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It was hard to pin down exactly what the feeling was. Sometimes it felt like an unscratchable itch, deep inside. Sometimes it pulsed in time with the beat of his code. But it mostly squirmed, and rolled around in his guts. Dark thought of it like a caterpillar.
Dark was made for Chosen. He never knew if Animator wanted him to win or lose that fight. It wasn’t like Animator was even paying attention. But with how strong Chosen was, and the classical stories of their names… Dark was pretty sure he was made to be a toy to distract Chosen for awhile. Drain some of that infinite energy. Too bad they escaped together instead.
The feeling had been there since his creation, so he figured it was related. He’d try investigating more, but Chosen wasn’t especially forthcoming with the circumstances of their creation, so Dark couldn’t begin to guess about his own. Chosen really wasn’t forthcoming about anything.
Dark stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. There was a distant thump as Chosen dropped something in the living room. The caterpillar squirmed.
Thinking about Chosen made it worse. But not thinking about Chosen made it wors-er. Dark learned to walk the fine line of considering them without focusing on them when he was alone, and the workaround made things much easier to get shit done. The grocery shopping needed Chosen’s imaginary opinion every two to three items. The programming needed a black duck with a hole stabbed through its head to solve problems with. The bathing needed extra careful inspection of each scar that had a Chosen-related story before scrubbing.
Dark knew how to juggle the thoughts to relax the caterpillar on his own time.
But all bets were off when Chosen was in the area.
It was the most exciting thing, whenever his best friend was there. Them. Chosen. The stick Dark was made for. His breath always caught in his throat when he sensed their presence. The caterpillar would tumble until Dark needled them into a fight, would throb happily when Dark got an unexpected reaction. Everything else was so easy to ignore when his best friend was there. Chosen, Chosen, Chosen, Chosen…
He tried to satisfy the caterpillar with as many interactions as he could fit, but sometimes Chosen wanted to be left alone. Which, fair. Dark also could become overwhelmed with the feelings and needed to be alone. But it was a problem if Chosen wanted to be left alone but was still there in the room. Or was making noise with some activity nearby. Or was even just visible on the horizon…
…Because, after awhile, the fantasies would start intruding.
They always started normal, picturing what it would be like to go through with the interactions that Dark wanted to. Something like saying “hey hey hey hey” while jabbing them in the shoulder until they’d look over with that unimpressed expression that slowly morphed into annoyance when Dark wouldn’t stop. Maybe they’d slap away the hand and Dark would tease them for being so easily bothered.
(And the caterpillar would clench around his lungs, draw his pulse deeper in his body.)
The images could go any of several ways.
Maybe Chosen would get violent. Shove Dark around with progressively more force, until it wasn’t a shove but a punch. Then two punches, then ten, with flames boosting them forwards. Dark would return fire, but Chosen wouldn’t take his shit lying down. That deadly calm would settle around their eyes, a gleaming threat. Smoke would creep out from between their lips.
And then and then and then—
Maybe Chosen would be out of it that day, from a week of nightmares and insomnia. Dark would get a lucky hit in, rattle their skull. They’d stumble backwards and he’d knock them down. He’d clench his hands tight around their throat, and they’d scrabble weakly at his hands. Try to laser him off, but he would just tilt their head up using their neck. His nails would dig in, and bright red codeblood would trickle down. Chosen would finally kick him off with a burst of strength, roll over to cough.
But they didn’t know about the weapons Dark was working on. He would summon one spike, twenty. They’d penetrate deep into Chosen’s body, toxic and eating away at their body. They’d grunt in pain, trying not to show weakness. (And the memory of the grunt would nestle behind his chest.)
They wouldn’t succumb that easy. He’d have to summon more when Chosen would expel them. Thirty spikes, fifty. Chosen would weaken more and more, until Dark could finally take the last spike, tear it slowly up through their torso. Their twitching body would be almost as red as Dark’s from the codeblood. And he’d jab the spike through their neck. Watch as the fight and life and hate and drive drained from their beautiful ruby eyes.
(That would be. A-ah—)
Or maybe Chosen was on their game that day. And— (Wriggling squirming writhing—)
Chosen wouldn’t let themself be rattled by the hit. Dark would try to bowl them over but they would just duck and turn his energy against him. They’d be the one to pin him down, and let angry flames strain through their teeth at him. (Sharp. Bright. F-fuck.)
He’d try to to summon a palmful of energy and they’d tighten their grip until his wrists creaked and ached. They’d have the sense to pin all his limbs down with their own, maybe hold both arms in one hand so they could grab his chin and force him to pay attention. Chosen Chosen Cho was so much stronger, and faster.
And more tender where it counted. (Dark’s hand crept helplessly down his body, dragging against the fabric of his shirt.)
So then… Then Chosen would snarl something about how Dark was driving them crazy. That he needed to stop and think. Let go of the need to be a prickly, violent bastard for five damn minutes.
But Chosen was the one driving Dark crazy first. Maybe he’d say something about it. Maybe Chosen’s piercing eyes would catch on something in his expression, divine meaning from his heaving breaths. Maybe they could sense the caterpillar desperately wiggling in his gut.
They’d hum thoughtfully. Say they had an idea of what to do. Shift their grip to pull Dark’s jaw open by his teeth. And sloooowly grind down on his sensitive crotch. (Shit shit ah—)
Dark would try to protest with a growl, ask what they thought they were doing. But then Chosen’s eyes would flutter closed with pleasure, their lips parting, and he’d be powerless to resist.
Chosen would lean down to press their hot body fully against his own, gently rocking back and forth. They’d softly nip at the pulse in his neck, and send sparks along his spine. He’d drool around the fingers holding his jaw open. The lovebites would travel up and down his neck, shifting sides at Chosen’s whim. Whines and gasps would forcefully escape his throat the longer the torture continued.
(Dark luxuriously squeezed his crotch through his pants. The other hand shifted to caress his neck in the right spots, and jerk down his own jaw. His hips jolted from the attention, and an excited drip tickled its way down.)
Distracted, Chosen’s grip on his wrists would loosen. Dark would take advantage to rip his hands loose, grab their hips, and make them grind together at an intense pace. Chosen would moan, scrabble at the ground to try to regain control. But Dark would give bites of his own to their chin, their neck, their collarbone. Insistent and sharp.
They’d start to lose themself in his passion. Dark would kick out his legs, no longer trapped, in order to wrap them around Chosen’s hips. Pull them close, grinding up. His arms would be free to clutch at Chosen’s strong back and pull their coily hair.
(Dark couldn’t hold out any longer, and slipped his hand under the waistband to feel his hot skin. He was soaking his underwear, and his folds slipped eagerly against his calloused fingers. Chosen was doing this to him. The caterpillar squirmed deliciously in his belly.)
Chosen would stutter, and start to plead. Dark would roughly press his lips against theirs to shut them up, and keep up the pace. The desperate closeness would let him feel through all the layers of cloth between them. He would relish in the thick lump barely rasping between his folds. Rhythmically squeeze those hips closer with his legs, and mouth against their sweaty jaw.
Finally, Chosen would harshly scream in delight, call Dark’s name. Dark would pull their head back to watch their eyes roll up, and revel in their shaking body and moist heat. At the end of their climax, they would nearly fall on top of him. Face deeply flushed, unfocused gaze. He would track the dripping tears and the leaking puffs of smoke. They would look destroyed.
Oh. Oh, oh…
Dark shuddered, groaning and desperately shoving his hand deeper into his crotch. Ah, Cho, Chosen—
Chosen, ruined with pleasure. It took Dark straight over his peak. He bit his lip to keep from screaming as he fell.
Fuck.
…
Dark came down slowly. There was a ringing in his ears that slowly faded. The caterpillar finally relaxed.
…
A couple minutes later, Dark started at a knock on the door. The caterpillar morphed solid with dread.
Dark cleared his throat, flipped the covers over his body to pretend he had been sleeping. “Yeah?” he called creakily.
The door cracked open. Chosen was smiling, their ruby eyes lit up with excitement. Dark’s breath caught suddenly, faced with that rare treasure. “I found a new movie for us to watch!” they exclaimed. “It looks like a good one. Come join me.”
“…’kay, in a minute.”
The door shut again. Dark slowly turned to bury his face in his pillow.
…Sometimes, the feeling Chosen gave Dark burst into a dozen butterflies, fluttering and lifting him to somewhere new.