Archive of Our Own ^beta

The stone wall threatens to crumble under Rerir’s grip. His sharpened talons pierce into the rock, deeper and deeper the longer he glares at the scene in the center of the graveyard. His heart sits forgotten to the lightkeeper’s side. The vibrant magenta glow of the organ is barely a flicker in the middle of the vast blue flame that pours out. 

It pulses past the confines of the glass—ends wisping around the Fae’s figure as he leans closer to that Traveler. 

The two peer into an open, velvet box. Jewels and pendants, possibly centuries old and priceless in their value, are carefully laid inside. Flins’ hand hovers over the Traveler—placing his fingers on the center of accessories. Seeing if the rings may fit on his slim fingers.

Small. Dainty. Fragile. His bones would snap if Rerir were to so much as flick his skin. Flins is soft with his touches, like he has come to the same conclusion. 

There’s a delicate smile on the lightkeeper’s lips. A light in his eyes. A soft flush on the tips of his cheeks as he pushes a stray piece of hair behind the Traveler’s ears. The distance between the two is closed by the blonde. Eyes screwed shut as he kisses Flins’ lips.

The Fae doesn’t still. His hand wraps around the Traveler’s waist and pulls him closer, their chests flush against each other. The kiss doesn’t deepen. Doesn’t progress past their lips barely interlocked before the Traveler pulls back with a burning face. They share soft laughter between themselves. 

The stone shatters under Rerir’s grip. It crumbles to the cold ground of the cemetery, startling nearby birds to rise back to the sky. He’s gone before either of them are able to notice his presence. 

To the back of the island he waits, pacing back and forth by the sea and punching against the damp rocks. It doesn’t make sense. Why would Flins put on such an act for someone else? To pretend he’s soft, that anything less than slashes and burns could make him feel fulfilled?

That Traveler is nothing. Offering a fleeting kiss like that? Flins would never want that. He’d never beg for it in the night. Flins wants pain. He wants his nerves alight with blood covering his skin before it heals back over.

Rerir is the only one who can give that to him. No one else would be willing to go to the lengths that he does. Refuse to hold back any semblance of restraint as he inflicts pain to Flins’ body. Breaks his mind piece by piece until the only thing he can even utter is Rerir’s name.

How delusional must he be to believe that the Traveler could ever please him. A kiss like that is hardly satisfactory. Such a soft touch that the breeze of the passing wind would slap him harder. Does he truly crave something so delicate and intimate? Impossible. 

The sinner comes to a pause. The tips of his boots being washed over by the water’s edge. He glares at his reflection in the ocean—magenta eye glowing on the sea’s surface as his face warps and twists with the waves.

Why does he even feel like this? The little arrangement he has with Flins’ isn’t exactly light hearted or pure. There’s nothing as sweet as love between them. He does not care for the light keeper. What he does in their time apart should not bother him to such a degree. 

If anything, the Fae is a fool. To believe he can seek out others and still expect Rerir to follow him to his bed? Ridiculous. He is not one to wait around for his turn. He does not share things that belong to him.

He blinks as the realization washes over him.

That is why he must be so agitated. That little fae is his property. His name would be branded into his neck if only he didn’t have that cursed regeneration. There must be a way around it. Something he could do to properly mark his claim on Flins. 

Maybe he could leave a fragment of a tendril behind. It could wrap around his neck, hidden beneath his collar and continuously burn and blister his skin. Even when they’re apart, that will always be there. Marking Flins’ skin. Bringing him pleasure and pain at every waking moment. 

Could he come untouched just from that? Spill into his briefs while conversing with the Traveler thanks to the uncanny hands that scaled his windpipe?

“It’s not often that I find you sulking, Heart Beat. Rough day?”

The teasing tone of the light keeper brings Rerir’s thoughts to a halt. He forces his lips into a frown and turns his gaze from the ocean to meet the one a few paces away. His hands are clasped behind his back, head tilted slightly to the side as he grins. The expression is just as mocking as his voice. Rerir growls out in reply, “Fae.”

“My my, I don’t even get a little today? Something really must be upsetting you.”

“You truly are a fool.”

“I fear that doesn’t answer my question.”

Rerir kicks at a nearby stone in his irritation. He doesn’t watch as it skips across the calm waters and disappears beneath the tides. His hands ball into fists at his side, talons threatening to dig into his palm. “Since when am I required to give you an answer?”

“Not required, no, but it would be nice.”

“You are well aware that I am not.”

Flins hums, the grin on his lips growing as he nods his head. “Indeed I am. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

Like. 

Tendrils break out of the ground by Flins’ feet. Burning tentacles and distorted hands wrapping around his limbs and sliding under his sleeves. With the short distance between them, Rerir can smell his blistering skin. 

A filthy moan is torn from the Ratnik’s throat. His face is already flush—cheeks pink and eyes tearing for any passing phantoms on the island to see. The Sinner ignores the coil that begins to tug in his gut as he walks towards him.  

“Yet you seek affection from that traveler. Smiling from that mock of a kiss? I never considered you someone who enjoyed softness, Flins.”

The Fae chokes out a laugh, drool beginning to pool in the corner of his lips as a tentacle rises and wraps around his throat. “A–Ahah, so you saw that. I thought I felt eyes on me.”

Rerir stops his advancement when the toes of their boots touch. A hand wraps itself in Flins’ hair and pulls his head back, forcing their eyes to meet as he glares down at him. The Ratnik only grins, a tent already beginning to form between his legs. 

 “Have you forgotten who it is that you belong to? My name may as well be stitched in your skin. What would that traveler think if you were honest with him, hm? If you were to tell him what exactly gets you off. How vastly would his perception of you change, I wonder, if he knew how much of a disgusting whore you actually are.”

“Rerir—”

“He would hesitate to even raise his blade in your direction, yet I would rip you apart if you would only ask! So tell me, how could we ever be comparable?” 

Their faces are barely a breath apart—the bandages wrapping Rerir’s mouth being the only thing that keeps their lips from touching. His chest heaves, eyes locked on the way Flins’ mouth opens and closes as he attempts to form a reply. He swallows, forcing it down past the tendril that is imprinting itself against his throat. 

Unlike their usual endeavors, the light keeper is not struggling in this hold. Out here on the island’s edge, where any passing ship or wanderer may see, he puts up no resistance to the tentacles wrapping around his body. A willing victim. A suicidal rabbit who knowingly traveled into the snake’s den. 

Almost as if this entire scene was one he anticipated from the beginning. 

When the fae finally manages to speak, it’s quiet. His eyes have shifted away from Rerir’s to watch over the ocean. There’s a further flush that reaches the tip of his ears, as though he’s embarrassed of what he finds himself admitting. 

“I wanted to know what it was like.”

Rerir raises an eyebrow. “What it was like?”

Flins nods, or attempts as best as he is able in his current predicament. “A kiss. In all my years, I have never experienced one. I was curious.”

The Sinner can only stare down at him. From the corner of his eye, he can see how the familiar magenta hue of his heart begins to overtake the fading blue glow of the lantern. His chest constricts along with it. They both pulse in rapid succession, his own breath threatening to quicken as he takes in the confession. 

The Fae who has willingly folded beneath him has never kissed another being. Despite all their encounters, all their sins that will stay buried with the bodies on this island of death, the two of them have never kissed. Why would they? Something so intimate, so fond does not suit their arrangement. There’s no need for their mouths to touch. No need for any of Rerir’s bare body to ever lay upon the Fae’s skin, less it be his cock down his throat or nestled between his legs. 

There’s a sturdy wall built between them that has never been challenged. Flins has never asked for more than Rerir has already given. Yet this was something he always craved? Something he knew could not even be mentioned in front of Rerir? 

It has been months of this dance between them. Countless times they have destroyed the Ratnik’s abode and left walls and fabrics stained in their sin. Yet Flins reached out to that passing traveler for something like this out of the blue? After being satisfied for as long as their arrangement has lasted? 

That doesn’t make any sense. Something must have changed for Flins to suddenly reach out to another being. But what—

A passing memory of their last encounter plays through Rerir’s mind. The act he did without reason before he fled from the bedroom. 

Is this all because Rerir revealed his mouth for the first time? Licked a stripe up his cheek before vanishing into the night?

Ridiculous. That would mean that Flins would have desired a kiss from him but chose to seek it out with someone else. Despite the fact that he belongs to Rerir. Despite the fact his come has soaked into his skin and digested in his stomach. Flins sought out someone else. 

Does he not believe that Rerir can manage something like a kiss? That it would be too much for him? A fool. This lightkeeper is a fool. 

“That was not a kiss, Fae.”

It truly wasn’t. The kiss he shared with the Traveler was barely anything more than a peck. It wasn’t real. Wasn’t violent in the way it should be for Flins to properly enjoy it. 

Flins finally looks back at him then, eyes hooded and grin fallen from his lips. 

“Then why don’t you show me a proper one?” 

It’s as much a challenge as it is a request. Whether Rerir would shatter the remainder of this wall between them, or add another brick, is up to him. It would have been kind, if there was ever an actual choice for Rerir to make. It had already long been decided for him. 

His free hand tears the bandages away from his face, talons scratching across his cheek in his haste. His wound lay open, no blood to fall from his cut as he presses their lips together. Teeth nip into Flins’ bottom lip, the familiar taste of the Ratnik’s blood pooling into their mouths. He can feel the vibrations of Flins’ moans of approval in his throat. 

Releasing the tendrils that loop around the Fae’s body, Rerir grabs him by the waist. He’s lifted easily from the ground as though he’s weightless. Willingly allowing himself to be manhandled as Rerir slams him against the nearby cliffs edge. 

Their mouths only part as Flins is left gasping from the pain—wind knocked from his lungs as rocks dig into his spine. Rerir’s tongue quickly slides through the opening. Licking along his teeth and massaging the other muscle. 

His legs part naturally as Rerir positions his own between them. Thigh pressing against his growing tent. A spot of pre no doubt staining the front of his grey trousers and smearing along Rerir’s. 

The Sinner’s hands haven’t left Flins’ waist. His thumbs touch just below his navel, pressing into him as the Ratnick humps against his leg like a dog. He’s unable to stop the amused smirk that twitches on his lips. It breaks the kiss, his tongue licking a stray droplet of blood on Flins’ mouth as he glares down at him. 

For a fool, his Little Fae always makes such a gorgeous sight. 

Head thrown back against the rocks. Flush almost as red as the blood dripping from his torn lips engulfing his face. Tears already dripping down his cheeks. Rerir can’t help but stretch his tongue out and lick up the salty stream. 

His mouth moves to his neck, biting into the skin as he presses his thigh harsher against Flins’ cock. He commands his tentacles to return. Burning hands pulling at the complicated clothing and attempting to slip their way beneath the fabric. 

“Wait—”

For the first time in all their many indulgences, a protest is given to Rerir’s advances. His entire body freezes, tendrils retreating beneath the ground. He almost removes his entire body until Flins’ hands grip his arms. 

“These clothes are new to replace the old ones you tore. Do not ruin them.”

Rerir stares at him for a moment before rolling his eyes. “That’s your protest? Not that you’re about to be fucked for any passerby to see? The ghosts you hold so dear are going to echo you moaning my name after this.”

“They won’t remember. Their minds are too scattered. These clothes, however? Expensive.”

Flins makes a gesturing motion down his entire body. Fingers delicately trailing over the fabrics as he holds Rerir’s gaze. His hand stops on his inner thigh, fingers dipping below the garter. He doesn’t pull his eyes away as he quickly unhooks the belt—leather falling onto the wet rock. 

The Sinner raises an eyebrow. Expensive clothing he says. He won’t allow Rerir to tear them to pieces, but he’ll discard it onto the shore? 

He’s teasing, if his own sly smirk and playful eyes are any indication. Rerir could simply ignore him. Tear his pants at the seams and have his hole licked by the tendrils before he could even complain. 

Maybe there’s something in the air tonight. Rerir’s chest is continuing to constrict, stomach coiling and bulge throbbing between his legs. He’d feel feverish if his body was even capable of it. He’s not sure entirely what it is that he’s feeling, but there is a better use of his time currently than trying to sort it out. 

He leans back into the lightkeeper’s space. Lips ghosting his ear as his hands tighten around the small waist. His voice is rough, lust coating his words, “Then strip for me, Little Fae. Strip and be illuminated by this light house for all passerbys to see.”

Flins shudders beneath him as a nervous laugh leaves his throat. His free hand trails up Rerir’s arm, slowly and delicately, before landing on his chest. His gloved hand pushes beneath the black wrappings, finger tips resting just on the edge of the glowing star in the center of his pecs. 

“No one comes by here this late into the night, Heart Beat.”

“You never know for certain though, which makes this all the more fun. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“And to think I considered you possessive, yet you want others to see me like this?”

Rerir hums, hand leaving the fae’s waist to cup his jaw. The sharp talon of his thumb drags along his lip. A fresh stream of blood rises from the cut, quickly dripping down his chin and staining his shirt. Flins shows no protest as his expensive clothing is ruined. He only leans further into Rerir’s grip on his jaw. 

The grip is far more gentle than either of them are used to. Even as the daggers threaten to piercing more into his flesh, the hold itself is light. There’s no creek of Flins’ bone. No bruise blooming from the impact of a slap. Rerir was unaware of just how desirable a tenderness can be, even if it’s as fleeting as the wind that ripples across the ocean behind them. 

“Only while I’m inside you. I don’t need anyone questioning who you belong to. They can watch all they like as long as they know that’s as close as they can get. I’ll even burn the spirits if they venture too close.”

“You really know how to make a man swoon, Heart Beat.”

Flins grips the wrappings across his chest and pulls them together. The Sinner’s eyes widen from the surprise, but he allows their lips to meet again. His forearm rests against the jagged rock they lean against. He ignores the chill of the stone, the moist sediment that dampens his bandages and soaks into his skin. Rerir is unable to focus on anything aside from the warmth that is being passed between their mouths. 

The moan he releases surprises himself, something filthy and desperate as he grinds their clothed cocks together. Only then does he remember that his fae hasn’t done as instructed. Reluctantly, Rerir pulls back, making sure to take a bit of Flins’ lip along with him as he does. 

“Strip, Little Fae. I will not repeat myself.”

Flins offers no objection—his hands dropping to his waist to undo his belts. He moves tediously, every action taking a few seconds longer than needed. When the belts finally fall to the side, he turns himself around. He arches his back, ass almost pressing against Rerir’s cock as he slips his trousers down. Rerir wastes no time in getting his hands on it. 

His fingers dig into the flesh, blood immediately trickling from the puncture wounds and down his legs. Further stains into the fabric with no complaints to accompany them. Whorish moans are too busy falling from his throat for Flins to focus on anything else. 

The pants are barely to the middle of his thigh before Rerir is pressing himself between his ass. He groans as he goes to rut against his hole, only to pause when his cock touches something hard. The knock against the object has Flins gasping, hands attempting to find leverage in the cliff he leans against. 

Rerir palms at the mounds, pulling them to the side to get a proper look at what’s filling the hole that should only be home to him. 

A large jewel stares back at him. Shining with secretion and reflecting a bright magenta as it meets the moonlight. Rerir taps at it with the tip of his finger. It’s barely any pressure, yet Flins falls forward with a ragged moan regardless. His legs shake as Rerir inspects the plug, wrapping his fingers around the base and twisting it in his hole. 

“Already had plans for the night, Little Fae?”

“I—hah—was hoping you’d stop by. It’s been too long.”

“You talked to the Traveler with this inside you? While he kissed you with all the nerves and affection of a teenager, you were rocking yourself against this wishing it was me. Isn’t that right, Kryrll.”

A whimper is given to him in response, high pitched and beautiful as Flins pushes himself back. 

“Yes. Archons yes.”

The admittance is all the sinner needs before tugging the plug out. It’s a rough pull, no attempt to soften the exit being given. The size of the object is larger than Rerir was expecting. It’s roughly half the length of his palm and just as wide. To think the Fae would walk around with something like this lodged inside him. Imagining it was Rerir that pushed against his walls and threatened to fuck him over that table as the traveler watched. 

He uses his free hand to grip Flins’ hair, a moan tearing from the lightkeeper’s throat as his back arches. Rerir offers no warning, barely even a moment to catch his bearings before the plug is pushed into his mouth. Tentacles climb up his arms, wrapping around the base and Flins’ head to keep it in place. 

“Tell me how you taste, Little Fae. Don’t you love the flavor of your hole in your mouth?” A gargled moan is all that can be given—tears slipping from the corner of Flins’ eyes as he nods. “You prepped enough, didn’t you? No need for me to waste anymore time. Your ass was created to be destroyed by me. You may as well be addicted to the tearing. Fucking slut.”

Flins only continues to nod, drool dribbling down his chin as he fails to speak. Rerir keeps a hand fisted in the purple hair, wrapping the length around his fist for a better grip. His other unfastens his pants and barely pushes down the waistband. He pulls his cock from the confines, the meat of it straining against the already untangling bandages. 

It falls heavy against Flins’ lower back. A harsh slap echoes through the air and ripples over the still tides. Pre leaks over the fabric of his coat, sliding over the leather and down his thighs. Rerir lowers it down slowly, tip grinding over his hole and down to his taint. The hole sputters at him weakly, as if crying to be filled. 

Lining himself up, Rerir pushes himself inside as he pulls Flins’ head back by the hair. There’s little resistance, only the tensing of Flins’ body as he begins to shake around the cock that spears him open. The Sinner doesn’t allow him to adjust—he never does. Flins would never want him to, anyways. He pulls himself back out to the tip, waiting just a second before bringing the ass back down to the base. 

Rerir’s free hand grips around the lightkeeper’s throat as he continues his pace. They’re slow, deep thrusts that push up into Flins’ stomach. Making sure every inch of his length is imprinted onto his walls. 

It’s so warm inside the Ratnik. Always is. Like Rerir is being tempted to fall even deeper into him. Cut open his flesh and climb inside. Drain his blood to fill his own cursed body. Allow this warmth to spread throughout every expanse of skin on his form. 

His canines bite into Flins’ ear as his pace increases. Tearing a piece between his teeth and letting the blood smear across his lips. 

“You remember your place yet, Flins? Remember who you belong to?”

A gargled, whining moan attempts to respond to him. It’s mean that he expects an answer from a mouth that’s plugged. It’s sadistic that he tightens his grip around Flins’ throat and increases the pace of his hips as he demands a response. 

“Tell me!”

The plug is thrown out of the Fae’s mouth by the tentacles. Spit flying out with it and falling over his lips as he shouts, “You—hah—I belong to you, Rerir!”

The sinner doesn’t attempt to contain the smirk that pulls across his features. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that, Fae.”

With the plug removed, Flins’ screams of pleasure encompass the island. He truly has no shame, thrusting himself back on Rerir’s cock as he chases his own release. The pace only quickens between them from their own desperation. 

Curses from forgotten tongues spill from both their lips. Words neither have ever learned that only enter the world as they’re both brought to their respective peaks. Rerir already knows he’s tethering over the edge, barely a strand of coil left beneath his feet before he falls. He pants, hot and heavy into Flins’ ear, “Come with me, on my count, or I’ll leave you here. Gapped open for the ghosts to gawk at.”

Flins only nods, hands clawing into the cliffside. Rerir’s voice is rough, growling with each syllable as he counts. 

“Five, four.”

Broken words fall from Flins’ mouth. It’s fine. Rerir doesn’t need to know what he’s saying to understand what he’s moaning. 

“Three, two.”

Flins’ mouth twists in a grin, fucked out and beaming. 

“One.”

Rerir growls against his neck, hips stuttering as he spills deep inside his Fae. His teeth bite down over the jugular, blood once again soaking into his mouth as he licks at the wound. Flins is silent as he finishes. Though the way his body pulses and spasms around Rerir’s cock is always his tell-tale sign. 

The Sinner holds them together, ragged breaths mingling. He can feel the excess come that pushes itself out past his cock and falls into Flins’ trousers. No doubt sliding down his legs, pooling into his boots. Left standing in the filth of their blasphemy. 

A primal groan is all Rerir is able to muster as he reluctantly pulls out. His dick falls flaccid between his legs, come and blood soaking the length. He finally removes his hands from the Fae to use a ripped bandage to wipe off the mess.

Flins’ hole is left gaping in the air. Remnants of come leaking out as he continues to shake. After a moment, he manages to take a deep breath and stand up straight. Leaning against the rock, he lowers his gaze to the mess between his legs that is sure to stain. He glares as he raises it back up. 

“How am I meant to explain these stains to the cleaners?”

Rerir barks out a laugh. One so genuine and amused it startles them both. He quickly attempts to cover it with a cough, though Flins only raises an eyebrow with the quirk of his lip. 

“Blame the hunt.”