Ivory fangs snare his earlobe in a firm tug, then toy with the piercings of silver. The heated breath ghosting over his flesh makes Demiurge's voice devolve from his usual timbre to a breathy whine. Suddenly snapping to, he halfheartedly pushes against his predecessor's ridiculously broad chest. "You're going to get us caught, you-"
"You what?" Malphas hisses, sliding a hand between Demiurge's thighs to palm his rapidly growing erection. "We'll only be caught if you cannot stay silent."
With that, Malphas gathers the collar of the unconscious prisoner's shirt into one massive hand, then lowers him to the cool marble of the floor.
"I believe he can survive at least another hour without stitches. Wouldn't you agree?" Malphas speculates.
Before Demiurge can offer his professional opinion, Malphas clamps one hand over Demiurge's mouth and hastily unfastens his brother's trousers with the other, then slips inside.
Demiurge gasps sharply through his nose, then strains in Malphas' grasp of iron. The Seventh Floor Guardian, while well-muscled, is wiry in comparison to his brother's bulk. Malphas is built like the beast lurking beneath his skin- with the thick slabs of muscle that sculpt an ambush predator. He will always be bigger, stronger. And that thrills Demiurge to no end.
The Arch Devil's eyes roll back as his cock fills in Malphas' exquisitely practiced hand. Choking out a groan of both pleasure and defeat, Demiurge tilts his head to offer the graceful line of his throat.
Malphas purrs at this gesture of submission, then scrapes his tongue over Demiurge's jugular in a rough, animalistic lick.
A low whine is pressed into Malphas' palm as Demiurge's eyes squeeze shut, and the younger Devil's hips grind into Malphas' grasp with shameless desperation.
"Look at me," The elder Devil rasps, and Demiurge obeys, his cheeks blooming with a delicate flush under Malphas' gaze which spears him with fever.
Licking his lips with low-lidded eyes that search Demiurge's features, Malphas then removes his hand. "You know you do not have to hide anything from me."
Demiurge knows this to be true. With Malphas, his exterior is stripped to the bone; over time, his predecessor has peeled back the layers of cool disregard and calculation, mercilessness and sadistic lust, all the way down to the translucent membrane protecting the core of vulnerability that only he has lived to see.
"I know. Forgive me." Demiurge concedes, panting.
Malphas then cradles the back of his head as he captures his lips in a possessive kiss, his tongue gently sweeping into his mouth with a tenderness which never fails to melt Demiurge's bones.
"I've missed you," Malphas huffs in between breaths as he strokes Demiurge's cock, his thumb rolling over the leaking head. "Gods below, I've missed you so much."
Demiurge's tail winds around his brother's, corkscrewing so tightly that their steel plates creak together.
"And I, you." Demiurge moans into his mouth and bucks into his hand. "Please..."
The Guardian anchors his claws into Malphas' hard biceps and allows himself this moment to let go. Dropping his head to bury his face into his chest, Demiurge breathes him in and does his damnedest to muffle his voice as he cries out for his predecessor, his closest comrade, his brother, his lover– so many labels, all of which he has analyzed from several angles, and yet, none of them seem to quite fit.
As though sensing the same sentiment, Malphas slides his hand from his nape to then close around Demiurge's throat. Strong fingers curl just beneath his chin, making him gasp and arch against the solid wall of Malphas' body. Demiurge's right hand digs into Malphas' wrist, ebony claws piercing his skin as he feigns resistance.
"Yes. You're mine." Malphas rumbles, his eyes burning through sweeps of raven hair, reminding Demiurge of the lonely blue moon glaring through the curtains of his bedroom window. "And how beautiful you are, my perfect prey."
Malphas' eyes crawl over him with careful deliberation and he hums again, a low, melodious sound from deep in his chest.
Demiurge can practically read his tiger's mind- how it catalogues him as a stag in his prime, one which will fight him till the bitter end. A worthy adversary.
Disregarding the high risk of his actions, Malphas suddenly pulls Demiurge's shaft free with a hungry lick his lips.
It shines and drips like a loaded honey dipper.
"Hades, Demiurge," Malphas chides him with an edge of teeth. "you're already dripping for me."
Enraptured, he watches with parted lips as a thick rope of precome bobs lightly in tandem with the fluttering pulse of the demon's heart, threatening to fall from the gleaming, ruby head. The texture of Demiurge's cock once slickened becomes something absolutely sinful. Malphas' fingers tease over his length in delight, swirling over his crown to then smooth over the weeping slit.
Sapphire eyes meet iridescent diamonds and Malphas kisses him again, then whirls Demiurge around to crash his body into him.
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You can read chapter 1-29 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904596/chapters/62954236
