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"I suppose I cannot allow you to return to Nazarick looking as though you have been mauled." Malphas muses, running an onyx talon down Demiurge's chest. It stings sweetly like the touch of flame- sharp, precise and quick to fade. "Although, I very much enjoy seeing you so beautifully painted in carnal colors."

"Mmm." Demiurge hums in agreement. "And I relish being your canvas. Unfortunately, I doubt Lord Ainz will find it as aesthetically pleasing as you or I. You went a bit too high this time."

Demiurge was referring to how the collar of his shirt would normally hide the marks, but as he said, Malphas could not have cared less in the heat of the moment, and in the urge to taste every inch of him, strayed too high along his throat.

"Most unfortunate indeed. I'll retrieve a potion for you then." Malphas says with a kiss to his neck, and reluctantly extricates his limbs from around the smaller demon to rise to his feet. Demiurge's diamond eyes rake over Malphas' body in motion, and he drinks in the sinuous ripple of leonine brawn as the six-foot-six Arch Devil stretches with a weary groan, making Demiurge lick his lips without shame. Striding to his armoire, Malphas pulls the double doors open and begins to rifle through his clothes.

The demon is built with thick slabs of muscle- smooth, defined and utterly massive like a marble statue; the width of his shoulders emphasizes the band of muscle around his hips, delineated by the sharp V that deliciously frames his groin. His back is immaculately carved with heavy sinew, and Demiurge's eyes are drawn to the furrow along his spine that leads to two faint dimples above the base of his armor-plated tail. He is predatory perfection; if Demiurge is designed for an elegant and stealthy hunt, Malphas is built for a brutal blunt-force kill.

"Could I trouble you for a spare?" Demiurge sees his opening. "I'm working on a new experiment; one which centers around the complexity of the human hippocampus. It is so far promising, but I fear my subject's brain damage may be permanent if I cannot administer something stronger than what I have on hand at the Tomb."

"A spare potion, hmm?" Malphas casts a glance of mock skepticism back at his brother, and Demiurge abandons the bed.

"It would be greatly appreciated." Demiurge adds and approaches his brother with a flirtatiously flamboyant swing of his tail.

"Then I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I made a few more marks before we wipe the slate clean?" Malphas insinuates, and reaches for his chin to pull him forward, his tongue hot and sinful, tasting of bloodwine and dark lust as he traces the seam of his mouth. Demiurge moans softly as he unseals his lips, letting him in. Desire settles beneath Demiurge's breastbone like a sun-baked stone, and he meets the kiss head-on.

As his tongue sieges his mouth, the elder Devil draws his talons lightly over Demiurge's ribs, with just enough pressure to cause a delicious frisson to zip through his body.

The crush of his lips is achingly luscious. A molten purr rumbles from Demiurge's chest as he slides his tongue into Malphas' mouth, licking slowly, sensually.

Malphas groans heatedly in response and spins him around to pull his back to his chest, holding him close there, and Demiurge shifts his hips back against Malphas who chuckles at how eager he is.

Malphas ducks his head and presses hot lips to Demiurge's jaw as reverent hands trace the immaculately sculpted muscles of Demiurge's abdomen, admiring the statuesque elegance of his form, trailing lower to graze teasing fingers around the base of his shaft.

His brother is a work of art, an exquisitely carved creation, Ulbert's gift to Nazarick, his lasting legacy.

Marvelous.

Under his touch, Demiurge comes to life. Cool plates of platinum slither around Malphas' hips, pulling him flush to his body. Ivory fangs trace the sinuous curve of Demiurge's neck, threatening to snag the tender flesh, his tongue leaving wet-hot swaths as he finally curls his fingers around his length, stroking slowly with an agonizingly gentle grip, just enough to make him thicken in his palm, heavy and hard. Demiurge makes a strangled groan of pleasure, and bucks into his hand, ever impatient and hungry for something more aggressive.

"So impatient..." Malphas chides, keeping his pace excruciatingly unhurried and nipping his way over Demiurge's shoulders, then down his back where he traces his tongue over every dip and rise of his spine before finally bending him forward over a dresser.

Demiurge remains pliant, spine arching with feline grace to suit Malphas' position and pleasure, leaning forward to feel the lacquered wood press cold and unforgiving into his chest. A scathing swipe of Malphas' tongue over the punctures he scored into Demiurge's nape makes the Seventh Floor Guardian tremble.

"How I wish you could keep this." Malphas laments with a kiss over his restraint bite. He loves this one most of all.

'Mine.'

"As do I..." Demiurge replies and snares his lower lip between his teeth, but they both know they must keep the evidence to a minimum.

But it still brings the elder Devil comfort to know that Demiurge will leave here carrying his scent back to Nazarick and will spread it on his pillows to keep him close, to breathe him in.

"Malphas..." Demiurge whines, and the towering Devil rumbles low in response before suddenly yanking him up from the dresser, and then hurling him effortlessly onto the mattress.

Demiurge's pulse spikes, a thrill whipping through his veins like lightning. He loves when Malphas gets rough with him- he craves sexual aggression, whether it is give or take.

"Face down," Malphas commands. "Don't move."

Demiurge complies without resistance, and rolls onto his belly to rest on his elbows as Malphas continues mouthing over his skin in a laving reverence that makes the Seventh Floor Guardian whine for more.

Malphas flips his tail over his back and spreads him with both hands, breathing ever so lightly against where he Demiurge is most sensitive, before leaning in close and swiping the tip of his tongue over his furled entrance.

Demiurge lets out a visceral groan into the pillow as he registers the wet heat and pressure of Malphas' tongue, a curve sweeping through his spine as he settles further onto his forearms. The second pierce, just a tad deeper than the first has his fingers curling into the sheets. A hot coil of desire unwinds in his stomach, pushing a gasping moan past his lips.

Each velvety caress of Malphas' tongue is followed by scorching moist breath that quickly cools against Demiurge's flesh, making him shudder. He reaches back and grasps his shaft, solid and throbbing in his hand.

"Deeper," Demiurge breathes, a tremulous plea. His hips press back into the warm mouth that teases the silken vice of his body. Demiurge's tail coils, silvery and serpentine around Malphas' thick bicep as his ministrations cause him to break out into a light sheen of sweat, turning his flesh into dewy bronze. "Fuck..."

And Malphas savors it- how the coral flush of his cheeks brightens, every twitch and tremble, every curse, hitched breath and rich, broken cry that Demiurge fails to cage behind gritted fangs.

Demiurge's body is made for this, for him; how he moans, how he whimpers in breaths pulsing hot past his parted lips- such lovely sounds no one else could ever hope to pull from the normally stoic demon; try as others may, but none will succeed in breaking him as he does, no one will hear the soft-spoken murmurs of adoration in the ancient language that they share between them. Just between them.

He slips his fiendishly long tongue along the silky skin of Demiurge's sac up to his entrance again. Malphas strokes slowly, deliberately, and holds him open just enough to push the tip in and feel the spasm of pleasure that clenches the muscles around his tongue, that reduces Demiurge's entire being into a trembling, whimpering mess.

Malphas' lips peel back in the most insidious of grins as he hears the muffled sob Demiurge expels into the sheets, and presses in further.

Hades, he breaks so beautifully for him.

He slides his hands away, for just a moment, spreading Demiurge's thighs further and drawing a choked plea from the living masterpiece before him. A rare creature, exquisitely and uniquely crafted by divine artisan's hands, Demiurge is his own private reserve of omnipotent nectar, to be sipped and savored.

And Malphas worships him as such.

Jolting with a sharp exhale as Malphas' tongue pierces him deeper than before, a honeyed snarl tears itself from his chest. Demiurge tenses in ecstatic resistance, his cock throbbing in tandem with his hammering heart, gradually pouring a glossy pool of pre-come onto the black satin sheets. He wants it harder, faster, deeper, everything - all at once. He's so hard it hurts.

Demiurge gasps into the sheets, smearing the fluid over his shaft to make himself slippery wet.

"Don't stop..." Demiurge begs, a whimper snaring in his voice, laden with desperation. His surroundings fade from his peripheral as his vision tunnels, until all that remains is wet flesh, heavy pants, the buttery thick tang of arousal. Until he is little more than sensation, and loses himself in the maelstrom of blinding ecstasy that burns phosphorus bright behind his eyes.

Malphas obliges, and doesn't even slow down when Demiurge starts to fall apart in his hands- he only stops when he can smell his body's cry for release as he nears the edge, fangs bared and eyes screwed shut, clawing at the sheets with one hand and the other tight around his shaft as he strokes with an almost painful grip. Malphas' acute hearing detects the wet splat of a burst of pre-come, and he catches Demiurge's hand to still him before he is past the point of no return.

"Not yet," He murmurs into his trembling back. "Be patient."

The order draws a strangled whine from him, long and shaking, and his tail rattles with restraint.

"Shhh..." Malphas coos and presses his body over Demiurge's for just a moment, just enough to allow Demiurge to melt back into him. "I know."

Demiurge is still a relatively young Incubus, and patience is a virtue, one that Malphas' brother is still very much learning when it comes to sex.

Malphas rolls him onto his back and their mouths meet, sliding smoothly together and their tails corkscrewing around one another with a metallic susurration.

"Look at you..." He breathes, eyes hooded and glittering like chips of obsidian, so dark with desire that they are almost black, his throat working to swallow before he leans down to kiss him again. "It's exquisite, the way you break for me."

Eyes alighting like crystallized white fire from the lavish praise, Demiurge winds his arms around Malphas' neck, pulling him close, and shivering at the silky softness of the raven hair that tickles over his shoulders. The elder Devil's body settles in over his brother's, dense and heavy with primal power and muscle.

Nipping and nuzzling along the hard line of Malphas' jaw and cheek, Demiurge is content to bury his face against his neck and let his mouth come to rest against his thrumming pulse with gentle bite.

"My beautiful brother, have you any idea how tempting you are?" Malphas murmurs, cupping the back of his head gently and Demiurge makes a small, broken sound, frightening in its frailty and his eyes pinch shut as he tries to still the trembling in his limbs. It is simultaneously shattering and comforting, how reminiscent his brother is of Lord Ulbert; his voice dark and deep and smooth like black velvet, an echo of his Creator's. He mirrors his Master's movements in how he carries himself, every muscle of his body boasting effortless dominance.

Demiurge's tail constricts around Malphas'.

Here and now, Demiurge is truly vulnerable, disarmed and laid bare, but a low, rumbling purr from his brother resonates like late summer thunder through his bones and soothes him, reminds him that he is safe.

Slowly, Malphas backs off to come to rest on his knees between Demiurge's legs, spreading them farther with his own.

"Demiurge," His voice strikes clearly through the red velvet haze that has settled over the Seventh Floor Guardian's mind. Malphas' palm slides over his own rigid member now, fingers gathering the crystal thread of pre-come to smear it over his length. "Look at me."

'You are perfection, my other half, my everything. You complete me.'

Demiurge's eyes crack open, having drifted closed as he languorously strokes himself, lips parted just enough to allow soft moans to pass, the gleaming head of his cock flushed angry purple and a milky stream rolls tantalizingly down his length.

He then reaches up to slide a hand down Malphas' cheek and lets his thumb drift over his mouth, tracing the lush curve of his perfectly molded lips before slipping between them to admire the sharpness of his fangs. Malphas' tongue twirls around his claw before drawing it further in between his lips with a firm suck.

Their eyes meet, sapphires to diamonds. Much like his brother's, Demiurge's are heavy-lidded and simmer with lust, and his back bows suddenly to drive himself against Malphas' body so he can glide the blunt head of his weeping member over the hard, hot muscle of his abdomen, seeking contact, friction, anything to alleviate the blissful strain of being so hard that it makes his vision swim.

"Please..." Demiurge pleads again, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. A lovely pink blush glows over his cheekbones and his hair is wild with stray strands plastered to his forehead. He looks utterly debauched and Malphas delights in how he shivers exquisitely from the sweat evaporating from his flesh.

Only now is Malphas satisfied Demiurge has suffered enough- when he is utterly dripping with desire and so desperate for friction that he will gladly grind himself to completion.

Malphas smiles, all fangs, and his eyes flicker with sadistic delight. Then he ducks his head and kisses Demiurge as he aligns himself and with a steady push, he sinks the first four inches into his molten heat with one smooth, brutal thrust.

He then lunges forward, forgoing any gentleness just to feel the coarse breath it crushes from Demiurge's lungs when he nearly hilts himself. Malphas groans, visceral and deep, and for a moment he can barely move; it never fails to amaze him, the staggering perfection of their fit. He only returns to himself when Demiurge squeezes around him, writhing in excruciating ecstasy as Malphas finally bottoms out, the cruel stretch of eight inches of steel setting his brother's blood ablaze. One massive hand slides up to wind into Demiurge's hair to yank his head back until his spine curls off the bed. Malphas then leans down and clamps his jaws onto the curve of Demiurge's neck, viciously enough to draw blood.

When Malphas moves, it isn't gentle or tender, not anymore. He snaps forth with the rawest snarl of animalistic possession, and when he drags his tongue up the side of Demiurge's face, his brother wraps his legs around his hips and sinks his fangs into Malphas' shoulder in retaliation. Talons rake deeply into the elder Devil's back, and Malphas' hands stamp bruises into Demiurge's thighs where he holds him spread for his pleasure.

Ivory fangs latch onto Demiurge's clavicle and Malphas tugs Demiurge so close against him it is nearly impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins- they are molten copper and bronze, folding into one another, flashing fangs of pearl and tails writhing like serpents of sterling silver. Malphas then shallows his thrusts, and angles Demiurge just so to feel him jolt from the white-hot pleasure that flares through him as he grazes his prostate. Over and over, again and again and again until Demiurge is nearly convulsing under him, voice free and ragged with rapture.

Demiurge snarls, lips curling and gasping beneath Malphas' teeth as an inky black miasma opens wide beneath him to swallow them whole. His hand shoots forward and grasps Malphas by the throat to squeeze against arteries that hum with his thundering pulse. It is fierce resistance he offers as his fingers threateningly clench beneath Malphas' chin, even as Demiurge's body bows then pulls tight in surrender of the pressure driving hard into him.

His entire awareness narrows to trembling, sweat-slicked muscles. A luscious flexing, heated breath, the thick slide of Malphas' cock and his heart beating like the hollow drum of wings in his ears.

Malphas plunges mercilessly, every pump of his hips drawing a vehement cry, savage and unrestrained, tearing Demiurge apart at seams already frayed - the elder Devil was pounding too deep, too hard.

Violent.

And Demiurge wouldn't have it any other way.

Bucking his body in defiance against the Devil mounted atop him, Demiurge struggles, his internal muscles tightening deliciously around his brother's girth as he digs his heels in and cinches his thighs over Malphas' hips to trap him in place as he tries to roll them. Demiurge attempts to push him off to claim a dominant position, but Malphas holds him down effortlessly with strength that is terrifying in its superiority, and he can feel the tiger beneath his brother's skin, twisting, trying to tear itself free as it senses prey below. Unable to seize control, Demiurge lunges upward and bites into Malphas' shoulder instead, piercing his skin and tasting the burst of molten ruby spilling into his mouth.

Tracing his tongue along the jagged points of his fangs, crimson-stained and sharp, he delights in the coppery sweet ringing over his tongue. Demiurge grins against the livid mark he's left, knowing that for as deep as Malphas is buried in him, he's equally deep inside Malphas. Under his skin, coursing through his veins, and nestled safely in the back of his mind at all times. They are inextricably intertwined, melded beyond body, beyond mind.

Teeth gnash and talons rend flesh as they savagely snarl at one another like wolves engaged in vicious play, that to any but themselves would appear as hateful, until Malphas bares his fangs in a grin and rips Demiurge's grasp away from his throat to pin his wrist above his head, lacing his fingers with his, holding fast.

And with the release of guttural laughter from each, the fight ceases, the thrashing devolving into quick undulations, their bestial snarls softening into pleas. Malphas twists, just enough to maneuver his free hand between them and grip Demiurge and feel him throbbing and sticky-wet with need.

"Come for me. Fucking come." Malphas seethes as he feels hot blood pulse from the bite on his shoulder to weave trails of crimson down his chest.

Demiurge is already at his limit of endurance and ecstasy, and he erupts after three strokes with a staggered gasp against Malphas' throat, spilling in creamy jets all over his hand, painting their chests in pearl.

It's enough for Malphas to snarl and throw himself forward to sink his fangs into the thick cords of Demiurge's neck, his muscles locking in rapture as he spurts endlessly inside his clutching heat, his massive body trembling like an oak in storm.

"Malphas!" His name leaves Demiurge's lips on an obscene moan and his claws rip scarlet stripes across Malphas' shoulder blades as he can feel the sweet warmth of every milky wave lapping into him.

Malphas' arm sags and then slides downward to rest just above Demiurge's head, fingers now slack, but still intertwined with his brother's. He presses his forehead to Demiurge's, which is as close to a kiss either can manage at the moment as they gasp for air, slowly coming down from the earth-shattering release.

The ache in Malphas' shoulder is the least of his concern, and the mess doesn't matter - not the rips and holes in the sheets, not the blood, the sweat, nor the release streaking their bodies. The only thing that matters here and now is the brother he loves with every fiber of his being panting in his arms.

Malphas wants it to mean something.

Demiurge has never verbally returned his sentiments, and what they have and what it means to him has never been quite clear, as Demiurge is colder than he, and less adept at expressing more complex emotions- such is his design. But Malphas supposes what it means doesn't really matter.

It means.

And for Malphas, that is enough.