Chapter Text
Naib had never particularly considered the terminology of the game. Certainly, one could “kite” the hunter, flitting about the map on the winds of chance, doomed to crash eventually. They “popped” the final cipher, though the sudden activation of light and resounding blare of sound warranted some stronger term. It made sense, mostly, that the unfortunate individual being chased was “containing” the hunter. Though that last one produced a rather terrifying mental image of Violetta angrily trapped in a jar, spider resemblance fullblown.
Campbell was glaring at him again. “You look constipated.”
He scuffed his soles on the dirty walls. “It’s none of your business.” No matter how civil Naib wanted to be, the bastard got on his nerves simply by existing.
“It is when your dumb ass got us here.” The coarse language made his jaw clench. So different from those jeers in the militia, yet the same feeling of alienation. Naib itched to have his kukri in his hand. Out of all the unfortunate souls in the world, it had to be the insufferable Norton fucking Campbell that he was trapped with.
Back to his internal linguistic discussion. The term “dungeon” was strange. In the game it was a means of escape, a route to freedom. But in the general consciousness, it evoked the idea of a dimly-lit, medieval room, for holding prisoners. An inescapable stronghold, quite the juxtaposition of its definition in the game.
Naib wasn’t one for long-term consequences. The thrill, after all, was what drew him here. He supposed he had been too caught up in the game. He forgot about the pitfalls of reality, the accidents that could happen.
The dungeon was for a solitary escape.
Campbell, mere steps from him? Not solitary. Certainly not what the game intended for them to do, if the very closed door above them was any indication. He wondered if the girls had made it out yet. The displays showed they were disconnected, their very beings reduced to the emotionless symbols on a screen. Grey figures crossed out.
Naib picked at his elbow pads, unused and worthless in this confined space. Naturally he had gotten greedy, wanted all of them to get out just this once, didn’t consider the fucking possibilities of things going awry as always.
The dungeon finally fit its name, it seemed.
He looked back. Campbell had stopped glaring in favor of devoting his attention to the floor. The room suffocated in its darkness. Light from some unknown and unseen source was barely bright enough to glint off the prospector’s piercing.
“Sorry.” Naib grit.
Campbell didn’t look up, instead taking his god-awful hat off. He examined it with such interest that Naib was certain he wanted to piss him off. His black hair clumped in strands on his forehead.
Was this asshole kidding? Naib’s blood began boiling.
“I said I’m sorry!” It was like Campbell wanted this to be as difficult as possible.
“Are you?” Everything about him was cold. “Did you just want to play the fuckin’ hero again?”
What in the hell. Naib couldn’t feel his face. “Shut your damn mouth.” So much for apologies. “What gives you the right-“
“You keep sacrificing yourself, like you’re some kind of,” and now Campbell was more than cold. His gaze was freezing like a dying star. “Some kind of martyr. Like you haven’t done the shit we all know you’ve done.”
Blood roared in his ears. “Like you’re any better.”
The prospector honest-to-god growled. “I didn’t think you would sacrifice me too—“
“You’re fucking selfish, Campbell. You only think about your own damn self and your empty fucking head.” Something about the stale air, the way Campbell pushed all his buttons—Naib was aflame. He wanted to hear the crunch of bone; he wanted to feel alive for once.
“Get off your high horse, Subedar.” Campbell hissed his name like a curse. “I don’t pretend like you. I’ve never killed like you—“
“You’re nothing like me!” Naib agreed viciously. He took a step forward, momentous in the confined space. “Your victims all had names. You knew what you were doing and you still did it.”
Campbell, untouchable like a void, inhaled.
That ever-present current of tension running between the two men reared its ugly head. Naib pushed more. “You’re calling me selfish? I’m the murderer?” He hated how he had to raise his head to stare down the prospector. He hated the man’s cold eyes. He hated everything about Campbell. “You live with it. How does it feel? How does it feel to see their fucking faces—”
Campbell swung like a bullet. The pain was fresh and grounding, pulling Naib from his delirious high of rage. This he knew. He breathed out a laugh, supernovas behind his eyes.
“Let’s dance, motherfucker.”
“You’re full of shit,” Campbell muttered.
It was strange, fighting in such an enclosed space. There was nowhere for their energy to go, nowhere to escape. Naib slipped behind him. He threw a punch cracking against Campbell’s ribcage. Infuriatingly, the man barely budged. An uppercut flew. Naib dodged, resulting in the dull pain of his shoulder instead of his skull. For every blow given a bruise received—a split lip, bloodied knuckles. At some point, his shirt collar ripped, cheap fabric giving too easily.
In any other situation they might have been equally matched, but Naib’s speed meant jack shit when the room was so small and Campbell took up so much of it. Inevitably, his hand wrapped around Naib’s throat, leaving just enough space for him to gasp desperate breaths. It was thick and scarred, calloused with years of physical labor.
He smelled sweat and blood. “I hate you,” he choked. Naib knew he had a self-destructive tendency, but this was a new low. It disgusted him how everything lit up, how tense heat coiled in his groin.
Campbell smirked. “Do you?”
“I’ll kill you.” He was getting lightheaded.
They were so close they inhaled the same air. It was something raw and sick. Campbell smelled faintly of smoke; the lingering memories of some long-ago obliteration. At odds with his cold facade. “Do it.”
Campbell’s fingers tightened. Naib was pissed beyond rationale, thrumming with adrenaline and heat.
They kissed.
It was a loose interpretation of a kiss, disfigured with rage and tongue and clashing teeth. Naib hated the taste of blood that overpowered everything else. Murderers upon murderers. At some point, his traitorous hands had found their way to the prospector’s face, tangled in his hair. Norton Campbell kissed like a black hole, heartless and all-consuming. The entire hellish world, the game, their shared prison, it all disappeared. There was only Campbell and the bitter-salt taste of his sweat and his broad expanse of muscle. Naib could not draw away.
“You want me.” Campbell said between breaths. A statement, so overconfident, so foolish it could only come from him. One that Naib was inclined to automatically deny, despite how Campbell was now taking his time marking his ear, his jaw, his throat. Sharp teeth bit down, unforgiving, on his racing pulse. Naib moaned despite every shred of reason he retained screaming at him to stop.
“I don’t—fucking—” If he had been born a different man, maybe he would have been educated on the specific parts of the brain. As it was, Naib was stuck with his subpar schooling and the hazy awareness that it was his animal hindbrain in control, not whatever region dictated coherent speech or god fucking common sense.
They continued with their degenerate kissing, artless and chaotic. Naib was dissolving and yet his every atom was in high definition. He bit down harshly. Lord, he wanted to see Campbell’s pretty lips bruised and swollen. And then Campbell was manhandling him, his massive hands pulling at his ponytail—Naib was cutting his hair short as soon as possible—Naib was keeping his ponytail forever—
“I bet you think about me at night.” Then they shifted, like a wicked dance, and Naib was pinned against the wall. The pressure of Campbell’s chest, rising and falling in sync with him, was overwhelming. Who lost their mind in Heaven and decided that Campbell was to be so tall and arrogant and everything Naib hated?
His cock throbbed. Right. He was the one that had lost his mind.
“You’re insane,” Naib said into the kiss. He had never wanted somebody so violently before.
Campbell drew back, smudges of blood along his lips. Naib chose to viciously ignore the whine that sounded from himself. The air was startling against his raw mouth, open and panting.
Campbell sank to his knees. Naib swore the man was some kind of unholy deity, reddened lips and shadowed eyes. Have you no shame? He wanted to say. There were many other things he wanted to say as well, but then those rough fingers were on him, unbuttoning his jeans, touching his bare skin. Naib couldn’t stop the hitched breath from escaping. The room felt too tight and too hot. Campbell was ice against his inferno. The dim light and Naib’s overactive imagination distorted his face into the cold visage of a corpse.
“Want this?” And Campbell had the gall to smile, disheveled as sin on the dirty ground.
“Jesus Christ, yes.” For the love of god, please. Naib had never wanted anything more, except maybe to slit his fucking throat.
Campbell gave him no warning. Naib’s head jerked back into the wall with an audible thud. Whatever complaints he had about the cold caught in his throat as he was engulfed into wet heat. So, he thought feverishly (once coherent thought had returned at all). Norton Campbell wasn’t a dead man after all.
No, a dead man could not be between his legs, could not be sucking his cock like he was born to do so. He once more took hold of Campbell’s thick hair, if only to have something to stabilize himself with. Abruptly, Naib became aware of his own labored breathing, his heart working overtime. The way he was still fully clothed made him feel more exposed than if he were wearing nothing at all. The whole scene was so revolting and profane, a better man would look away. But desecrated Naib was, he stayed transfixed to the utterly wanton sight before him.
Campbell had fucking done this before, and if Naib retained a semblance of intelligent thought he might have said something derogatory about it. Instead he bit back a groan as Campbell licked his length like it was a damn popsicle.
“You’re a real slut, huh?” Campbell murmured. Naib wondered if Campbell could feel how his dick twitched. This was his worst nightmare and his wildest dream, all rolled into a delirious haze. It was simultaneously awful and incredible to see Campbell palming himself through his pants.
The man was fucking talkative, like he never was during games. He would pause before him, spouting filthy phrases that made Naib shudder. I'll make you scream, Subedar. And then he would return to tormenting Naib, in the way that he craved so desperately it was humiliating. His velvet tongue set Naib aflame, made his thighs tremble. Campbell’s fingers took care of the areas his mouth couldn’t occupy, overloading Naib’s mind with the contrast of hot and cold, of juxtaposing textures. He got into a rhythm, a filthy song. His tongue dragged languidly up and down.
“Fucking go faster,” Naib said. He wanted to sound angry but more than anything it turned out desperate. He felt Campbell smile in the darkness and it made him sick. He got off on his suffering, the psychopath. Naib tightened his hold on his hair.
Campbell's careless fingernails scraped icy lines against his tender skin—or maybe it was intentional, which shouldn’t have been hot—and Naib moaned. He was fucked in the head, all the wires crossed wrong. Pain combined with pleasure to send blazing shockwaves down his spine, to curl his toes and make him gasp shuddering breaths. His vision blurred.
“When you make noises like that… ” Campbell smiled cruelly, lips swollen. “Do you know how you sound?”
“Shut up, god, I swear to god,” Naib panted, taking the lord’s name and decimating it beneath his feet. It was filthy, what they were doing; he had no other term for it.
“You sound like a fucking mess.” He hissed. “A professional whore—“
Naib couldn’t stand to look at his insufferable expression any more. His self-control, never the greatest, had been holding on to the edge for a very long time now. He relished in its death. His hips snapped forward, causing a sweet strangled choke. He had never fucked someone’s face like this, but it was Campbell. Naib didn’t care about his comfort. He thrust again and again and it was catharsis. He hoped it hurt.
Each time his hips rocked it was for another subject of his hate. Campbell’s infuriating muscles. Campbell’s empty smile. Campbell’s fucking magnet throws that Naib knew weren’t accidents. The countless losses and taunts and judgements that he had no fucking right to make. For how long had he wanted this? To shut Campbell’s handsome face up?
Naib glanced down, hoping to finally see the motherfucker broken. Instead, he was pierced by Campbell’s gaze. It was disgusting, how he could look so proud with tears at the corners of his eyes, with saliva obscenely dripping down his chin. His dilated pupils held a challenge, not a defeat.
And then Campbell started in earnest.
He took Naib entirely at once, nose touching the curls at his base. Campbell was a supernatural being, a demon from Hell with no gag reflex sent solely for his torment. With lethal intent, he hollowed his cheeks. Naib gasped out a curse. Or a prayer.
Campbell was pulling out all the stops, and it was somehow worse and so, so much better that he was actually trying. He was taking pride in this, actively unraveling Naib. He hummed an indistinct, self-satisfied tune, vibrations driving him insane. His tongue danced around the crown before dipping into the slit, and fucking Christ that was almost better than his tight fucking throat.
It pissed him off beyond reason that—god—Campbell was the one pleasuring him but he was the one that wanted to plead. A nuclear fuse burned under his skin. His heart rate was up somewhere in the atmosphere along with his decency and self-respect.
He scraped his knuckles against the wall, bit the inside of his mouth raw, did his damned best to keep from giving Campbell the satisfaction. But the bastard did something with that damned tongue and Naib involuntarily arched, electricity coursing through his consciousness. “God, Norton—”
And of course Campbell fucking stopped, pulling off with a lewd, wet sound. He looked up at him with a lazy sort of contentment that made Naib flush furiously. It was maddening, that he was allowed to wear debauchment like a crown and look so damn good in it.
“What was that?” Campbell’s voice was low and hoarse. “Something to say, Subedar?”
Naib was going to tear him apart with his hands. “Fucking Christ,” he exhaled, pulse violent under his skin. Fucking Campbell. “Get on with it.”
“You could come right now.” Campbell fucking dripped with smug satisfaction. “By yourself. But we both know that wouldn’t be what you want.”
Naib was so aroused it hurt. He closed his eyes but he could still see Norton Campbell, fever bright and terrible in his beauty. Jesus. It was better to keep them open, to have the dim lighting hide the hungry emptiness of Campbell’s gaze.
“I hate you.” The universe was composed solely of the two of them, and Naib didn’t know who he hated more.
"It's going to be my name on your tongue." Naib trembled under the feeling of Campbell’s breath ghosting over him. "Let me hear you say it." He was dying now, each word sending pleasure directly to his dick.
Naib might have been crying. He blinked through the tears to glare at Campbell, to stubbornly hold on to his pride. The moment lasted an eternity, yet Naib could feel each desperate pulse under his skin. “Swear to god, Campbell—I’ll kill you.” It was at once a promise and a threat. “Just fucking touch me already. Please.”
Campbell grinned with the teeth of a carnivore. “S’nice to hear you beg.”
His hands gripped onto his hips, so tight it was sure to bruise. And he retook Naib, a ruthless predator.
“Shit, Campbell,” he whined, pathetic. He was a fucking wreck. He was boiling over and he wanted—he wanted Campbell’s blood splattered on the wall—he wanted—he needed Campbell to give him release—
Campbell met his gaze with something adjacent to need, chest heaving and mouth slick. They were the same. They were two blades at each other’s throats. They were twin comets burning away. For how much Naib tormented himself, Campbell had it too. He wanted Naib, and he hated himself for it, and that knowledge was enough to push Naib over the edge.
“Fucking god, god, Norton, yes—” he sobbed. Stars exploded behind his eyes. His pride, his rage, his arousal in a crescendo. For all his previous attempts to keep quiet, Naib could not silence himself now.
Campbell was breathing very heavily. “Been a while since you—hah—got any?” His spiteful words were softened by the needy way he touched himself.
“You look so much better when your mouth is busy,” Naib scoffed. The unfortunate truth in the statement remained ignored. Grabbing Campbell by the shirt collar, he kissed him before that fucking mouth could say something else stupid. He thrust his hand into Campbell’s pants and jerked him off, sloppy and rough.
Campbell groaned, strained. “Can’t you do anything slowly?”
“Can’t you do anything quietly?” Naib had a real problem with Campbell and how easily he unraveled him. He wasn’t some horny teenager, and he sure as hell didn’t have the stamina to act that way.
Naib noted with a grim satisfaction that it only took a few careless strokes before Campbell came. He slumped, boneless for a brief, delicious moment.
Maybe Naib was overly sentimental following the orgasm, but when Campbell wasn’t scowling at him, his beauty became undeniable. Long, dark eyelashes cast haunting shadows down his cheek. His profile was classically handsome, as if he was an ancient object of worship. A perfect sculpture, cold marble. Naib wondered whether it was automatic, how he turned to hide his scar away, or if it had been trained into him.
Before Naib could stare creepily at Campbell any longer, the blessed creak of the dungeon door sounded. The bright light of day flooded over them, an abrupt jolt back into reality. A fresh wave of shame overcame him.
Later, sitting alone in his bed, he contemplated.
Naib Subedar was not an articulate man, and especially not in english. He thought for a very long time about the right terms to describe Campbell. He was awful, cruel and cold. He was gorgeous despite—or was it because of—the scars that littered his body. He was like a supernova, a force of nature, and yet he was only a man.
Naib wanted nothing to do with him.
Naib couldn’t stay away from him.