Chapter Text
In the place that feels the tears,
The place to lose your fears.
A place that is so pure, so dirty and raw...
A hooded figure walks down the cave’s dimly lit tunnel, a small burlap bag gripped in his left hand, his other hand freely tracing the uneven wall on his right. Torches burned high above his head, centimeters below the ceiling, their dancing flames casting long halos down the tunnel. The rings of scarlet provided light for the figure to navigate through the passage, and the soft crackling from the scorched ends, along with the repetitious shuffling from his sandals against the pebbly path, helped ease the hooded figure’s nerves as he traveled to the king of sin’s lair.
(Sometimes the figure would hear a sound. A quiet noise, sharp and sibilant, barely audible over the torches’ gentle burning or the monotonic rhythm from his sandals.)
(But it was there—and it made his heart race.)
He keeps the beating organ as steady as humanly possible, doing his best to keep his breathing under control. But the deeper he traveled—the more he heard that breathy sound—the stronger his pulse ran. The tunnel was a foreboding environment; between each ring of light, there was a patch of space filled with nothing but pure darkness that the flames couldn’t reach, leaving the man as blind as a fetus in its mother’s womb when he entered one. But it wasn’t the trepidation of his dark environment that set off his pulse, or squeezed the organ pumping inside of his chest.
Excitement.
Barely contained inside of his body. The jittery emotion crackled across his skin in a flurry of sparks, gooseflesh lifting down his back and up his arms. The fine hairs protecting his raised skin chafed uncomfortably underneath the heavy cloak he wore on his shoulders, that same itch coming around to the back of his neck. The sensation wasn’t too uncomfortable that it was unbearable, but it was distracting. He almost wishes he’d forgone the heavy fabric and went with something lighter. Forget about that and focus on the present.
He needed to keep himself disciplined—after all, He’s always watching— and so the figure reigns himself back in, dispelling his mind from choices he could have made. The exhilarating feeling still thrummed through his blood, making its presence across his shadowed face; the corners of his lips hiked to reveal a thin sliver of sharp teeth, the pointed tips glistening below his upper lip.
It was pointless trying to hide that. He was already this deep inside of the cave and even closer to his destination. He knew he was swiftly approaching the king of sin’s lair, the place of worship for the god of depravity.
The incarnation of sin Himself, Bakugou Katsuki.
“Oh, f-fuck.”
His name sends a thrill of pleasure through his lower abdomen and he comes to an abrupt stop. He leans his upper body against the wall as the first spasm tears through his body, burning hotly and intense. It floods south, straight into his groin, filling his cock with blood and thickening the length inside of his pants.
“Ah, haah ...” the figure huffs and sighs, his skin searing underneath his cloak. It was foolish casually mentioning the god’s name like that, and so flippantly too. The first wave of arousal drags through his body in a slow and painful tidal wave; when it leaves, he’s sagging from the exertion, areas of his skin still warm and sensitive to the touch. After a shaky breath he rights himself again, preparing to continue onward on his path.
The figure doesn’t even make the first step when the second wave hits him, the intensity several leagues above the first one.
The noises that leave his throat were inhuman. Every inch of his skin burned so ferociously; he feared the smallest touch would erupt into flames. It was the fiercest bout of lust the hooded figure had ever felt, nearly bringing him down onto his knees, and he couldn’t do anything about it except lurch back against the wall to keep himself from falling over.
Water singed his vision as they brimmed along his eyelids. Every cell inside of his body split and burned, pure sin oozing into his core. He could hardly keep his tears at bay from his rapid blinking, a few of them squeezing over his watery eyeline and leaking down his flushed cheeks, sizzling on contact on his scorched skin.
“M-my lord, p-please—aah...!” Another airy gasp was yanked from his throat as a third wave of lust slammed into his guts, pouring straight into his balls. The urge to touch himself was powerful. His right hand twitched at his side, craving to relieve the pressure swelling in his loins, but the hooded figure curls it into a tight fist instead and raises it to his lips, biting down hard. He focuses on the sharp pain from his teeth digging into his knuckle, and not on the wanton desire rolling and coiling inside of him, pulling at every nerve fiber and cell in his body.
You can’t, he tells himself, curses at himself. His loins clench together, as if in protest. Not yet! Not until He has your body first. You can’t just yet!
An entire eternity seems to pass when the final wave ebbs from the figure’s body, pulling a ragged sigh through his stuffed mouth, and he lowers his fist to his side. Harsh breathing echoed down the empty passage, punctuated by quiet sniffles as he dried the remaining tears clumped on his bottom lashes. Sweat perspired in various corners on his face and body, gluing his cloak to his balmy, twitching skin.
A distant voice similar to his murmurs a casual reminder in the back of his mind: until you’re in His chamber, don’t bring up His name again.
(There’s an uncanny sound in the silence. Snickering, he thinks, but it’s too quiet for him to discern.)
The hooded figure remained slouched against the wall for a long time, letting his body recharge after the intense session with a dazed look glossing over his eyes. Had it not been for the subtle movement at his side, the figure probably would’ve stayed in that position until the sun crested into the next day. The burlap bag stirring next to him provided him with another reminder; he still had so much to do before he could truly rest his body.
Testing his knees and finding they could withstand his weight without buckling, the figure pushed himself off the wall and continued down the tunnel. His mind was completely focused now; no more distracting thoughts or any more slip-ups, though his disciplined attention span snaps in less than a second as the scenery around him changes.
Bright light rose at the end of the walls, glowing in an array of scarlet and blue. The air quality had also changed, taking a sweetened dip above the cool and fiery scent of rock and stone and burnt wood. The new scent was faint, but it was sharp and heavy, with a noticeable richness far stronger than even the most powerful incense.
The king’s pheromones. The aromatic scent brought a familiar twinge in his gut as it suffused along the inner walls of his nostrils, similar to the spasms he felt moments ago. They were weaker in strength, and they left behind a pleasant tingle that blanketed his skin, leaving him warm and his insides like melted butter. His legs slowed to a crawling pace as he approaches the tunnel’s end, and then he comes to a complete stop before a towering entrance, the opening taking up the entire space inside the tunnel. A clump of nerves form a ball in the back of his throat, and he swallows it down in a quiet gulp as he peers into the king of sin’s regal chamber.
It was a giant throne room, pristine floors sparkling in a sheen of amber from the torches mounted on smooth, curved walls. Fourteen burned in total, six on both sides with two more burning on the back wall. Reddish orange flames bounced on six of the torches, and flickering light created long shadows across the glowing room.
The chamber was empty. No shrines or statues sat against the walls, and the floor was clean of any gold or precious stone. There wasn’t even a speck of dirt or insect that tainted the cleaned tile, nor vermin that hid in the corners of the room. The only item of interest inside the chamber lay against the far back wall, seated in between the two torches that were carved into the twisted bodies of bronzed gold snakes. Bright blue flames twisted inside of their golden copper jaws.
A legend surrounded those azure flames. Since before the creation of time, their light shined for human and deity alike. The flames were inextinguishable by mortal hands; only the breath of a god could kill their sapphire light. Because of this, his people have used the flames as a way to determine if they were in the presence of their king. If the fire went out, then the sinful deity was near.
In between the immortal blue flames, surrounded in a quiet majesty that the hooded figure felt in the marrow of his bones, the king of sin’s throne sat regally: a prodigious monument carved out of the body of a golden bronzed serpent.
His heart nearly burst from his chest at the sight of the magnificent throne. Previous attempts to keep himself restrained forgotten, he looked to the grand throne with a smile splitting his face clean in half. His journey had finally reached its conclusion, and now he stood before the king’s godly throne prepared to sacrifice himself to the god in a ritual his people and his ancestors have done before him.
A ritual that, if he was worthy, would grant him a place in the god’s kingdom as one of His divine whores.
The ritual’s been around for more than 1000 centuries, and yet it wasn’t known to anyone outside of the hooded figure’s people. Their secrecy led many believing him and his people didn’t exist; that they were nothing more than a folklore told to children during bedtime. Some went as far as to believe they were a cursed group scorned by the gods to live in exile away from everyone, and others thought they weren’t people but rather demons that thrived off of lust and preyed on others for their “sexual energies.” And of course, there were the select few that believed they were nothing more than inbreeded nutjobs that fucked their own kin and worshipped a golden snake.
The mysteries surrounding them gave nothing away about his people: not their lifestyles, their religion, where they lived or even where they came from. There were rumors of course, but with no way to confirm their authenticity (or people wanting to confirm them), people believed that these rumors were true.
They weren’t. The hooded figure, as well as his people, did exist, and they existed to achieve only one goal: to sacrifice themselves to their god and be permitted to live in His kingdom as His concubine for the rest of eternity. They embarked on a five-mile trek from their home to His chamber hidden in a secretive section of the forest only they knew about, coming to His throne as a virgin untouched by all hands—including their own—whilst carrying with them their purity in the form of a gift: a white lamb.
That wasn’t all, either. As a way to show reverence, they also adorned themselves in jewelry and fine silks fitted to the god’s personal tastes. Rubies, citrines, and golden sapphires were the god’s preferred gemstones; rings, bracelets, and necklaces were His preferred types of jewelry. Diamonds and nacreous crystals were also common. Piercings were another favorite, and the god enjoyed a plethora of them: nipple and genital piercings, navel rings, earrings, and nose rings were just a few of what his worshippers wore on their journey to His throne. As for those unable to afford the gaudier pieces, ivory, silver, and bronze were worn in their place.
The hooded figure was in between the two castes. He couldn’t afford the vibrant jewelries like those of the upper caste and had to settle for silver to adorn his body in. Barbells were pierced through his nipples and through the head of his penis, and behind his ballsack, two silver studs went through his perineum. And while his hood covered the pair, pearly white ivory hung from his lobes.
He slips his sandals off of his feet before entering the throne room, placing the brown shoes outside of the entrance. Debris from outside of the room was prohibited from entering the sacred place, and so the shoes had to come off. He places his bare foot onto the chamber’s floor, and a soft gasp lifts from his lips.
Coldness graced his skin. Startingly cold, like the marbled floors of a great hall. Except the chamber’s floor was made of hard stone sanded into a smooth and polished texture, free of loose dirt and pebble. His feet grew accustomed after a few experimental steps, and he approached the serpentine throne. He walks forward in nervous silence, his excitement encumbered by his own wavering nerves. The quiet scrapes from his bare toes across the stony floor were muted underneath the rush of blood flowing inside of his pierced ears.
Three pairs of eyes watch him approach with a steely glare, but it’s the eyes at the top of the throne that stills the blood pounding in the figure’s ears and hushes the breath in his throat.
Garnet eyes in a shade brighter than his own glare at his body from above, their centers housing the blue light emanating from inside the mouths of the mounted torches. Elongated fangs bared at him in a silent and deafening snarl, the sharpened tips shimmering in bright scarlet and blue. A metallic tongue dangled over the serpent’s opened jaws, bright gold in the middle of deep bronze. Despite the non-forked detail, the serpent’s large head was as realistic as the beast itself.
That same realism traveled down the serpent’s body, forming the large throne for the god. While there wasn’t a cushion in place physically denoting where to sit, the serpent’s long and thick body was coiled in a way that held a comfortable place to sit and rest his arms on if he chose to (as if he would do something so insolent.)
He comes to a stop before the throne, continuing to marvel at its splendor while his fingers trace over its gleaming surface. The beast’s metallic skin felt cool under his fingertips, and the intricacy carved into it was jaw-dropping. He could count each thin line separating the scales that rippled across the serpent’s hard body. The throne glimmered as if it had been recently waxed too, and its glinting shine only enhanced its regal magnificence.
The metallic serpent was said to be a replica of the beast that resided in the god of depravity’s kingdom, protecting His palace and whores from interference of the other gods. Tales depicted the beast to be larger than that of the tallest mountain with the strength to swallow an entire god whole. Its power and size were rumored to put fear into the other gods except for Bakugou, who tamed the gargantuan serpent after a battle that lasted for three days and three nights.
Glancing back at its snarling face, the tales weren’t hard to believe. Though it was nothing more than a monument of bronze and gold and other metals, the serpent felt alive. If he was quiet enough, he could hear a low hiss come from deep inside of the beast’s gaping jaws. Trepidation crept up his shoulders, and he couldn’t shake its cold grasp from his body. The longer he stared into the eyes of the beast, the more he felt like the beast was going to come out of its slumber and strike him.
Sudden movement inside of the statue’s jaws rips an embarrassing sound from his throat, and the figure jerks his hand away from the throne. It falls still before he could register what it was that moved, but it comes back just as quick and more pronounced. From the serpent’s golden tongue, moving along its bottom jaw so slowly that he had mistaken it for keeping still.
His heart leapt to the middle of his throat. The serpent was alive—and he stood directly under its jaws in the perfect distance to be swallowed whole.
His body freezes, and in a moment of panic he misses the thin metal disappearing into the statue’s mouth. He notices its absence half a second too late, but no other movement comes from the throne afterwards. “Well, alright, then...” Relief fills his voice with a lilt of confusion lifting the naturally deep timbre towards the end. What had made that movement? Was something inside of the statue? Curiosity replaced his earlier panic and the hooded figure stood on his bare toes, gazing inside the mouth of the metallic snake.
Something stirs inside of the shadows—and then eyes appear. Several centimeters smaller than their metallic counterpart, but similar in color and just as profound. He tilts his head watching the eyes widen in size, coming forward at lethargic pace. A swift blink of confusion, and the creature emerged from the shadows.
A red-eyed snake. Brilliant gold scales glistened across its lithe body, as if the creature was molded out of the deep yellow bar and given life. Vermillion eyes set in the center of its small and angular head gazed blankly at the hooded figure as it inches to the front of the statue’s bottom jaw, not stopping even as a quarter of its upper body dangled over the bottom lip. Only when it was inches away from the figure’s awed face did it come to a stop. A blank red glare locks onto him, and the gold serpent lazily flicks its tongue in the small space between them, onyx with the tip split in two.
I wasn’t expecting one of His messengers so soon, he thinks to himself, his awe growing as the snake hangs in the gap between them. The tip of its black forked tongue feathers over his nose and the man draws in a tight gasp through his teeth, his heart suddenly falling still. The serpent had come lower than he realized and was now a centimeter above his face.
Relax, he reminds himself, holding his free hand to his chest. His heart had started back pumping again and through his cloak, he could feel the organ’s heavy pulse thump inside of him, as if it was trying to slam its way out of its confines. He didn’t have anything to fear; as long as he didn’t pose an immediate threat, the creature was harmless.
The serpent was flicking its tongue above his face, tasting the air around him. He wondered if it could smell the growing tension fraying the ends of his nerves on the tip of its tongue. Or maybe it’s smelling my gift...
The wool sack at his side hadn’t made a sound since he entered the throne, and the snake showed no interest towards it. Its gaze remained locked on the hooded figure—an unwavering, unblinking crimson glare.
The hooded figure wets his bottom lip with a quick swipe of his tongue. It was time to begin the ritual.
Reaching for the burlap’s drawstrings, he pried open the top of the bag and stuck his hand into it, his fingers finding purchase around a thin and fuzzy neck. With a firm but gentle grasp, he pulled out his sacrificial gift, dropping the bag next to his feet when the animal was fully out of it. The white lamb bleated softly and kicked against his hips with its spindly legs, and he gathered the creature in his arms to lay it onto the metallic throne.
The animal didn’t try to get back up after it was placed onto the throne, and the figure clasped his hands together, bowing to the two serpents above his head. His voice was calm, devotion surging through his words, strengthening the incantation that fell fluidly from his hidden lips. “Great god of depravity, almighty king of debauchery. Bakugou Katsuki, master of lust and sin, I call upon you bearing this gift,”
He brings his left hand to his lips after the pause, nipping at the center of his index finger. The pain is minute, a singular crimson bead collecting on the pad where the skin was punctured. “My virgin blood,” he continues, swiping his thumb across the lamb’s small forehead, tainting its pure white coat in a thin streak of red, “free of sin. My virgin flesh, untouched by all hands. I sacrifice it all to you, my lord.”
The red eyes above his head flash with piqued interest. The hooded figure brings his hands back together, and with a soft murmur in his voice, “I pray you accept my gift, my wonderful king of sin.”
As he straightens his back, a light weight lands on the center of his head. It slides down his hood slowly, the rest of its body falling around his neck and joining on his shoulders. The thin hairs covering his nape sit at their highest peak as the last of the snake’s body dangle off of his right shoulder. Remember—stay calm.
Piercing red eyes come into his peripherals, and he finds himself looking at an expectant gaze and flickering tongue. The forked tip tickles his cheek, and he finds himself repeating the phrase in a more urgent manner.
He lifts his right hand from the prayer position, holding it out to the throne. With the pace of a snail, the serpent slides down his cloaked arm. The feeling was like metal on top of his arm. Not heavy like the weighty material, but solid enough to be felt through the thick fabric. The serpent’s body had incredible length to it that was hidden while it was still inside of the bronzed statue’s mouth. While its upper body was just now beginning to hang off of his wrist, its lengthy torso remained wrapped around his bicep and shoulder.
He waited for several prolonged minutes until the serpent’s gold body slid off of his arm and crawled across the throne. Once it was off of him, he distanced himself from the throne, taking three whole steps backwards before taking a seat on the cool floor. The last remnants of his anxiety trapped inside of him dispelled in a shaky, quiet breath.
His fears for the snake came not because it could possibly harm him; it was the exact opposite. The golden snakes acted as the messengers for the god of depravity. The king watched His people through their unblinking red gaze, and their golden bodies housed His divinity, giving the serpentine reptiles their ethereal glow. Harming even a single one of their beautiful golden scales was enough to sentence him and his people to an eternity of damnation, accident or not. The hooded figure was cautious for that reason alone.
His heart finally fell into a rhythm that was normal for his standards. Now he just had to wait for the approval of his gift. Some of his people believed that this was when the ritual actually began, but the hooded figure thought differently. He was a firm believer that the ritual started as soon as one comes before His throne and that their fate was already decided the moment the king’s messenger laid their eyes on them. The golden serpent held the fates of many like him in its gaze; it had the power to grant a life of paradise and eternal pleasure or misery and exile for him and his people. And it all came down to its interaction with the sacrificial offering.
It was frustrating watching the serpent hardly interact with his gift. It had its body lazily draped across the white lamb, no part of it moving except for the black tongue repeatedly flicking at a small spot between the creature’s loppy ears. His shoulders would tense whenever the lamb stirred or twisted its head, only to sag with a thin sigh when the serpent did nothing.
It was underwhelming, and at the same time so overwhelming to witness. Several times he wished for the serpent to do something, anything except flick its tongue at the lamb, but the hooded figure didn’t let his mind be hindered by impatient thoughts. Rushing the serpent would have been a grievous mistake, and it would’ve brought him nowhere. If it came down to it, he was fully prepared to sit inside of the throne room for the rest of the night until the serpent accepted his gift (or worst, rejected it) or the prophesized ending of the world came to be.
Whichever came first, he’d wait.
After several long minutes of nothing idled by, the golden serpent began showing interest towards the lamb. Its head had moved closer to the creature’s face, its black tongue snapping back and forth with a new sense of urgency.
His heart didn’t race. The snake’s tongue feathered over his blood smeared across the lamb’s forehead, tasting the crimson fluid on its forked tip. The tickling sensation close to its browbone prompted a sudden head shake, triggering an instantaneous reaction.
Sharp fangs pierced the center of the lamb’s face. The figure didn’t flinch at the mammal’s harsh cry, nor at its pathetic bleating as the serpent coiled its long body into a gripping vice lock. The lamb jumped up to its cloven hooves in an attempt to escape, but it only worked in tripping itself on its feet and bringing it back down to the throne in a dull thump, landing on its side.
The fight lasted as long as the first strike. The lamb kicked out twice; the first in an attempt to pull itself out of the serpent’s constricting grip, and the second came from an involuntary jerk as its remaining life was squeezed from its postmortem body. Half of the lamb’s face had already begun to disappear into the snake’s black jaws as it took the final breaths of its remaining life.
He watched the ordeal with an unwavering stare. The lamb’s small head went down the snake’s gullet inch by inch, followed by its thin neck, the rest of its body going down in slow increments. The last to disappear was its cloven hooves on its hind legs, and the creature was swallowed into the serpent’s stomach, its bulk distending the long organ outward.
Coruscant red eyes turn towards him, and the hooded figure draws a single breath through his nose. The serpent’s gaze had sharpened considerably, the garnet irises mimicking the lambent glow on the torches’ peaks. He keeps his composure under the keen glare, but he can’t help but feel a twinge of relief (and something else) ease through his body.
The hardest part was past him. The god’s messenger had accepted his gift. All that remained now was for the king’s arrival. The figure turns his gaze to the flames burning inside of the mouths of the bronze and copper snakes. Their azure light remained strong and steadfast.
He turns to the head of the serpentine throne. The eyes in the center of its face had taken on a brighter glow. Like the beast was coming to life, he hums to himself. His eyes come back to the throne, staring at the real serpent coiled on its seat.
You dare look me in my eyes and not bow?
The question came from a voice the figure had never heard before but sounded so familiar to him, several octaves lower than his or any human male’s voice. Deep and rich, with a thick rumble in its middle, punctuated in a gravelly drawl only possible from the chest of a great beast. But it was only him and the golden snake inside of the throne room, and he knew that serpent couldn’t speak. Who had asked that question?
His gaze flies back up to the throne, as if the metallic serpent had the answer to his question. It only stares back at him in an empty gaze, the figure catching his own perplexity in its red reflection. Strange. Perhaps he misheard—
I asked you a question, mortal.
Another thick growl pierces through the inhuman voice, chilling his blood in his veins. Around him, the air thickened with tension, static popping against his eardrums. His heart started up a rushed pulse, the figure instinctively drawing in oxygen to relax the organ, but he found it harder to breathe. Each inhale squeezed more air out of his lungs than they were letting in, effectively choking him.
Glancing around, he wasn’t suffering alone. The mounted torches struggled to retain their flames in the changing environment. All but the blue flames burning on the sides of the throne danced erratically with panic in their movements, threatening to give out under the depleting oxygen. The hooded figure tore his gaze away from the wildly flickering light and stared back at the throne, gasping for breath with his hands clawing at his throat.
The golden serpent was calm during the shifting turmoil, absently flicking its black tongue at a consistent pace while he struggled to breathe. The deep voice comes back for a third time. “I said, why aren’t you bowing to me?”
One by one, each torch along the curved wall goes out, throwing the chamber into sudden darkness. When the azure flames diminish inside of the mounted snakes’ brass mouths, the realization hits the hooded figure—literally. The air crackles in a loud explosion, the clangor slamming him face-first onto the hard stone floor.
A guttural snarl fills the dark cavern, seeping into every pore inside of his body. “Now it decides to bow to me. After disrespecting me, no less. Ignorant bastard.” The static-filled air snaps cleanly in half under the harshness spitting from His omniscient voice. The hooded figure’s skin runs hot, the flames of mortification eating away the dull ache spreading across his forehead.
“Please, forgive me my lord,” he wheezes pathetically, “it was never my intention to disrespect you—”
The king’s voice explodes above, around, and inside of his skull, splitting the bone down the center. “Did I give you permission to speak, scum?”
The figure bites the tip of his tongue, blood spreading along his gums. The pressure inside of the room grows exponentially, and his body felt close to combustion. Every breath wheezed into his throat burned him, the muscles lining the constricting airways growing tighter as he fought to inhale a single gulp of air. However, he keeps his lips twisted shut to prevent even a peep of his misery from slipping out. He already angered the king enough with his insolence.
A few more agonizing minutes pass by before Bakugou decides to grant him mercy. The pressure in the air lifts, allowing oxygen molecules to refill the atmosphere, and relief washes down the figure’s body. He takes in several deep drags of oxygen-starved breaths into his lungs; at the same time, the torches around him join in his relief, their flames blooming back to life in a succession of fwooms and returning light back to the throne room.
Over his deep gulps, he hears Bakugou’s powerful voice rumble, “I won’t be so forgiving next time.”
He nods wordlessly.
Thick silence saturates the air between mortal and god, and he tests opening his eyes. The ground directly beneath him was dark from his shadow, but on the outer edges of his peripherals, firelight glittered over smooth stone. He caught a subtle change in the room, and another sight caught his vision.
A large shadow stretched across the floor; the tip of the silhouette reached where he bowed.
His heart kicked up into the increasingly familiar fast cadence, and he squeezed his upper teeth onto his bottom lip. The shadow shifts with the sound of an audible grunt. “What is your name?”
The disinterest was palpable in the god’s voice, and he’s almost scared to answer out of fear of angering Him. But not answering would only bring His anger back tenfold.
“Kirishima Eijirou.”
“Tch.”
The scoff slices through his soul, but he doesn’t flinch. A long moment passes between him and the god, the deity weighing his name on His tongue. (Tasting its worthiness.) Another dry scoff. “Sit up.”
Kirishima’s body moved on its own, pulled by the authority in the king’s command. He keeps his gaze on the floor while his back straightens into an upright stance. Another disgruntled sound cuts through his ears, Kirishima hearing the god testily grumble, “It’s even worse up close.”
He doesn’t make a sound as the god reviled his appearance. Kirishima thought he prepared himself before arriving at His lair, but it still seemed he didn’t reach His insanely high standards—
“Get rid of it.”
No, please—!
His rapid panic dies before it could register in his mind. A deep, pleasant warmth envelope over his skin, bringing heavy chills rolling down his raised flesh to the tips of his toes. The air turned stuffy again, but it wasn’t like before where it was impossible for him to breathe properly. It was like he was sitting inside of a boiling hot spring, the temperature of the water rising the longer his body remained submerged in the pool. It was a wondrous feeling, his eyes glazing over in a thick film until he saw them appear in his fading vision.
Tiny blue embers. They floated to his gaze, dissipating in front of his nose. Kirishima’s eyes widen, the film melting from his vision as the god’s words come back to him a second time.
His cloak was burning under His order. The flames were nothing more than smoldering embers, but they destroyed the brown fabric in a timely manner. Not a single trace of ash or burnt wool was left in its wake, the last of the fabric burning his hood and parting in a small blue flame at the top of his head. He even noticed the burlap bag he dropped onto the floor disappearing in the same manner, leaving nothing behind of its existence.
Florid skin covered in silky layers revealed itself to the god, who sneered in appreciation. “Much better,” He purrs, “whores don’t need to wear something so modest and disgusting.”
His compliment deepens the pink flush tinting Kirishima’s exposed shoulders and chest. Underneath his cloak, he didn’t wear much. Only an extremely loose and sheer pair of pants covered his body, and it didn’t cover much. The thin garment, dyed in the same deep shade of red as his long hair, had large slits stretching from the waistband down to the hems above his ankles, exposing the length of muscle down his legs and hips. Sitting down, it looked like he was wearing a skirt, and it did a poor job of hiding his half-chub cock.
Kirishima thinks he hears another satisfied purr thrum through the air, but its masked underneath a chilling question. “Now, why should I make something as worthless as you one of my whores, shitty-hair?”
Kirishima would have brought a self-conscious hand to his hair if he wasn’t scared of the king’s reaction to it. Was he allowed to speak at least? He had to be; Bakugou outright asked him a question. He glosses his tongue over his bottom lip, wetting the already moist and plump flesh with saliva. “It’d be the greatest honor, my lord. For something as worthless and lowly as me to have the privilege of becoming one your whores and live in your great kingdom as an object of your pleasure...”
A strong pulse twitches down his cock, pausing his words and pulling a deep, yearning sigh through his lips. “It would be an honor and my dream, my lord.”
Another purring hum. “Spoken like a true slut.”
A different type of silence fills the throne room, softening the pounding inside of the redhead’s ears. Kirishima holds his breath as he waits for Bakugou to speak once again. The deity was weighing his words, once again tasting his worthiness, determining if he was even worth a fraction of His precious time. It may have seemed like He enjoyed what he heard, but he knew how fickle the god of depravity was. He was extremely picky with who could live in His kingdom.
Kirishima waits. He waits for a long time. The pregnant silence raises more thin hairs down his neck and back, and his fingers shake on top of his thighs. Kirishima pulls them into fists to hold them still, but it only transfers the tremors to his encompass his entire hands, all the way down to his wrists. Another minute of silence stretches above his head before he hears a command that brings his heart to an abrupt stop.
“Raise your head, shitty-hair.”
The organ comes back to life, but the pulse is way off, hammering erratically behind his ribcage. Kirishima can hardly breathe—face him?— his inhales physically paining him as they inflate his lungs—I can’t!— the mere idea of facing the god being enough to send him into a panic attack. His mouth fell open, one hand clutching at his pounding chest, feeling the outline of his beating heart as it threw itself into his ribcage.
The atmosphere changed on him again through his increasing panic, the cloying scent of spiced sugar flooding into his nose as he pulled in a raspy breath into his lungs. The dual organs swelled under the pheromones’ perfumed fragrance, easing his rapid breathing into a relaxed and proper rhythm. Another deep breath filling his mouth, Kirishima swallowed the aroma down his throat and lifted his gaze from the floor.
Large and thick legs clad in sheer pants rested over the throne’s coiled body, one bent over the other at the knee. Trailing further up, a toned physique sparkled in an assortment of red and gold jewels. His eyes halt onto another pair, bright white with scarlet-orange irises and sharp black slits.
In tales and artworks, the god of depravity was depicted as a being of immeasurable beauty and strength. He had four arms, said to bring great pleasure to all of His whores at once, and a second mouth on His stomach where He’d consume the souls of virgins sacrificed to Him and those who angered Him. Kirishima knew what to expect when the god asked him to raise his head.
What he didn’t expect was the god’s sheer divinity shining upon him, springing tears to his bottom lashes.
Bakugou Katsuki was gorgeous. His physique was like a statue carved from a pillar of marble, all smooth and flawless. Hard, sinewy muscle protruded through His porcelain gold skin in thick lines and ridges across his torso, spanning across his broad chest down to the cut formation of His toned abdomen. Well defined V-lines formed His Adonis belt and disappeared into the god’s black pants sitting low on His torso, exposing sharp and shapely hips.
Through his watery gaze, Kirishima took in the god’s sumptuous statement necklace perched on top of His large chest. Gold, deep bronze, and silvery gems made up the gaudy piece, glimmering underneath the blue firelight. Even on the god, as large as His figure was, the proud jewelry was massive. Kirishima felt like his head would roll off his shoulders if he was ever blessed to wear the resplendent necklace. Glinting directly on his chest, two tiny golden studs were pierced through His pink-dusted nipples, teasing the redhead’s lips.
Bakugou rested his arms in various positions across His throne, all of them equal in size and thickness; two sat loosely crossed over His lap, covering His lower stomach while the other two rested on the throne’s large armrests. He lifted one of them to rest His knuckles against His cheek, and Kirishima saw more gold, red, and silver gleam wetly around His twenty fingers.
Kirishima’s chest began to constrict tightly all over again. In the god’s eyes, he saw the purest forms of flames, and His pupils were thinner than a blade and as sharp as thorns. They dilated as they fell upon the redhead’s awe-stricken face. Like a serpent, but there was a human quality in His vision that rocked Kirishima to his core. He felt as if the genetic makeup of his very soul was being scrutinized underneath the god’s omniscient red glare.
A sneer pulls Bakugou’s lips over His teeth, revealing double-fanged incisors to the redhead’s distorting vision. “Come to me, lamb.”
It was an upgrade from the insult about his hair, and it pulled the tears on his lashes down his trembling face. Bakugou had pulled His hand away from His face to beckon the mortal towards him with a gold-plated finger, the simple action tugging an imaginary line connected to the man’s neck. Kirishima crawled to the god on his hands and knees, his watery eyes never abandoning His face. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. The king of sin had him enraptured by His beautiful and burning red eyes. Kirishima stops in front of His crossed legs, and for the second time since the god’s arrival, his breath was yanked involuntarily from his throat.
Up close, Bakugou’s alluring beauty was breathtaking. His heady scent was richer in the close distance, and His face was inhumanly handsome, all sharpness and without a single blemish marring His smooth skin. Thick blonde lashes bordered vibrant irises, the thin brows above His gaze matching the soft color as they curved along the browbone in a faint arch. Kirishima saw a bronzed metal ring loop through His septum, the light catching on its golden-brown surface. More gold shined along the shells of His ears, some hidden in ashen blonde locks while larger pieces hung from His lobes. As sharp as the spiked tips appeared, the torches’ burning light softened the edges of His hair in their warm light.
He started wondering how soft the god’s hair truly was when he felt a warm touch come across the underside of his face, distracting him from the miscellaneous thought. Bakugou slid His palm underneath Kirishima’s chin and lifted his head, pulling him directly into His line of sight. The way the soft firelight bounced on the side of His face, all thoughts inside of Kirishima’s head had disappeared, his mind completely honed onto the god’s gentle expression.
Cold metal kissed the lower half of his face, his bottom jaw cradled in the center of the god’s palm. If He had wanted to, He could’ve easily obliterated the lower half of his face in one single grip. Instead, the king thumbed lazy circles along his jawline, and Kirishima melted into the gentle touch.
A deep, throaty chuckle rasps through his ears, his eyes fluttering under the husky sound. “You waited a long time for this moment,” Bakugou rumbles, Kirishima nodding at His statement. “I can tell.”
Could he also tell how badly he wanted to touch him, too? Kirishima yearned to, his fingers twitching with the strong need to simply feel his king. Daintily, his fingertips graced the back of Bakugou’s calf muscle, giving it an experimental squeeze.
He’s given no reaction. Testing the waters some more, Kirishima wraps his palm around the thick muscle, his other hand reaching up to rest on the god’s bent thigh. When the reaction is the same, Kirishima lets his sense of touch overload with the god’s solidity in his grasp, lightly squeezing and touching His warm skin through His pants’ thin fabric. He doesn’t reach far, and he never touches His groin, only giving the surrounding area fleeting brushes from his fingertips when his fingers stretch over His muscular thighs.
The king allowed the red-haired mortal to relish to his heart’s content with a languid smile, a pleased chuckle lifting from His curved lips. Kirishima croons under the sound, his toes curling under the resonance present in His rumbling voice. He feels his chin slowly being guided upwards again, pulling him back under the god’s intense and unblinking gaze.
“But do you really think you deserve a place in my kingdom? Especially after what you pulled earlier?”
Oh.
Kirishima’s face crinkles. The god slices his soul in half through His carmine glare and looks inside for an answer the redhead didn’t have. Kirishima swallows and parts his lips, though he didn’t know what he could’ve said to the god in that moment. Not that it mattered; Bakugou interrupted whatever he was going to say with a hard tch and an even harder grip on his jaw. “Your little words are meaningless. They can’t fix the disrespect you showed me. Looking me dead in my eyes, like you were my equal.”
Bakugou’s eyes hardened into slabs of scarlet red metal. “A worthless and pathetic worm like you, being equal to me. A god.”
A harsher grip and a tight intake of air, “I’m sorry —”
“Silence!”
Kirishima’s cheek stung from the power in the god of depravity’s voice. “I didn’t give you permission to speak, you piece of shit. Defy me one more time and your head will be in my hand with your tongue ripped through your teeth and your eyes pulled out of your sockets. I will use your skull as a goblet for my wine if you so much as open your filthy lips again, mortal.”
Cold fear drips down Kirishima’s spine, freezing his nerves and locking the rest of his body in an icy grip. Bakugou’s eyes glowered like He would act on His threat, and Kirishima didn’t even allow himself to breathe in that moment. Only when he saw His nostrils visibly flare from a taut breath and the anger fade away from His vision did Kirishima dare to take a breath. “You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful right now, mortal.”
Really? With the way His voice thundered, Kirishima guessed the complete opposite. “I am,” Bakugou repeats, cutting him with a side glare so potent, Kirishima startled. “Your head would be rolling between my feet otherwise.” He clicks his tongue, “I should do that. Teach a scumbag like you a lesson about what happens when you look at me without permission, but killing you would be a waste of my time. And,”
His voice drawls in a deep hiss, a leery tone hanging off of the end of his words. “It’s been centuries since I’ve come across a creature with a taste as exquisite as yours. So rich and sweet... like the finest ambrosia.” His tongue slithers over His bottom lip, black and forked like His serpentine messengers.
The perfumed air thickened under His sibilant voice. Shudders rolled down from Kirishima’s neck. Bakugou rumbled, “You need to be punished for your insolence, but I won’t kill you, shitty-hair. Though you hardly deserve it, I’m going to spare your life.”
Kirishima tilts his head as best as he could in the god’s tight grasp, his eyes glowing in confusion and curiosity. “This will be your punishment instead,” He says, a sneer splitting across the lower half of His face, “and depending on how well you do, I may let you live in my kingdom.”
Kirishima’s lips fell into a circle of surprise, and Bakugou took it as an open invitation to slip his thumb inside his wet mouth. “Don’t look so surprised, mortal,” he sharply says to him, sneering at the way the redhead’s face falls again, “I will rescind my offer if you do a shit job.” He hooks His thumb into the bottom of Kirishima’s mouth and pulls up, lifting the mortal to His sneering face.
“So you better do good, and show me how you worship your god.”
Kirishima feels the harsh teeth of the cold metal inside of his mouth slip away as he’s released from the god’s grip, his knees harshly colliding on the stoned floor. Bakugou sat His arm back on His armrest and uncrossed His legs, boxing his shoulders in between His spread thighs. Kirishima’s eyes went down the hard ridges of muscles along Bakugou’s body, watching as the god slid His extra arms from their previous position and rested them on top of His thighs. His lower stomach was finally exposed, and across His navel, Kirishima noticed a horizontal line more prominent than the others separating His abs split the god’s abdomen into two sections, cutting through where His belly button would be.
He continues looking downward, reaching the hill cresting the front of the deity’s pants. It had always been a noticeable thing, but now, it seemed like it was truly commanding the redhead’s attention. Thick and long underneath the sheer black linen, straining against its cotton prison.
Kirishima’s throat ran dry, his tremors swiftly returning to the tips of his fingers. He felt Bakugou’s eyes on him heighten in expectation, and he pulled his shaky fingers into his palms, squeezing his building nerves until his hands became still. This is what you came here for, he reminds himself, biting the inside of his cheek. He could still taste the remnants of cold metallic in his mouth from Bakugou’s ring. You came here to show Him your devotion. You can’t get scared now. You don’t have any reason to be afraid right now.
(Except that if you fail, you could possibly die.)
“Don’t tell me I have to actually spell it out for you, shitty-hair.”
Bakugou’s impatient voice made Kirishima’s shoulders jump in slight shock. Right, his task. Unfurling his feverish fingers from their fists, Kirishima lifts them off of his lap, reaching for the god of depravity. He shuffled forward on his knees to get closer to the deity, his fingers brushing over the soft, silky cotton of His loose pants. Prickling heat radiated off of His body the closer he came, heightening the wall of nerves lining the redhead’s guts.
Kirishima brushed his fingers along Bakugou’s ripped core, tracing its musculature. While the prominent hill between the god’s thighs called for his touch, Kirishima took his time exploring the places along Bakugou’s body that he didn’t get to touch before. Groping, squeezing, and feathering over areas on His body that he might have missed, relishing at His solidness and firmness packed tight underneath whitish gold skin. Kirishima’s lips twitched, and salty water returned to his lash lines, distorting his sense of sight.
Here he was, a lowly mortal, an insignificant speck of a creature, in between the knees of a divine being allowing him to touch His body. Letting his undeserving hands freely roam and feel across His golden-white skin. Deep inside, Kirishima knew he shouldn’t have been given this right, not after his display of impertinence just moments ago. And he knew that Bakugou was aware of this fact as well. The god of depravity showed him mercy when he didn’t deserve it, and it brought tears to his trembling waterline.
Kirishima leaned towards His stomach and blew a soft kiss below the horizontal line across the god’s navel, and he felt it twitch underneath his lips. His hands had made their way to His pants’ waistband cinched around His hips, and he had started to pull them downwards in the middle of another kiss when a large hand engulfed his left, halting both at the same time. “Not with your hands.”
Kirishima glanced up, and he saw Bakugou’s lips deepen into another leery expression. Confusion didn’t have the time to settle as the meaning behind His words clicked in his mind, stretching his eyes a few centimeters in diameter. Bakugou released his hands once He saw the realization glow in his eyes, and Kirishima’s fingers abandoned the top of His pants.
A thick mound following the curve of his chin distracts Kirishima from the cold stone pushing into the ball joints of his knees, a dull ache spreading through his folded legs as he sat higher up off the ground. Above him, fiery irises track his every move with keen perception, flaring with interest as they watched the redhead caress over His erection with his nose. His breath, warm and shallow, blew over the bulge in languid puffs, dampening the ultra-thin fabric with molecules of spit.
Tongue was applied, along with plump lips. Drenching the thick length through the thin fabric with hot saliva. “Ahh.”
Kirishima coaxes another quiet hum from the god as he mouths His cock through His pants. The god’s thickness was felt through His clothes, doing little to hide it. The tip, already leaking, was thick down to the hilt, where it was even thicker. Could Kirishima even fit Him into his mouth? Would his jaw break if he tried? The dark imagery had a subtle pulse traveling down his own thickening erection, a quiet moan curling over his tongue as he lathed it over the god’s clothed cock.
Fuck, Kirishima couldn’t draw this out any longer. He had wanted to hold out for at least a little while, just to get the god leaking some more in His pants, but the fantasy of his jaw dislodging trying to fit Him inside of his mouth was quickly undoing him by the seams. He couldn’t wait—and it seemed like neither could the god Himself. “Do not tease me, mortal,” He said, an air of warning surrounding His throaty rumble. He cupped the back of Kirishima’s head in a subtle reminder to get on with it, and the redhead didn’t think to hesitate.
His lips find the edge of the silky pants, grazing the soft cotton. And then his teeth. Kirishima looks up, locking eyes with Bakugou as he grips His pants in between the enamel, making a show out of it with his fluttering lashes and tinting cheeks. Using the strength in his jaws, and the added help of Bakugou raising His hips, the god’s pants came down from His hips and rolled over His thighs.
As it springs from its cotton imprisonment, sweetened fumes permeate between the close space between them. Kirishima lips released the grip on His pants, and as it fell, so did long lines of silvery drool. It could have been the increase of pheromones laced in the air that triggered his salivary glands to produce the excessive pool of spit currently collecting at the bottom of his mouth. Or—and he believed this was most likely the case—it was the appearance itself that turned the redhead’s jaws into a slippery, glistening mess.
Bakugou’s cock stood proudly from His waist, achingly hard and long and impossibly thick. S-seriously? Kirishima’s earlier ministrations had familiarized him to the god’s size and length, but that was back when His cock was trapped inside of His pants. Now free, its girth was easily comparable to one of His four arms, with a pinkish gold tip that glistened wet with precum. There wasn’t a single strand of hair protecting the firm flesh. Only a smattering of gold keratin covered the pubic bone where a patch of hair would grow. Down the thick shaft, long veins traveled to the base of His cock, butterscotch-gold against pale white flesh. Two heavy balls hung below it, teasing Kirishima’s drooling lips and tongue with their golden dusted skin.
And, as if His cock wasn’t splendid enough, six silver barbells created a ladder down the underside of His cock, with a seventh golden barbell pierced underneath the bulbous tip.
The amount of drool flooding Kirishima’s mouth was borderline obscene. He had turned into a dog, nearly choking himself on his own spit trying to swallow it all down his throat. The fantasies returned to his mind, his brain running wild with all of the things Bakugou could do to him with such a tool. It had him licking his lips in excitement, his pupils filling out his garnet irises.
Kirishima wanted the god of depravity inside his mouth, now.
He took Bakugou into the palm of his hand, a gasp crawling from his lips. He was solid in his grasp and hot to the touch, searing the web of lines stretching across his palm. The flesh felt like well-worn leather in his hand, soft and at the same time firm, the coldness from the metal barbells adding definition to the texture. Kirishima squeezes Bakugou as he moves his hand in light strokes up and down His length, biting his lip at the feeling of blood pulsing in the god’s golden veins. He squeezes underneath the tip, and a clear bead oozes through the slit, rolling down its side. Kirishima followed the glistening trail down to where the bead of precum stopped, his tongue poking over his bottom lip. Instinct has him leaning forward, and before he realizes it, his tongue is pressed to the flushed tip.
The god tasted similar to His own pheromones, only several times more concentrated, with an added pinch of saltiness. His pupils, the size of round ovals already, widened into full-blown circles as the sweet and salty fluid heated his body to his core, spreading a stimulating chill from his dark red roots to the tips of his toes. A heavy pulse throbbed in between his thighs, and his eyes fluttered from his heavy moaning. Kirishima parted his mouth wider, pulling his tongue farther out and flattening the wet muscle against the underside of the tip, dragging it upwards and collecting more of the god’s sweet, delectable nectar. His muscles turned gooey as sugary precum glazed the walls of his mouth and throat. It just tasted so damn good, he couldn’t get enough of it. He was craving more. He was becoming addicted to the god’s essence, and kittenish licks weren’t enough to satiate him.
Parting his lips into a small ‘o’, Kirishima took in the god’s flushed pink tip. Wet heat clamped around the head, and an even wetter and hotter tongue curled around the tip, gathering the clear fluids that dribbled from the slit. Kirishima felt the hand on top of his head lower the back of it, long and thick fingers flattening his hair to his skull. A deep sigh comes from the god, the sound turning airy as he sucks hard on the tip.
Turning his head to the side, Kirishima gives the head another firm suck as he pulls his lips away, a wet sound separating his lips from the shiny and leaking point. He presses his mouth to the side of it, sweet cum glossing on his spit-slicked lips. “So good,” he hums to himself, licking the clear lines rolling down the thick shaft. In an airier sigh, “you taste so good, my lord. Thank you for letting me indulge myself on your cock. It’s an honor...”
His voice dips off early, distracted by a trail of precum dribbling down a golden vein. Kirishima licks it up with his tongue, sighing as its succulent taste glazes over his tastebuds. “Ahh...”
“Heh,” Bakugou’s chortle pulls Kirishima’s attention to His sneer. “What a slutty little lamb, with such good manners. Just how I like my whores.”
Kirishima wraps his lips around the glowing vein and gives it a gentle suck, crooning at the hissing exhale and slight tug on his hair he’s rewarded with, both sensations shooting straight into his aching cock. “Perhaps adding a slut like you to my harem wouldn’t be such a bad thing...”
Bakugou’s voice tapers off into a hoarse chuckle, Kirishima whining on His cock. Please, he wants to beg, let me join you in your kingdom. I’ll be good, I promise.
“Show me.”
Kirishima knew he hadn’t said his thoughts aloud. The god was reading his mind. It shocked him, but then the redhead came to his senses. This was Bakugou Katsuki, an all-powerful, all-knowing god of debauchery. Reading the minds of His sinful followers was at the bottom of a long list of abilities the god could do.
Kirishima sucks over another throbbing vein, lightly dragging the pointed tips of his teeth across the golden line. The rich groan he hears pleases him, and he licks a long stripe from the vein back up to the wet cockhead, blowing a sloppy kiss to the leaking slit. His tongue then drags down the underside of his shaft, wetting the cool metal barbells and sucking partial kisses down the length, until his lips met the wrinkled skin on His balls.
His scent was strongest here, Kirishima reacting to the smell as if he was going through an impromptu heat session. Every hair on his body stood on its end as the heady aroma filled his flaring nostrils, dizzying his mind. The god’s pheromones were like an aphrodisiac, turning Kirishima’s skin reactive and blinding him with lust. For a solid minute he couldn’t move, all five of his senses getting attacked simultaneously from the potent musk.
It wasn’t until a heavy chill crawled down his back did Kirishima come out of his frozen trance. He pressed his lips to the soft golden skin, humming at its leathery feel. Stroking His slicked cock with one hand, Kirishima went to work worshipping the god’s heavy sack with his mouth. He licked and sucked on the swollen balls, lathing over the leathery orbs with his tongue until both glistened from his saliva, and then he sucked them one at a time into his mouth, rolling his tongue over each one.
He lost himself in his actions as he supped upon the god. The strong pheromones, coupled with the god’s addictive cum thrumming through his veins, produced a brain fog thicker than cotton inside of his skull, muting his immediate surroundings. Kirishima barely heard Bakugou’s simpers above him or felt His grip tighten through his hair. The usual baritone in the god’s rich voice was light with humor as He watched him indulge himself on His scrotum. “Well, little lamb, you sure do know how to worship a god.”
Kirishima’s voice purred around His soaked testicles. A slight tremor went across the center of his tongue, and Kirishima was being pulled away from the god by the back of his head, his tongue still hanging over his bottom lip. “But that’s enough.”
The deep rumble in His voice clears away some of the fog clouding his brain, and Kirishima became a witness to just how far he had gone on the god. His saliva clung to His balls in copious amounts, slicking the gold-dusted skin in a wet sheen that even caught the glare of the torchlights. The tips of his ears flushed red with embarrassment, but Bakugou scoffs at him. He releases his hair and brings His hand to his lips, pulling his bottom lip down with His thumb.
Kirishima widens his mouth the rest of the way, giving a small lick to the thick band underneath His knuckle. “I’ll give you a reward, though. You haven’t disappointed me so far, which I’m shocked to say.”
He struggles to smile with His thumb currently prying his mouth open, but he manages. Bakugou returns it with an evening more charming look. “Stick your tongue out,” He orders, Kirishima obeying like an obedient servant. His tongue lolls over his lips, and Bakugou’s smirk stretches. “Good, lamb.”
His tongue then rolls over His bottom lip. Bakugou didn’t have to lean in far for the forked tip to hover over the redhead’s nose. A line of spit extends into Kirishima’s opened mouth, hitting the back of his throat and sliding into his stomach. Bakugou retracted His tongue when He was satisfied with the amount of saliva drooling into the other’s mouth, and He slid His thumb from his plush lips.
Kirishima swallowed the newly added saliva down his throat, licking his lips once he was done. “What do we say?” Bakugou prompts him.
Proudly, “Thank you, my lord.”
Studded fingers stroke his cheek. “Good boy.”
The front of Kirishima’s pants grew tighter under the praise. The god grabbed his chin and guided his lips back towards His cock with a rough, “Now, suck.” The demand was punctuated by a light thrust, the tip bumping into his upper lip. Not as forceful as the god could’ve made it, but just enough to emphasize to the redhead what He wanted to be done and that He wouldn’t repeat Himself.
Kirishima sucks the tip back into his mouth, wrapping one hand around the lower half of the god. His tongue curls around the head in a gingerly fashion, sucking down sweet and salty precum as it prodded and licked around the flaring slit. Bakugou dug His fingers into his chin as Kirishima took in more of Him, His shuddering moans beckoning the redhead to go further down His thick cock. His lips and tongue acted as his guide down the length, licking over luminous veins and cold metal. Kirishima counted each barbell that went into his mouth inside of his head, coming to a grounding halt when he reaches four. He traces his tongue over the fourth rung, the metal piercing running through a particularly thick vein along the underside of His cock, rolling the wet muscle over it and soaking the line and silver metal in a glob of spit.
“Fuck...”
All of the torches inside of the room flickered under the curse, the world rattling through the redhead’s bones. He dares a glance through his upper lashes.
Bakugou’s face was scrunched, His eyes darkened and completely dilated, both of His pupils blown into large circles. Only a thin sliver of reddish-orange was visible outside of the black rings. His lips twitched in pleasure as Kirishima repeated the suction across the sensitive vein, His right extra-hand coming down hard on His throne’s armrest in a loud slap before gripping the metal’s edge. The hand He had on his jaw went back to grab his head, digging His fingertips into the man’s scalp.
Kirishima tilts his head to the side, swallowing more of His pierced cock, and a growl resonates in the back of Bakugou’s throat, thick and heavy. “Ah, fuck.”
Listening to His beautiful sounds had Kirishima curious, what other sounds could he pull from the god’s throat? What sound would he make if he nibbled around one of the barbells with his teeth?
An airy, serpentine hiss. And, if he licked over that same spot, an airier curse, followed by a delightful tug on his hair.
Kirishima slid his free hand from below the god to rest it on top of His thigh, groping the muscles surrounding the appendage. His other hand followed after his lips as he pulls back to the tip, squeezing underneath the golden piercing. Swirling his tongue around it, Kirishima begins his descent back down Bakugou, his eyes fluttering shut as the weight of His cock traveled deeper into his mouth, his cheeks puffing outward from the girth. He took in as much as he could before harsh-sounding gags entered his ears, his throat closing in on itself. Back up to the tip, swirling his tongue around it with light suction, and then back down.
He goes a little farther the third time, his hand busily stroking off what he couldn’t fit in his hand. His other hand abandoned its perch on the god’s thigh to cup His balls, rolling them around in his fingers. They were still wet from his saliva.
Kirishima steals another glance at Bakugou. The god wasn’t watching him anymore. His eyes were heavily lidded over and unfocused, His cheeks ruddy. Kirishima saw His lips part on their own as he rubbed his tongue over another pierced vein, an action that produced some of his favorite sounds from the god. He hums under His deep groan, relishing in the way the sound cascaded down his body, sending tremors following after it. Following the vein with his lips, Kirishima continued going down to the base of His cock, his hand stroking the rest of the way down until it was blocking his path, and he took it away.
His nose was pressed up against Bakugou’s stomach. Kirishima’s jaw didn’t break around the god’s girth, but he felt the bones’ protests in the back of his mouth. His bottom lashes shone with renewed tears, but he quickly blinked them away, focusing on the heavy cock pulsing hot on top of his tongue. Kirishima worked the muscle over Bakugou, flicking it back and forth along the underside of His erection, his lips sucking at the same time. “Mmmm, shit, that feels good. So fucking good, keep doing that.”
Kirishima lowered his gaze to His navel, and then closed his eyes altogether, putting his focus on the engorged flesh filling his mouth with its sweet and musky tang. He pulls back up to the tip, wrapping one hand around the spit-slicked length and squeezing down his shaft while he suckled on His cockhead, and then Kirishima took him back to the hilt, moaning hard. His own precum drizzled down the side of his inner thigh, his neglected cock close to release from blowing the god of depravity.
Kirishima hollows his cheeks outward to swallow the buildup of cum and spit in the back of his throat, and a deep whine went off above his head. “Fuck yes, lamb, do that again, fuck.” He does, and Kirishima gets an exhilarating yank on his hair, shooting an electric thrill straight into his groin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Just like that, just like that, yessss.”
Bakugou’s voice was barely over a whisper, the last word hissed softer than a serpent. Kirishima bobbed his head up and down His cock, sucking and swallowing Him down until his throat screamed for a break. He pulled off of His dick with an audible wet pop, spitting stringy cum and saliva onto Him and stroking it into His hardened flesh, and then he swallowed Him whole all over again, kissing the scales on His pelvis with his lips. His tongue rubbed under and around Bakugou, drenching every quarter of skin in ropey strands of white and shiny fluids.
His throat screaming for another break again, Kirishima started pulling his lips back up the god, but halfway up Bakugou stilled his head in His grasp. He glanced up at Him through his lashes; a cruel smile curved along the god’s navel, revealing two rows of wickedly sharp teeth. His erection went to the back of his throat, pushing over the edge of his gag reflex. The tight muscles screamed under the brutal infiltration, more tears coming to his already wet gaze, but when he glanced up Kirishima saw the god blissed out on His throne. Where His second mouth held a demented sneer, His eyes were completely lidded over, irises of what he could see fogged in a thick haze.
Kirishima whines on His cock to grab His attention, but all it does is bring a second wicked smile to His parted lips. His hand firmly planted on the back of the mortal’s head, Bakugou pulls his head back and brings him flush against His pelvis in a long, deep thrust.
There’s a slight interval of relief Kirishima feels when the god tugs him up His cock, but it’s gone the second it graces him, the god quickly hilting Himself down his throat. He repeats the deep thrust, pulling his head backward on a long outstroke and then sliding him forward. Plush lips met scaled skin at the same time His cockhead touched the back of his throat. “Mmmm... A nice and tight hole, crafted just for me to fuck.”
Kirishima swallows more saliva and cum pooling on the back of his tongue, and Bakugou snaps His hips into the tight suction, groaning at the muscles quivering around Him. The redhead’s vision nearly fades to pitch black under the sudden force. He swallows again out of reflex and gags on the intense stroke ripping down his esophagus.
The god raws his throat with little mercy, snapping His hips into his lips every time the redhead swallows His cock. Kirishima’s vision was fading fast with each hard thrust, his head and chest pounding from blocked airways as oxygen was restricted from reaching their destinations. He was going to faint on the god’s cock, and his whines and repeated taps for air against His thighs went unnoticed by Him.
(He was going to die. He was going to die, and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it.)
Parts of his mind were turning blank, large dots spreading from his peripherals to the center of his eyes. Kirishima’s body was starting to slack, and Bakugou finally pulled his lips off of His cock after a brief moment of stillness. He glanced down, and a delighted hiss slithered through His lips at the beautiful sight between His thighs.
Kirishima’s face was the same shade of crimson as his hair. His lips, swollen and red, hung in the shape of a loose ‘O’, thin strands of spit and cum sticking to the wet flesh and connecting to the darkened cockhead hovering centimeters from his face. More cum dribbled down the corners of his lips, dripping off of his chin and making a mess across his chest. He felt the god swipe his chin with His thumb, snapping the strands of spittle and cum on the digit. “Don’t tell me you’re tired already, little lamb.”
He looks up, Bakugou’s eyes flashing down at him in mockery. He tries to speak, but the only sound that leaves his throat is a piteous whistle that pained his lungs. Bakugou sneered, “How disappointing. You can’t even give me a proper blow job, shitty-hair. How can something like you become a whore of mine if you can’t even do the simple task of servicing me?”
He tuts hard and rolls His eyes. “Maybe I should just kill you and go back to my other whores. At least they know how to do a better job than you.”
Bakugou tutted again, dropping Kirishima’s head out of His grasp. He lands on the god’s lap, smearing fluids onto His pants. His breaths leave him in more whistling tones, and the god of depravity sighs at his pitiful sounding exhales. “Pathetic.”
Kirishima blinks away the lines and dots continuing to swim through his hazy vision. He couldn’t let the god believe he was out of commission yet—he wasn’t— he still had to prove his worthiness to Him. He wouldn’t be bested a second time. With renewed determination, Kirishima picked himself up off of Bakugou’s lap and wrapped his palm around His cock.
Bakugou curved an eyebrow above His forehead, interest sparkling in his sharp glare. “Oh?”
A glob of cum dripped from Kirishima’s pursed lips onto the tip of His cock, stroked into the engorged flesh. “I’m not done yet,” Kirishima rasped, sucking on the tip with his eyes locked on the king. Bakugou’s lips curled into a sinister smile, fleshy gums and white teeth flashing down at him. “That’s better,” He says, gathering Kirishima’s red hair into His palm, “show me something worthwhile. I’m gonna fuck that look right off your face until you turn into a dumb fucking slut, you little bitch.”
Kirishima’s lips were flushed against the god’s pelvis faster than he could blink. His eyes almost popped free of their sockets and his throat shrieked as it was roughly distended against their will again. Above his muffled cries, Kirishima heard the god tut softly before a deep, “Breathe.”
The command was serpentine and guttural at the same time. Kirishima’s body took in a deep breath through his nose on its own, perfumed air pouring into his nostrils and down into his lungs, filling the organs with sweetness and spice. The effect triggered a reactive response; the muscles in his jaws and neck fell slack, and his eyes glazed over in a waxy film, the deep garnet tint turning into an opaque red. Every part of Kirishima’s body relaxed, turning into a doll for the god to use.
“Perfect,” He hums, and He thrusts deep inside of his throat.
A harsh gagging sound penetrated Kirishima’s ears, but he felt no resistance in his throat. He still felt the god heavy on top of his tongue, but everything past his throat was null to him. How was that possible? His brain pulsed with too many endorphins to work out the logistics of it, but if he had to guess, it must’ve had something to do with the pheromones he deeply inhaled. They turned him pliant, loosening his muscles and making him feel so good. Like he was doped up on depressants. Bakugou’s thrusts weren’t any different than before, but no pain came from them; only great pleasure and a lovely taste that rubbed over his swelling tonsils.
The king’s throne room filled with the erotic sounds of wet slurps and smacks, gagging and clicking as Kirishima’s throat was turned into a cock-sleeve for Bakugou. His tongue had slithered out of his mouth during the rampant throat fucking and was catching His balls in brief licks every time the god pressed his nose to His grinning stomach. Bakugou threw His leg over his shoulder as he skull-fucked him, tugging him closer to His lap. The action pushed His cock deep into the bowels of the redhead’s throat, his squealing muffled as his lips were crushed into the god’s pelvis.
“By the gods lamb, you take me so well, nngh,” Bakugou stopped bobbing Kirishima’s head on His length to glance down at him, his face splitting under His wide grin. Pinkish red lips were taut around His girth and thoroughly drenched in his own spit and His cum, lines of it drooling down his chin and flicking onto his chest. Shiny tears and snot mingled with the clear fluids, adding to the mesmerizing sight.
Kirishima’s eyes look towards the god dumbly. “You don’t even know how beautiful you look right now, lamb,” he hears the god above him croon, gently guiding his head up and down His cock. “The way your mouth fits around my cock, it’s almost like you were made for me. Fuck, so fucking perfect, you're squeezing me like my own personal cock-sleeve, a-aah.”
A wet cough sends cum around Bakugou. Kirishima sucks the bubbly strands back into his mouth, swallowing it down his stuffed throat, and all Bakugou could do was bite His lip and groan. A heavy tremor spread from the tip of His cock all the way down to His balls, where they twitched and bunched together on top of the mortal’s chin. Dammit.
“M’gonna cum, lamb.”
Kirishima felt the twitch travel across his throat and end above his chin. Bakugou’s movements were turning sloppy and erratic. He swallows around him, his tongue licking over a pulsing vein. The hand in his hair tightened considerably, a few strands pulling free from his scalp. “You better not waste a single drop of it,” Bakugou growls inside of his skull.
His lips clench around His cock, and Bakugou sheathes Himself inside of his mouth as His orgasm tears through Him. Gouts of thick sperm shoot into his throat, all the way to his stomach. Kirishima swallows what he can, but after back-to-back rounds, the viscous white fluid floods his mouth, overflowing the occupied space and leaking out of his nose. The white trails mingle with his spit to create a bigger mess on his jaws, dripping onto his collarbones and down onto his crimson pants.
The amount of cum He pumped down his gullet was staggering. The flow didn’t seem to stop, even as Bakugou pulled His twitching length out of his mouth. White spurted from the tip, painting Kirishima’s cheeks, his hair, and shooting into his opened mouth, already filled to the brim with semen. The ordeal went on for several long seconds before His cock gave off its final spasm, laying to rest flat against His stomach.
Kirishima opens his eyes once it’s over, blinking away white droplets stuck to his long lashes. “Don’t think you’re finished yet, lamb.”
He had just swallowed the semen in his mouth when Bakugou motioned to His cock with His gaze. His semen dripped off of Himself in large, white globs, rolling down His shaft and off of His balls into a small puddle forming on the ground. With how much He had come, the god still stood erect. “Clean up your mess,” Bakugou said, his voice authoritative even after His strong orgasm.
Kirishima didn’t hesitate to obey Him, washing off His erection with his tongue. He took extra care to lick and slurp up the engorged flesh, and when he was done, he pressed a kiss to the head, smiling into the sweet gesture. Bakugou hums at him, satisfaction visible on His lips. “I was wrong about you, shitty-hair. You actually proved yourself better than I expected you to.”
He glows underneath His praise. “D-does that mean, you’ll let me live in your kingdom?” Kirishima asks Him, and Bakugou strokes His thumb across his chin, wiping away the remnants of His release from his skin. His smile was predatory.
“No.”
Kirishima’s face went through a series of different emotions, all under fifteen seconds: confusion, realization, and finally, grief. Bakugou lifted His leg off of his shoulder, planting it on the redhead’s side, and He slid His palm back across the familiar spot along his jaw, clutching the sore area in a bruising grip. Kirishima's knees dangled above the ground, his face inches from the king of sin’s leering smile.
“Because I’m not done having fun with your body yet, little lamb.”