(no subject)
In which I fill this prompt
Title: Coming Undone
Author: Lapin (me)
Rating M
Warnings Sex, graphic violence
Summary: Janos and Azazel are separated by an ambush in Czechoslovakia. It doesn't end well for the ambushers.
A/N: Oh lord, am I not kidding. The prompt was "They fuck to know they're alive". Draw your own conclusions about how graphic this is. I was determined to prove to myself that by gosh, I can write something a little darker. Hope anon likes it.
-
In Czechoslovakia, a job went wrong.
Azazel fell to his knees, the ringing in his ears excruciating. He could hear Janos crying out, across the field, as the men around him, surprised by their teammates' ability, dropped to their knees. Azazel gripped a blade, not even caring which one, and adjusted his strength for the weight. He threw it, and the voice choked.
When he opened his eyes, she was on the ground, the handle sticking out of her throat, her chest heaving as her body tried to draw breath.
Able to concentrate now, he teleported over to her, and drove a sword through her chest. He twisted viciously, until the heaving stopped, then reclaimed both blades.
The men around him, clad in fatigues, were starting to come back around, so Azazel made short work of them.
It took him a moment to realize there were considerably less of them than before.
“Janos?” He called out, over the snow.
No one answered him.
He searched through the field quickly, the blood on the snow from their attackers' rapidly cooling bodies already starting to attract crows. It would not be long, he knew, before the wolves were out as well.
He found no sign of him. And there were at least a dozen soldiers missing as well.
Someone groaned.
Azazel appeared beside the still breathing body, a bit further away than the others. He'd been trying to crawl to the treeline, a hard thing to do with one leg. Janos' work, Azazel was sure. He had tied something around the ragged stump to stop the bleeding, but it wasn't going to do him much good out here.
He grabbed him with his tail, hoisting him in the air.
“No, please,” He pleaded in Czech. “Please, please do not,” Azazel rolled his eyes and shook him, making him scream in agony.
“Trust me friend, death will be welcomed if you do not start talking.” He threatened.
“Please, please, anything,” He was a pitiful thing, young and frightened. Azazel wanted to kill him out of mercy for humanity's future. Such a cowardly thing should not be allowed children.
“Where have they taken my companion?”
“To the town.” The boy said, crying. “In the town, the town down there. Please, please let me go.” Azazel dropped him. Around him, there were the telltale sounds of wolves, circling, just out of sight. The middle of a Czech winter. The poor things were likely starving.
“You have been most helpful.” Azazel told the boy. The boy nodded. Azazel threw one of his own knives to him, and the boy scrambled for it in the snow. “Good luck.” Then he teleported away.
-
In the village, he found a tavern. When he appeared in it, it was easy to tell which ones were villagers and which ones were soldiers. The villagers froze in fear. The soldiers, who at least knew the match to a description when they saw it, tried to run.
Azazel reappeared in front of the door, stopping them in their tracks.
The first one Azazel ripped open from navel to chin with his tail, spilling his organs across the floor, and cementing everyone's absolute terror. The next two got the mercy of a slit throat, though they would have been decapitated if not for their spines. Another, braver one, ran forward, and Azazel ran him through with one of his swords, twisting hard so that he screamed, then threw his body back to his comrades with his tail.
One tried to run for the kitchens, but Azazel pinned him to the wall with his other sword, the steel blade burying itself in the man's gut easily, even from a distance.
Of the last two, one had enough time to get his gun out, and he fired, but Azazel disappeared, and had the satisfaction of seeing the man's face when he realized he'd shot his pinned comrade in the shoulder by mistake. Azazel didn't give him much time to live with his guilt, and took savage satisfaction in driving his knife right into his eye and through his brain, and if he didn't kill him, he certainly immobilized him.
He ripped it out none too kindly, and let the still gasping body fall to the floor. The one left dived for Azazel, but Azazel just disappeared again, reappearing behind him. With his last knife, he slashed through the man's stomach, his organs freeing from their places. Judging from the smell, he punctured the intestines as well.
The lobotomized one stared at the ceiling blankly, still gasping. Azazel stomped on his face hard with one booted foot, cracking his skull, and finishing the job.
The one pinned to the wall was crying, as the villagers vacated, running for their lives while they thought they had time. Azazel spared no thoughts for them, the little insects.
“-hallowed be thy name,” The one on the wall prayed. “Your kingdom come, your will be done,”
“On Earth as it is in Heaven,” Azazel followed along tauntingly.
“Give us this day our d-d-daily bread,” He sobbed, choking on the words. “And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors,” He finished the verse on a whine, the pain of his wounds seemingly becoming unbearable.
“Finish it.” Azazel commanded, tail arching over his head. “Go on comrade, finish it.”
“And lead us not into temptation,” He prayed, loudly, eyes on Azazel. “But deliver us from evil.” Azazel paused in front of him, waiting patiently.
Nothing happened.
“It seems your god has gone deaf. But I haven't. Maybe you should pray to me instead.” The man did nothing, and Azazel's tail snapped forward, point going right into his bullet wound and digging in. He screamed long and loud, tears running down his face. “Beg for your life comrade.”
“Please,” He sobbed mindlessly, “Please,”
“Where would you take prisoners?”
“The old castle. On the hill. They are there.” Azazel patted him on the cheek, withdrawing his tail.
“Very good comrade.” He yanked his sword out of the man's body, then drove it through his chest. He collected the rest of his weapons, some of the men still clinging to the last strands of life. He left them there, let their last minutes be agony.
Out in the street, now that he knew what to look for, he could see the very top line of the old stone building, built into the mountainside.
He teleported, and arrived on the roof. Two men were there, guarding it, one running forward towards Azazel. Azazel threw him off with his tail, his body not even smacking the cobblestones before Azazel sent the fleeing second to join him.
Inside, he could hear screaming, and he smirked.
However they'd restrained Janos, it appeared he'd escaped.
Guards ran past him as he made his way towards the sounds, and he slaughtered them all mercilessly for their presumption, their arrogance in touching what belonged to Azazel alone.
It was in what had once been the great dining hall of the castle that they had chosen to hold Janos, possibly the stupidest decision they could have made. All they'd done was give him room to work with. Azazel teleported onto the chandelier, a great iron circle suspended from the ceiling, still full of half-melted candles.
Janos stood below him, chest heaving, surrounded by mutilated bodies. He was angry then, Azazel thought with pleasure. To be so vicious as to tear them apart took rage, and god if it didn't make Azazel's blood run hot to see Janos like this.
The last man still alive was crawling towards the door, and Azazel appeared beside him, running him through neatly.
Then he turned to Janos.
His shirt was ripped across his chest, the white stained dark with blood in places, more of it matting down his hair. His pupils were blown so wide his eyes looked black, as he breathed hard, staring at Azazel.
Azazel felt like God, gazing upon his seraphim, the angels he had made so beautiful they had to hide their faces with their wings, for no one but him could look at them without burning where they stood.
Azazel didn't even have the patience to walk across the room. He teleported there, pulling Janos in tight so he could kiss him hard, nipping his lips with his fangs so as to draw blood. Janos fisted his hands in Azazel's hair, and when Azazel's hands slipped down to his thighs, he needed no more prompting to jump up, wrapping his legs around Azazel's waist.
Clothes were yanked away, just enough to do what was so necessary right now, and Azazel just barely stopped himself from taking Janos raw. Janos pulled Azazel's hand to his mouth though, and took two of his fingers in, blood and all, wetting them so that Azazel could at least give him some form of lubrication. He slicked his cock the same way, then guided himself in, pushing Janos up against the wall hard.
There was no wait, no allowing Janos to adjust. He doubted Janos would have let him anyway, with the way he dug his nails into Azazel's shoulders, no doubt leaving gouges that would bleed. He thrust in hard, rougher than he had ever dared be with Janos, and Janos' legs tightened painfully around him as he threw his head back, baring his beautiful throat to Azazel. Azazel bit hard, just under the chin, the iron taste of Janos' blood filling his mouth, and driving his brutality to heights even he never knew he was capable of.
Around them, he could feel the wind, and even without seeing it, he knew what Janos was doing, how he was letting his power range without even trying to control it. There was nothing precise about it, no deadly twisters, just the wind blowing like a banshee all around them, and the idea that this creature, this god, let Azazel do this to him, made him thrust in all the harder, as though he could dig under Janos' skin and make them one.
Janos screamed for him, his voice mixing in with the howling wind around them, as he came between their bodies, and the way he tightened around Azazel nearly did him in as well, if only he could convince his body that there was more than this, more than fucking Janos against a wall. His body, his own savagery, refused to believe him, refused to come so soon, and he was able to last longer than he'd ever have thought he could, buried in Janos like this.
In the end, he came so hard he nearly blacked out, and all he was aware of was Janos' shaking body breathing against his as he braced himself against the wall.
-
After that, he never held back from Janos in bed again.
Title: Coming Undone
Author: Lapin (me)
Rating M
Warnings Sex, graphic violence
Summary: Janos and Azazel are separated by an ambush in Czechoslovakia. It doesn't end well for the ambushers.
A/N: Oh lord, am I not kidding. The prompt was "They fuck to know they're alive". Draw your own conclusions about how graphic this is. I was determined to prove to myself that by gosh, I can write something a little darker. Hope anon likes it.
-
In Czechoslovakia, a job went wrong.
Azazel fell to his knees, the ringing in his ears excruciating. He could hear Janos crying out, across the field, as the men around him, surprised by their teammates' ability, dropped to their knees. Azazel gripped a blade, not even caring which one, and adjusted his strength for the weight. He threw it, and the voice choked.
When he opened his eyes, she was on the ground, the handle sticking out of her throat, her chest heaving as her body tried to draw breath.
Able to concentrate now, he teleported over to her, and drove a sword through her chest. He twisted viciously, until the heaving stopped, then reclaimed both blades.
The men around him, clad in fatigues, were starting to come back around, so Azazel made short work of them.
It took him a moment to realize there were considerably less of them than before.
“Janos?” He called out, over the snow.
No one answered him.
He searched through the field quickly, the blood on the snow from their attackers' rapidly cooling bodies already starting to attract crows. It would not be long, he knew, before the wolves were out as well.
He found no sign of him. And there were at least a dozen soldiers missing as well.
Someone groaned.
Azazel appeared beside the still breathing body, a bit further away than the others. He'd been trying to crawl to the treeline, a hard thing to do with one leg. Janos' work, Azazel was sure. He had tied something around the ragged stump to stop the bleeding, but it wasn't going to do him much good out here.
He grabbed him with his tail, hoisting him in the air.
“No, please,” He pleaded in Czech. “Please, please do not,” Azazel rolled his eyes and shook him, making him scream in agony.
“Trust me friend, death will be welcomed if you do not start talking.” He threatened.
“Please, please, anything,” He was a pitiful thing, young and frightened. Azazel wanted to kill him out of mercy for humanity's future. Such a cowardly thing should not be allowed children.
“Where have they taken my companion?”
“To the town.” The boy said, crying. “In the town, the town down there. Please, please let me go.” Azazel dropped him. Around him, there were the telltale sounds of wolves, circling, just out of sight. The middle of a Czech winter. The poor things were likely starving.
“You have been most helpful.” Azazel told the boy. The boy nodded. Azazel threw one of his own knives to him, and the boy scrambled for it in the snow. “Good luck.” Then he teleported away.
-
In the village, he found a tavern. When he appeared in it, it was easy to tell which ones were villagers and which ones were soldiers. The villagers froze in fear. The soldiers, who at least knew the match to a description when they saw it, tried to run.
Azazel reappeared in front of the door, stopping them in their tracks.
The first one Azazel ripped open from navel to chin with his tail, spilling his organs across the floor, and cementing everyone's absolute terror. The next two got the mercy of a slit throat, though they would have been decapitated if not for their spines. Another, braver one, ran forward, and Azazel ran him through with one of his swords, twisting hard so that he screamed, then threw his body back to his comrades with his tail.
One tried to run for the kitchens, but Azazel pinned him to the wall with his other sword, the steel blade burying itself in the man's gut easily, even from a distance.
Of the last two, one had enough time to get his gun out, and he fired, but Azazel disappeared, and had the satisfaction of seeing the man's face when he realized he'd shot his pinned comrade in the shoulder by mistake. Azazel didn't give him much time to live with his guilt, and took savage satisfaction in driving his knife right into his eye and through his brain, and if he didn't kill him, he certainly immobilized him.
He ripped it out none too kindly, and let the still gasping body fall to the floor. The one left dived for Azazel, but Azazel just disappeared again, reappearing behind him. With his last knife, he slashed through the man's stomach, his organs freeing from their places. Judging from the smell, he punctured the intestines as well.
The lobotomized one stared at the ceiling blankly, still gasping. Azazel stomped on his face hard with one booted foot, cracking his skull, and finishing the job.
The one pinned to the wall was crying, as the villagers vacated, running for their lives while they thought they had time. Azazel spared no thoughts for them, the little insects.
“-hallowed be thy name,” The one on the wall prayed. “Your kingdom come, your will be done,”
“On Earth as it is in Heaven,” Azazel followed along tauntingly.
“Give us this day our d-d-daily bread,” He sobbed, choking on the words. “And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors,” He finished the verse on a whine, the pain of his wounds seemingly becoming unbearable.
“Finish it.” Azazel commanded, tail arching over his head. “Go on comrade, finish it.”
“And lead us not into temptation,” He prayed, loudly, eyes on Azazel. “But deliver us from evil.” Azazel paused in front of him, waiting patiently.
Nothing happened.
“It seems your god has gone deaf. But I haven't. Maybe you should pray to me instead.” The man did nothing, and Azazel's tail snapped forward, point going right into his bullet wound and digging in. He screamed long and loud, tears running down his face. “Beg for your life comrade.”
“Please,” He sobbed mindlessly, “Please,”
“Where would you take prisoners?”
“The old castle. On the hill. They are there.” Azazel patted him on the cheek, withdrawing his tail.
“Very good comrade.” He yanked his sword out of the man's body, then drove it through his chest. He collected the rest of his weapons, some of the men still clinging to the last strands of life. He left them there, let their last minutes be agony.
Out in the street, now that he knew what to look for, he could see the very top line of the old stone building, built into the mountainside.
He teleported, and arrived on the roof. Two men were there, guarding it, one running forward towards Azazel. Azazel threw him off with his tail, his body not even smacking the cobblestones before Azazel sent the fleeing second to join him.
Inside, he could hear screaming, and he smirked.
However they'd restrained Janos, it appeared he'd escaped.
Guards ran past him as he made his way towards the sounds, and he slaughtered them all mercilessly for their presumption, their arrogance in touching what belonged to Azazel alone.
It was in what had once been the great dining hall of the castle that they had chosen to hold Janos, possibly the stupidest decision they could have made. All they'd done was give him room to work with. Azazel teleported onto the chandelier, a great iron circle suspended from the ceiling, still full of half-melted candles.
Janos stood below him, chest heaving, surrounded by mutilated bodies. He was angry then, Azazel thought with pleasure. To be so vicious as to tear them apart took rage, and god if it didn't make Azazel's blood run hot to see Janos like this.
The last man still alive was crawling towards the door, and Azazel appeared beside him, running him through neatly.
Then he turned to Janos.
His shirt was ripped across his chest, the white stained dark with blood in places, more of it matting down his hair. His pupils were blown so wide his eyes looked black, as he breathed hard, staring at Azazel.
Azazel felt like God, gazing upon his seraphim, the angels he had made so beautiful they had to hide their faces with their wings, for no one but him could look at them without burning where they stood.
Azazel didn't even have the patience to walk across the room. He teleported there, pulling Janos in tight so he could kiss him hard, nipping his lips with his fangs so as to draw blood. Janos fisted his hands in Azazel's hair, and when Azazel's hands slipped down to his thighs, he needed no more prompting to jump up, wrapping his legs around Azazel's waist.
Clothes were yanked away, just enough to do what was so necessary right now, and Azazel just barely stopped himself from taking Janos raw. Janos pulled Azazel's hand to his mouth though, and took two of his fingers in, blood and all, wetting them so that Azazel could at least give him some form of lubrication. He slicked his cock the same way, then guided himself in, pushing Janos up against the wall hard.
There was no wait, no allowing Janos to adjust. He doubted Janos would have let him anyway, with the way he dug his nails into Azazel's shoulders, no doubt leaving gouges that would bleed. He thrust in hard, rougher than he had ever dared be with Janos, and Janos' legs tightened painfully around him as he threw his head back, baring his beautiful throat to Azazel. Azazel bit hard, just under the chin, the iron taste of Janos' blood filling his mouth, and driving his brutality to heights even he never knew he was capable of.
Around them, he could feel the wind, and even without seeing it, he knew what Janos was doing, how he was letting his power range without even trying to control it. There was nothing precise about it, no deadly twisters, just the wind blowing like a banshee all around them, and the idea that this creature, this god, let Azazel do this to him, made him thrust in all the harder, as though he could dig under Janos' skin and make them one.
Janos screamed for him, his voice mixing in with the howling wind around them, as he came between their bodies, and the way he tightened around Azazel nearly did him in as well, if only he could convince his body that there was more than this, more than fucking Janos against a wall. His body, his own savagery, refused to believe him, refused to come so soon, and he was able to last longer than he'd ever have thought he could, buried in Janos like this.
In the end, he came so hard he nearly blacked out, and all he was aware of was Janos' shaking body breathing against his as he braced himself against the wall.
-
After that, he never held back from Janos in bed again.