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Sweat dripped off Dammon's chin, down his chest, tickling between his pecs. The entire stable burned hot, from his breath to the mouth pressed against his neck to the body pinning him against the wall. Moments before, Dammon had been cutting a strip of leather and twisting it to explain a möbius strip, and now the loop lay on the ground. Not the first time he'd seduced someone with leatherwork, but the only time he'd seduced them with geometry.
"I…" he gasped.
"Yes?"
"I need to tell you—"
A tongue flickered over his earlobe, up the angle of his ear.
Dammon's words sputtered out.
This was foolish, pathetic, a joke made by Basheba herself. After so long alone, now he'd caught someone's attention? Now that he was, well, taken?
A presence shifted inside of him, picking over his thoughts, plucking knowledge out of his mind and placing its own words next to Dammon's thoughts. Images, too, of it watching the man currently kissing Dammon. Half nude, walking back from the bathing in the river. Strapping his gauntlets on. Tucked behind the canvas wall of the Grove smithy, one hand under his robe, stroking himself, one of Dammon's sweat-soaked scarves held to his nose.
"You took my scarves," Dammon said.
"Only one," Rolan murmured into his neck. "Gods above, you're better than a scarf."
"How long have you—"
"Only once!"
Another image crept into Dammon's mind: Rolan crouching behind the platform, rutting against his hand, lips bitten raw as he watched Dammon stretch sore muscles.
"More than once," Dammon said.
"Hush."
Zlo sent another image of Rolan. His ear pressed to the wall of the current smithy, his tail pulsing under his robes as he listened to Dammon's moan.
"Do you know about—"
He does, Zlorb said in Damon's mind. Many nights, our minds have brushed. I've called to him. Offered him delights of the mind. The flesh. Tonight I finally found something to bring him running.
A fluttering filled his stomach as Zlo's familiar bulk condensed into a heaviness low in his bowels. Cool, even after all the hours spent inside of him, which made Zlo's touch impossible to ignore. Reflexively, Dammon tightened. It stretched against him. Stroked him. A slippery swirl on the inside, Zlo's whispers hypnotically soothing, tense, tight muscles slowly relaxing. Then, open, muscles stretching, still pliant. The wet cool of Zlo's tendrils slipped under his clothes, around his thighs and over his chest. Each brought a slick caress, followed by goosebumps. Rolan nibbled his ears, the dry heat of his breath sending Dammon's mind spiraling.
"More," Dammon sighed. His shirt rippled as Zlo untied the stays.
"Greedy," Rolan chuckled.
Zlo purred, You will get more if you help me have him.
Like always, images assailed his mind, the same promises to leave Dammon unharmed. No, even better, quivering with debauchery. Without Zlo inside, Dammon felt hot and empty, unbalanced. Desperate for the phasm to take him again. Desperate to melt against Rolan's mouth. "Yes, hells yes."
A length of Zlo coiled down each of his arms, over his wrists, then Zlo spread his limbs wide, baring his chest with it.
Outloud, Zlo announced, "Your prize, wizard, as I promised. Come and play. Play and come. Revel in your temptation."
"Look at you," Rolan said, licking his finger and dragging it over Damon's nipple. "Already perked." His nail scraped lower, following his naval-line over the soft curve of his belly, to hook into the waistband of his trousers. Zlo parted Dammon's fly, mounding his shaft in the opening so Rolan could continue his tracing.
"If you want him, you will defer to me," Zlo said.
Rolan held Dammon's cock, examining it carefully, then forced his hand into Dammon's trousers to cup his stones. Dammon strained against Zlo's grip, a strangled, "Please," escaping his throat. One of Zlo's tendrils stuffed itself between his lips, slowly working on and out as Rolan watched hungrily. Another looped around his wrists, securing them to his horns.
"Within reason," Rolan decided. "You are an aberration."
"Harming you serves me not."
"I've gathered, but in addition, you will not rifle through my mind like you claim you can."
"Then you will ask for what you want. Out loud."
Rolan looked away. The knob in his throat bobbed as he swallowed. Lazily, Zlo dipped into Dammon's throat, sliding around the spot that would've made him gag. Thin enough to breathe around. Could it thicken? Oh, hells, it could, couldn't it? Form a bulb, a single blockade, take Dammon to points of dizzying euphoria that he'd only read about, Zlo monitoring his thoughts and freeing him just as bliss blotted out his world.
A filthy little mind, Zlo whispered. So ruined with your sordid smutteries you would let me take anything from you?
It swelled in his throat. Let him swallow around it. Let tears well. Too soon, it shrank back.
"Dammon is waiting," Zlo said to Rolan. "Dammon is desperate. We need to hear your desires."
Another swell, its weight heavy on his tongue. It slid between his lips, flexing against the column of his throat. Rolan stared like he could see it moving. Slowly, Zlorb started doing Dammon's clothing back up, ignoring Dammon's muffled protests.
"A kiss," Rolan spat.
In a cool rush, Zlorb freed Dammon's mouth and ordered, "Kiss him."
Wine stained lips pressed against Dammon's, sweetly, gently. Of all the mouths Dammon had kissed, Rolan's was the softest. Rolan's long fingers cupped Dammon's jaw, one slipping up his check to rub his thumb over the bone. Slowly, Dammon relaxed, Zlo holding him up. Slowly, Rolan leaned into him, knee on knee, thigh against thigh, the worn fabric of Rolan's robe soft against Dammon's chest.
"Make it pretty," Zlo commanded.
Rolan's tongue lapped against his lower lip, and Dammon opened up, glad to take him. Fingers squeezed his chin, holding him in place, Rolan kissing him deeper and deeper, pulling away to show Zlo how their forked tongues tangled with each other, sucking Dammon's lip, Rolan's own lips dark and glossy. Dammon's hips jerked towards Rolan's, so eager.
"You will not find satisfaction this way," Zlo said. Slime flowed over his stomach, flattened, held him flat as it hardened into a shield.
"Fascinating," Rolan said, running his claws over it. Dammon's trousers slipped to his knees. His sack hung free. Exposed. Rolan stroked the soft skin as he returned to nibbling Dammon's shoulder, his palm over the mound. No matter how Rolan pushed, no matter how Dammon jerked his hips, the pressure against his shaft refused to change. Maddening, how it left Dammon wanting and aching. Maddening, too, was Rolan's delicate touch on delicate skin. Rolan was gentle where Zlo was rough, dry against its wet, hot compared to its cool. And his mouth fell naturally into a smirk whenever he pulled back, far from the neutral face Zlo sculpted.
Heat built inside Dammon's stomach as Rolan petted and played with him, still with that clinical look on his face. With his cock trapped, his balls felt more. Each stroke made them jerk towards his core, made him clench around nothing, made Dammon arch and flex for more.
"Keep going," Zlo ordered.
"I could do this for hours," Rolan said, wrapping his fingers around the base of Dammon's sack.
Dammon moaned, shaking his head.
"Do you need to stop?" Rolan asked.
"I will tell you—" Zlo started.
"I'm not asking you."
A dark chuckle echoed in Dammon's ears. Tendrils ran through his hair, grabbing hold right at his scalp, and Zlo forced Dammon to look Rolan in the eye.
"Answer your hero," it said. "He begs to know if you wish to continue."
The world blurred, Dammon's eyes wet with need and frustration, and in a strained voice he said, "Please."
"That's not an answer," Zlo said. "You must be absolutely clear."
"Yes, I want to c—" he gasped as Rolan's hand fondled him, gasped again as Zlo held his hair tighter, and managed, "c-continue!"
Time fell away as Rolan resumed his examination, corners of his mouth curled in smug satisfaction as he asked Zlo to turn Dammon one way or the other, to strip him nude. In cool, professional tones he cataloged how fiendish Dammon was, marking in a small journal where he fell on the tiefling spectrum of human and devil. Human, more human than most tieflings. Where did Rolan fall? What hid under those robes?
"Move his leg next. Testicles, human." Rolan ran the smooth end of his graphite pen over the skin, increasing the pressure until he separated them. "Do you like that?"
Dammon flushed.
Rolan tapped them, just lightly enough to be a threat.
"Yes," Dammon yelped.
"Hm. Answer more quickly next time. Percussive treatment taken positively. Phasm, bare a strip up the underside of his phallus. I wish to examine its sensitivity."
More requests piled in: offer additional mouths to pass Dammon's kiss between, test how Dammon might react to Rolan's tail sliding through Zlo to trace his rim, find the exact length they could pull his nipples before he cried out for mercy, rifle through Dammon's thoughts to confirm his stammered confessions were the truth, the wizard gathering more data before deciding his next course of action.
"Sloppy," Rolan tsk'd. "Usually you're so neat, but now…"
Dammon nodded.
"An embarrassment."
Dammon groaned.
Rolan was so focused that he didn't seem to notice Zlo lifting the tails of his robe, blooming them around him like the petals of a flower. Only once his trousers hit the ground did Rolan react, reaching for his own length. Zlo caught his wrist.
"I will attend to you. Do not allow your hands to be distracted from your prize," Zlo demanded.
Again, Rolan pressed his palm into the mound of Zlo that covered Dammon's length, its mass slowly parting. Finally, pressure, the barest hint of it. Not enough, but soon, soon—
Rolan pulled his hand away, long strings of Zlo tangled around his fingers. More of Zlo clung to their legs. Every time they touched, it squished between them. When they pulled away, the aberration stretched and looped tighter, a serpent, a spider, wrapping the two of them in a cocoon of ecstasy. To what end? Would they return from this as individuals or would they break down, melt together, bursting forth as an irreversibly twined creature, bound forever by the thing that played with them?
Rolan's bare thigh slipped between his.
"Ride it," Zlo ordered.
Wrists still bound to his horns, Dammon rolled his hips forward, cheeks parting around wide muscle. No friction, nothing but a motion that usually led to release, but here promised only the throbbing ache of denial. Rolan's hands held his waist. The heat of Rolan's gaze drew a warm, frantic path over Dammon's hips, stomach, the tender skin above the base of his cock. Streams of Zlo tickled under each of his ridges, over his shoulder blades, along his jaw and around his nipples, a constant parade of stimulation everywhere but the one place he needed it. His hip rubbed Rolan's tip, smearing across his skin, the wet staying unlike Zlo's liquid touch.
"Hells and every devil in them, I need more," Dammon begged. Rolan's lips were back on his neck. Dammon shook. "Please Zlo, Rolan, whoever."
"Perhaps we should give him something," said Rolan.
"Are we not?" Zlo said.
"You're being deliberately obtuse."
"And you are expecting me to read your mind after expressly forbidding it. Say what it is you want, or I will continue with my own delights."
Zlo squeezed Dammon's cock, making him moan.
Rolan swallowed. Tried to say something. Swallowed again, and in a shaky voice said, "We should stop teasing him."
"Are you offering yourself?"
Dammon met Rolan's eyes. Rolan rolled his lips together, eyeing the phasm, then smirked. "Of course I'm volunteering. You might have access to his thoughts, but I know things about our shared anatomies Dammon hasn't even considered."
Gracefully, Zlo twisted Rolan so his legs were on either side of Dammon's hips, presenting Dammon with a flushed, hard mage. Rolan's robes, the frustrating fabric that had smoothed his body into a mystery, finally hiked up to his hips. Everything below, bare.
Zlo knew how to wind Dammon tight and play unspeakable pleasure across his nerves, and in the last tenday, Dammon had found himself enraptured by the colors in its form and tantalized by the twisted grace of its limbs, but its beauty was primal. Alien. A sensuality Dammon had to learn.
Rolan, however, sprawled back against Zlo. Flesh, bone and meat. Alive. Exposed. Wanting. The faint shine of sweat highlighted the sharpness of his face. Even now, a glower threatened to spill across his brows and over his lips. A spitfire of a man, as bold and bitter as the wine he loved. Dammon wanted to run polish, oils, and fingers over Rolan's heated skin. Get to know every line of his razor perfection.
"Look at him staring," Rolan said. "Clearly, I'm what he prefers to look at. Release his arms so he can touch."
Heat rose in Dammon's cheeks. He looked away, down, where Rolan's thighs clamped around his hips, flesh molded against flesh. Not a safer place. Rolan's everything was right there. He had a scar over one hip and lines of ridges on his thighs, hips, even down his navel-line, each a long line of "touch here" that pointed right at Rolan's cock. And, devil's below, there were ridges there, too, far more fiendishly gifted than Dammon.
Hells, Dammon had missed hellish cocks. Shyly, he ran his finger down it, enjoying how Rolan twitched in time to his pad on the bumps. Perhaps they should have been barbs, dulled to harmless vestigiality by human blood, the type of fiendish anatomy that wanted to dig in, that appreciated being squeezed and tugged.
"Take him," Zlo ordered.
"You're still covering me," said Dammon.
The mound of Zlo over his own shaft swirled into a thick length. It snaked around Rolan's shaft and stroked hard, thrice, each pull sending Rolan's eyes rolling back, then flexed and disappeared between where they joined.
"Oh, gods." Rolan went stiff, a look of introspection on his face. "It's touching me. It's touching my—my privacy!"
Dammon shivered as Zlo's coolness settled over his own privacy. Molded to it, sinking into every fold, then pressed forward. Barely anything at first, just the smallest breach. Slower than the last few times, certainly. Almost like their first time together. Continuous, unstoppable, but so smoothly that his body accepted it without resistance.
With a gasp, Rolan exclaimed, "It's in me!"
"It's alright, it's alright," Dammon said, certain that Zlo was doing to him exactly what it was doing to Rolan. Going deep, first, but keeping a knob in his prostate, rubbing it so his legs shook as it reclaimed his body.
"Oh, it's…" Rolan started. "...it's so far in. I didn't know something could go that deep."
"I take it you've never laid with a coiled incubus."
"And you have?"
"Lain, sat and stood. I drew the line at flight. This—" Dammon pressed a hand below Rolan's navel-line, pressing until Rolan arched his back and the hardness of Zlo was obvious. "This is barely anything."
"Perhaps I should defer to you in matters of anatomy." Rolan laughed and added, "No, I don't think I will."
Zlo split, spreading Dammon's hole in three directions. Rolan gasped. It molded back together and vibrated. Rolan gulped, clung to Dammon, claws nearly digging into his shoulders. Looked up into his eyes. Stared like Dammon was the only thing keeping him grounded. As Zlo worked them both open, Rolan dragged his fingers over Dammon's chest, curling them into fists, groaning against his neck. Dammon held him tight and whispered, "Shh, someone will hear!"
"I know that!" Rolan snapped. "But it's—the vibrating! It's so—Gods above, it's nicer than I expected! How has it—how am I so stretched? So quickly?" He leaned back to look, revealing Zlo's invasion. Revealing so much more. Its shaft rooted over Dammon's base, an iridescent mimicry of his trapped cock, down to the size and shape. Much more translucent. Dammon could see inside Rolan.
Red, Zlo murmured.
Yes, red. The most beautiful, mesmerizing red. The shaft swelled. Rolen hissed, and it went back down.
So delicate. So breakable, Zlo crooned. Alas, I fear I may become too captivated. You will take the lead.
"You need to move," Rolan said, their words overlapping.
"Are you sure?"
"Do it. Take me."
"Shh!"
"Have me, Dammon." Rolan grabbed his collar. Pulled him close. His pupils were so dilated only a thin halo of flame remained, a full eclipse of lust. "Now, before I get bored."
Dammon kissed him. Their horns hit, Zlo wrapping around them, trapping the two mouth-to-mouth. The muscles in Dammon's rear flexed as he scooped forward, slowly, since Rolan didn't live with Zlo constantly playing with him. His hips pressed against Rolan's cheeks, then a quick pull out and slow thrust back in, mentally tracking what angle made Rolan flush and how Rolan adjusted his hips. To his delight, Zlo mirrored the movement, taking Dammon as Dammon took Rolan. With no feeling, he clung to each of Rolan's grunts and gasps, wringing whatever arousal he could out of making Rolan squirm.
"Gods a—" Rolan choked as Dammon stepped up his pace.
"You like it?"
"You're quite—ngh!—thorough!"
"Didn't want you to get bored."
Rolan rolled his eyes, looked at Dammon through his lashes, and yawned.
"Play nice," Zlo ordered, thrusting deep into both of them. Dammon's hips lurched forward, filling Rolan more, and filling himself in turn.
"Hells," he gasped.
"Yes," Rolan sighed, voice rumbling with lust. "Yes, right there."
"Right there," Dammon echoed, thrusting again.
"Fill me," Rolan ordered. Dammon took hold of Rolan's shaft, the ridges standing out, and stroked it, making sure he caught each bump on the way up, like his hand was clinging to it. Dammon felt ready, Rolan seemed ready, so he picked up the pace, put some power to it, Rolan's sweet sounds fueling his thrusts. After a moment, Rolan's hand joined his, moving in unison. Taking over so Dammon could hold his hips.
Zlo thickened.
Dammon hissed, nothing to distract him from the stretch, the burn. His useless cock stayed buried under Zlo. For a moment he wondered if he would come, or if this was his new reality: neutered for the amusement of the organism that lived inside him. The phasm's temperature and texture made his shaft feel ghostly, like a lost thing, a phantom limb, the rhythmic dangling of his sack the only reminder that he was a creature that craved satisfaction.
Or perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps he was now only for others, a way to please them. First Zlo, who played inside him, and now Rolan, smirking and playing with himself as Dammon panted and sweated and served.
You are understanding, Zlo said.
"I thought you were all about pleasure," Dammon said.
Pleasure, yes, but not your pleasure. Your lack of it makes mine sweeter. Let me have your bliss. Let me take it from you.
Zlo stroked over his ear, slipping a cold coil inside, a threat to meet his brain mentally and physically. Dammon shook. Whimpered as Zlo adjusted itself, avoiding Dammon's prostate, so his rear only knew pressure and friction. Nodded, because yes, he was ruined, and he would let Zlo take anything. His body, his breath, his bliss.
Besides, creatures like you are limited, searching for pleasure in the most obvious places. I look forward to seeing you evolve.
Serve. Understand. Evolve.
Rolan stroked himself harder, Zlo thickening again. Dammon grit his teeth, trying to keep rhythm. His muscles shook from exhaustion, his thoughts wrinkled as he took and was taken. He stared at Rolan's chest, his neck, where that hot pulse pumped, the throat spewing ragged moans. Hells, that voice. Those eclipsed eyes, the way Rolan's fang caught his lip, how the wizard squirmed, hair falling over his horns, brows rumbled together and lips wet as his composure cracked. The sounds Dammon—no, the sounds Zlo fucked out of him made Dammon ache, his entire core of being reduced to a desperate need to...
"Perfection," Rolan moaned.
Dammon nodded.
"Yes, that's it, good boy—"
Dammon's gut clenched.
Very good, Zlo said. Right here, in your thoughts, this is where it is starting. This I will cultivate.
"Keep going!" Rolan ordered, and in Dammon's brain, a thrill of hot pleasure rolled over him.
"Zlo," Dammon gasped.
Another burst of heat.
"Yes!" Rolan's voice cracked.
More heat.
Rolan clawed his way upright. His eyes rolled back as the angle changed, and he blindly peppered kisses down Dammon's neck, to his shoulder, their chests slipping against each other. Dammon lifted him, forced him down onto the shaft, and Rolan bit his shoulder as Zlo rammed back inside. Again, that hot wave of ecstasy steamrolled his thoughts, ironing his brain smooth and stupid, reducing him to a fuck machine.
Keep. Rhythm.
The longer he fucked, the longer he was fucked, the more of him flaked away, petals of insecurity peeling back to reveal a core of surety, quenched and tempered by the pleasure-waves Zlo sent rolling over his brain. He was a loop of give and take, a complete circuit, heat building with nowhere to go, the impurities that made Dammon Dammon scorched to nothing. His world simplified to rhythm and fever, to burning muscles, to a complete conviction that this was what he was made for. A throughway, a conduit, a pleasure-sleeve. A means for Zlo to have Rolan come on its desire.
Zlo moved against its pleasure-sleeve's shaft. The sleeve barely noticed—didn't notice, not until Zlo peeled back, reminding his length it was once warm and dry, and said, Do you want it back?
Words didn't come. Mutely, the sleeve shook his head. Things were better this way. With it tucked away, obsolete, no longer his to enjoy, no longer a distraction. Existing for the pleasure of others.
Look at you. Magnificent.
"Right there," Rolan moaned. "Gods, Dammon, you're amazing."
The sleeve kept on, breath hissing between his teeth like steam, rolling into Rolan as his pleasure overflowed, spilled onto his stomach in lazy spurts. Kept on until Rolan crumbled against him, melted limp in Zlo's mass.
Perfection, Zlo purred. My perfection.
The sleeve slowed. Stopped. Swallowed as he tried to catch his breath, still not quite in his head. Not ready to be return. Solely anchored to this plane by Zlo, by its length in his body, its magic in his mind. Slowly the mound over his forgotten cock peeled back, the phasm whispering to Rolan, who nodded, so come-drunk he'd agree to anything.
Zlo wrapped tighter around their thighs. Stroked them together, its form perfectly suctioned around their cocks. Rolan embraced him. Planted kisses on his cheeks.
"Come for me, Dammon," Rolan ordered.
That word settled over his brain like dew on grass. Dammon.
"Come for me."
"I…" Dammon managed.
Rolan took Dammon by his jaw, looking Dammon in the eye as he said, "You have done very well so far."
Again, Zlo rewarded him, swirling over his cock, his prostate, his mind. So much, a tide, a flood, a drowning.
Rolan's breath warmed his ear. "You've done very well. Do not disappoint me. Come."
Zlo looped around his shoulders, licking up the back of his ears, working his shaft in tandem with his rear.
"You will be good," Rolan assured him, running his nails down Dammon's chest. "You will come."
With me, Zlo added. As I've shared with you, you share with me. Yours and mine.
Yours and mine, yours and mine, yours and—
Dammon's head fell back, Rolan's lips on his collarbones, Zlo quivering inside him, around him, those waves again erupting in his mind. They pulsed in time, Zlo's pleasure crashing into his brain, Dammon returning it twofold. Another circuit, another echo, a one sided object, never ending and unbroken, both sinking together into the depths of hedonism, shaking apart in—
Sharp pain sliced up Dammon's shoulder, tipping his mind out of the death spiral and into freefall, until it crashed back into his body. He shuddered back to reality in stages, dragging Zlo with him.
"You're a biter," Dammon said.
"And you are a bitten," Rolan said, happily wiping the mark on Dammon's shoulder. He held the hem of his robe, ready to wipe Dammon's cock.
Nearly angrily, Zlo said, "He spilled outside of me! Do not touch it. I told you, that is mine."
Rolan grabbed a handful of the phasm and said, "And I told you we are sharing. Taking him over the edge is not sharing."
"He took me."
"Idiots."
Dammon nodded, melting back into Zlo, who, for once, didn't seem to have him.
Rolan caught them. Lowered them to the hay and pulled a blanket over their nudity. Zlo wove itself against Dammon, between his fingers, his toes, the strands of his hair, the two curling around each other, again blurring together. Gathering under his ridges and fingernails, nestling in the wrinkles of his elbows and knuckles, tucking itself in the hollows under his arms and along the arches of his feet. Slow as the breath of a lover, it pulsed against him, a length flowing over his knuckles.
"Both of you are idiots," Rolan said, lying next to them. The way he said idiots felt like affection.