Hunger and Pain

Ugly.

This sight, it was ugly.

Ugly, sad, horrid, depressing, whatever one might call it. Reality was rarely beautiful, and with the current state of the galaxy, beauty was all but gone. Perhaps he ought to take his remaining eye too, seeing as there was nothing worth looking at, not anymore at least. One could only stare at nothingness for so long, for it truly offered...nothing.

It was not even darkness, it was not even the absence of light, it was just nothing. Nothing was not worth looking at, so why bother maintaining the eye that was able to perceive it? Sion's right eye had already ceased to function, the Sith Lord simply not caring to heal it, for he saw no sense in the act. What was left to look at, that was worth maintaining his eye for? Exactly.

Nothing.

And nothing, it stood there, before him, and stared at the nothing it too had created. Black robes that sat in heavy layers on non-existent shoulders, layers of fabric that ran down a body that had ceased to exist. Black cloth pooled on the ground, frozen in motion, for the spirit beneath had little energy left to spare. Here, within this dead ship, there was nothing left to feed on. Former humans had turned into crawling slaves of rotting flesh, life drained where it had once flourished. It was depressing, it was boring, and it was tasteless.

“Do you ever step away from that damn window?” the shorter Sith grumbled, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest, his remaining eye on the man he once called his ally. If one could even still call him a man.

Both Sith Lords were dead, but while Sion still carried his own flesh around his bones, Nihilus carried not even bones, not to mention flesh. The masked Sith stood where he always stood, stared at what he always stared at, and moved not even an inch. His mask was faced towards the vastness of the galaxy, distant stars dancing across his vision, promising him potential feasts. Sion moved his eye to the sight before him, imagining that one day, even those stars would cease to exist. All would die, and the galaxy would become nothing, darkness and light forever extinguished until it became but a concept. Such was the fate of all, if his dear 'friend' here continued his crusade.

'Friend' was a term far too friendly for Nihilus, for the two men saw each other as rivals, whatever bond they had once shared long since gone. Sith held no friendships, especially not amongst their own kind. They were partners in a sense, had only just recently rebelled against their own master, and now raced each other in the conquest to destroy the remaining Jedi. Two dead men, two fates that were nothing short of tragic, a bond that was as rotten as they were. Yet with rot came decay, and decay made man was a sight Sion was rather uncertain of if he truly enjoyed seeing it manifest as it did.

Nihilus had not spoken in weeks now. Had not answered anything of value, had not returned the effort the shorter man put into their twisted, destructive relationship.

“Do you even have ears left to hear me?” he asked, once again receiving no answer. All he got was nothing, and that, that started to annoy him.

“Or a mouth left to answer me?” he snarled, growing more annoyed by the second as the masked Sith did what he did best - nothing.

Just nothing. He did nothing, and it drove the one-eyed Sith up the walls. How were they supposed to rule the galaxy and defy their old master, while one half did nothing more than twiddle thumbs and stare into space all day? Sion had come here to talk business, to try and force his dear comrade to start acting according to his titles, yet Nihilus did absolutely…nothing.

All he did was silently waste away, his body leaving him bit by bit while the galaxy passed him by. There was no more planning with this thing of a man, there was no more common goal, there was nothing left for Sion to gain from their fickle alliance turned rivalry. Leathered boots slowly moved forward, the Lord of Pain allowing himself to come closer, the uncomfortable pull Nihilius emitted immediately biting the shorter Sith as he approached.

“At least have the decency to look at me,” Sion grumbled, a clothed hand reaching for the black fabric of Nihilus' headpiece, the Lord of Hunger silently staring off into nothingness as his kin grabbed him by his clothing. Sion roughly fisted the cold fabric between his hand, the undead Sith lord then harshly demanding the others attention with a hard pull, Nihilus' mask pulled down and sideways until Sion faced the ghostly appearance of his supposed equal.

Nothing. He saw no eyes, no nose, could feel no breath from beneath the Sith Lord's skeletal mask.

“Look what has become of you,” the grey-skinned Sith spat, his voice laced with venomous distain. That Nihilus would end like this was no surprise, yet to Sion, it was nothing other than insulting. This was his supposed equal, a proud and powerful Sith Lord carrying the title of Darth - yet all he saw was bottomless loss.

The taller Sith could not see him, not truly, could not speak to him, could not hear or feel him either. Nihilus had fully eaten himself, so Sion assumed, this being but a wandering pile of moulding blankets. If Sion were not a Sith, perhaps he would have felt bad, or even felt pity over the loss of his comrade. Yet all he felt was disdain, dislike for what he saw. They had worked together for years now, had killed side by side, had bathed the galaxy in red. Long gone were the good times - this was but a shadow of what once was.

In all truth, it annoyed the shorter of the two. He had kept himself together, had managed to uphold his flesh, had not allowed death to claim his senses. Yet Nihilus had just given up, so it seemed. He had forsaken his flesh out of pure gluttonous hunger, and had robbed himself of everything. One might call it weak will, one might call it foolish or idiotic, yet Sion knew throwing insults at the other would do little. There was a good chance Nihilus could not even hear him, seeing as there were no ears left to pick up his voice.

“If I could, I would beat whatever remained of you blue and bloody, you damn fool. Look at what you've done to yourself,” Sion hissed at the other, still pulling at the headpiece, Nihilus just motionlessly staring at his former ally. Even in death did the Lord of Hunger tower above the other, Sion barely reaching up to his non-existent shoulders. Back when Nihilus was still capable of holding a conversation, Sion would hate having to lean his head back in order to speak to the other. Always did he look up at the masked Sith, and even now, when Nihilus had become nothing more than a wandering, walking spirit, did Sion have to force his head back in order to properly see the other. What an insult it was to him, to have to look up to nothingness itself.

“I am done with you. I do not need you,” the grey-skinned Sith said, receiving no reaction.

“I have never needed you”

And just as he expected - nothing.

Just hollow, empty nothingness. What a joke. Once they had been so close, so inseparable, for all the right and wrong reasons. Love had never existed between them, no, neither of them would have ever dreamed to love the other. It was the hatred of the other that kept them close, one that was sometimes best resolved with physical intimacy, with pleasures of the flesh - passion, as one might call it.

If one could not kill the other, all one could do was have them, in whatever way possible. Sion had hated the taste of Nihilus' flesh while he had still had it, had hated the way the other's body had felt against his own. Rotten flesh caressing rotten flesh, it had never been pleasant, not in the classical sense at least. The Lord of Pain had hated the sex he himself had initiated with the other, although hate had been exactly what he had craved. He had wanted it, he had wanted the rough leather gloves against his breaking skin, he had wanted that ugly, ghostly mask against his cold, dead meat. There had been a time when he had asked the other to hurt him, badly, to break his bones and push his fingers past the failing barrier of his skin. How they had eaten each other, destroyed each other, it had been blissfully terrible. Yet now, there was Sion, who still yet craved pain, and Nihilus, who had ceased to exist. What use would it be, to push his fingers into cold, boring cloth? What fun was there in showing his fist past an empty eye socket of a mask, nothing left for him to grab or touch? Sion had won, but at what cost?

His rival had died a long time ago just as he had, but now, now Sion had truly managed to surpass the other.

And now, now he was left with this boring, lifeless piece of cloth, a fancy mask strapped to a spirit carrying fancy titles it no longer needed. There they stood, the grand beyond on full display behind them, the distant groaning of the Ravager the only sound that broke into their surroundings. The slaves did not make a single sound, neither did Nihilus or Sion, the Force all but dead around them. No whispers, no orders, no screams of the dying. Here lay nothingness, and Sion hated it. He hated it, he truly did, he hated how the blazing flame of passion had dwindled into barely a flicker of dying ember.

All was quiet.

Until Sion chose to defy the silence his former partner had brought upon them. Sion opened his mouth, rotten tongue making space for a few words he knew would draw the other out.

“Jedi”

A soft groan ran from Nihilus’ body, the taller Sith Lord slowly turning his upper body, Sion under the impression that whatever was left of the other finally cared to listen.

“You rotten pile of cloth, of course you only react when I name your favoured meal. You truly are pathetic, Nihilus,” the one-eyed Sith snapped at the other, the taller of the two slowly waking from his endless stupor at the edge of some grand unknown only he could access. Even within his undead state did Nihilus react to the word Jedi, the masked wraith having turned his faceless head towards his former partner.

Slowly, ever slowly, Nihilus raised his hand, fingers wrapping around the other's wrist as he seemed to recognise his fallen rival. Sion was not dead in the Force, he was no wound either, the grey-skinned Sith technically a meal to be had, even if it were a pain to force him down. Sion could feel it. The slight tug, the slight pull, Nihilus pawing at him from somewhere within the Force.

There they could still see each other, and although the taller man had not even a brain left to think with, he still seemed to harbour some sort of consciousness. Nihilus had left this mortal plane it seemed, and existed somewhere else entirely. Sion let the other slowly remove his hand from his robes, the one-eyed Sith reluctantly allowing Nihilus to keep his gloved hand on his cracking wrist until he grew annoyed by it. With a bitter grunt did Sion free his hand, the Lord of Pain then grabbing the others wrist before he pushed it up against his own stomach, Nihilus lowering his head at the act.

“Remember when you used to dig around in there? Remember when your fingers used to brush across my organs, my blood soaking into the very gloves you still wear?” Sion hissed under his breath, more annoyed than anything else. Nihilus' hand at his body felt so familiar, yet so, so cruel. There was no hand under the leather of the glove, no actual touch, no contact. Sion was pressing some old, dusty glove against the flesh of his being while telling himself that the man before him was still capable of sensation.

Whatever - it was not like he cared.

Nihilus was finally in motion, the masked Sith leaning into his kin slightly, Sion baring his stained teeth at the other.

“You've got to be kidding me,” the shorter Sith cursed under his rotten breath, Sion glaring at Nihilus as the later brought his mask closer until their foreheads made contact.

“You damn pest. Insulting me by withdrawing your efforts, betraying me by destroying yourself until you're utterly useless, and abandoning me by speaking in tongues I cannot understand. Curse you, you rotten devil. I hope your spirit suffers, wherever it is,” the one-eyed Sith huffed, Nihilus finally reacting to the man he had known intimately for many, many years by now. As much as Sion would have loved to push the other away, for Nihilus was doing too little too late - he did not. For this was a different kind of pain, one the shorter Sith could use to fuel whatever was left of him. Nihilus' mask was cold against his cracked and bleeding forehead, the breath that had usually crawled up from behind the mask now entirely missing. Sion felt the familiar touch of leathered fingers travel down his toned stomach, fingertips pushing past the fabric of his trousers, as they had so countless times before.

This was not new.

But it was different, and that, the shorter man hated. A frustrated grumble escaped the one-eyed Sith as he let the other touch him, leathery glove dipping past the tightly wrapped waistband the short Sith wore. Sion had not a clue how conscious the other was, did not know how much remained of the man he knew as his forsaken ally. It was a cruel, agitating thing, to see the man he was trying to best collapse in on himself. A joke, really, nothing more.

Nihilus’ robes brushed across the other’s cracked skin, the cold fabric ghosting across what remained of the Lord of Pain. Whatever remained of the taller Sith still recognised the other, knew what they had shared, when they had both still had the ability to speak and quarrel. The leathered hand slid down a cracked and rotting abdomen, Nihilus leaning further into his old comrade while his mask remained pressed up against the other’s forehead. He was no stranger to the others body, knew where his touch mattered most. Sion exhaled into the other’s presence when he felt fingers wrap around his manhood, the Sith hating this as much as he knew he desired it. Pain came in many different forms, and Sion – he happily took each single one of them. He let his remaining eye fall half-closed, allowing the familiar feeling of pleasure to break out across his loins. Nihilus wrapped his fingers around the others cock, leather meeting cold skin, as it had so many times before.

It was not bad, but it was not what it could have been. With no body left, there was not much for the two of them to do but this. Sion could no longer reach under those black robes, could no longer dig his nails into weakening flesh and skin, could no longer find a mouth to kiss beneath that stupid, ugly mask of bone. There was nothing left he could violate and ravage, nothing he could sink his teeth into. He was having sex with a mask and some robes that had not been washed in years – how humiliating, for a proud lord such as himself.

“Mmm….,” the shorter Sith sighed, a spark of pleasure crawling up his shattered spine as the other began slowly moving his hand up and down his length, Sion allowing himself to feel the other’s touch, for it was all they had left. His remaining eye dared look upward for a split second, his gaze meeting the endless black hollowness of Nihilus’ eye socket, nothing there to look back at him. A strange thought crossed his mind, the man stopping himself as he felt his thoughts escape him. No, he would not mount the empty eye socket of a mask, that was a step too far, even for him.

Nihilus felt the other’s manhood throb and twitch within his palm, Sion quick to grow hard, passion something the shorter Sith masterfully displayed in every sense imaginable. He stroked his rival while he continuously pressed their foreheads together, the fabric of his headdress pooling at the other’s collarbones. If he still had a mouth, he would have kissed the other, would have let the other lord bite his tongue off as he had done so many times before. No longer was that possible, Nihilus only able to press his mask against Sion’s face, hoping the other would understand the somewhat tender intention behind it.

Leather stroked across flesh, Sion allowing the warmth below to soothe his hurting body, his cock happily twitching against what it knew. Warm breath crossed his cracked lips, the Lord of Pain feeling his body ease up, tension slowly fading as pleasure and lust pooled in his abdomen.

“We could be having so much more,” he grumbled under his breath, not knowing if the other could even hear him.

“But you chose to eat yourself, some starved beast you are. Now all we have is this – a lousy hand job on some scrap junk of a ship,” the grey-skinned Sith hissed, his voice not quite as loud as he forced a groan back down his throat. Right, Nihilus had essentially destroyed his own genitalia, his own chest, mouth, and whatever else he had once used in their little dalliance. What a nasty, cruel joke this was.

He hated staring into those hollow eyes, hated seeing nothing, hated knowing that whatever he had once taken for granted was long gone. Nihilus was not even a corpse anymore, just…nothing. And Sion hated him for that.

The Lord of Pain suddenly let a supressed grunt run from his bleeding lips, his groan catching in his throat as the other began stroking harder, the sound of leather brushing across slick, wet skin filling the silence of the Ravenger. Sion curled his toes in his boots, his teeth grinding together as he let a curse slip from his tongue, the hard strokes beginning to draw at his building climax. Pleasure began to run down his dead body in waves, the Sith groaning through closed teeth, almost as if he was ashamed of his own passion, his own desire. It did not take long, the first drops of pre-cum already soaking into old fabric before Nihilus pulled his hand across the other’s shaft, his palm finding the sensitive tip as fluid began to pearl at the other’s slit. With a pained, angry grunt did Sion release into the other’s hand, Nihilus skilfully wrapping his large hand around the others tip as to ensure not a single drop was spilled.

Sion basked in the glow of pleasure, allowed himself a quick moment of peace within his tortured existence, briefly let his mind rest while his body felt a strange sense of relief wash over it. A rare gift, one he knew he ought to despise for it was not pain, but the opposite of it. Yet still – he allowed himself to enjoy, just this once.

Allowed himself to just exist, to feel, and then, to centre himself.

The taller man slowly withdrew his masked head, Nihilus straightening his back as he pulled his hand out from the other’s trousers, Sion’s loins left slightly moist, a pleasant warmth having settled across the lords’ muscular thighs.

Silence followed, with the Lord of Hunger examining his own hand, eyeless gaze resting on the sticky residue that soaked into worn leather. As nice as their little dalliance had been, Sion was not here to make friends, quite the opposite.

“As I said,” the grey-skinned Sith grumbled, Sion licking across his chipped teeth before he turned slightly, no longer wishing to look at the tragic disaster that was once Darth Nihilus.

“I do no longer need you. I have never needed you,” he sneered, black-blooded veins across his body swelling in frustration before he fully turned from the other Sith, tension within the room once more growing bitter, resentful.

Because instead of an answer, Sion received yet more silence, Nihilus slowly moving his head back towards the endless vastness of space as he resumed his mindless staring. Not even a word was spoken in that hollow gibberish Sion had heard the other use before, not even a word said in that voice that caused him unspeakable pain. Just nothing.

Their business here was done, for now at least. Darth Sion turned on his heel, good eye moving across the dead ship before him, the Sith finally taking his leave as he no longer wished to see the result of endless, merciless hunger.

For he deserved better than nothing.