Work Text:
It occurs to Hakka — as he’s biting back a sound too obscene to be allowed to leave his adorable mouth — that this is the first time he’s felt so unravelled in a long fucking time.
He feels unwound.
Spread out, like he's been given a temporarily relief on life. Though he lives as freely and shamelessly as he's allowed, he has shackles he can't unbind.
He has a curse he can't remove; a beast that lives inside his skin. It's always in the back of his mind, heavy with an ungodly thirst for wrath and a hunger for danger. Always seeking — craving — destruction.
Yet he just can't seem to hear it here.
It’s a loosening of his steadfast hold on himself, and of all things, it’s Bettel that’s causing it.
Unpredictable, uncontrollable fool of a man.
Bettel is kissing his neck, lithe fingers curling inside him, while Hakka’s hands are tied behind his back.
It’s different. Not in a bad way. Just different.
The usual rhythm he has with Bettel mostly consists of him pushing that fucking idiot against a flat surface and kissing every inch of his body — leaning into the predatory growl of the karasutengu data in his mind which hungers for domination.
It’s an easy rhythm, too — one that satisfies the possessive beast because even spirits seem to lust, and it’s not like the tengu can fuck Hakka now that they’re one and the same. So it finds other ways.
He likes pushing Bettel around, likes to see him gasp when his claw-like fingers trace the line of his neck, likes to see his breath hitch and his skin flush. Likes to hear him moan beneath him and likes to mark his smooth skin.
Likes to grab him by the waist and run his nails down the curve of his hip bones, likes to see him twitch and tremble and cry out his name when he gets particularly needy.
Likes it, because it’s what he’s used to, teasing Bettel until he’s begging for it. That’s what they do. What they’ve always done.
But Bettel is not a toy, he’s someone that Hakka likes very much, so when he asks if he can fuck Hakka out of his mind because he can’t stop thinking about it, Hakka is more than open to the offer.
With just one minor caveat: the karasutengu is not quite as keen.
“It’s only fair,” Bettel had said. As if he needed any convincing. “That you give me at least one tiny little chance to try and wreck you myself.”
“It’s not me you have to be worried about. You know I’d let you fuck me anytime you wanted,” Hakka had responded, eyes flickering from blue to black. “It’s the raven that won’t let you do that. The karasutengu, man. It won’t let me take it up the ass. It’ll fight you.”
“What if I restrained it?” The mischievous curl to his lips sent a shiver down his spine. “What if I restrained you?”
So Hakka’s hands are tied. The corruption had seared in protest, but Hakka has enough control over his body to force it into submission. Bettel just has to do the rest.
Namely, make him forget the pain. It pulses in his forearm, but with his brain dizzy with want and horny as hell, it’s just another thing to get off to.
Now, the only thing stopping him from being a quivering, quaking mess is his pride.
“Fuck,” he says, shifting his hips. “Why are you so good at this?”
He’s answered with a grin. He loves the way Bettel smiles so brazenly. “Oh, you know. I get lots of practice. Not my first rodeo. Yee-fucking-haw, baby.”
“What the fuck, man,” he'd be lying if he said he doesn't smile right back. “Who lets you speak?”
“Question I ask myself every day.” Bettel's grin only widens. “You find me funny. Don't lie.”
“Maybe.” Hakka swallows the tickle of laughter in his throat as he bites back another moan.
Bettel’s fingers move rhythmically, the sliding pressure of his arm knocking Hakka off-kilter, hitting him in places he didn’t even know could be hit — and god, it feels so good, but his teeth clamp tight to his lip, not about to give Bettel the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.
“You weren’t kidding though,” Bettel says with an amused smirk. “You really are stubborn. Making me work here. Honestly. Why not just give in? You’ll enjoy it a lot more if you don’t hold back, you know.”
He twists his fingers, jerking with his wrist and Hakka inhales sharply. His cock twitches, dripping onto his stomach. Bettel doesn’t let up, driving in deep and hard, his whole body seeming to chase the movement as his other hand pins Hakka to the bed. He's determined. Hakka's wrists strain against his ties.
“You look so cute like this,” Bettel presses down with his full weight, leaving no space between them. His fingers flex. “Come on, baby, let it out.” The next twist of his hand is vicious.
Hakka’s vision goes white, fingernails digging into his palms. He can’t keep his mouth shut anymore, and gasps. Tenses up, heart hammering as he moans. Bettel’s name is hot on his tongue, clambering for release. He thinks of nothing else.
The sound of his voice rings in his ears as he cums.
That’s hardly the worst thing to happen to him, considering what happens next.
He doesn't even have time to recover when his cyber-wings flicker into existence without warning, forcing Hakka’s back off the bed and he yelps, surprised. His blood rushes to his ears as he tries frantically to will them away.
He’s embarrassed beyond belief, but his brain and body don’t want to cooperate, because the wings won’t fucking retract, and now he’s probably given Bettel’s ego a boost to the fucking heavens and ¡Dios mío!, he can’t be known as the guy that got finger-fucked so hard he fucking ascended.
“Nice wings,” Bettel smirks, that asshole. His hand withdraws and lands square on his chest. He pushes Hakka down again, laughter in his voice evident.
Hakka hits the bed with an oof. His wings flap involuntarily, annoyed at being suppressed. It tingles up his spine.
Bettel gazes at them in admiration, but the smugness in his face doesn’t fade. “How sensitive are they? Asking for a friend.”
“Shut up, pendejo.”
“Can I touch them?”
“If you want,” it takes all the strength he can muster to keep his voice even. He’s stubborn about saving face, stubborn about staying cool no matter what. The proud bird does not bow his head to anyone. He hisses as fingers dig into the cyber-feathers and then yank on them, sending jolts of glitched-up electricity all through his body. “Hey! I said touch! What are you doing?”
“Touching!”
“You’re fucking— ah!” He bites the inside of his cheek. The way he can’t hold back the shiver is going to drive him to the seventh hell. He can’t keep giving Bettel what he wants. “Trying to— to pull them off or something? They don’t come off, genius! They’re an extension of my body!”
“Oh, really?”
He strokes the feathers purposefully, taking a softer approach. It sets off a flutter in his stomach in a pleasant way, almost too pleasant, and when he roughly thumbs the very tip of one, Hakka’s eyes go wide. He makes a sound in his throat that feels inhuman, stuttered and needy.
“So you can feel this?” Bettel asks, mock-innocence in his expression. Fingers trace the lines of his wings, dipping experimentally between the feathers that shimmer and flicker when Bettel rubs them deliberately with his hands.
“Holy fuck,” Hakka breathes out, shuddering. He can feel every movement, the data shooting silk-smooth into his spine. The karasutengu in him purrs with delight.
Forget about just cumming, the supernatural phenomenon that inhabits his body wants more.
He’s hard again already, pumped with an arousal that’s fueled by energy of the corruption. He curses the beast with his mind. His power isn’t supposed to be used for shit like this.
“Wow. What a reaction. I’ll take that as a yes,” the grin Bettel sends is conniving, but also thrilled. He’s fascinated. Like he’s just learnt a new trick. “Very sensitive. You didn’t know?”
“I don’t, I— no…” he’s so embarrassed he wants to die. “I don’t jerk it with the wings. I don’t know. It never came up.” He throws a joke in to try and save face. “Don’t want to bust a nut and fly into the ceiling at the same time. Hit one head at a time, you know what I mean?”
“God, true,” Bettel laughs. “I think you almost took me out just then.”
“You’re lucky my hands are tied, or I would take you out right now.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” he smiles. His palms are warm on Hakka’s hips as he lifts them, settling him in his lap. He lubes on quick and easy, and Hakka’s gaze slants down to watch him.
Hakka’s not afraid either, but he is a mess. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive being looked at like that again. Furious desire sets his heartbeat hammering in anticipation.
He wants to be fucked even though he's still tender. He wants to test the boundaries now that the tengu isn't fighting it, now that he can feel an underlying pulse of longing pressing at the corners of his mind. He wants to be wrecked, to see if it's still possible. To see if what he wants can overpower the beast. To want it more than the raven can ever hope to resist.
When he pushes inside, Bettel doesn’t break eye contact. Hakka wants to look away, wants to hide whatever expression he’s making, but he can’t miss the chance to see what Bettel's face looks like when he's buried to the hilt.
“Hey, your eyes— they're different colors,” Bettel remarks in amusement. His pink-blue gaze is as mesmerizing as the blush high on his cheeks. “Just like mine.”
That’s new, Hakka thinks distantly.
“Maybe the— the corruption likes you now,” he settles with saying, feeling breathless as Bettel drags back and snaps forward again. “Maybe— maybe you’re— ah— fucking both of us.”
“Hot.” He grins. “2-in-1 combo. I love a value meal.”
“I can’t stand you.”
“And yet here you are. The facts say otherwise, sorry. Bettel luck next time.”
If Hakka could use his hands right now, he’d be aiming for the fucking neck. Only Bettel would actually like that.
They’re both breathing harder now, and Hakka doesn’t try and string together a reply, knowing it’d come out as nothing but a guttural sound, ripped straight from his throat.
Bettel leans down, lips brushing his collarbone as his hand reaches for the base of Hakka’s wings.
He seems determined to figure the wings out, which is cute, but what’s less cute is how it’s actually working.
The light from his wings ripple as they’re touched, and when Bettel runs his hand through the cyber-feathers from base to tip, Hakka feels it like a jolt through his body.
“Good?” He’s asked a question as his feathers fold flat against him, curling in unabashed delight. Bettel slips his fingers in the space between his wings and back, kneading the wings in a way that sends a delicious shiver to his very core. “Want me to keep going?”
The prompting — along with getting fucked out — wrenches something out of him, like a dam bursting open.
“Sí, sí, sí, mi amor, mi bebé, sí, ah— yes, I mean, yes, fuck, ah,” he bites his lip, mortified that his words are spilling like a fountain. The fact that he can’t reign it in makes him squirm. He’s shaking, and his knee digs into Bettel’s side. “… don’t— don’t let it get to your head.”
“It feels so good you reverted to Spanish,” Bettel nods, grinning gleefully, clearly letting it get to his head. His fingers dig into the wings again, his movements picking up in pace. “Noted, noted. I am taking so many notes right now. This is educational, really. Learn something new every day.”
Bastard, Hakka thinks.
He doesn’t let up. He’s inside Hakka in all kinds of ways. His body. His heart. His mind. He can’t think of anything else, so he doesn’t.
He wants to lose himself in this overwhelming feeling.
But suddenly he can’t.
There’s something lodged in his mouth like a splinter, something threatening to burst.
“Bettel. It— it wants. Something.” He chokes out. “The raven. Wants.”
Bettel’s eyes widen. “It’s talking to you?”
“N— no. It— I’m—” his voice distorts. He doesn't feel like himself. “— talking to you.”
Something ignites in Bettel’s eyes, a feral gleam of an idea popping into his head.
He’s lucky he’s a quick thinker. Lucky that he adapts fast. Lucky in the sense he’s always been — graced with just enough misfortune to have to learn to face the unexpected with his head held high, or perish.
“Hey, raven. You want this, don’t you?” Bettel throws the question into the air. “When’s the last time you saw Hakka lose control?”
“Bettel,” he hisses.
It doesn’t matter. The words set off a hunger in his brain that isn’t his, multiplying his senses and making him feel helpless, like his careful carefree mask is coming undone. His neck arcs, exposing his throat as his wings spread beneath him.
Bettel is enthralled. He continues with a rasp in his voice, undeterred. “You want this. You want him. Isn’t that why you chose him? I can wreck him for you. Is that what you want?”
Hakka’s breathing is erratic, lips swollen from how hard he’s biting it. The grinding of his hips is mindless, chasing any feeling and every feeling at once, and Bettel meets its pace, tightening his grip on his thighs. Hakka can’t bite back the sounds anymore, and they fall in wordless groans from his mouth.
His talons dig into his palms. No, not his talons. He doesn’t have talons. Those aren’t his thoughts.
Fuck, Hakka thinks. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
His nails, that aren’t being controlled by him anymore, pierce the centre of his hand, and his wings curl inwards, caressing his spine. He feels it on both sides, suddenly, Bettel’s hips slamming into his thighs and his wings forcing him forwards, forcing him to take it deeper and deeper still.
“Fuck,” he cries aloud, back arching in pleasure.
“Look at me. Hakka.” Bettel says, and Hakka opens his eyes without being aware of having closed them. It’s cruel to ask this of him only for a hard thrust to have his eyes clamming shut again, but Bettel’s words confirm something he had dreaded was happening. “Your eyes.” He enunciates it in a raspy tone, as if trying to keep his voice under control. “They’ve gone black.”
“This body is mine,” Hakka growls, but it’s in words he doesn’t even process speaking. The karasutengu burns beneath his tongue, fighting to be heard. “Hakka belongs to me.”
“Okay,” Bettel sounds breathless, but not afraid. His chest is heaving. “Okay. But you have to understand that you and Hakka coexist now. You are part of Hakka. You are Hakka. I want you to watch me fuck you until you remember that.”
Hakka knows he’s done for when he hears that.
He’s so high-strung and ruined by it that he can’t speak. The tengu falls silent. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears.
“Look at me.” Bettel says.
He looks, and the karasutengu’s thoughts meld into his again, filling his mind with nothing but desperate want. It doesn’t fight Hakka’s desires, because it shares them.
Now it’s amplified and he can’t think about anything else.
His arm burns, a searing reminder of the beast within him, but this time, it’s giving him what he wants. Bettel slams into him and there is no resistance.
No prideful bird rearing its head, no tengu to fight back.
The corruption wants this just as much as he does.
It might even want it more, because it lights up his senses again, and everything he feels comes tenfold.
Hakka’s body spasms, an unholy mix of pain and pleasure shooting through his veins, and he screams.
His wings fold back on their own, satisfied, as he lays there panting.
He’s gasping just to breathe. He doesn’t think he’s ever cum so hard in his life. It takes a good long moment for him to remember how breathing works again, and another good long moment to register the fact that Bettel has slipped out fully and is just kneeling there, admiring him.
“Holy fucking shit,” Hakka whispers, still trembling from the aftershock. He doesn’t know if he’s talking to Bettel or to himself. “You’re insane.”
“Are you okay?” The question is unexpectedly considerate. Bettel hovers above him now. He’s gorgeously flushed, thighs sticky as he’d spilled out himself, the moment Hakka screamed. His voice sounds far too innocent to have caused such a thing. “Is everything, y’know, good?”
Hakka just feels fucking boneless.
“I feel like you just fucked my soul out, dude.”
“Well, go get it back. You need that.” He presses a gentle featherlight kiss to Hakka’s mouth, hands slipping underneath Hakka to get him out of his binds. “So I can maybe do it again some other time.”
“What the hell.” Hakka says, no real bite to his words.
“I feel that. I feel that, I do. I never thought I’d actually get the corruption to help me fuck you,” Bettel grins, wiping the sweat from his brow. “That was something else. Awesome. I’m never going to get that out of my head.”
“Shit, man, don’t you dare make a kink out of that.” Hakka says, eyes closed. He’s completely winded, exhausted and fucked out, but he’s never too far gone to talk back — living with the corruption means he’s never truly powerless unless it wants him to be. “Or are you gonna get hard every time we go to fight now? I’d like to see you explain that one to leader.”
“I’m not turned on by those demons. That’s fucked up.” Bettel laughs breezily. He fiddles with the ropes, untying him with shaky but determined hands. “Only yours.”
“When I almost died trying to get this shit out of my body, I never thought I’d meet someone that wanted to use the corruption for sex.”
“You know I’m a special case.” He’s still smiling, Hakka can hear it in his voice. Hears an undertone of tenderness as the ties loosen around his wrists. “I didn’t even know it was possible. I thought I’d just have you, which is already more than enough. But that thing’s a part of you. If I don’t— if I don’t embrace it, I’m not embracing all of you.”
“You just want a threesome with evil Hakka, don’t you.” Hakka deadpans.
“Oh. Now you're just teasing me. That’s hot.” The rope is tossed to the side and Bettel slumps, moving to cradle him in his arms. He takes special care with the rope marks, rubbing the reddened skin with gentle, fidgety fingers.
Hakka doesn’t feel any pain that can remotely compare to what he’s just experienced, but the thought counts.
“I have questions. Actually. Look, I know you probably want to go to sleep, and that’s totally valid, but I gotta know.”
Hakka waves a weak, lazy hand at him to continue.
“Can you, like, separate temporarily?” Bettel asks, clearly letting the curiosity get the better of him. “Is that a thing? Or are you like, bound forever?”
“Fuck you for actually considering this.” Hakka says, giggling. “But yeah, I can summon the raven separately. Only for short times. You’ve seen me do it on the battlefield.”
“Oh, that’s— oh. So. Um.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Swear to god I’m not thinking about anything at all. God, that’s so fucking hot.” He says, wheezing slightly and shaking his head. “Have you ever— sorry, this is really insensitive but I have to know. Can you, like, fuck the data?”
Hakka cannot believe the audacity of this man.
He answers anyway.
“You cannot fuck the data, no, but the data can fuck you. It’s kind of like tentacle sex, right, like you can’t stick your dick inside a tentacle but you know what kinda cracks that shit can slip into. You know what I mean.”
“Oh my god.”
“Bettel.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“I can hear you thinking it!”
He laughs, the vibration of his chest lulling Hakka into a sweet contentment. Shit, he’s beyond tired at this point, but Bettel is still talking and part of him just really, really wants to listen to him.
“Have you ever…? Level with me. Please. Hakka. I need to know. Have you ever done it? I need to know.”
“How do you think I got off before I met you?” He murmurs into his pillow.
“Oh, god. Oh my god. You can’t tell me that.”
“Just did.”
“Fuck.” Bettel hisses through his teeth. “Hakka. Are you falling asleep? Please. You can’t just tell me that and dip.”
“Just did.” He says again. He feels Bettel’s fingers brush through his sweat-soaked hair. “Sleep is beckoning. I’m a goner, man.”
“At least clean up a little.”
“Can’t.”
“Okay. Fair.” Bettel accepts that, at least. “That’s my fault.” He sounds a little giddy about it too, damn him. “That’s my fault. I’ll help, okay? Just— just stay here.”
“Not going anywhere.” Hakka mumbles hazily.
He feels the bed lift when Bettel leaves it, and then the sound of running water. He drifts in and out of consciousness. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but Bettel returns with a wet towel, the heat from his shower radiating off of his warm reddened skin.
“Come here, baby,” he coaxes, pulling Hakka into his arms. It's clumsy but sweet, in the way he's used to Bettel being, but he still makes a pained sound when he feels the sharp line of a chin knock into his head. “Oops. Anyway. I just want to clean you up and then you can sleep. Okay? Come here.”
Hakka whines involuntarily, but doesn’t stop him from helping. He’s too fucking tired to care. The towel is warm and soothing and he collapses into Bettel’s chest as soon as he's done.
Bettel kisses his forehead.
“I’ll get you back for this,” Hakka murmurs against his skin.
“I know you will. And I will thank you when you do.” His tone is teasing and lighthearted, unable to resist another rib at him. “God, look at you. Already plotting your revenge. You’re so romantic, they should give you an award or something.”
“Listen, I love you. I love you. I do. But they should give you an award for not knowing when to shut up.”
“No way, I’d be so down for that. Actually. I think I’d appreciate that a lot.” He hums happily, considering it. “I’d love to win an award like that. Then I'd know I definitely earned it. I'd love to get an award for being a huge fucking idiot. Can you imagine?”
“I’d serve it to you on a silver platter.”
“I’d eat it in front of you just to see your face.” He laughs, so very pleasantly.
It’s that laughter that Hakka finally succumbs to, falling into a dreamless slumber, nestled in Bettel’s embrace.
For once, he doesn’t feel wound up, doesn’t feel the need to fight the darkness in fear it will come and consume him.
He’s unraveled, undone and relaxed — the beast purring in satisfaction, the sounds of the corruption that plague his mind soothed into a quiet rumble of contentment.
It’s the best sleep he’s had in a long time.