TW: Smut

Title: ~Altar~

Strife hated to admit it, but he got a strange sense of pleasure watching Parv playing around with his blood altar. The way that a magical cut would appear across the inside of Parv’s left arm, only to heal itself immediately afterwards each time it drew blood from the guitarist. The way that Parv would moan softly in pain, reminding Strife of sleepy mornings rolling around beneath bed sheets and feverish nights spent on top of them, made Strife’s mouth run dry with arousal. Watching the Brit playing with his affectionately coined ‘potty-mouth magic’ made Strife frustrated in a way he had never thought it possible for a human to do, but that was his relationship with Parvis all over.

It is how they end up sprawled on the steps of the altar; Strife’s shirt and waistcoat unbuttoned and thrown open to allow Parv to bite deep green and blue bruises onto Strife’s chest. Strife’s tentacles are unsheathed and glistening with their natural substances even before Parv has tugged his trousers down over his knees and slipped his fingers between Strife’s legs to play with them. The feel of them slick and writhing makes Parv moan against Strife’s mouth, pulling back to murmur thick words of aroused shock against his lips.

“God, Will, you’re so wet already,” The comment just makes Strife growl and push Parv’s mouth back against his own with a tense hand in the back of the guitarist’s short, dark hair. His verbal response rumbles in his chest, some of the plosives lost against Parv’s skin.

“Shut up and touch me, Parvis,” And touch him he does, making Strife writhe and whine as pleasure shoots through him like electricity and his tentacles curl and shift around Parv’s hand with building desire. Parv’s free hand moves to the front of his jeans, fumbling awkwardly with his belt until Strife makes a noise of frustration and pushes him away to do it for him - roughly tugging down Parv’s boxers and jeans in a noisy shift of denim and cotton. In the following rush to have Parv between his legs now, Strife ends up accidentally headbutting Parv’s nose in a flurry of movement thanks to kicking off his own trousers and underwear. Muttering ‘sorry’ repeatedly into his jaw, Strife peppers Parv with kisses in apology. Met with a light, moan-broken chuckle, Strife finds the ability to form coherent sentences leaves him when his largest tentacle finds the heat of Parv’s arousal and curls around it, shifting along skin and setting of waves of intense pleasure through both himself and Parv.

One of the altar’s steps digs into Strife’s back but he finds himself not caring as he wraps his legs around to hook his heels into Parv’s lower back. Whimpers and moans burst between their sporadically joined mouths, arousals both human and alien in origin moving with slick need and want and desire - anatomical differences not so outrageous that pleasure isn’t difficult to achieve. Steadying himself on outstretched arms, hands either side of Strife’s body, Parv looks down in awe at the squirming mess of the usually so restrained and proper Will Strife. Skin mottled with deep bruises and flushed with almost opalescent chartreuse, brow furrowed in pleasure and normally tidy hair mussed against the dusky coloured altar steps. High whines and whimpers of Parv’s name tumble over Strife’s lips, pouting and also tinged green by Parv’s kissing. Arms bent at the elbows and reaching behind his head to grip tightly on the altar, Strife’s eyes snap open from being screwed shut with pleasure to look straight into Parv’s.

There is a moment of blank intensity as startling, glowing jade eyes reflect their light against the deep brown of Parv’s before Strife arches his back and his eyes shut tight once more. The cavernous main room of Parv’s base echoes with their moans, with Strife’s high mewling sounds of orgasm as he frantically clings to Parv’s body and gasps a repetitive cacophony of Parv’s surname. Thick, warm substance becomes smeared between them - running hot rivulets over Parv’s arousal and dripping onto the altar below their shifting bodies as Strife’s eyes continue to glow, as small bioluminescent freckles rise to the surface of his skin below Parv’s touches.

Still feeling the adrenaline-like rush of afterglow coursing through his veins, Strife grabs a hold of Parv’s hips and guides him into spread-eagled sitting position on the altar. Before Parv can question this sudden movement, a moan cuts off any words on his tongue when Strife’s fingers curl quick and practiced around his still hard length. Strife’s teeth are sharp when they tug at Parv’s earlobe, his breathing hot and heavy as his rough voice encourages Parv’s climax until the guitarist’s back arches against body-warmed stone and a rolling yell of “Fuck- Will- fuck!” bursts into the air alongside Parv’s orgasm. Human come mingles, pearly and opalescent, with the vivid green smudges of Strife’s on Parv’s stomach, streaking through his dark body hair. Neither of the couple care - Parv’s callused hands either side of Strife’s face pulling him into a hard, messy kiss which leaves them both even more breathless.

When heartbeats have returned to normal, and sweat begins to cool and dry, Parv threads his fingers through the already messy blonde tufts of Strife’s hair and grins wolfishly at him. “Where the fuck did that come from?” He mutters playfully, enjoying the way that Strife’s blush returns to his cheeks below his still lightly glowing eyes.

“Like I’m going to tell you, Parvis,” The CEO murmurs back, high and mighty tone having significantly less impact due to the nature of his dishevelled undress - made worse by the malachite bruises left by Parv’s teeth on his chest. The human’s grin only widens before he presses a lingering, sloppy kiss to Strife’s cheek and brushes his nose against his temple in a gesture of affection.

“I’m sure I’ll find out eventually, Will,”