Characters: The Phoenix and The Moth @twixtbound
Content Warning: NSFW. Contains violence, blood, consensual sexual interaction, bondage.
"Breathe me in and forget to exhale."
Smoke sprawls across pallid skin, the curl of his smile caught in the swirling wisps exuding over his lips. The tilt of his head casts a shadow over his face, igniting his eyes—embers trapped in kohl. His bronze-skinned hand glides over a slender arm, fingers moulding to the shape of muscle and bone.
Up, up, up…
A slender blade punctures the centre of a palm, pinioning the limb to the rough wood. The quake of muscle in the body pressed between him and the wall draws his attention downward. His lips purse with a croon of pity and false soothing, yet his eyes burn with fresh flame newly stoked.
"Mine."
The single word hums against an ear, vibrating down the spine of his moth. Pleasure burns through him, fingers twitching to pluck delicate strings until they snap.
Another blade slips from the sheath strapped to his thigh. The leather encasing his body designed to move with him like a second skin, to withstand the unruly heat burning in his core.
He can never stop at only one.
The second hand joins the first, fingers interwoven, and that blade driven home without so much as a word of warning. He wants uncertain anticipation coiling like a snake in his moth's gut —to watch pain chase itself through his eyes until it bleeds out over his face as it does down his arms.
Fingers paint, smearing dark blood across pale skin, tracing over shadowed veins and streaking long down a breastbone. Lips tremble and part—an invitation without true intention.
His.
"Mine."
He claims that offer, a theft formed of mouths combined. A slow inhale steals breath, sound, sense. The invading sweep of his tongue savours the wreckage he's crafted. The bite of his teeth turns their kiss to a darkened wine.
Heat flares through him with the hook of his fingers into the waist of the pants now in his way —the last shred of modesty clinging to his pinned moth. The blade slices along heaving ribs, and the moth dances on tip toe, his wings bleeding out onto the floor.
A thumb presses into the cut, joining the many already marring his moth's torso. A reminder of their fun earlier in the evening, when argument led to their current predicament. The answering groan drives him. Ties pull loose and cloth slinks down slender legs, left to gravity's claws.
He crowds in close against his moth, lips a whisper against his ear. The blade scratches promises along his lower rib, the tip sinking deep to mark each hitch of breath. A lethal ellipsis carved down his abdomen and ending in the heat of his hand coiling around his moth's blood-soaked cock.
"Mine."
A fine line lies between pleasure and pain—one he crosses with brutal finality.
The bite of metal through battered skin punctuates each stroke of his opposing hand. The sink of his teeth persists—against a pale ear, into the softness of a lip, the angle of a jaw. He grants no mercy, no hesitation. The moth had his say, and now all rules but one will shatter at their feet.
The remaining rule he will hold the moth to, again and again. This twisted dance of agony melding with ecstasy delights him. The way the moth bends, dissolving into the ruin offered up by the demand of his hands, his blade. He feasts on the sight of him— the glazed expression in his eyes, the spattering of broken sounds from his lips.
That inevitable shattering when the two no longer divide.
"Mine."
Mercy comes only in the oblivion granted when the world goes black.
Dae stood barefoot on a slick slab of stone. The air around him was stale and metallic with a darkness that blanketed the echoless cavern he found himself in; as if the dark itself was drinking in and swallowing every pitter patter. It was almost suffocating. The walls gleamed wetly, something that at first could’ve easily been mistaken as condensation but as the drops hit the ground and bloomed, he found it far too inky. And… familiar.
This place was familiar. Not because he had been here before but because it felt like something inside of him. Stygian blood soon trailed down rocky walls in veined rivulets, gathering near the base before slipping into the blackened water that pooled around his ankles. A shaken, anxiety ridden inhale was taken and held while he tried to collect himself. It had to be a dream, he tried to rationalize to himself, except…he couldn’t dream. Not anymore. Not to his knowledge, at least.
The water rippled and something moved beneath the surface behind him. Dae took a stuttered step forwards, reaching instinctually for a blade that was no longer at his side. Droplets that fell from the shadowed ceiling hung in beads, suspended as if gravity had lost its grip on them. Dae chose to continue forward, those beads warping his reflection with each pass and in those reflections, he wasn’t alone. Something stalked behind him. Ironic? A little, but he refused to turn.
The cavern stretched deeper and widened out into a large, underground lake with flat and stagnant water that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The slow trails that had been working their way down the walls had become a steady flow, as if the place itself was bleeding out. Behind him, something stirred again though this time, it passed him. Large and feline like in nature, its tail brushed against his hand and shot cold flame winding through his veins and nerves. He struggled to focus on it, the edges of its silhouette blurring and fading like wisps of smoke.
It leapt to a jagged outcropping above the water with grace, turning to sit and watch Dae, composed as the water began rising. Past his ankles - now it was at his knees. His thighs. Waist. Thick and heavy, it tugged at him. Not just physically, but soul-deep. Much like when he over worked himself. As if it wanted him to give in. To stop fighting.
Shapes and faces flickered against the matte surface of the water. They weren’t clear enough to name but familiar enough to cause his chest to tighten. The cats head tilted like it was curious if he’d drown in the rising dark or not and the blood crawling down the walls began to move differently. Sentiently. Threading and weaving, they lurched towards him like roots and vines, winding around his wrists and throat but they didn’t choke. They were anchoring as the blackened water began to surge.
As Dae struggled, the cat-like figure opened it’s maw. Not in a roar or a hiss, but it seemed as if it were going to speak.
Dae woke before he heard it. On his back, surrounded by porcelain walls, a ringed finger was rapidly tapping against the edge of his tub in crisp staccato before he even realized it while his other palm had deep crescents being pressed into it.
One. Two. Three. Four.
His eyes were open, set on the ceiling but he couldn’t see a thing through the inky sheen that coated his vision. Throat still tight, for a split second he half expected his lungs to be filled with water. Instead, there was only the faintest suggestion of warmth beneath his skin. Like something inside him had stirred in his sleep and remained awake.
So often, he found himself seeking warmth but this time? Without knowing the source? Like a petulant child, Dae kicked his foot out against the spigot, bringing cold water to pour into the basin. Then his heel dropped, closing the tub drain. It was one of the last few parts of his body he felt like he had any control over anymore and he'd be damned if a dream stripped him of that as well.
In the moment, it felt like a gift; a clear night sky with steady wind. A rocky shoreline was on the horizon, a new stretch of land in need of transporters. Mercer was living a dream, one he’d had since first memory; an unexplainable call that ebbed and flowed like a gentle tide as if guiding him towards the boundless ocean. It wasn’t until his exile from the manor and after being turned down by countless other crews that he found one welcoming him with open arms despite his inexperience and condition.
His deafness wasn’t one of medical origin, but magical. There was no constant ringing. Sound wasn’t muffled or distorted. There was nothing. Silence, full and complete, forever marked a traitor to those that raised and molded him.
Over the months, they’d all become like family to him, in it for the love of the sea and travel rather than the coin.
Later, he’d wonder if perhaps that was the first problem.
Tink.
Mercer leaned against a rail, his fingers hooked around it more for ‘listening’ rather than balance as the vibrations from the hull ran through his joints. He’d have been lying if he had said it was only for the promise of exploration that he was journeying with them. Some nights, he may have even believed it himself but the reality was he was searching. Trying to stay one step ahead of those that outcast him in a quest for knowledge and what better place to find it than the Dragon Isles?
Ayla sat near the bow, braiding a length of rope only to undo it and start all over again, keeping her hands busy as they prepared to dock soon. Through the lantern light, she caught him looking, giving an exaggerated tug of the line, pulling it tight with a grin which caused Mercer to smile back.
They’d been practically inseparable since he’d joined, spending many long nights in each others company with a platonic fondness for one another. Her mind and heart had a calm and stillness that oftentimes reminded him of his brother before everything had gone to shit and so he clung to her like a buoy. Not just to keep himself afloat when the tempest of his past came battering his thoughts around but as a reminder for why he had chosen this path. Why he committed his days to saving someone that currently wanted him in the grave.
Leoris stood off to the side, explaining something with wide, sweeping gestures while waiting for the call to raise sail. Another one of his grand tales, Mercer figured. The small group surrounding him hollered with shoulders that bobbed and shoved into one another. He couldn’t hear the laughter but he could still feel the warmth and rhythm of it all, something he had come to love.
…Tink.
An unfamiliar pulse had him looking around, trying to place its origin but Ayla had drifted to his side, gently tapping his arm for his attention. “You’re brooding again,” she said, half teasing, to which Mercer snorted and rolled his eyes as she passed over a cup of something bitter. “I’m supervising,” he insisted, taking the cup with a gloved hand and raising it in thanks.
“Oh, right, right. Excuse me, I forg-”
Tinktink.
He looked away with that sensation again, the reverberation working its way through the soles of his boots and into his knees while unease washed over him. Perhaps he was overreacting. No one else seemed to be paying it much mind.
Tinktinktinktinkti-
Finally, that vibration was recognizable to him.
The anchor chain.
Weren’t they dropping it a little early?
The crew's collective panic hit him like a freight, paralyzing and pinning him in place as what was once familiar suddenly turned violent as the chain ran. Links moved at an abnormal speed, tearing through the hawse until it came to an abrupt stop, chain rattling taut. The deck lurched as if the ship had been yanked by the throat, nearly throwing Mercer off his feet.
The anchor had wedged itself into the jagged seabed, only to break free and send them off course. Even worse - the chain had started its sprint once again. Others had rushed to the windlass, trying to get it under control. Ayla had begun to dash over to help though Leoris was quick to lift his hands. The same hands that had told so, so many stories, were now urging them to stay away. Get back. Mercer grasped at the spine of her shirt, yanking her back towards him.
It all happened in a blink. The anchor found purchase again, except it didn’t hold this time. The vessel lurched as the housing was ripped straight from the deck in a lightless explosion of splintered planks, metal and bolts. The chain glided and whipped as if it were weightless, cutting through everything in its path before the entire fixture went over the side and was pulled beneath the waves, taking some of the crew and Leoris with it. Mercer felt himself yell. Whether it was words or just sound, he’d never know.
Chaos erupted and the ship began to list. It hadn’t just taken the housing but had torn an entire chunk out of the deck and hull. Not only were they taking on water but they were still full sail, now heading straight for the towering, rocky coast line of the Azure Span. Without Leoris’ leadership, a few were already abandoning, leaping and taking their chances with frigid waters.
At some point, Ayla had stumbled back into him and when he finally peered down over her shoulder, he saw red. A lot of red. Trembling hands were clutched over her stomach and her shoulders shook with what he could only assume were frantic sobs, having been impaled by fragments of the deck. Or maybe the housing? It didn’t matter.
Save her, save her, helphersaveher.
He didn’t even think, moving on instinct as he pulled her close, looping an arm beneath one armpit, fingers settling against the opposite shoulder and gripping tightly while he led them to the edge and leapt, plunging into the waters. He’d never swam so hard in his life, trying to put as much distance as he could between them, the ship and those rocks as he fought the waves and currents on his back, dragging her along with him.
Mercer watched from a distance as one by one, the people he loved were pulled beneath the surface, slammed against stone and swallowed by the sea. One by one, he felt each death as their emotions were snuffed out. A few had seemed to’ve accepted their fate but that did little to quell the absolute agony Mercer found himself in. Worst, still, was the woman bleeding out in his arms - not just physically. Her regret overwhelmed him, wrapping around his throat like a vice as he struggled to breathe and tread water.
“Ayla,” he rasped. What could he say? They both knew she was going to die. Too much blood had been lost and adrift as they were, there was no telling how long it’d be before he could make it to a safer coast or if he’d even make it at all. He pitched forward, righting himself to bob along with the surf, carefully turning her to face him. Mercer felt her speaking but without the lanterns it was entirely too dark for him to make out the words and his heart wrenched.
Refusing to release her even for a moment, he used his teeth to tear off one of his gloves and gently cradled the side of her face. It was the only thing he could do for her. Focusing on those long nights and longer conversations, he flooded her with the calm she always brought him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered in repetition, a mantra he’d keep repeating even after she’d long gone lifeless.
By the time rescue came, everyone was lost. Ayla’s body would be the only one recovered for a long while as he had never let her go. Mercer would later find out the ship had been in desperate need of repairs and had skipped numerous safety systems. Officially, a faulty windlass would be blamed but he couldn’t help the feeling that if he had been able to place those vibrations, ones he felt long before anyone had heard or seen anything, that maybe it could’ve been prevented. He’d come to terms with that. Probably. What would always stick with him, however, was that the shrapnel had been meant for him.
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