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They meet always in the grave-place where he first found him, too afraid to rest anywhere the other may not know. Not afraid but anxious in wanting ways. Except this one time, where they meet in the rare moments where the other isn’t in wait, caught up in each other’s actions. Alfred let the wheel fall off his arm, and the silk beneath it squelched with blood, the force wringing a bit more plasma out. The hunter stepped over the puddles and clumps to get to Alfred, to pull off the strange thing covering his head. Each tap of a finger rang on it like a clear bell. Blood slid off it like it had been oiled, like a sword would be. One of the candles flickering tipped over into its own wax when the helm joined the ground. Another dropped its bloom and embers onto the stone.
“This is all thanks to you, Elric,” he said between heavy breaths filling his lungs, as his speech had emptied them. The hunter had caught it vibrating up the masonry, each booming word, more than he heard the words themselves. He didn’t say anything but tightened the mask over his nose. The queen lived up to her name in stench, reeking rotten though she lay freshly splattered, and it snuck through far too easy. Only a few things he wanted to do with his mouth anyway, and Alfred could kiss and bite around it, snatch him up. Hunters wear far too much, far too much, too much cape and coat and vest and shirt that fall into mess too and need to be cleaned, that will carry decay’s memory in them for weeks, but as they are pulled away they are lucky to escape without missing buttons or belts. All the peeling so Alfred can gnaw with sharpening teeth around the border of the mask in a necklace, his bites the chains and lines of tongue the links between them.
He pulled back, body in an arch, and snagged the gloves off his hands so sharp that he punctured the leather. Full contact on the hunter’s waist, just as he wanted, each finger feeling the grain of his skin like it too was leather with a pattern. He could rip it all apart in the shape connecting his inner thighs to his torso, dipping in like an animal for dissection. His heart burst in his ears, he couldn’t hear any of the whining or any of that. Mouth parted, panting, his eyes catching his second little piece of prey with big wet eyes, he shook with a sudden tremor.
Alfred let his body rest in the throne next to the beating mass of the queen, and pushed all his robes and things aside, his thick fingers fumbling on buttons. And the hunter followed, slipping his tight, too tight pants over too thick boots, and sunk in to Alfred’s lap. His executioner had already been aching, pulsing from the excitement of his violence, and the hunter tossed aside his gloves too, to take Alfred in his hands. Elric grasped his cock, so thick and perfect and everything like that, stroked him with the wetness from the tip, and with his other hand massaged his balls. The stench of blood did not go away as he drank in their lust, but it faded into the haze of viscera, of what Alfred was capable of, and Elric stared in the beast-twinged, bloodshot eyes of Alfred. All he had to do was nod.
Alfred snatched him by the waist and helped ease him onto his cock, the hunter leaning in to embrace him, to keep from it all slamming in him at once. As Alfred had been, Elric was wet already, but it still stretched and pulled him to take so much so quickly, to be just before so empty to so complete. His nails dug into Alfred’s back but could reach no skin under all those robes, only fragments of insides made outsides. All his sounds came out muffled under the mask, but as he sat completely impaled, he whined with enough force to flutter the cloth up.
The nearly petrified wood of the throne creaked and sighed under their movement, the cushions so soft and worn parted enough to be worthless, and the chair in totality did little but keep them clean of further guts. But the hurting, like the scent, could not be felt distinctly, only in the bundled, crushing of holding and filling and pushing. The hunter’s neck held his head limply over Alfred’s shoulder, giving in to the desire of his whole body to be reciprocally in to him, to complete their circle.
In imperfect time Alfred bucked his hips up or let them fall, to catch the hunter by surprise, and on a rough spike of pulling the hunter back down, he placed his hand over his stomach, holding where it expanded from a tight, narrow body being made so full. He pushed on it, pulled them together tighter with his other arm, to make the hunter really know how complete he made him. Elric gasped, tears welling in overwhelm and everything. Alfred slid his hand down, all around the under-side of his little cock before stroking it straight on. So tight around Alfred, now even tighter, he glanced over at the corpse still beside him and released. The warmth and the wetness of being filled somehow more, being bred and messy, made the hunter come with him.
“So good, little hunter…we’re rid of these filthy creatures…now I can think about nothing but you.”