Chapter Text
Striker didn’t waste any time slamming the door shut as soon as he entered his motel room. With a low hiss he tossed the bag with his hastily gathered few belongings on the floor and walked angrily towards the bed. His long spiky tail dragged behind him in an equally irritated manner.
Despite his bravado and confident taunts towards Blitz before making his escape, there was no denying the fact that his whole mission had ended in nothing short of a fucking fiasco!
All this time spent working for that loud obnoxious family filled with cocky lowlifes and shorties, every single one of them unacceptably proud of their mediocrity… all of it just to secure that spot with the good view on that stage for the festival. And all of it wasted! He’d lost count of how many times he mentally had to bite his lip and smile charmingly instead of smacking some sense into their tiny skulls.
Striker sat with unneeded force on the cheap mattress making the bed creak loudly under his heavy weight.
He took his hat off. Clutched it between his hands.
Grunted.
He had to call her.
She would be waiting for news now that the blood moon festival was finished. Shit! He really didn't want to report to her while being in such a foul mood.
The cowboy laid back, spread himself across the bed and took in a deep breath. After a moment of thought he reached for his belt an unbuttoned it.
Fuck it. He needed to blow off some steam first.
Striker raised one hand to his mouth and took off one of his fingerless gloves with his teeth. With the other he slid his pants just a bit lower to get access to his manhood. Now free of cloth he pulled it out and palmed it before stroking it once slowly. Masturbating always felt better with his clothes on instead of getting buck naked like some desperate whore. He liked the feeling of leather against his skin to let go of it that easily. But not against his dick per se.
Ok now..who was good for this?
His mind instantly went to Blitz. Not that often he encountered someone as superior as himself amongst Impkind. And he was a sexy motherfucker alright. Strong too. Felt quite a few of his muscles during the competition earlier. And the strength behind those hands, getting used skillfully by a man like it should.
His own hand was starting to move steadily now stimulating his slowly hardening member as he recalled their interactions. Meeting. Shaking hands firmly. Skinning prey for dinner together and getting blood on them. Wrestling in the mud. And then later that moment when he was interrupted as he was about to shoot that embarrassment of a demon lord by him. He did panic for a second there but eventually was able to get Blitz backed against that wall. Feel his body heat against his own while promising a good deal. And a good time alongside it. Blitz definitely would be into it. The dirty talk was already in full swing. Oh it would be sssso good.
Just then his line of thought came to a halt. Striker growled lowly deep within his throat, annoyed with himself as his dick softened. He shouldn't have gotten it to this point. It was when it was getting hot alright. But it was also the part when he got fucked over and ended up ridiculed. His mission turning into a failure. Getting fucking blue balled instead of getting his blood thirst satisfied by killing his target and maybe getting a celebratory lay by a new partner later. But the fucker apparently wasn't able to quit being a fucking plaything for that rich prick! So much potential wasted. Ugh.
He continued to mentally grumble for a couple of moments as his tail rattled heavily accompanying the frustration. The yellow glow coming from his eyes cast heavier shadows on his face as his ire rose.
Fucker, even spared the employees for ya. And that's what I get? Bruises and bite marks? Not even the good kind of this shit. Just wounds that hurt. Scratches that where now beginning to sting and- oh..
Striker raised his gloveless hand to his cheek. Dragged a finger across it in consideration. His body vibrated with a softer rattle. Well..this one he didn't get from Blitz now did he?
Alright...that was a good option too.
Little dude. Moxxie. Sure put up quite a fight for being another pathetic small weakling.
Yeah..little vermin. Got some spunk I'll give ya that.
Striker had had plenty of time and to tease and mess with the smaller imp before his assassination attempt on Stolas. And an equal amount of opportunities to do so. That he didn't waste. Because it was so unbelievably satisfying and more than simply entertaining to watch the other get more and more flustered by his inability to prove himself, stumble over his own words, jealous gleam on his eyes whenever Striker flexed his obvious masculine superiority over him.
Besides it was a welcome break of having to play nice with everyone. He wasn't in any danger of being suspected since everyone else was already ripping on the little fella anyway. He didn't go for it till Blitz openly belittled his employee and no one bat an eye at it.
Still. What a stubborn brat who didn't know his place. Little man having no business even being there with his neat little suit and handsome soft face among the bloodthirsty little fuckers of Wrath.
Striker's hand found its way downwards as he began touching himself once more.
He had enjoyed towering over Moxxie and making him flinch a bit too much. So much so that when he saw him sneaking into his room he couldn't control the predatory urge that came upon him. Little guys like him, babbling non-stop, so out of their league and not even realizing it just begged to be dominated.
He could have just snapped his slim neck when he trapped him beneath him and be done with it. But something in the wild way in which Moxxie hissed, scratched and thrashed violently against him made the larger imp want to squeeze all the fight right out of him.
Striker let out a soft groan accompanied with another rattle and rolled over to his side. He crouched a bit as the muscles of his stomach tensed at the memory. His hand moving faster and building up the pleasure.
His mind filled with images of holding his prey down and the rattles grew stronger and deeper just like back then. Pressing their bodies so close the struggling brought friction into their lower parts. Watching the intense defiance, morph into realization and fear on the little one's face as his eyes grew wider and filled with desperation. Got lost in that thrill of power and control so much that he even failed to notice Moxxie aim his kick at that moment. Ah but it didn't matter. He got him back into his clutches quickly. Don't you run away now. Ya need to know your place you little pest! Wrapped helplessly in my arms. None of your struggles can do shit to break free.
Satisfaction and sinister glee had filled Striker's chest at the moment and the emotions had quickly escaped in a deep rumbling rattle as he dragged his catch away from the door and span them both around.
Got to take a better look at Moxxie's unfocused eyes as he suffocated under his hold. Crouched and pinned him against his chest to feel the force of his thrashing in its entirety. To hear his desperate muffled grunts. To take it all in. He watched closely in dark fascination as the other lost strength and unwillingly surrendered, hot breaths getting trapped within the fingers and palm expertly covering his mouth. How pathetic, how weak, how utterly exhilarating to hold him mercilessly like this and force him to submit. Oh but it had ended so soon.
What could I do to ya if we met under more favorable circumstances hmm?
Striker subconsciously gripped his pillow tighter, tail spinning erratically behind him.
Maybe in a motel. A shitty one like here. He would hold him like this. Exactly the same. Just a bit more. It was so close. So close till the other imp almost went completely limp against him. So he would do that to him till Moxxie couldn't even form a coherent thought anymore. Till there was absolutely no air left in his lungs and his hands no longer had the strength to grasp so tightly onto the arms that were restricting him. Then and only then he'd allow the vermin to breathe. Hear him gasp and cough. Oh yeah, take in as many sharp inhales as you need little man and let me feel your body shake as you pant for air.
Wouldn't let go of the arm holding him in place. It'd stay coiled around his neck and shoulders tight and good. Keeping him close, right where he wanted him. Not an inch further than he allowed him to.
Tilt Moxxie's head up and slide his hand beneath the now wrinkled shirt. Would he realize? Would he tense or still be too far gone in hazy thoughts and heavy breaths?
Then he'd feel him up. Skin heated, heartbeat irregular. Already dazed and breathless for me. Such a good boy.
He'd find the hem of his pants, hook his clawed thump beneath the cloth and drag his fingers across Moxxie's stomach, before pulling them down, maybe leave long scratches across his thigh while doing so. To hear his hiss and feel him flinch. No way he'd miss even the slightest movement while being so close.
Grab flesh, feel skin against his own. He's panting. He's getting hard. Of course he wants it. Palm his inner thigh, touch and grope it this way and that, whatever the fuck he wants and quickly get rough with his movements. Bet that would make him moan, thick ass thighs for someone so small this one had. Lots of room to "work with".
If bothersome hands would try to get in the way, he'd tighten the hold on his neck and force him to reach and grip there tightly by instinct. Dig your claws in there if you want, I don't mind. It'll make me go wilder if you draw out some blood.
Would wrap his bigger tail to the other wrist. Restrict. Squeeze. Force it all the way backwards and away from interfering. And finally reach for his crotch. Spread one leg open with his elbow to have easy access and give him pleasure. Keep at it till the vermin starts begging for it.
At this point in the dirty mattress of the motel Striker was beginning to salivate. The fantasy becoming more detailed and vivid as he closed to his climax.
He flipped over onto his back and picked up the pace. Let his tongue stick out to wet his lower lip. Closed his eyes and focused once more intently on the memories of heat, claiming control, grunts.. hot breaths.
Would have span the smaller dude around and quickly slashed open his clothes with a swift move. If he slashed some skin along with them all the better. Such stupid attire to wear on a ranch or anywhere really, but hell it would look good all messy and ruffled up. Barely hanging onto him with its lower half nonexistent and naked legs pressing tightly against his sides.
Wrap him up completely with his longer tail and sit him on his dick. Move him up and down like a fucktoy. Vest open, bowtie ripped loose, stupid shirt torn all the way down. Moaning incoherently with each thrust. Sweaty with his hair messy and sticking to his face. Expression lost and unfocused.
Ah! Yes! Take it! Just...a bit..more..
Suddenly a different image flashed behind the cowboy's eyes. Defiance and cockiness accompanied by a sassy tone. This version had a challenging smile.
You're gonna finish...partner?
Striker came with a grunt.
Tension spilled as he felt himself getting empty. Chest rose and fell in satisfaction.
He laid there for a moment...
Then examined the cum on his fingers, smiling absentmindedly to himself.
"Best lay of your life little fucker. And you'd know it.." he mumbled smugly. The images faded from his brain.
Feeling sated and calmer now he went for a shower.
A little while later he was waving his tail lazily in the air as he dialed her number on the phone. Confident smile on his lips, voice smooth with his usual low and calculated tone. Presenting the outcome as just a minor inconvenience.
"I failed to kill the target at the festival. But don't worry ma'am. It won't happen again."
Heard her yell on the other side of the line. Frustration getting the better of her. But it was fine.
"Understood"
The line went silent.
He chuckled darkly. "I'll get him next time."
And he wasn't done with I.M.P either.