The Ghost & The Machine Snippet
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Characters: Dragoon, Specter (mentioned) Word Count: 1655 Warnings: Mentions of torture and violence. Graphic depictions of sex. Mating/heat cycles/rutting. Rating: M Summary: Dragoon's patience wears thin as he faces his upcoming rut.
A small character-study I banged out in one sitting. First draft with no editing so pacing may be off and there may be typos. This was mainly practice so I thought I would share!
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Dragoon grit his fangs, the tip of his segmented tail lashing back and forth as he paced through the garden.
Despite the sunny day, with fat and fluffy clouds hanging low in the sky as a light breeze ruffled the blooming flowers which surrounded him, he could not stay still.
He could feel it. Deep in his gut. No, lower than that.
His rut. Unlike the beautiful day which surrounded him, he could feel it like a storm in the air. All-encompassing. A dark shadow. The tension within him grew moment by moment, threatening to break at any time.
Snorting furiously, Dragoon tromped up the stone-carved steps into a small gazebo, plopping himself down on the wooden planks.
The stained glass overhead painted swirls of color across the wood; cool tones of blues and purples punctuated with the warmer and friendlier golds and oranges. Normally, watching the dust catch in the different colors brought a calmness to Dragoon. He would watch in rapt attention as the motes did their dance, the usual frustration he housed melting away.
But with his rut oncoming, it did not matter what he did. No amount of breathing exercises or grounding would help him here. No aromatherapy, warm bathes, or any of the other bullshit his doctors pushed on him would help.
No, there was only one thing that would stop the oncoming rut. Female, preferable, but Dragoon was not picky.
He was infertile. He knew this logically. But his body did not seem to agree with this basic fact of life. And thus, his hormones continued to brew right below. Pumping through whatever veins he had left, both biological and mechanical.
Just the mere thought of sex. No, not even the thought. The barest whisper brought heat pooling even lower, hardening him.
Another guttural growl rumbled in Dragoon’s chest. “Damn this. Damn this. DAMN this,” he chanted, a crescendoing snarl ending each statement. He dug his over-sized claws into the wood, gouging long, hard marks into it.
Although annoying at the best of times and dreadful at the worst, normally his rut would not cause Dragoon such fury. It would impede his life for the week, causing him to seek out relief in any way he could. Sometimes, he could reach out to old contacts who were willing to spend a night or two. Other times, he prowled the streets, desperate to find someone to lay with; whether he had to pay or not did not matter to him.
When all else failed, Dragoon had his own dolls within his chambers. They were not alive. Just avatars of real life. But the sex dolls were better than his own cold, clawed hand.
But this time, he was not alone with his droids. No.
Even now, although she was not present in the garden, Dragoon could scent her.
The slight tang of magic, like the faintest taste of ozone. The sharp squeeze of lemon and linen. The sweeter, lighter notes of melon.
Specter.
The strange half-elf who somehow wormed her way beneath his being, taking place where he had a heart at one point. Her closed-lips smiles when she got to try something new. The way her eyes sparkled with both surprise and joy whenever he gave her anything; even meals.
He even enjoyed the way she looked up at him, craning her neck back so she could capture the sight of his visor despite the lack of the same humanoid emotions she had. And when she realized such, her eyes would slip down the length of his suit, her gaze seeking his tail to try and figure out what he was thinking.
Always searching, that one. Curious, but holding it back. He wished she would open up more and allow all her questions to pour from her lips.
He also wanted to touch her breasts. But Dragoon supposed that was quite normal considering the situations he found himself in with her.
Normally the surge of need was one he could redirect into something else. He would pull away from it, changing his thought process to, quite literally, anything else. But right now, his mind was playing in a loop. Like a scratching record player stuck on the needle.
He could not get his mind to wander away. To stop.
He had seen Specter’s breasts before. Twice, in fact. And the image was burned into his mind. Her creamy pale skin. The dusting of several dark moles on her chest. The rosiness of her nipples.
How would they harden beneath his touch? His tongue? He would have to be gentle with her. Oh so gentle. His suit was not meant for love, but destruction.
Even with the others he hunted for during this time, he never promised to be gentle. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He always made sure to grab onto anything else besides his partners least he render their flesh into ribbons.
Dragoon could not count the amount of times he bent metal bed frames with the strength of his hands. Dug his claws into the wall so hard he found purchase on the studs.
Not to mention the sheets and bedding he had shredded.
His partners were always on their stomach. He did not want to see their expressions as they watched a monster fuck himself into oblivion. Like some sort of beast or animal.
Yet, he wondered if Specter would finally flash her flat teeth in a smile as he positioned himself inside of her as she lay on her back for him. Would her eyes sparkle, her mouth falling open in pleasure as her entire body flushed with need as he thrust into her over and over again? Would her legs hook around his hips, her body stretching out as he chased both their orgasms into infinity?
Their orgasms. Not just his. A strange distinction for Dragoon. But he yearned to know how her mouth would form his name as she came around his cock.
And her thighs. Her beautiful, thick thighs. How he ached to see them slicked with the sweat of effort, her own juices flowing out of her, and the trails of his own remains after he fills her over and over again. They would tremble around him, her body on the brink of breaking before he takes her yet again, claiming her as his.
“Fuck,” Dragoon hissed. His cock ached where it pressed up against his suit, hard as metal and throbbing with need. His knot was so sensitive it almost hurt.
Despite the many ruts Dragoon had suffered through, he had never knotted someone before. Yet, in his fantasies, he could imagine Specter staring up at him with lidded eyes, her lips wet as she ran her tongue across them, hungry for him.
Would she even fit on his knot?
Well, if you fuck her enough, she’ll be able to take it, Dragoon thought to himself wildly, reality bleeding away. Yes, he would fuck her over and over again until she was nice and prepared for him. Until she was so slick, so empty, and so needy for him she would be begging for it.
And yet, she would still have to stretch around it. Dragoon could see her arching up off the bed, grasping for him, trying to settle him deeper into her. It would not take long after that.
In his mind, there was no threat to Specter’s clear skin. He could gleefully grab her hips, dragging her closer. He could make her entire body tremble for him as he palmed her breasts, his claws toying with her hardened and sensitive nipples. He could run his long, sharp tongue across her cheek until he found her mouth, where he would slip his tongue into her, a bastardization of a kiss. He could fuck her as hard as he wanted without threatening to shatter her pelvis.
And he could empty himself inside her, keeping her on his cock and knot for hours until she could swell with his child.
Another fantasy.
Thump.
Dragoon fell back against the wooden floors of the gazebo. Countless gouges in the wood joined him. He stared up through the stained glass. A cloud had passed over the sun, briefly blotting it out, darkening the vibrant colors which surrounded him.
Yes. He would fuck her over and over again. Keep her in his bed. She would only leave to relieve herself and when he would bathe her. At all other times, she would either be asleep beneath the sheets or filled with his knot.
He would never let anything happen to her. She would be his. His mate.
Dragoon jerked up, his suit creaking at how fast he moved. He shook his heavy head back and forth, trying to dislodge the wild and beastly thoughts.
His mate? As if she would ever yearn for something like that. It was… disgusting. Animalistic. Inhuman. Not to mention the image of having her chained to his bed, nude, and begging for him.
Ridiculous. She was not some sort of slave. He would never do that to her. Not her. Not Specter. And she would never want such a life.
She would not want to spend any time in his bed. He tried to kill her. Tortured her. Kept her against her will.
Even now, Dragoon was not sure he could let her go, even if she asked.
She was his. And no amount of scolding himself, of snarling, and growling, could stop that damning word from racing through his mind.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
No. He could never lay with her. Already, he could barely tolerate the thought of letting her go. If he knotted her. If he spent his rut with her--
Well.
Dragoon never said he was a good man. Nor a man at all. He was a monster. A beast. An animal.
He just hoped Specter would never learn that side of him.
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