trembling on the mattress by his sides, his head was pulled up by his tied-up hair.
The tight grip on his long, purple strands was borderline painful, and still, Wemmbu couldn’t help but moan at the sting of his scalp, uselessly grabbing at the sheets in an attempt to release the pressure on his head.
Spoke’s lips brushed his ear; Wemmbu could feel and hear his laboured breath, as if this was affecting Spoke more than him. A violent shudder ripped through him as the fingers pulled out at the same time as Spoke's words ghosted over his ear.
“I think you’ve forgotten that we’re playing by my rules now, Wemmbu. You’re not cumming that easily.”
If Wemmbu’s brain had been supplied with enough oxygen, he would’ve felt embarrassment for the ridiculously loud whine that left him at explicitly being denied release, but all he could do was wait for his brain to catch up and let Spoke continue with his insults.
“You see, Wemmbu, I was initially hesitating about doing this, but you’ve given more than enough reasons to, by now.” The words carried a finality that, had Wemmbu been in the right headspace, might’ve actually caused some concern.
Alas, he was still catching his breath, getting some oxygen back to his brain, trying to make some sense of the words that clung to the air like they were too afraid of their own consequences.
Something clicked into place, and it only took a second for Wemmbu to register the weight around his neck. He didn’t need to see it to know that Spoke had just put a choker around his neck—not that he even could with the way his head was still being held up by his hair.
“I’ve had this for so long now, I actually kind of forgot about it. It was just gathering dirt in my enderchest and honestly, I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this to finally get rid of it. You were just annoying enough for me to remember it, so consider this your own fault, Wemmbu.”
Spoke’s tone had regained some of his usunal cockyness, and while the need to punch him in the face was returning to Wemmbu, so was that uncomfortable feeling that he didn’t want to get used to under any circumstances.
“Now you’re finally resembling the pitiable dog that you are.”
Okay, so now he was starting to piss Wemmbu off. If Spoke wanted to let out his anger on someone, he could gladly do so on one of the many goons he probably had. For all Wemmbu cared, he could be banning people, torturing them, or doing other Spoke-things to them, but it did not have to be him.
He was not going to let himself be treated like this by Spoke of all people. He would rather take Flame or, heck, even LettuceK over whatever this was supposed to be.
So, deciding he had nothing else to lose, Wemmbu took the opportunity of their position, pulled his hands in front of himself, and pushed up, snapping his head back with as much force as he could muster up.
Their heads collided with a nasty crack, Spoke immediately letting go of Wemmbu’s hair with a loud groan, to cradle his—hopefully broken—nose. Using this to his advantage, Wemmbu spun around so that he was lying on his back. Now he could finally see the red drops slipping through the cracks of Spoke’s fingers and staining the white sheets.
Kicking out his legs and pushing them to the side against Spoke’s thighs, their positions were quickly reversed, with Wemmbu kneeling above the voidling. Spoke’s hips were bracketed in by Wemmbu’s knees as the former was still holding his face, squirming through the pain.
Wemmbu’s chest heaved with big, laboured breaths. The choker was still sitting tightly around his neck, an uncomfortable and unfamiliar pressure that was just teetering on the edge of too tight. As soon as he had gotten his breathing somewhat under control, his hands quickly moved up from where they had been keeping him upright against Spoke’s stomach to pry the darn thing off.
It didn’t budge.
Not even a little. He couldn’t even get a finger between his skin and the, by now, warmed-up leather.
“What the-” Frantically sliding his hands around his neck, following the ridges of the thick material to hopefully find some sort of buckle or latch to open it, his fingers only found smooth, uniform leather, with the exception of a cold metal ring at the front.
The metal was burning against his skin in a silent insult, reminding him of its presence even as he let go of it, resting against the skin of his neck. Wemmbu couldn’t suppress the sneer that split his face—not that he would have.
“What the fuck?!” He spat, figuratively and literally, little droplets of saliva landing on Spoke’s bare chest, fury rising exponentially as he caught the other’s eyes through a gap between the fingers that were cradling his face.
The crinkle in Spoke’s eyes became visible along with the mean smirk Wemmbu would love to mace off his face, as his head tipped back a tiny bit and his hands moved to wipe away the blood, somehow managing to smear it all over his face in shiny streaks.
Wemmbu averted his eyes, counting to five in his head to avoid doing something he may or may not regret—though he was leaning towards not. Looking back down, the fury immediately flooded through him again at seeing that stupid face. Alright, this was as collected as he was going to get.
“You put a fucking collar on me, Spoke. You better take this off right now, or I’m gonna fucking feed you to Gambit.” He was surprised by how calm and even his voice came out, though his hands betrayed him, trembling at his sides with how hard he was balling them into fists.
The voidling took a deep, raspy breath, his chest visibly rising under Wemmbu’s attentive eyes, a manic giggle escaping him that perfectly matched his previous smile and made Wemmbu’s blood boil even further.
“Wemmbu, oh, Wemmbu. You really should know better by now. There’s no escaping this. Even if I wanted to take that collar off, I couldn’t. There’s no key, or latch, or scissors that are ever going to get through that.”
Spoke’s hands moved from his face, up Wemmbu’s legs until they rested on his hips, leaving barely visible streaks behind, the blood blending in with his purple skin.
Wemmbu bristled at the icy contact, but didn’t move to push the other’s disgustingly cold hands away, instead focusing on the way Spoke’s expression had switched up from pissy to his usual mischievous demeanor, and not the way the palms of his hands prickled against Wemmbu’s bare skin.
And—right, they were both still buck naked with Wemmbu practically sitting on Spoke’s lap, the only thing bringing distance between them being Wemmbu’s position on his knees, keeping him upright.
Suddenly, he was viscerally reminded that his cock was still hanging hard and heavy between his legs as Spoke’s hands wandered lower and lower until they were dangerously close to the inside of his thighs.
Alright, time to bring his mind back to the present, like the fact that he still had a damn collar around his neck. Gathering his thoughts and not paying Spoke’s wandering hands too much mind, Wemmbu took a second to formulate a response to the voidling's cryptic message, his attention quickly fraying at the edges with every inch the voidling's hands wandered farther.
“What the hell are you talking about?” The grip on his skin tightened in a warning, although Spoke’s demeanor stayed lighthearted. Wemmbu internally cursed the heat that started spreading in his stomach at the bruises he was surely going to take home from this whole ordeal.
“Why don’t you take a look at it in your inventory, hm?” The smug tone of his voice was almost comforting. Almost being the keyword, as something churned in Wemmbu’s stomach—next to the arousal.
Wemmbu gave the other a sceptical look, not trusting him enough to avert his gaze, but in the end, curiosity did kill the cat. Opening his inventory, he, sure enough, found the collar appearing in its own, new slot, enchantments flashing before his eyes as he hovered one hand above it.
Curse of Binding.
Mending.
And
Unbreaking XXX
It took a second for Wemmbu’s brain to convert the Roman numbers into Arabic ones, but once he did, he didn’t know if he should be impressed or furious. Maybe a healthy dose of both.
“Unbreaking thirty?!” His voice had seemingly decided to stop playing it cool and instead rose about an octave.
It seemed as though Spoke couldn’t keep quiet anymore, giggles spilling out of him uncontrollably that shook his entire body, black locks spilling over his forehead.
Oh, how much Wemmbu would love to strangle that dumb, superior look off his face. He was about to spit out a response and maybe give in to his urges, when Spoke, out of the blue, grabbed his dick with one hand and his tail with the other.
“What the-” His words were cut off by a squeeze of his dick and tug at his tail at the same time, the dual stimulation scratching some primal part of his brain and coaxing an almost animal whine out of him.
And of course, Wemmbu’s stupid, fucked up brain immediately turned off, giving in to the pleasure and relief as his aching dick finally got some attention.
Wemmbu’s hands were immediately back on the other’s stomach, to brace himself from collapsing as his legs threatened to give in at the sudden spike of pleasure that zapped through his entire body.
“I think I actually like you better like this, Wemmbu.” What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
The hand around his dick moved away for a second, instead reaching into Spoke’s inventory and allowing Wemmbu to catch his breath and thoughts for a moment. “You’re gonna regret it if I can’t take that shit off after we’re done.” Wemmbu knew that they both knew how weak a response that was—especially with how strained his voice was.
All of a sudden, Wemmbu’s head was pulled downwards again, the thought of Spoke pushing his head into his chest flashing through Wemmbu’s mind, before the pressure let up again.
“Oh, I’m sure I will.” This time, Wemmbu couldn’t even think about how stupid Spoke’s grin made him look, the lead that was now connected to the collar capturing all of his attention.
And maybe he should have been paying better attention to Spoke—eugh, he never wanted to think that thought ever again—as all he could do in reaction to being pushed onto the other’s cock, was moan.
Wemmbu’s eyes fluttered shut against his will as he was very suddenly, very full. The blissed-out moment he was having got interrupted by a groan from Spoke as Wemmbu released the tension in his legs that had been keeping him upright, fully sinking onto the other.
The hand that was still holding onto the base of his tail rubbed small circles onto the sensitive skin, which, if their purpose had been to soothe, had quite the opposite effect. They made Wemmbu reflexively shudder and clench around the cock up his ass in response to the stimulation.
He hadn’t been lying when he’d said that it’d been a while since he last bottomed, and honestly, he had forgotten just how overwhelming it was to be stuffed full, though he couldn’t help his rising smugness as Spoke didn’t seem to be faring any better.
“Fuuuuuck, I should’ve told you how to get Egg out so much sooner.” Wemmbu managed to grimace through the hazy pleasure at the mention of his best friend.
“Bro- time and place. Can we not, like, talk about Egg right now?” Spoke cackled, using the lead to coax Wemmbu upwards, and snapping his hips up to draw a choked off moan out of Wemmbu when he held firmly against the pressure around his neck.
Okay—fair enough—Wemmbu should’ve known how to keep his mouth shut. This was still Spoke he was talking to.
“I don’t think so.” Another powerful thrust made Wemmbu squeeze his eyes shut and tighten his grip on the voidling’s stomach that would leave visible marks on any other person, still leaning against the pull of the lead. If he was going to get railed like this, he at least wouldn’t have to look at that stupid, smug face during it.
Even through the haze in his head, Wemmbu knew that they both knew what Spoke was doing to him, and he wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of seeing it in his eyes.
“You know all of this could’ve been avoided, had you just figured to throw a fucking ender pearl through the portal.” Another mean giggle, as Spoke slowly established a slow, but fatal rhythm of trusting up into Wemmbu, easing back down in a fashion that could almost be called careful, before repeating the cycle.
He was drawing gasps out of the demon with every snap of his hips as Wemmbu’s whole body inched up each time with the force, almost feeling as though the air was being actively punched out of his lungs over and over again, replacing it with a heat that slowly crawled through his entire body.
“Seriously. How long have you been on this stupid server, and this never came to mind?! And even if that was too much for your little PvP brain to handle, I know for a fact that you’ve met Parrot multiple fucking times, who is literally the smartest person on this server. Jesus Christ.”
If this wasn’t literal physical and psychological torment, then Wemmbu didn’t know what was. Sure, he could manage to tune out Spoke on a good day, but with the torture that was his pace of fucking into Wemmbu he was completely throwing him off balance every few seconds.
Wemmbu clawed at Spoke’s stomach, surely leaving painful, although invisible, scratches on blackened skin. Every time he tried opening his mouth to retort something or bestow Spoke with an insult of his own, moans, gasps, and whines escaped him before he could get a single word out.
It was so fuckin good, but just not enough.
Every time Spoke thrust his hips up, Wemmbu would try to grind down in search of additional pleasure—anything that would relieve him of his agonizing pleasure, but the lead around his neck would pull him back just short of getting any decent stimulation.
He also needed to find a way to make Spoke stop talking, or the other would eventually connect the dots as to how Wemmbu’s cock twitched with every new insult.
A particularly mean thrust that hit his prostate head-on made Wemmbu throw his head back, unintentionally showing off his collared neck, a moan rattling his whole frame.
A quiet “Fuck,” left Spoke his pace stuttering as Wemmbu clenched around him, arms trembling as he fought with all his might to keep himself upright. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for this, aren’t you?”
Wemmbu swallowed, trying to string together a coherent response, but the action only reminded him of the tight leather around his neck, pulling another whine out of him.
Spoke laughed breathlessly, interpreting the noise as confirmation. “You keep complaining, but you can’t get enough of it, can you? Hah, I knew it, you’re acting like you don’t like this, but look at you now, Wemmbu. Practically begging for it.”
Wemmbu managed a weak, “Fuck you, Spoke.” That sounded pathetic even to his own ears, before he was promptly cut off by his own moans as Spoke picked up the pace again, completely ignoring the demon.
“But who knows, maybe that’s what you need. Someone to do the thinking for you. Someone to tell you what to do for once. I know you’d fucking love that.”
Wemmbu hated both authority and rules—and he didn’t doubt Spoke’s knowledge of that fact—but for some reason that’s what did it for him.
The insult that completely went against who he was at the core of his person, accompanied by a harsh tug at his tail, that under any other circumstances could not be described as pleasurable, and the delicious drag of Spoke’s dick against his prostate, aggressively shoved, rather than tipped him over the edge.
So it wasn’t a surprise that he lost his, if metaphorical, footing.
He came explosively with a silent moan, clutching at the voidling’s stomach for dear life, leaving bloody scratches in his wake and spilling all over Spoke, his cum contrasting beautifully with the voidlings pitch black skin. Spoke groaned, blissed out with his eyes still shut. At least he seemed to preoccupied to belittle Wemmbu for how quickly he came.
Only as he was catching his breath, blinking away tears he hadn’t even noticed welling up with his eyes closed, did Wemmbu realize that he was clenching and unclenching rhythmically around the cock up his ass.
A surprised noise left him as their position was flipped, and he found himself face down in the pillow once again, too blissed out to really do anything against loss of control.
This time, however, there was no hand holding his head down, but one on his hip, and the other still holding the lead clipped to the collar. At least this was better than having his precious hair being the only thing keeping his head up.
“Wha-” The collar was digging into his neck from the lead pulling on it, adding to his already sore throat, thus his voice was quite scratchy, but Wemmbu didn’t doubt that Spoke had heard him.
The voidling, however, didn’t respond beyond his frantic thrusting speeding up. There was no denying that Spoke was close, but it was too much, way too soon, and Wemmbu quickly found himself getting overstimulated.
Spoke wasn’t quite searching out his prostate like before, only going after his own pleasure, but it was doomed that he would brush over that little bundle of nerves every now and then with his sloppy thrusting.
And he did. Frequently.
Wemmbu instinctively tried squirming away to avoid the onslaught of his ass, eyes starting to prickle with tears as he clutched at the sheets with all his might. Spoke immediately tugged back on the lead, pulling Wemmbu farther onto his cock, that doing nothing to help with the pain-pleasure that overloaded Wemmbu’s brain.
Shame, mixed with some of the anger that was still lurking beneath his skin, suddenly possessed Wemmbu. While Spoke might have been leaning in the right direction with what he had deduced about Wemmbu, there was no way in hell he was going to let him get away with it so easily.
Wemmbu was not going to give in that easily and hand over any final satisfaction about winning this unspoken battle, so, in a final act of defiance, Wemmbu clenched as hard as he could around the cock pushing in and out of his ass, even when it started to become more painful than pleasurable.
Spoke quickly let out a confused sound of pleasure, his pace stuttering even further before he finally, finally tensed up and doubled over, breathing hard.
They stayed like that for a few long moments of shared heavy breathing before Spoke flopped onto the demon with a groan, making Wemmbu grunt at the weight and the cock being pushed even farther into him.
He really couldn’t care less however, his whole body going slack as he could finally relax—even with someone on top of him.
With his eyes being dangerously close to slipping shut and breathing slowly evening out, Wemmbu was a little underprepared when Spoke pulled out of him. He hadn’t even noticed the other getting off of him, but now that Wemmbu became aware of it, he kind of missed the weight of another person on his back.
He hissed at the drag of the cock pulling out, before going completely slack like a puppet having its strings severed as the connection between them got cut.
Wemmbu could feel the other standing behind him, heart still beating hard against his ribcage, eyes piercing the back of his skull, though he didn’t have the energy to do anything but slowly fall asleep. His head was stuffed full of unsure satisfaction, limbs weighted down by the inevitable weight of sleep.
He vaguely wondered if Spoke would stay, if he was going to come back, and—and what?
The last thing Wemmbu would remember the next day was the covers being pulled over his relaxed form and a faint heat clinging to his skin as he drifted off into a dreamless slumber.