Chapter Text
I shouldn't…I shouldn't like this, Zakuro thought through a haze of shame and lust.
But with each thrust Hisoka's razor sharp nails sank a little deeper into his flesh; and certainly, with just a little more, just a little harder, they would finally draw blood .
He whimpered, writhing against the grip on his waist as he tried fervently to resist the urge to meet each slow thrust with his own downward momentum; Hisoka all the while laughing softly at his pathetic, plaintive sounds. The grip on his waist tightened, the claws flexing as strong hands so easily shifted his weight.
Zakuro was tempted to glance down, to witness these new welts– like pink crescent moons– undoubtedly blooming against his pale skin. Just a little bit more… But Hisoka was exerting just the right amount of pressure to keep him on the edge, pressing his skin– and his sanity– to their limits. Tears of frustration pricked his eyes, just as the nails pricked his skin.
Just a little more.
Please. He almost spoke the word aloud, but his attention was fractured as images of gore flickered on the screen before him. A bearded man on screen spoke, though Zakuro had lost the plot long ago. "When attacked, your blood will try and—”
Ah, the idea of it; the crimson liquid running hot and fragrant in streams down his thighs. The scent, heady and sharp and coppery, as it mixed unpleasantly with the smell of burnt popcorn, with the stale sweat of bodies from the theater's previous patrons… He covertly shifted a hand between his legs to rub fervently against his swollen clit, the other still scrabbling in a futile attempt to steady himself against a cheap plastic armrest.
"--blood will try and survive, and crawl away from a–"
Hisoka hadn't missed the movement. "You like this, don't you?" He whispered in a velvety tone as he stilled his hips; never one to miss an opportunity to tease.
The man, of course, knew exactly where to sink his metaphorical teeth. Undoubtedly, even by the ghostly light of the screen, he hadn't missed the faint spiderwebs of scars tainting Zakuro's body.
In Zakuro’s mind, his fantasy persisted. The blood would flow in rivulets down his thighs, each individual drop exiting in a euphoric rush; as though eager to be free of this fragile, broken–
" Don't you, my sweet ? " Hisoka reiterated cloyingly, pulling Zakuro’s lithe form more tightly against his own.
His delusion soundly shattered by the grotesque pet name, Zakuro attempted to open his mouth to deny– but his body answered in his stead. He writhed and whined; impaled on Hisoka's frustratingly motionless cock. With the way the man's breath came hot against the already feverish skin of his neck, it wasn't a stretch for him to imagine the dazzling pain that a swift, sharp bite would incur– and he was unable to suppress a shiver at the idea. He tried futilely to turn his face away, but trapped in Hisoka's overpowering embrace, there was nowhere to go.
Nowhere to escape that voice…escape those thoughts .
Hisoka laughed. But instead of moving, he snaked an arm around to Zakuro's front, purring in approval as his hand found what it was searching for. "Ah...you're this wet?" A low, mocking whisper of feigned surprise at his ear.
And he was; his pussy stretched gratuitously around Hisoka's large cock, his own wetness sufficient to maintain the slight discomfort of fullness, but not outright pain. He watched with a muted sense of shame as Hisoka toyed with the juices in one large hand– being ever so careful with his nails– clearly taking great pleasure in witnessing his body's betrayal.
Observing by the flickering light of the theater screen lent a surreal quality to it all. Where his own secretions mixed with that of Hisoka's, it rendered the fabric of the man's bodysuit to a lustrous texture that glimmered like blood . At this phantasm, a jolt of arousal sparked through his core, and he felt his opening twitch around the intrusion.
Hisoka felt it too.
"Does it get you off, being fucked in an empty theater?" The man paused, then added with a chuckle: "Empty for now ."
That's not it at all, Zakuro thought remorsefully through a haze of lust.
" Or is it being used as a simple diversion?"
The implication jarred him out of his stupor.
"N–n–!" Hisoka had pressed a finger against his clit particularly violently, intentionally grazing it with a single nail– deteriorating Zakuro's words into a breathy moan.
"No?" Hisoka inquired in amusement, withdrawing the claws of his opposite hand from the flesh of Zakuro's waist, reaching up to instead fondle the swell of his breast.
Zakuro whimpered as fingers traced a nipple, though not from the stimulation– but at the sudden absence of pain. At this, Hisoka laughed knowingly, rolling a nipple between forefinger and thumb. "Then it must be… this ." His bloodlust flared hotly; and with not a moment's hesitation, he squeezed .
Zakuro could almost hear the soft sound of his flesh puncturing as nail made brief contact with nail; the pleasurable, sharp sensation ringing in his mind not unlike the beginnings of an orgasm.
Just like the welling blood; it pulsed, budded, overflowed.
There was the tickle of warm blood down his abdomen, and a yelp exited his mouth unbidden. He chased this high, thrusting his hips urgently against his own palm. He was aware of Hisoka's cock, still hard inside him, twitching in interest– and the sensation of the faint trickle of blood mixing with the wetness that slicked his pale thighs. Hisoka gripped these ardently, strong hands spreading him impossibly wider in his lap.
Zakuro didn't resist, but instead began to rut unabashedly downward in his desperation; and this time, Hisoka mercifully obliged, the wetness easing his way as he fucked up into his tight opening. Thrusting down onto Hisoka's cock, then up into his own palm, the friction was blinding, delicious– and it was enough to send him quickly hurtling toward the edge. He came hard, pussy spasming as his vision darkened, but was quickly fucked to the point of overstimulation and beyond as Hisoka clasped his lithe frame tightly, chasing his own high.
Just when he didn't think he could take anymore– the heady scent of blood assaulting his nostrils in waves, the man's cock filling him well past the point of pain– Hisoka came inside with a soft moan.
Zakuro allowed himself to slump bonelessly forward, feeling Hisoka's cock slip out of him, quickly followed by a torrent of sticky fluids. His forward momentum was stopped only by Hisoka's strong arm around his chest.
"You're... delightful ." Hisoka hummed; and though Zakuro couldn't see, he knew he was licking a mixture of blood and their combined fluids from one razor-nailed hand.
Zakuro took a deep breath, unable to respond. He wanted to react with disgust, with derision; but secretly, his insides swelled with a misplaced sense of pride.
His dark eyes were blown wide as a hand caressed his jaw, tucked away a stray sweat-soaked strand of hair, wiped at the remnants of tears he hadn't realized had plastered his cheeks.
"You should have a taste ."
His mouth tasted of blood. And bubblegum .