Work Text:
The thing about about Darkness Man is, he's big.
That's what Zaeth keeps thinking as he clenches his teeth. His eyebrows are screwed together in concentration and he knows he must look angry, but he's too busy making sure no more whimpers escape him as Mitch pushes in inch by inch to care.
He's so huge, he's so big, he's so big, he's so big, he's so huge, he's gonna tear me apart races through his mind on loop.
LaVonte and Madeleine took Estelle Laurent to dinner, and Zaeth and Darkness Man were supposed to be looking for something in her empty house (Darkness Man will know what — right now, Zaeth has other priorities), but the two of them have not been left alone in a while now, and Zaeth had to capitalize on it. He pulled Mitch into one of the guest rooms, and stripped them both before he could complain.
The room is silent now, after Zaeth snapped at him for asking if he's okay over and over, only prolonging his suffering with needless talk instead of getting on with it. The lights are dim, and the sheets are silk, and Zaeth is barely aware of any of it.
Mitch pushes in slowly, pale hairless eyebrows close together, his face betraying how huge of a feat in restraint this is for him. Zaeth knows it must be killing him, the delay in sheathing himself fully inside, and it punches a laugh out of him when Mitch makes another miniscule push forward.
“Don't laugh at me,” he grumbles, startled.
“I'm not, I– ah!” Zaeth hisses and looks down his clenched stomach and towards where they're joined. Almost there. He's so big. “You just look funny.”
“So you're not laughing at me, just at how I look?” there's complaint in his voice, and Zaeth finds that cute too. This huge, sensitive baby. Bat Child should be here, he thinks, she always knows what to say to calm him down.
Instead he just sighs then hisses again as Darkness Man finally bottoms out, and stills.
His giant hands slide up Zaeth’s sides hesitantly, as always looking for permission, as always all too aware of his own size and sharp edges. Zaeth watches his looming form and breathes in and out through clenched teeth — he doesn't need the oxygen, but over the years he's found the repeated motion helps his muscles relax, one by one.
He starts to move slowly, pulling out only slightly before pushing back in, not bothering to ask, because Zaeth would yell at him about that too. And Zaeth likes that, likes being seen through and if he could, he'd play up being shy and virginal — but right now he feels too full, and Mitch looms over him, equally strained.
He likes watching Mitch and seeing every emotion play out clear on his face. He likes learning what he likes and doesn't like, saying things that he knows Mitch will find scandalizing (or just annoying), and he likes pushing his buttons until he near explodes, but never does — because he's just too nice of a guy, and too righteous.
With Koschei, Zaeth never had to do much thinking. He'd been so good at all of it: leading Zaeth along and taking care of his every need before he could even expect it himself. In the early days, it was often that Zaeth would only learn he needed something once Koschei had provided it — whether it was Koschei’s thick cock in his ass, or an eternal life.
But Koschei was experienced. Koschei was hard and sharp-cheeked, high status and sought after, and there were many boys that needed taking care of in his life and in his bed before Zaeth came along. Darkness Man is awkward and hunched, so convinced that he could not be wanted and so repressed in his needs, that abstinence became part of his code without ever being articulated. Every new reaction Zaeth coaxes out of him could be the first in decades, and the depth of hunger it awakes in Zaeth surprises even himself.
His breathing stutters when Mitch’s thumb moves up over his ribs and ghosts over a nipple. He hasn't been hard for a while now, the strain of being stretched on Mitch’s huge cock too much even for him, but the callous fingers and the breadth of his palms over his ribs stirs something inside him all over again.
He reaches a hand out and pulls Mitch down by the back of the neck towards himself. They crash together messily for a second, Zaeth lips opening hungrily, trying to lick into Mitch’s mouth, but he pulls back and grazes his teeth over Zaeth’s neck instead. Zaeth clenches a hand in the sheets to stave off his annoyance. He knows Mitch wants to be careful of his teeth, huge, sharp and varied in size in odd ways, but Zaeth doesn't care. He likes how they're larger than his, and he likes how they snag on his mouth when they kiss.
He doesn't have time to complain though, as Mitch sucks on the thin skin under his ear and picks up the pace, his hips snapping forward faster.
In the back of his mind Zaeth knows Mitch is doing this deliberately to distract him, but with the larger part of himself, the one growing more and more feverish with each thrust, he can only moan and lift one of his hands to his stomach, pressing down to feel as Mitch’s cock moves in and out of him.
The pain in his neck and his insides grows to an even level, and he starts to enjoy it, more than he should. This one thing Koschei did not have to teach him — Zaeth’s sick need for the pain, its dull sting always blurring the line between hurt and pleasure — but it was what made them such a good pair for years, before Koschei decided to develop a conscience and start treating Zaeth like his kid instead.
Zaeth never resented him for either part of their relationship. Over the years, Koschei only grew to love him dearer, and seemingly once he no longer thrust his dick inside his pet, he started seeing it as innocent and sweet. Zaeth got away with a lot since then. One chapter ended, and another began, and Zaeth coasted along, cool and uncaring as long as he was provided for.
Sometimes he only misses looking at Koschei and thinking my man, instead of father.
He looks at Mitch — no longer hunched over his neck but moving over him in earnest now, fingers curling over his hips and digging into the meat of his ass — and tries to imagine it.
My man. Zaeth almost says it, and then nearly laughs out loud, because Darkness Man is not his, nor would he ever lay claim to him while Bat Child lives. He's hers, through and through.
He likes that too. Their devotion, the uncomplicated friendship. He likes how odd they are, and how comfortable with each other, these two freaks of nature domestic and happy in their fantasy of superherodom.
As Darkness Man speeds up, Zaeth’s mouth falls open unwittingly. He can feel saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, and he knows how he looks — hair messed up and sprawled over the sheets, arms thrown up around his head, hands clenching in the sheets uselessly. He lets Mitch do all the work, lifting Zaeth’s hips up further and moving him up and down on his cock, falling into a frantic rhythm as Zaeth stops trying to suppress his moans and lets little aborted whines fall from his lips, the pain building with the pleasure. He knows he sounds pathetic, but there's nothing he can do to stop it as Mitch manhandles him, and he revels in it, in his own powerlessness. He imagines trying to pull away from Mitch and being unable to, completely helpless and at his mercy.
He's hard again now, and leaking precum over his stomach, his cock bouncing in rhythm with Mitch’s thrusts. Mitch swipes a thumb through the mess, staring at it in something like wonder. For a weird second Zaeth expects him to shove the thumb in his mouth, like Koschei would have, but he just draws his hands back to his hips and the moment passes.
Mitch groans, once, then again, and Zaeth knows he's nearing his limit. He pulls himself up on his elbows, hissing as he's jostled up and down on the bed, Mitch not slowing down his thrusts even as Zaeth puts his arms around his neck and pulls him down. He buries his face in his neck and grinds his hips, matching Mitch’s rhythm, meeting his thrusts. Mitch lets go of Zaeth’s hips and wraps one giant arm around his back, and Zaeth feels his full weight bearing down on him, the mattress groaning in protest as his knees dig into it.
Now it's a race of who will come first, and Mitch reaches a hand down blindly, finding Zaeth’s cock and pulling — his huge hands making it awkward and clumsy, but it still feels like a zap of electricity, and Zaeth keens unbidden.
He would have liked to come just from being fucked, cock untouched, but now that the pressure’s on him, he feels tongue-tied, losing his hold on language, emotions, and his own identity — and he could not possibly complain.
It takes only a couple of tugs, the slide squelching wet with his precum, and he lets his body seize up, muscles contorting as he lurches, only marginally aware of how deep his claws dig into the meat of Darkness Man's pale shoulders as he comes.
He feels Mitch’s hips stutter and grow erratic, all rhythm lost as he chases his own release relentlessly, and as Zaeth comes down slowly, shaking, the drag of his cock inside him grows unbearable, the pain of the stretch becoming even more insistent as the pressure does not let up on his prostate, growing oversensitive under the onslaught.
Through the haze he hears whining, and when he realizes it's his own voice, he bites down on Mitch’s neck, hard. That's what does it: Mitch spasms and bites back, and Zaeth’s eyes roll back as he feels skin break but he doesn't let go, and his entire shoulder flares up in pain under Darkness Man's maw. Blarily, he wonders if he'll tear the muscle. Another spasm, and he feels Mitch come inside him, still thrusting erratically to ride it out, barely pulling out before pushing back in, his cum flooding Zaeth’s insides and spilling over.
When Mitch finally stills, Zaeth pulls his teeth out from his neck, and he feels the pressure lift from his shoulder as Mitch does the same. He sways, exhausted, and pulls his cock out as well to lay down beside him, leaving Zaeth empty and gaping. He shivers as he feels Mitch’s cum flow out of his hole and his own blood flow out of his shoulder — not a lot of it, he's not fed in too long, but the sheets will be ruined either way.
He lays there, feeling Mitch watching him, and he lets him. Their shoulders are touching, and he feels for Mitch’s hand between the bunched up sheets, grabs it and uses the last of his strength to pull his wrist to his mouth. He bites it, only gently, not breaking the skin, and looks back at Mitch.
He's still watching him, expression unreadable. Mitch might not be his man, but the room is dark and quiet, and in a minute they'll get up and gather themselves and go back to working, together; this one mission just another step towards a life they're building with the rest of their family. Zaeth bites Mitch’s wrist, and lays in their mess, and he thinks only of just how much he likes it all.