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Marking Territory

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The succubus had been huge, skin shimmering with a thousand colors like gasoline spreading queasily over a pool of water, luminescent and alien in a way that had reminded John of a creature from a cold deep ocean trench. They’d cornered it in the basement of a nightclub where it had been nesting and feeding from the patrons, five deaths in two months before the NYPD realised they weren’t dealing with a bad batch of drugs and called the experts in weird. John remembered little from the encounter besides the long, sweeping arms and the shadowy pulse of wings, somewhere behind it; the eyes, glittering; and the shuddering waves of need, of hunger, of desire to be filled and used, that had left many of them walking away from the scene half-crouched and awkward, hurrying as soon as they were dismissed to somewhere private so they could --

John’s fingers stuttered against his cock, his hand shaking almost too much to hold it properly. He flattened his other hand against the wall, trying to keep his knees from buckling as waves of lust ran over him, hot and cold. His fist felt too dry, too empty; his grip harsh and too fast and still not fast enough to satisfy whatever it was the succubus had covered them with.

“Fuck,” he breathed, burying his face in the crook of his arm, unable to stop pumping his cock with short, brutal strokes, even as he realised the futility of it. He didn’t need this, he needed more, needed --

“Myers. What are you doing?” That familiar bass rumble, tectonic plates of sound grating together. John choked back a yelp, trying to turn and stuff himself back into his pants at the same time.

Hellboy stood behind him. He was dressed in his outdoor clothes, fresh from the mission John had assumed would take a few more hours at least. There were heavy burn marks across his trenchcoat, which indicated that however it had ended, it hadn’t gone quietly. Smoke was still rising in tiny wisps from the shoulder; a faint brimstone smell rode into the room with him. One of his many cats was rubbing a greeting against his legs.

Hellboy’s eyes narrowed.

“Why are you.. in my room?” He moved closer, tail waved lazily back and forth behind him. John noticed his nostrils flaring and felt a void open up in the bottom of his stomach.

“I, uh, I -- ” he began, but didn’t get a chance to say anything more as Hellboy was suddenly encroaching on his personal space and more, close enough that John had to take a step back and ended up against the wall, feeling suddenly unable to catch his breath as his world fell into Hellboy’s shadow, red and scorched leather and baked stone heat.

“Who’s that on you, Myers?” John flattened himself against the wall as Hellboy reached out and touched John’s chest with one single massive finger, scraping downwards, then brought it to his face. Sniffed. “Succubus, huh?” He grunted thoughtfully. “Could be an incubus. Same thing.”

John blinked. “They are?”

“Sure. Those renaissance painters didn't know anything.” Hellboy leaned down a little. He drew in a deep breath of John's scent, one hand on the wall above John’s head. “It's all over you. Those oily bastards are nasty fighters. Mean. They take one look at you and you're theirs, just like that.”

Hellboy's tail was flicking through the air, catlike himself, a telltale sign of his keen interest in something. In John.

John tried to slow his breathing down. He was still rock hard, trying to stand in a way that didn't show it. Part of him just wanted to tell Hellboy, ask him, but what they had was new and fragile and they'd only done anything like that once and --

“Are you theirs, Myers? Hmm?” Hellboy’s voice was pitched low, almost a growl. Hungry. Jealous. John choked back a moan rising in the back of his throat.

Hellboy reached down and brushed the back of his stone fingers over John's crotch, gentle despite his size. And he could be so gentle, John knew that from experience now, and the touch and the memory shivered through him and he did moan, this time, letting his head thump back against the wall. Hellboy chuckled, pleased.

“Yeah,” he purred.

John let out a shaking breath. “Hellboy, I can't -- please. It won't let me go. It's waiting for me, I can feel it..”

John shuddered, helpless waves of lust rising up to take him again. Hellboy grunted, the grin fading from his face. He shrugged out of his coat and threw it onto a chair.

“Damn it, I’m not letting some slimy lust demon just take what's mine.” John's knees almost gave out at that. Mine. Hellboy didn't seem to notice.

“Come here.” Hellboy half pushed, half lead John, dropping down onto the bed with a creak of springs and hauling John into his lap, John's back to his broad chest. Wriggling, John struggled out of his shoes and pants and underwear, almost choked up with gratitude; he needed this so badly, it was so close, blackness like a void at the edges of his vision and the sensation of clawed hands reaching into his soul --

He subsided, gasping, as Hellboy pressed a heavy stone palm against his chest. Hellboy’s voice in his ear was murmuring, Latin and Aramaic, the rise and fall of his words making John’s skin tingle. He writhed and moaned, pre-come leaking from him and running down onto his thigh; Hellboy’s grip tightened and his volume increased, hard fingers digging into John’s collarbone and belly. The lightbulbs overhead buzzed, flickering as the power in the room built, a heaviness like a coming storm. Then something splintered and gave way within John’s mind, its grip sliding off him with a distant howl of anger, leaving behind a clean burn of need like the after-image of a flash of light and the smell of burning sage in his nostrils.

“Got you good,” Hellboy murmured as John pulled in shaking, panting breaths.

Hellboy dropped his hands onto John’s thighs, stone and mortal flesh still caressing a little, riding up the hem of John’s shirt; not quite parting his legs, but teasing the possibility.

John preempted him. His body ached with exhaustion in the wake of the succubi’s spell, but supernaturally enhanced lust still rolled through him, seeking release. Still breathing heavily, he reached down and touched himself, knowing Hellboy was watching over his shoulder.

“Maybe.. I knew you’d help me out,” John suggested, stroking himself. “Ahh, maybe I, ah, planned this.. whole thing.”

Hellboy snorted his disbelief. His left hand dipped down further, curving around the inside of John’s thigh. His tail looped out, sliding up around John’s ankle.

“Trying to seduce me, John? You know, there are easier ways of doing it than getting a succubus involved.” His breath huffed, furnace-hot, against the side of John’s neck. John shivered, his hand tightening around his cock. He could feel Hellboy’s own arousal against his ass, starting to press up against him. He remembered suddenly that Hellboy hadn’t fully closed the door and that there were cameras all over the room, and here he was in Hellboy’s lap, naked from the waist down, legs spread and hopelessly aroused, wanton. If anyone saw, or decided they wanted to watch --

The embers of lust in his lower belly re-ignited at the thought, tightening the long muscles of his thighs, making his hips buck helplessly.

“Fuck,” John gasped.

“Is that a request?” Hellboy asked. His touch skated up inside John’s thigh, dancing across and then rolling his palm over John’s balls. His thumb stroked the underside of John’s cock. A shudder rode up John’s spine. “Or a command?”

John nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to but knowing he wanted it either way. Hellboy laughed softly, a soft rumble against John’s back.

“That’s what I was hopin’ you’d say,” he pointed out. He shifted a little, sliding his left hand back and under John’s thighs, between his ass cheeks. John, pliant and needy, let him.

Hellboy paused. “You already --”

If John hadn’t been on the edge of throwing himself onto his hands and knees and begging to be fucked he might have blushed. As it was, he moved against Hellboy’s probing fingers, knowing that Hellboy felt him wet and stretched.

“I tried, before I came here -- went back to my place and tried.. but it wasn’t enough.” John licked his lips, muscles tightening over the memory: crouched in his bathroom over the biggest dildo he had, slippery to the wrists with cheap lube and still unable to get himself off. “I couldn’t..”

“Yeah, succubi don’t play fair. Either you fuck them or you die tryin’. Part of the spell. Heart attacks, usually, or people doin’ really dumb things to get rid of it. Lucky for you --” he pushed two fingers against John’s hole as he spoke; John moaned as they slid easily inside, “you’ve got a demon willing to help out.”

“Hellboy, please.. aah, god,” John breathed, his voice high and tight with need. He rolled his hips a little, fucking himself on Hellboy’s hand. Hellboy growled his pleasure, letting John move; his tail tightened around John’s calf.

John could feel Hellboy’s erection against his ass cheek, long and heavy. He remembered wrapping his hand around it last time they’d fucked, awed at the size of it, almost as thick around as his own wrist and as long as his forearm -- but he hadn’t been able to do anything except hold it, then. Hellboy had accepted it with equanimity, but John had felt a little ashamed. Now he almost ached to have it, to prove he could; it was no longer just the succubi’s spell, but John’s own need driving him.

Hellboy kissed his neck; a flick of his hot wet tongue as he rotated his fingers, making John whimper.

“You sure?” He asked against John’s skin, even as he withdrew his hand from inside him. There was movement behind and below him; fabric shifting, leather and metal, the sound of a zipper.

John looped an arm back behind himself, around Hellboy’s shoulders, lifting himself up off his lap. Hellboy snugged him close to his chest with his big stone hand, holding him as he met John’s eyes, his gaze filled with an ancient and glacial patience. John drew in a shaking breath, suddenly reminded he was in the arms of a being that could destroy him without breaking a sweat; finding that made him want it more.

“I’m sure, Hellboy.”

A flame-flicker of a smile crossed Hellboy’s lips. His stone hand slid down John’s side, the huge fingers supporting John as he guided him down, slowly, almost too slowly for John’s liking.

John gasped as the head of Hellboy’s cock pressed against his hole. It was almost shockingly warm, stoked by the magic that gave Hellboy life. And it felt so big, already, enough that John felt a split second of hesitation, but it was too late, because Hellboy was lifting his hips even as he lowered John onto him and --

“Oh god, oh fuck,” John moaned as Hellboy’s cock entered him, sliding easily into his body, huge and hot and filling him with pressure and aching on the edge of pain even as his muscles tensed and yearned for more. Hellboy’s voice rumbled in his ear, his hands on John’s hips holding him still.

“Easy now, easy, you okay?”

“Yeah I -- ahh, fuck -- I need -- please, don’t stop,” John panted, gripping a handful of Hellboy’s t-shirt. Sweat rolled down his chest and between his thighs as he fought to stop himself pushing down and taking it too fast. Muscles in his legs trembled; his own cock bobbed between his legs, achingly hard.

Hellboy grunted and did as he was asked, his breathing coming faster as John took inch after slow inch inside him. John couldn’t stop the wordless noises that fell from his lips as Hellboy filled him, stretched him almost beyond his ability to cope.

“Fuck, John, you’re so tight,” Hellboy groaned, his fingers digging into John’s side, his tail tightening and releasing convulsively around John’s leg. “Ahh, damn, we shoulda done this years ago.”

“We didn’t.. know each other.. years ago,” John pointed out, dredging up the ability to speak from some distant part of his brain which wasn’t currently doused in endorphins.

Hellboy shifted slightly, causing John to slide down a little more, and the new angle meant Hellboy’s cock was sliding over --

“Holy shit, oh shit, oh, oh fuck, Hellboy!” John yelped, high pitched, his vision exploding into white and grey as an orgasm smacked into him with the force of a freight train, hips jerking as come splattered his thighs and the floor between their legs and every nerve ending lit up like a firework show.

He drifted back to consciousness slowly, head buzzing, body aching and full and trembling slightly. Hellboy’s hand was on his chest, stroking gently.

“That feel as good to you as it did to me?” Hellboy asked, amusement in the gravel rumble of his voice. John blinked fuzzily at the walls of the room, the movie posters and newspaper clippings. He shifted a little and realised he was still impaled on Hellboy’s cock; renewed desire washed over him in a wave, threatening to pull him under. He was, he realised slowly, still as hard as before despite the come running down the insides of his legs.

Succubi magic. Right.

“Mnuh,” John replied. He could feel the wiry curls of Hellboy’s pubic hair at the base of his spine and the throbbing heat of his balls below him. He glanced down, his head feeling almost too heavy for his neck to support, and saw the faint curve of Hellboy’s cock rounding out his lower belly beneath his open shirt. His vision swam a little.

“Good,” Hellboy growled. “Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

His stone hand spread over John’s hip, his other hand slid beneath John’s thigh as he began to move, lifting John up as much as he was moving his hips back, then slowly sliding him back down again. His breath burned against the side of John’s neck as his body rose and fell beneath him, stone and muscle and broad warm chest like an elemental force, an earthquake or an avalanche, that John was riding, barely holding on.

John let himself fall back against Hellboy, head lolling against his shoulder and muscles lax, suffused with the heat emanating from his core, held and sheltered and filled by the demon who wanted him, no longer caring about anything except wanting that feeling to continue forever.

The bedframe creaked and protested beneath them as Hellboy began to speed up, the smack of his body against John’s ass making small wet sounds. John felt a touch on his cock and looked down to see Hellboy’s tail curling around his shaft, forming a ring of tight muscle that slid with Hellboy’s movements.

“Feel so.. damn good, John,” Hellboy murmured into John’s ear, burying his face against John’s throat.

John let his legs splay out, each thrust sending aching pleasure rippling through his body, the brief moments of emptiness as delicious as the feeling of being filled. Hellboy caught his thighs and held them up, allowing him to push deeper still. John moaned as Hellboy’s tail moved on him, re-igniting the flecks of magical desire spinning through his bloodstream, his hips rising to meet it and pushing back, fucking and being fucked.

Hellboy groaned, his fingers digging into the backs of John’s knees, his pace speeding up as John’s hips began to roll helplessly into the grip of his tail. Fumbling, John lifted his hands to grip on Hellboy’s forearms, skin and stone, lifting his own legs and spreading them wider, knees almost to his chest, encouraging Hellboy to go deeper, harder, throaty animal sounds of lust falling from him with each slap of Hellboy’s hips against his ass.

“John, damn it, John, ahhh fuck,” Hellboy panted, his body heaving and shuddering beneath John, then something in a language John didn’t recognise but it rolled through them both in a shivering wave, ripples of light chasing across John’s skin and a taste like scalded iron on the back of his tongue, and the heat inside John blossomed, burning, as Hellboy came. John let out a hoarse cry of pain and ecstasy, his cock pulsing in the grip of Hellboy’s tail, his orgasm rolling up his spine and sending the world pivoting slowly into a grey haze.


John blinked slowly. He was lying on his side in Hellboy’s bed. His body throbbed, feeling raw, too empty. Serene in the absence of the succubi’s influence. The insides of his thighs felt slick and warm; he could smell minerals and marine salts when he moved, as well as Hellboy’s own spicy scent, all over the bed and all over his skin. A cat was curled up in the crook of his knees, purring softly.

A piece of paper was folded on the pillow beside him. He reached out with clumsy fingers and pushed it open, squinting at the contents for a moment before it resolved into a page from Hellboy’s journal covered in his spiky script.

Sorry for leaving. You were out pretty good, it read. Monster call in NYC. Gotta investigate. Back soon. Don't go anywhere. - H

John let his head fall back onto the pillow with a sigh, a shamelessly goofy smile curling up the corners of his lips.

If this is what being with Hellboy meant, well.. he was pretty sure he could cope with it.