DAMN.
1.4k of sort of angsty Born Under A Troubled Sign - style Mountain/Dew hate fucking. Including rough sex, improper prep, some angst, knotting, overstimulation. Could be read as dubious consent but everyone is fully aware and on board with what they're doing despite the pheromones and emotions at play.
No need to read Born Under a Troubled Sign to know what's happening. But if you haven't and you like angst you should check it out.
Dew thought this would never happen again. That Mountain would never look at him like this. That he’d never feel the calloused drag of Mountain’s hands over his ribs. That he would never feel small like this again.
Mountain’s fingers dig in and Dew knows he should pull away. Mountain’s eyes are clouded. He’s not himself. Deep in his rut, mind fuzzy. Body driven by instinct rather than heart and Dew knows deep in his bones that if Mountain was thinking clearly he wouldn’t do this.
And so, Dew should stop him. Should grab Mountain by the wrists before his hands slide any higher. Before rough thumbs pass over his nipples, hook into the rings there, pull until Dew gasps.
Dew should stop him but he doesn’t. He’s hard. Mountain’s knee is pressed tight between his legs, and Dew’s rolling his hips up against Mountain’s thigh with very little thought. He hasn’t been pinned beneath this big body in months. Hasn’t smelled him like this, looked at him like this. And Dew doesn’t want to stop.
Not when Mountain is gazing down at him with lust blown eyes. An expression Dew thought he lost to his own bad choices. His chest constricts, heart hurting in his chest, but he can’t stop. Won’t. He wants it, needs it.
“Mount,” he whispers. Hoping that Mountain can break free of this spell himself. That Dew doesn’t have to be the one to stop it because he doesn’t trust himself. If he talks to Mountain enough. Reminds him who is pinned beneath him, maybe he’ll back off on his own. It’ll probably break Dew’s heart but that’s nothing new.
“Mountain,” he tries again. Reaching up to cup Mountain’s face between his hands, to force the bigger ghoul to look at him–really look at him. Mountain snarls at him, teeth bared. He shakes out of Dew’s grip.
And Dew feels the gravity of what is really happening set in. Mountain knows. Of course he does. Even fucked up on pheromones he can’t forget. He knows and he’s still thumbing over one of Dew’s nipples. Still pressing his thigh tight to Dew’s aching cock.
Dew doesn’t know if the tightening in his chest is joy or dread. He presses a palm to the back of Mountain’s neck, holds on. Fingers stroking into the soft baby hairs there. Familiar. Like he’s finally come home.
“It’s just this once,” Mountain grits out. Fumbling with his zipper. Reaching for Dew’s so he can pull them off of Dew’s skinny hips. It’s all moving so fast. Dew can’t quite catch up. Mind hazy from the scent of Mountain’s rut. From the way it feels to be under him again–he can’t hope to get himself on level ground.
“Just let me,” Mountain continues. “Just once. I need it–I need–”
Dew nods. Hauling himself up to nose at Mountain’s neck. To fill himself on the scent of evergreen and juniper. He presses open mouthed kisses over Mountain’s skin, salty with sweat.
“Just this once, Mount.”
Dew wonders if Mountain knows it’s a lie. If they’re both just lying to themselves and each other about what this is going to do to them. It won’t make it better. He thinks they’ll probably do this again. Denial coursing through both of their bodies as they ruin each other.
Mountain flips Dew over. Dew has no say in it. One moment he’s on his back and the next his face is in his own pillow. Mountain holds him down with a palm between his shoulderblades. He doesn’t have to. But Dew isn’t going to tell him that–he likes how it feels too much. To be held down. For Mountain to be a little rough with him, demanding. His stomach clenches, dick kicking between his legs, drooling precum onto the sheets.
Mountain makes a gut punched sound as he spreads Dew open and finds him dripping with slick. Dew mirrors it when Mountain runs his finger through it. Smearing it over Dew’s already twitching hole. Pressing in with one finger just a little. Dew keens into the pillow. “Still so wet.”
Dew doesn’t know how Mountain can talk like this. Fucked up as he is on his rut. Dew can’t form words. Not when Mountain is working him open. Pressing two fingers in to the third knuckle and scissoring them apart.
“So warm,” Mountain says, reverence coloring his tone and Dew flushes, hiding his face in his pillow as he whimpers. He feels like he’s the one in heat. Rocking back against Mountain’s fingers, desperate for something else that sounds like a compliment. “Bet you’re still just as tight too.”
Dew hiccups. Rolling his hips back as Mountain pets his fingers over Dew’s prostate. “Satanas, fuck Mountain just fuck me already. End this.”
Before everything Mountain would have chided him for that. Even in a rut he always was level-headed enough to be gentle. But Dew doesn’t get that luxury this time. Mountain laughs at him, low and cruel and then his fingers are gone. Replaced by the blunt head of his cock. Pushing in. It’s a stretch, even with Dew’s copious slick. The burn isn’t unpleasant. It doesn’t hurt so much as it does overwhelm. Dew digs his teeth into his pillow. Ripping holes in the fabric. He’ll have to get a new one. He doesn’t care.
Mountain’s fingers dig into his hips. He’ll have bruises. He’s glad for it. Knows he’ll replay this, dig his own fingers into those marks and cum about it later. Mountain doesn’t so much thrust as he does use Dew to fuck himself. Pushing and pulling the little ghoul. Dragging him up and down the bed as he pulls him onto his cock. Grunting and swearing as Dew bears down on him and wails each time Mountain bumps against his prostate.
“Mount–touch me.” Dew’s lost to it, realizes it as the words tumble out of his mouth. He’s somewhere else–another time. Each rough thrust driving sense further and further away from him.
“Touch yourself,” Mountain growls. Giving up on using Dew as a toy and snapping his hips forward. Driving Dew up the bed until his horns gouge into the headboard.
Dew hiccups on a sob and shoves his hand down between them. Getting a fist around his cock. Hot and twitching in his hand. Pre dribbling over his fingers. Each of Mountain’s thrusts fucks his dick into his own fist. He twists his hand up by the head the way Mountain always did for him.
For a minute, Dew’s not sure he’ll cum at all, no matter how hard he is. Each of Mountain’s thrusts seeks to overwhelm, to claim. It’s too much. Dew can’t muddle through the sensations to find the right ones. But then his orgasm is roaring up on him. Unexpected. Dragging through his veins like electricity until he’s wailing with it. Shooting boiling hot over his own knuckles. Clenching down hard on Mountain, more slick drooling out of his hole as Mountain fucks him with abandon. The edge of his knot bumping against Dew’s rim, pushing in a little further each time. Dew sags. Tears biting at the corner of his eyes. Body gone boneless as Mountain rails him. Cock twitching valiantly between his legs as Mountain abuses his prostate. It really is too much now, and Dew is about to say as much when Mountain shoves his knot in. Dew sobs with it–the sound drown out by Mountain’s growl as he cums. Holding Dew tight to him. Cock twitching and spitting deep inside of Dew’s body.
Time suspends, stretches, as they both pant. Dew’s throat burns. Body sore and satisfied but mind racing. Fingers clenched tight in his sheets. Afraid to move, afraid to look at Mountain and see hatred on his face even after all of this.
Mountain sits back on his haunches and pulls Dew with him. Almost sitting him on his lap except for how Dew stays hunched over.
Mountain reaches down, he strokes some of Dew’s hair out of his face so he can see him. Tucking golden locks behind his ear with gentleness that makes Dew’s chest ache.
“Sorry,” Mountain whispers. “I should have been–”
Dew shakes his head. “Don’t.” Mountain goes quiet. He lets Dew slump back to the bed. He pets Dew’s spine with slow soothing strokes that make the burning in Dew’s throat worse. He’s exhausted, fucked out, hazy. He wants to reach up and pull Mountain down with him. Wants to spoon while they wait for Moutnain’s knot to go down. He doesn’t. That feels more intimate than this. It’s a thing for people who actually like each other.
Tears well in Dew’s eyes. He bites back a sob and promises himself he won’t cry until Mountain’s gone.