myselfwillbear | bad decisions, iv edition // for numbers96

[It had been almost discouraged, when the boy that recieved its card had been protected. It had been eager, to look into his mind, to twist someone new to its purposes.

When it feels his power extend into its card, though, it knows it could not have hoped for a better host.

(this one's reckless. he should be fun.)

Other Numbers might wait, passively, for IV to draw them out on his own power, the little of it that he has learned to use. Black Mist knows better. Black Mist takes hold of that thread of energy and pulls, hard.

A torrent of black slime erupts from the card, washing through the room and coating the floor. And once it does, once it's settled, there's a voice.

(a voice from no particular direction, layered and many-toned and smooth)]

Ｙｏｕｃａｌｌｅｄ？

Edited 2012-12-19 18:48 (UTC)

[ It should be unsettling. He should be scared, after something like that.

(the pull hurt)

(but then, IV is used to pain)

Instead, though, he just rocks back on his heels, reaches up to link his hands behind his head.

Casual. Unfaltering.

As though black slime coating his floor from an evil card is a regular occurrence in his life. ]

Well, aren't you an interesting one?

[...Well. This one's going to be a bit of a challenge.

(it would be irked if it hadn't learned by now, the kinds of things humans keep hidden in their hearts)

(that the deeper they bury their fear, the more they hurt when it drags it out of them)

(it can wait)

A few ropes of slime rise up from the ground, twist into a column that defines into a humanoid shape, slender and covered up and down its body with colored marks. It stares at him with interest, with something like hunger.]

I could say the same.

[A lone tendril of slime coagulates from the pool, rises up to curl over IV's hands, curious. It's almost a friendly gesture.]

Might it be that you ｗａｎｔ something from me, IV?

Edited 2012-12-19 19:32 (UTC)

[ There's definite interest in the way IV's looking at it, too, as it forms out of the slime.

(the hunger, though, is Dark Mist's alone)

He raises an eyebrow, when he feels the tendril curling over his hands.

(it's warm, and almost... soft?)

(the voice resonates in his head, makes his eyes glaze over for a moment)

(does he ｗａｎｔ something...?) ]

I--

[ He shakes his head, sharply. Clears it. ]

What was...?

[Mmm. Perhaps this won't be as difficult as it thought.

It smiles, a little wider than a human even could, swaying a little as it pulls a few more tendrils out of the pool behind IV.]

Try to ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ, IV.

[Its voice is saccharine-sweet, coaxing.

The tendrils coil gently around his wrists, then his forearms. It's seen how he loves puppets.]

What do you ｗａｎｔ?

Edited 2012-12-19 21:54 (UTC)

[ What does he ｗａｎｔ...?

(it's touching him)

(coaxing him)

(focused on him)

IV shifts, turning his attention onto the tendrils wrapping around his arms. His gaze is distant, though, and he lifts his head to look up at its face after a few moment, eyes unfocused. ]

I want--

I...

[ There's a vulnerability in his gaze, but he cannot get the words out.

(he just wants, for once, attention)

(attention for himself, and not the fanservice mask) ]

[Oh, oh, it's made a mistake here. This one was never going to be difficult.

This one will be e~a~s~y~.

(he's vulnerable, making himself so especially for Black Mist, and what he wants is practically coming off him in waves, he doesn't even need to say it)

It croons, low in its throat, and the tendrils move to pull his arms out from behind his head, hold them out to the side. At the same time two coil around his ankles, pluck him off the ground and spread his legs apart.]

We~ll.

Let's take a look, then~.

[Its voice is still just as syrupy, but the...the strange tones blended into it before, the alien quality, is gone.

It's boring when it's too easy, after all. It doesn't taste the same.]

Edited 2012-12-20 02:14 (UTC)

[ He's placid, at first, still staring at Black Mist with that open, vulnerable expression. Still lost and unfocused by the way it spoke before, and slow to regain himself.

(because he wants it, because he wants to give in)

(but he--)

IV jerks, though, when his head clears. Squirms in its hold and fixing it with a look that's a whole lot less vulnerable.

(except it's not, except it cracks beneath the surface with what he wants, needs) ]

What are you--?

[ He's held up like he's on display and IV shivers, fear and discomfort and pleasure and need warring in him. He wants attention. He wants to know people are looking at him.

(but he doesn't want them to look, because he is a monster)

(because they ought to cast their eyes away from him, as Tron does)

He makes a quiet, distressed noise in the back of his throat, chokes it down the best he can. ]

[A few more teeth bare in its smile, more than it should have, as it steps closer in midair, walking easily on threads of slime that leap to support its feet.

(it can feel the cracks in his psyche, the openings for it to slip through like a liquid, grow within until there's a shattering)]

I demand a certain standard of quality from my pets.

[It's close enough, now, that it can hover just over him, and its eyes seem to cut through him, expose him inside.

(what a good noise that was. it wants more)

A tendril slides up, dripping with oil, to caress the side of IV's face, slip down to his neck and down his chest to eat away the fabric of his shirt.]

[ 'Pets'?

He doesn't understand.

(except that he does)

(he doesn't know how he feels, though)

(he wants it, he wants to give in but he can't because he has to be strong, has to be the tool and bring back Byron instead of Tron so that the others can have their father again, even if he's not one of them any more)

That dripping tendril is against his face before he can answer though, and moving and the stuff dripping from it is burning away his clothes and, for a moment, IV is terrified. Beyond terrified.

(it is burning it is fire and he would rather die than be burnt again)

But then he registers that it doesn't burn, not on his skin. Something like it, something that leaves him twitching in his bonds as his skin tingles with it.

(the relief of that alone is enough to leave him limp, for the moment, breath gusting out of him sharply and voice weak when he tries to talk) ]

What are you doing...?

[Mm, he's breaking so quickly, isn't he? Good. That's very good. And there's the fear, too, fear that it can twist and shape to its will.

(perhaps this time it will have more than one, since this one is so...willing.

the entire pool seems to shudder in excitement)

It leans in, drags its tongue lightly over the scar under IV's eye before answering.]

Quality inspection~.

[A second tendril rises out of the pool, then a third, then a fourth, and now they're gliding over IV's limbs and his torso and his hips, oiling his skin and burning away his clothing.

(it saves the best part, of course. it wants him to be already hungry, when it begins.)

As the tendrils work over him Black Mist traces over his features with its fingers, lingering especially on the outline of his lips, on the circles below his eyes. Its fingers are slick with oil, as well, and the skin will tingle and ache in the wake of its touch.]

You'll be good, won't you, pet?

Edited 2012-12-20 17:40 (UTC)

[ It licks his scar, and IV practically jumps in his bonds.

(goes closed off and angry and sharp like broken glass)

(resists, inasmuch as he can, the tendrils moving over him and leaving him aching for more)

(he aches but he can resist, he can be in control of himself, because-- because when he's not in control, things happen)

(~~like the scar, the one it reminded him of with that touch of its tongue~~)

He hisses, turns his head away from those fingers the best he can even as his breathing speeds up, as he twitches and squirms and tries to resist no matter how much he wants it. ]

I'm not your pet.

[Ah, ah, there it is~. The snapping point. Something that'll make him resist, make him angry (and the feeling rolls through it in the best way and it croons softly).

It takes his face in hands that are much stronger than they look, turns his head up by force so he has to look at it.]

Perhaps not yet, but you will be, yes?

I only want the best for you.

[Then there are thin little tendrils creeping up his face, slipping between his lips to pull his mouth open wide.

It kisses his lower lip, pulls back and croons again as another tendril emerges from its back and creeps over its shoulder.]

You'll feel so good, then, pet.

[ IV growls, eyes averted so that he can still avoid looking directly at it, and struggles against its grip the best he can.

(for all the good that it does)

(he doesn't want to give in, he wants to fight but it's strong and it's forcing his mouth open and)

(~~and it would be so easy to give in~~)

(it's promising to make him feel good)

(it's paying so much attention to him and he wants)

(his whole body trembles with the anticipation and the way he wants to surge forward into every touch but he can't, he can't he has to resist has to stay in control)

He can't talk, with his mouth pulled open like this, but he squirms and rocks in the tendrils holding him and tries his utmost to look defiant. Look like he has even the slightest hope of resisting.

(look like he's not minutes away from begging) ]

[He's struggling now, but Black Mist knows. It knows he won't last for long, the way he's trembling, the way his skin is hot under its fingers.

(you can't stay in control when the thing you want is to be open, to be seen, to be loved and wanted and used and owned)

The tendril arcs lazily over its shoulder, moves in close so it's barely resting against IV's lips.]

You'll love this, my pet. You'll be so happy.

[It keeps its palms locking IV's head in place, but it brushes its fingers gently through his hair as the tendril slowly (so slowly, almost torturously so) slides into his mouth. It's dripping with oil, now, just at the tip so it runs into his mouth.

As it does, one of the other tendrils begins to wind up his leg, gliding over his inner thigh.]

[ He struggles, but he

(wants, needs)

doesn't pull away from the tendril when it rests against his lips.

(his eyes want to slide shut with the way its fingers run through his hair, he wants to arch and moan and suck the tendril into his mouth quicker than this torture, this slow, steady slide)

(it keeps speaking, it keeps speaking and even without the tone of earlier, its voice is so easy to lose himself in, especially when it's saying things like that, when it's giving him so much attention and the words are almost loving, when it promises attention but, more than that, affection)

And then it's dripping that oil into his mouth, and though IV tries to ignore it at first it's hot on his tongue like spirits, burns at his throat when there's enough to force him to have to swallow.

(he swallows and knows, deep down, that in that motion he has lost)

(the oil burns through him but it's not like fire, he's not afraid)

(it settles hot and heavy in his stomach and he knows, knows that he should resist, but all that he can think is more) ]

[It coos its approval when IV swallows, when he ｇｉｖｅｓｉｎ even a little. This one will be good. This one will love Black Mist, in that very human way.

It likes this boy very much.

The oil drips just a little faster from the tendril in IV's mouth, just a little heavier. Hardly enough to sate him, but enough to notice the change.

(enough for him to know that Black Mist will provide for him, that it will give him what he wants the most)

It kisses the curve of his jaw, slides its tongue over the skin.

(its lips are as soft as the tendrils)]

Good. Ｇｏｏｄ, my pet. Drink.

[The tendril winding around IV's thigh slips between his legs, begins to slide smoothly back and forth over his entrance, dripping with oil. It's in no hurry.]

[ He should resist.

He has to, he has to be strong.

(it is kissing him and there is more of the oil and he

can't)

All at once he seems to melt, fastens his lips more securely around the tendril in his mouth and sucks, hard, try to draw in more of the oil.

(he needs it, he needs it and it's not coming fast enough, Black Mist is dragging it out and he needs it, needs it now)

He can't beg, not with his mouth full, but he does the best he can. Long, wordless noises, and his hips jerk rapidly with every brush of the tendril against his ass. ]

[It hums, nips and sucks at IV's earlobe. It takes its hands from his face, trails oil-slicked fingers down his neck, over his collarbone.

(but the oil doesn't come faster)

(the tendril doesn't move faster)]

Will you be good, pet?

[It lowers its hand, drips oil from its fingers (slowly, slowly) onto his cock. But it doesn't touch. Won't touch.]

Will you be good?

[ It's not giving him more. He needs more, he needs it, needs it now.

(didn't it promise?)

(he needs, he needs, why won't it give him what he needs, it said he'd like it but he doesn't like this, he doesn't like not getting what he wants)

(he should be used to that but it hurts every time)

It's asking if he'll be good, then, it's asking and dripping oil onto his cock and IV's whole body aches with need.

(aches and burns it's too much it burns)

It asks if he'll be good and he nods, rapid and desperate as he squirms about for more, as he sucks at the tendril desperately. ]

[He belongs to it, now. Only in words, for the moment, but now it knows what it will do.

(a contract. it's been a while, since it needed one)

It croons, lets its cheek touch his. A gesture of closeness, of "love".]

Ｇｏｏｄ．Ｗｈａｔａｇｏｏｄｐｅｔ．

[There's a burst of oil from the tip of the tendril, a reward, before it continues flowing normally -- faster, though, than before, almost enough.

(the pool roils and squirms under the surface with delight)

And now the tendril sliding between IV's legs stops, curves, so that the tip can push inside him and begin to trickle oil into him.]

Edited 2012-12-20 22:18 (UTC)

[ There's that press of its cheek to his own, that gush of oil into his mouth, and IV moans around the tendril, sucking the oil in deeply.

(it slows down again, though, and it's faster than before but it's not enough, not enough he needs more it's so good and he needs it)

Rocking in its grip, IV gasps and groans and moans more, more, please the best he can around the tendril and between swallows, and the noises only get more desperate when he feels the tendril press into him, the trickling oil. He needs more, though.

(more, more, more, he needs more why is it so slow when IV would give anything)

(he should still resist and he knows it but he doesn't care)

(Black Mist is giving him what he wants, what he needs, but not enough of it)

(he would do anything, he would give anything, he would give his soul for more of this in this moment)

(~~what's left of it to give, anyway~~) ]

[Oh, he's so desperate, so hungry.

He'd do a~ny~thing~.

It licks its lips slowly, reaches up to run its fingers over the back of the hand that bears the crest.]

I please my pets only.

Will you belong to me only, IV?

Will you ｇｉｖｅｉｎ?

[The tendril in IV's ass twitches and spurts oil, like it's barely holding back.

(the crest begins to glow)]

[ He-- he should be-- (scared, angry, confused) he should be many things but he shouldn't give in.

His crest starts glowing and that should set off warning bells.

But

it nearly gave in

nearly gave him what he wants.

(and so IV is lost)

(he cannot care, because the oil burns though him like fire)

(just like the last time, the fire burns away at him until all that's left is a shell)

(but this shell is not anger, not revenge and hatred and vengeance like the last time)

(it is need, and so much more easily satisfied)

(he has not been happy in so long)

IV is lost, but he's glad of it as he jerks in Black Mist's grip and nods, over and over and over. ]

[It has won. It has won a sweet, perfect victory.

(the crest on IV's hand flares and warps under Black Mist's fingers, changing shape)

(it locks him up and frees him at once)

And the moment the light has died, the moment the number 96 fades, the first pulse of oil swells the tendril in IV's ass, and Black Mist croons in IV's ear, voice layered and lilting:]

Ｇｏｏｄ．Ｗｈａｔａｇｏｏｄｐｅｔ．

[The oil gushes from the tendril in spurts, not constant like it used to be but there's so much more of it than there was before. And that's especially clear when the tendril starts to twist and writhe, letting just a little oil escape, enough that everything it gives him will be even more welcome.

And the one in his mouth...that one starts to pulse whenever the one in his ass doesn't, fills his mouth up with liquid so he'll always have something to push him further.]

Ｄｏｙｏｕｌｉｋｅｉｔ，ｐｅｔ？Ｉｓｉｔｇｏｏｄ？

[Its oiled fingertip swirls lazily over the head of IV's cock.]

bad decisions, iv edition // for numbers96

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