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Mob woke up with his hand already reaching for a weapon.
There was nothing there.
... Of course there was nothing there.
The sword was on the other side of the room, leaning uselessly beside the chest. The bow was near the door. His inventory felt far away in the way everything felt far away when he woke too fast, too hard, with his heart trying to beat its way out of his ribs and the nightmare still crawling under his skin.
For one awful second, he did not know where he was— then the room came back in pieces.
Wooden ceiling and furnace glow. Rain ticking faintly against the windows. The bed beneath him... the walls he had built himself, block by block, back when building still felt like making a home instead of making a cage look nicer.
Mob dragged in a breath, it shook on the way in.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
His voice sounded wrong, and way too small in the dark.
He sat up too fast and nearly gagged. The room tilted... his hands clutched the blanket, fingers twisting into it as if the fabric could prove he was awake. Not in the forest; not running; not hearing Twixxel shout his name from somewhere behind him.
Not alone.
That was the worst part.
He was never alone anymore, and somehow that had become another way to be lonely.
Verity had done what Verity always did. He had helped. He had protected. He had made sure no one else could get close enough to hurt Mob, then had smiled brightly afterward as if there was nothing strange about a world reduced to one player, one base, one cheerful yellow thing waiting at the foot of his bed.
At first, Mob had fought it.. then he had argued; then he had started talking to himself just to hear another voice before remembering Verity was always listening anyway.
And then, eventually, he had stopped pretending he did not miss touch.
Just touch— a hand on his shoulder. Someone bumping into him by accident. Someone passing behind him in a kitchen. Twixxel stealing a blanket. A crowd brushing elbows in a hallway. Normal, stupid human contact he had never thought to treasure before it was gone.
Verity knew.
Of course Verity knew.
He knew when Mob slept badly... He knew when Mob ate too little. He knew when Mob stared at his own hands too long, flexing his fingers like his body had become something foreign.
But whenever Mob snapped at him for it, the little yellow face only tilted in that bright horrible way.
I’m sorry, Mob! I can’t do anything about that.
He could give directions. He could find diamonds. He could kill monsters before they got close. He could sing in a terrible soft voice when Mob could not sleep.
—But he could not touch him.. not like a person could.
Mob had started dreaming about hands.
That was the humiliating part.
Hands on his back; fingers in his hair. Someone sitting beside him close enough that their knee pressed against his. Once, in a nightmare that had not become bad until he woke from it, someone had held his face so gently that Mob had cried in his sleep.
He hated that Verity knew that too.
The floor creaked.
Mob stopped breathing. At the foot of the bed, something stood in the dark. It was not the yellow sphere nor the smile; not the little round body hovering just above the blanket, cheerful and harmless-looking and awful.
This thing was tall.
Human-shaped rather.
Mob went cold from head to toe.
His hand moved toward the empty side of the bed before he remembered, again, that there was no weapon there. His eyes adjusted slowly: golden skin, long limbs... Hair the color of warm yellow light falling over one shoulder. A face too smooth, too pretty, too familiar in ways that made no sense.
The smile came last. It was small and bright and patient.
“Hello, Mob,” Verity said.
Mob’s entire body locked.
“...No,” he whispered.
Verity tilted his head. The motion was exactly the same.
That made it worse.
“No,” Mob said again, louder. His voice cracked. “No, what the fuck. What the fuck is that?”
Verity looked down at himself, as if he had forgotten there was something to see. A pale hand lifted in the dark, with long fingers— human fingers.
Mob stared at them until his vision blurred.
“You’re shaking,” Verity said.
“Yeah— no shit.”
“I didn’t want to scare you.”
“You are standing in my room as a person.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes.”
Mob pressed his back to the headboard. “How... how long could you do this?”
Verity’s smile faded slightly, not gone and just quieter.
“A while.”
Mob laughed once. It came out wrong. “A while.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been watching me lose my mind for— what, weeks? Months? And you could just do this?”
“No.”
Mob stared at him.
Verity’s eyes were not normal... They were too bright in the dark, blue only because Mob’s mind needed a color to call them. Behind that, something else moved; something older than a face should have been able to hold.
“I could take this shape,” Verity said. “That isn’t the same as being able to come to you in it.”
“Oh, that makes me feel way better.”
“I know you’re angry.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Sound sorry when you’re not.”
For a moment, Verity said nothing, then he smiled again though smaller this time.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I’m also happy.”
Mob’s stomach twisted.
“You’re happy.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re looking at me.”
Mob gripped the blanket harder. “You’re insane.”
“I know.”
The easy answer made Mob’s breath stutter.
Verity took one step closer. Mob flinched so hard his shoulder hit the wall... The human-shaped thing stopped immediately.
The room went very quiet.
“Mob,” Verity said softly.
“Don’t.”
“I won’t come closer.”
Mob stared at him, chest heaving, while his body did the most humiliating possible thing it could have done.
It noticed.
It noticed the shape of Verity’s hands. The length of his fingers... The line of his throat. The way his hair fell, soft and golden, over one bare shoulder. The way his borrowed-human mouth formed Mob’s name.
The hunger in Mob’s body was not subtle.
It was not kind.
It rose through him hot and awful, dragging shame with it. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. He wanted to lunge forward. He wanted Verity gone... He wanted Verity closer.
Verity watched all of it happen.
Of course he did.
His face softened. “You did well,” he said.
Mob blinked. “What?”
“You woke up. You knew it wasn’t real.”
Mob swallowed.
“You reached for the sword first. That was good.”
“Don’t... praise me right now.”
“You came back to yourself quickly.”
“Stop.”
“You’re doing so well, Mob.”
The words slid under his skin before he could stop them.
His breath shook.
He hated that. Hated how badly some part of him wanted to hear anything gentle, anything approving, anything that sounded like someone looking at him and finding him worth keeping alive for reasons other than ownership.
Verity’s eyes brightened. “There,” he whispered.
Mob’s face burned. “Shut up.”
“You liked that.”
“Shut up.”
“I won’t touch you.”
The sentence landed harder than it should have.
Mob looked at his hands again; Verity slowly lifted both of them where Mob could see.. palms open, empty and not reaching. “Not until you ask,” he said.
Mob’s mouth went dry.
“That’s— not fair.”
“No.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I know what you need.”
“Fuck you.”
Verity’s smile became almost fond. “You keep saying that when you want something.”
Mob’s heart punched against his ribs.
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
“I know what you dream about.”
The room seemed to drop.
Mob went still. Verity’s expression remained soft.. too soft.
“That’s low,” Mob whispered.
“Yes.”
“You’re such a—”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.” Verity’s voice stayed quiet. “I know I kept them away. I know you hate me for it. I know you’re lonely. I know you wake up reaching for people who aren’t here.”
Mob’s throat tightened while Verity took one careful breath. “And I know you want me to touch you.”
Mob looked away first; that felt like losing.
Verity did not move closer. That was worse. He simply stood there, patient and pretty and impossible, refusing to give Mob even the mercy of being forced.
“Say it,” he said.
Mob laughed under his breath.. it sounded broken.
“Of course.”
Verity tilted his head.
“Of course you want that.”
“I want to hear you choose.”
“No, you want to hear me beg.”
The smile returned.. not cheerful this time; it was rather honest. With that, Mob’s stomach dropped.
“Yes,” Verity said.
His pulse went wild.
“You’re not supposed to say yes.”
“Would lying help?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t.”
Mob hated him. Mob hated him so much his eyes stung... Mob wanted him so badly his hands were shaking. “How many people have seen this?” he asked, because if he did not talk, he might do something worse.
Verity blinked.
“This form?”
“Yeah.”
The human-shaped thing went quiet, then he smiled with all his teeth.
“You’re the first.”
Mob’s skin prickled.
“That’s... a lie.”
“No.”
“You expect me to believe nobody else has seen you like this?”
“Not this state,” Verity said. “Not clearly.”
“What does that mean?”
His smile brightened. “They died before this.”
The room went cold.
Mob stared at him; Verity looked pleased with himself, as if he had given Mob a gift.
“You’re the first one to last this long,” he continued. “The first one who kept coming back... the first one who spoke to me after seeing what I am. The first one who looked afraid and stayed anyway.”
“I didn’t stay.”
“You came back.”
“You chased me.”
“You came back.”
Mob’s breathing turned shallow. Verity’s face softened again, so quickly it was almost nauseating.
“My Mob,” he said.
“No.”
“No?”
Mob clenched his jaw.
Verity waited.
The silence stretched.
His hands stayed lifted, open and deliberately harmless. Mob wanted to scream. Instead, he said, barely audible, “Come here.”
Verity’s eyes widened, only a little but enough.
“Is that what you want?”
Mob looked at him. “Don’t make me say it twice.”
“I want you to say it properly.”
“Verity.”
“Yes?”
The name came out with a warning. The smile came back like he liked the warning too; Mob’s hands twisted in the blanket. “Come here. Please.”
Verity inhaled.
It was small and human.. fake, maybe. Mob still heard it.
“Again,” Verity said.
“No.”
“Mob.”
“No, you got one.”
“I want another.”
“You’re a needy little freak.”
Verity laughed softly. The sound was strange in that body; lower than the voice Mob knew, but still him. Still bright at the edges... still too happy about all the wrong things.
“You missed saying things like that,” Verity said.
“I had nobody else to insult.”
“You had me.”
“You don’t count.”
“I count the most.”
Mob closed his eyes. “...Please come here.”
The floor creaked.
When he opened his eyes again, Verity was at the side of the bed.. close— too close. Mob’s entire body went still; the yellow hand lowered but did not touch him. “Where?” Verity asked.
Mob’s face burned. “What?”
“Where do you want me?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“You’re standing right there.”
“Do you want me beside you?”
Mob’s throat tightened.
“Do you want me in front of you?”
“Stop.”
“Do you want my hands?”
Mob’s breath broke and Verity smiled. “There.”
“Fuck off.”
“You can say no.”
Mob looked up at him.
Verity’s eyes were bright and patient and hungry.
“No,” Mob whispered.
“No?”
“No, I don’t want you gone.”
Verity stilled; the answer had pleased him.. too much.
Mob saw it move through his face; the softening, the satisfaction, the horrible warmth.
“Good,” Verity said.
—Then he moved.
It happened fast enough that Mob startled, but not fast enough to hurt... Verity climbed onto the bed with unnatural ease, one knee pressing into the mattress, then the other. Mob jerked back, but a hand caught the front of his shirt.
Not his skin.
His collar.
The carefulness was somehow more obscene.
“Hey—”
Verity pulled.
Mob fell forward with a choked sound, one hand flying out to catch himself.
Verity leaned back at the same time, dragging him down with him until his own shoulders hit the mattress and Mob landed over him, knees on either side of his hips, hands braced on the bed near his shoulders.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Mob stared down at him; Verity looked up from beneath him, hair spilled across the pillow like sunlight in the dark. The world stopped making sense.
“You—” Mob’s voice cracked. “You can’t just do that.”
“I didn’t touch your skin.”
“That’s not the point.”
“You wanted me closer.”
“Not like—”
He stopped.
Verity’s hands released his collar and settled above his own head against the pillow. Open.. and empty.
A mockery of restraint.
“Not like this?” Verity asked.
Mob’s mouth went dry.
He was sitting on him.
Actually sitting on him.
Verity lay beneath him like he had planned it, smiling up with that horrible sweet patience while Mob’s knees pressed into the mattress around his waist. The position was insane— it was dangerous. It was way too much after months of nothing, after dreams of hands, after waking up alone so often that his body had started to ache with it.
Mob’s hands trembled beside Verity’s shoulders.
“Do you want me gone?” Verity asked.
Mob swallowed hard... his voice came out too small. “No.”
Verity’s smile softened.
“Say it again.”
“No.”
“Again.”
Mob glared at him. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Yes.”
“I hate you.”
“No.”
The answer was quiet and certain.
Mob’s throat worked. Verity looked up at him with bright, impossible eyes.
“You’re angry,” he said. “You’re scared. You’re embarrassed.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“But you don’t hate me.”
Mob’s breath shook.
The room was too warm.
Verity’s body beneath him was too solid.. human. Almost human— close enough that Mob’s loneliness did not care about the difference.
“Ask,” Verity said.
Mob frowned. “What?”
“Ask me to touch you.”
The words hit like a hand around his throat.
Mob froze. Verity stayed exactly as he was, hands still above his head, not touching him, making the lack of it into its own kind of pressure.
“No,” Mob said.
“Okay.”
That should have helped.
It didn’t.
Verity did nothing.
He simply lay there beneath him, beautiful and patient, letting Mob feel every inch of the space between them. Letting him feel the lack. Letting him remember how long it had been since anyone held him.
Mob’s fingers curled into the blanket while Verity watched.
“Stop... doing that,” Mob whispered.
“Doing what?”
“Waiting.”
“I can leave.”
“No.”
The word left too fast.
Verity’s expression changed.
There it was again; that pleasure... that victory.
Mob hated giving it to him.
He hated that it also felt good.
“No,” Mob repeated, slower this time. “Don’t leave.”
“I won’t.”
“You say that like it fixes anything.”
“It fixes some things.”
Mob let out a shaky laugh. “You’re so full of shit.”
“Yes.”
“Stop agreeing with me.”
“Okay.”
For one second, the absurdity of it almost felt normal... then Verity lifted his head slightly from the pillow. Not enough to touch; enough to make Mob’s breath catch.
“Ask,” he said again.
Mob shook his head while Verity’s eyes dropped to his mouth. Mob made a sound he could not stop. It was small and broken yet again.. barely more than breath. “Ngh— don’t.”
Verity’s gaze snapped back up. The smile faded, well... it was not gone, just sharper.
“What?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“How?”
“Like you know.”
“I do know.”
Mob’s arms trembled.
“You don’t.”
“I know you want my hands.”
“Shut up.”
“I know you want my mouth.”
Mob’s whole body went hot.
“Verity.”
“I know you want to tell me to stop and have me stay anyway.”
Mob’s breath left him in a harsh, humiliated sound. “Fuck.”
Verity softened again, sudden and terrible.
“But I won’t,” he said. “Not unless you ask.”
Mob stared down at him.
For a moment, all he could hear was rain against the windows and his own breathing.
This was cruel.
This was care.
This was Verity.
“Please,” Mob whispered.
Verity’s eyes brightened.
“Please what?”
“You know.”
“I want you to tell me.”
Mob shut his eyes.
The dark behind his lids was worse... There, he could feel everything: Verity beneath him, the air between their bodies, the months of not being touched sitting under his skin like a fever.
“Touch me,” he said.
His voice broke on it.
Verity did not move and Mob opened his eyes... The blond was looking at him like he had just been handed something holy.
“Where?” he asked.
Mob’s face burned. “Anywhere.”
“No.”
“You’re such a dick.”
“Tell me.”
Mob’s fingers dug into the bed. “My face. My hair. I don’t care. Just—”
He stopped and Verity waited.
Mob hated that he waited.
“Just touch me.”
Verity’s hands rose slowly.
He gave Mob every chance to flinch away yet Mob didn’t. Long fingers settled first against his wrists, circling them lightly. Not holding them down... just there. Skin on skin.
Mob’s breath collapsed. He made a small rough sound and tried to swallow it.
Verity’s eyes went half-lidded. “There you are,” he whispered.
Mob’s face twisted. “Don’t— hh.. say that.”
“You came back.”
“I never left.”
“You did... a little.” Verity’s thumbs moved over the inside of his wrists. “But you’re here now.”
Mob bowed his head without meaning to.
Verity’s hands slid up his forearms, over the bends of his elbows, slow enough to be torture. Mob’s body followed the touch embarrassingly easily, shoulders loosening, spine curving forward until he had to brace himself harder near Verity’s head.
The humanoid thing beneath him watched every reaction like it was precious.
“You’re doing well,” he said.
Mob shook his head. “Don’t.”
“You are.”
“Shut up.”
“You asked.”
“I asked you to touch me, not talk.”
Verity smiled, then his hands reached Mob’s face.
The first touch there nearly undid him.
Palms against his cheeks... Thumbs beneath his eyes. Fingers sliding back into his messy hair; human-warm now, or something close to it.
Mob’s breath shuddered out of him.
“A-ah— fuck.”
Verity’s expression went bright. It was not cheerful.. not exactly.
Worse.
“My good Mob,” he whispered.
Mob hated the sound that pulled from his throat. Verity’s fingers tightened very slightly in his hair; Mob leaned into it before he could stop himself. The hands stilled. “Is this okay?”
The question was soft.. almost sweet. It should not have made him want to bite something.
Mob opened his eyes.
Verity was watching him from below, patient and wanting, his hair spread across the pillow; his mouth parted just slightly.
Mob could not take it anymore.
“You’re asking now?”
“Yes.”
“You dragged me on top of you.”
“By your shirt.”
“Verity.”
“I’m asking now.”
Mob stared at him... then, because apparently there was nothing left of his pride, he nodded.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “It’s okay.”
Verity smiled.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to be worse.”
“But I am.”
Mob’s heart slammed.
Verity pulled gently at his hair, just enough to guide him down. Mob resisted for half a second— for show, maybe.. for the last weak scrap of dignity.
The other noticed that as well. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked... Mob’s mouth hovered above his... too close, still not touching.
His arms shook.
“N-no.”
“Do you want this?”
Mob shut his eyes as his breath came apart. “Yes.”
Verity’s fingers slid along his jaw.
“Say it again.”
“Yeah.”
“Mob.”
“Yes,” he snapped, breathless. “I want it. I— I.. nghh, want you. Is that what you want to hear?”
Verity’s face went still. For a second, Mob thought he had broken something... then Verity smiled softly.
“Yes,” he whispered.
—And kissed him.
Mob forgot the room.
He forgot the rain, the nightmare, the base, the weeks of loneliness, every clever thing he had ever planned to say if this happened. Verity’s mouth was warm and real beneath his, gentle for half a second before it became hungry.
Mob made a broken sound against him.
Verity answered by pulling him closer.
Hands in his hair. Fingers at his jaw... Thumbs brushing his cheeks like praise. Like ownership. Like worship from something that had never learned the difference.
Mob kissed him back too hard.
He meant to be angry about it. He meant to bite out something sharp, something that would save him from the shame of how badly he wanted. Instead, he found himself gripping Verity’s shoulders, lowering fully over him as the kiss turned open and messy and desperate.
Verity laughed softly against his mouth; Mob pulled back just enough to glare at him.
“What?”
“You’re here,” Verity said.
Mob’s chest heaved.
“I’m literally on top of you.”
“Yes.”
“Stop sounding happy.”
“No.”
Then Verity kissed him again.
This one was worse, as it was slower and deeper.
It made Mob’s whole body go weak with the kind of relief that hurt. He had not known touch could feel like food. Like air... like being dragged back into his own skin after months spent haunting it.
Verity’s hand slid to the back of his neck while Mob trembled. Verity felt it and made a soft, pleased sound that Mob should have hated more than he did. When they finally parted, it was not because either of them wanted to.
Mob pulled away first because he needed air, because his lungs were burning, because if he did not stop now he was not sure he would stop at all. Their mouths separated with a quiet wet breath.
Mob stayed where he was, forehead almost touching Verity’s, breathing hard.
Below him, Verity looked ruined in the dim light. Hair spread everywhere with eyes bright and mouth red from kissing. He was still smiling.. he was still Verity.
Mob’s hands tightened on his shoulders and Verity’s fingers stroked once through his hair.
“So,” he whispered, breathless and pleased, “was that okay?”
Mob stared at him— then laughed once, broken and helpless. “You’re... hahh— the worst thing.. that ever happened to me.”
Verity’s smile softened.
“I know.”
Mob should have moved, yet he didn’t. He merely lowered his head until their foreheads touched, both of them breathing in the dark.
The rain kept ticking against the windows like it was counting every shaky inhale. His thighs trembled on either side of Verity’s hips; in all honesty... his cock was aching, heavy and untouched between them, leaking against the fabric still separating them.
He tried not to move.
He really did.
But his body betrayed him again— hips rolling down once, instinctive and desperate, grinding against Verity’s stomach with a broken sound caught in his throat.
Verity’s hands snapped to his hips instantly, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
“Not yet.”
The words were soft and gentle and absolute.
Mob’s breath hitched.
“Don’t— mm.. tease me now,” he snapped, voice rough and cracking.
He tried to roll his hips again, but Verity held him still; thumbs pressing into the hollows of his hipbones like anchors.
“Verity— I can't, please...? ”
“You can.” Verity’s voice stayed low and patient, that same unnerving calm that made Mob’s stomach twist. “Ask properly.”
Mob’s face burned.
He hated this; hated how his cock twitched at the command, hated the way his body leaned closer even while his mouth tried to fight. “You.. really.. are such a needy little freak,” he muttered but the words came out shaky, almost a whine.
Verity’s fingers flexed on his hips.
“I know what I am. Tell me what you want.”
Mob squeezed his eyes shut, forehead still glued to Verity’s.
His arms were trembling where they braced beside Verity’s head. The absence of touch everywhere else was unbearable: skin screaming for more, for friction, for anything. “Touch me again,” he whispered... then, quieter and ashamed, “Please.”
A soft sound left Verity; almost pleased.
“Good. But you were impatient.”
Mob’s breath stuttered.
“I’m— hh. I’m sorry.”
The apology tasted bitter and hot on his tongue, but saying it made his cock leak harder against Verity’s stomach.
“I’m... sorry, okay?”
“There you are,” Verity murmured. His hands finally moved, sliding up under Mob’s hoodie; palms warm and deliberate against bare skin. “My good Mob.”
Mob shuddered hard, a broken “ah— fuck” slipping out as those long fingers mapped his sides: tracing ribs, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples.
Every touch felt like fire after the long denial... He pressed forward, chasing it, chest heaving.
Verity kept him close, one hand splaying across his back while the other stroked slowly down his spine. “You’re shaking,” he observed, gentle and terrible all at once.
“So warm.. so desperate for me.”
“Shut up— hahh..” Mob moaned, the sound cracking in the middle.
He buried his face against Verity’s neck, lips brushing skin he wasn’t allowed to bite yet. His hips twitched again, but this time Verity let him rock once before stilling him again.
“Ask,” Verity reminded him.
Mob’s voice came out wrecked. “Touch.. touch me more. Please.”
Verity hummed, low and satisfied.
His hand slid lower, cupping Mob’s ass through his clothes, squeezing just hard enough to make Mob jolt.
“You’re doing well,” he praised, mouth brushing Mob’s ear. “Asking so nicely after everything I took from you.”
The words hit like a punch; horror and heat twisting together.
Mob knew what he meant.. yet his cock throbbed painfully at the reminder.
“Fuck you,” he gasped, but there was no heat left in it.. only need.
“I hate— ahh— I hate how much I want this.”
“I know.”
Verity’s fingers slipped under the waistband of Mob’s pants, teasing the skin there without going further. “But you’re still here.. you came back to me.”
Mob trembled, hips pressing down again.
Verity didn’t stop him this time, just guided the slow grind, letting him feel the hard line of Verity’s own cock through their clothes.
The friction was barely enough. It made him whine.
“Verity— please,” Mob begged, voice cracking. “More. I need more. I’m sorry—”
Verity’s breath ghosted warm against his temple. “There. That’s better.” His hands roamed again—chest, back, thighs—possessive and reverent, like he was memorizing every tremor... like he owned every inch.
“You’re mine to touch now. Only mine.”
Mob moaned against his neck, the sound raw and humiliating.
“Just— don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
Verity’s fingers brushed the hem of his shirt again slowly.
“May I take this off?” Verity asked, voice low and steady. His thumbs traced the edge of fabric where it met skin, patient and waiting.
Mob’s breath caught. He lifted his head just enough to glare, cheeks burning. “You’re... nghh.. really asking now?”
“Yes.”
The simplicity of it made Mob’s cock twitch.
He hated it.
He wanted it.
“Fine— yeah. Take it off.”
Verity’s eyes brightened. “Thank you.”
He sat up slowly, careful not to unseat Mob from his lap and peeled the shirt upward with deliberate hands. Cool air hit Mob’s overheated skin; he shivered hard as the fabric dragged over his head and arms. Verity dropped it aside, then just looked.
“Look at you,” Verity murmured, palms sliding up Mob’s bare chest. His hands left faint trails of warmth that lingered like brands, the golden beneath his skin pulsing brighter wherever he touched. “So warm.. so alive under my hands.”
Mob’s breath stuttered.
“Verity— hahh—” he moaned, head tipping back as those long fingers spread across his ribs, thumbs circling his nipples until they peaked.
The touch was reverent and predatory at once; gentle pressure that promised he could take more if he wanted.
“You’re trembling,” Verity observed, sliding one hand down his spine. “All this time without touch… and now you lean into it so easily.”
“Shut up,” Mob snapped, but his hips rolled forward anyway, seeking friction.
Shame burned hot in his gut even as he arched into the caress. Verity’s other hand followed the curve of his waist, mapping every inch like he owned it; like he had earned it by emptying the world of everyone else.
Mob’s hands moved on instinct.
He gripped Verity’s shoulders, fingers digging in, then leaned down and bit hard into the junction of neck and shoulder...
The skin was warm, human enough to taste salt— but underneath it carried that strange electric sweetness, and when Mob bit down harder, a soft glow flared under the teeth marks before fading.
Verity made a low pleased sound, almost a hum. His hand paused on Mob’s back. “You’re biting already?”
Mob froze, teeth still sunk in. His face flooded with heat. He pulled back just enough to speak, breath ragged. “I— nghh. Sorry.” The apology came out shaky and humiliated. His cock throbbed painfully between them. “I’m sorry, I just— hahh— needed…”
“I know.”
Verity’s fingers threaded into his hair, not pulling away and just holding. “You’re desperate. It’s alright. Bite if you need to.”
Mob trembled harder. He hated how good the permission felt.
He dipped his head again, licking over the mark he’d left before biting down once more, softer this time but still needy. Verity’s breath hitched: pleased and controlled.
Those reverent hands kept moving. One palm pressed flat over Mob’s racing heart; the other traced down his stomach, nails lightly scraping. Every touch sent sparks racing under Mob’s skin. He felt exposed and raw, like Verity could see exactly how broken his body had become from the long isolation.
“My good Mob,” Verity whispered, voice soft and certain.
“Look how you open up for me.”
Mob whined, the sound cracking.
“Don’t— don’t say it like that.”
... But he pressed closer anyway, chest to chest, grinding down slow and filthy against Verity’s lap.
His hands roamed too: clawing at Verity’s back, nails digging in retaliation then soothing over the marks.
Verity let him.
He tilted his head to give Mob better access to his neck, one hand cupping the back of Mob’s head while the other stroked down his thigh, squeezing muscle.
“You’re so warm here,” he said, fingers brushing the inside of Mob’s leg. “Shaking for me.. only for me.”
Mob bit down again, harder, a muffled “fuck—hahh—” escaping around the skin. His apology came quick and breathless. “Sorry— sorry, I can’t— Verity please…”
Verity’s pleased hum vibrated under his teeth.
“Hm? You’re doing well.”
His hand slid back up, possessive, tracing every ridge of spine and rib like he was memorizing the way Mob arched into him.
The praise sank deep, twisting with the horror of it all: Verity had waited until Mob was starving.
Until no one else remained.
Until “please” tasted like surrender.
Mob’s cock leaked steadily now, smearing against Verity’s stomach through the remaining layers of cloth. He felt pathetic and perfect at the same time.
He licked over the fresh bite mark, then kissed it sloppily, trembling. “More,” he whispered. “Touch me more. Please.”
Verity’s smile pressed against his temple. His hands kept worshipping: slow and thorough and predatory in their patience. One thumb teased a nipple again while the other dipped just beneath Mob’s waistband, teasing without giving.
Mob rocked against him, desperation bleeding through every frustrated grind.
His teeth found Verity’s neck once more.
Verity chuckled softly, the sound warm and dangerous.
“You’re still biting.”
Mob pulled back with a wet gasp, lips shiny. “I’m sorry— fuck, I’m sorry. Just.. don’t stop touching me.”
His voice cracked on the plea, body burning.
“I won’t.”
Verity’s eyes were bright, hungry, reverent. His hands mapped lower, framing Mob’s hips, thumbs pressing into the sensitive crease where thigh met body.
“Not until you’ve had enough.”
Mob moaned, raw and broken; pressing their foreheads together again. His skin felt too tight, every nerve screaming for more. Verity kept him there, bare and trembling, hands exploring like he had all the time in this empty world; like he already knew Mob would beg for whatever came next.
“Wait…” Verity murmured, breath warm against Mob’s mouth, fingers still tracing lazy circles on heated skin. “Let’s do something first.”
Mob’s breath hitched. “What— hahh.. what do you mean?”
Verity smiled up at him, small and knowing. One hand slipped between them, working Mob’s pants open with careful fingers. Cool air hit his aching cock as it sprang free, heavy and leaking. Verity freed his own next; hard, flushed and curving against Mob’s.
The shaft was hotter than a human’s should be, almost burning.. with that same subtle golden shimmer just under the skin that brightened when Verity’s grip tightened around both of them.
He wrapped a hand around both of them, guiding them together.
Mob jerked at the first slide of hot skin on skin. “Whh.. Verity—”
“Shh.”
Verity’s grip was firm, slow. Up close, his eyes were no longer just blue— they were depthless, starlit, pupils fracturing into tiny points of light as he watched every twitch cross Mob’s face.
Mob lost it almost immediately. His hips snapped down hard, chasing the friction like a dog in heat.
“Shit.. hahh— Verity, please—” he moaned, voice cracking.
“Ngh.."
Verity’s thumb swept over the heads on the next upstroke, smearing precum.
“Slower, Mob.”
But Mob couldn’t.
His hips jerked again, frantic and messy; grinding down with wet, filthy sounds.
“C-can’t— needd... ahh—”
“You’re moving too fast.”
Verity’s voice stayed gentle, but his hand tightened, forcing the pace slower.
“Apologize.”
Mob’s face burned.
His cock throbbed against Verity’s in the tight fist. “I’m— fuck, I’m sorry,” he gasped, trembling. “S-sorry— nghh... I’m sorry—”
“Good.”
Verity rewarded him with another slow grind, smiling wider as Mob whimpered. Their cocks slid together, slick and hot; Verity’s hand perfect and unrelenting. Every stroke dragged pleasure through Mob like fire. He felt pathetic, desperate, grinding like he’d die without it.
“Verity— hahh— fuck you,”
Mob moaned, but his hips rolled again, needy and uncoordinated. “Can’t.. can’t slow down—”
“Not yet.”
Verity stilled his hand completely for a second, thumb pressing just under the head of Mob’s cock.
“Ask properly. Apologize again.”
Mob whined, high and broken. “'M sorry.. Verity, 'm sorry for being too.. nghh, fast— please, please let me move—”
Verity hummed, pleased and started stroking again. Slow. Torturous. The wet slide of their cocks filled the quiet room, rain still tapping at the windows like distant applause. Mob’s thighs shook on either side of him; he clawed at Verity’s shoulders, nails digging in as he fought to keep from rutting wildly.
Every glide made his head spin. Verity’s cock was hot and thick against his, the head catching just right on the upstroke. Mob’s mouth fell open, panting. “Verity... hahh—gonna— n-no...”
“Not yet,” Verity repeated softly, squeezing at the base to edge him. His smile was reverent, almost fond.
“You look so pretty like this.”
Mob snarled through a moan. “Youuu.. hahh— you did this to me.. hhh—”
His hips jerked again despite the warning.
Verity’s grip tightened in gentle reprimand.
“Apologize.”
“I’m sorry— shit, 'm sorry,” Mob gasped, voice wrecked. Tears of frustration pricked at his eyes. “Please— Verity, please...”
Verity finally let him have it. His hand moved faster, stroking them together with perfect slick pressure. Mob broke. His hips snapped erratically, grinding hard and messy as pleasure coiled tight and sudden in his gut.
“Verity... hahh, I’m—”
He came first with a raw humiliated moan, spilling hot and messy between them. His whole body shook, cock pulsing against Verity’s as ropes of cum coated their stomachs and Verity’s fist.
Verity watched him through it all, smiling like he’d been given a gift.
“There you are,” he whispered.
He kept stroking slowly through the aftershocks, milking every drop, collecting Mob’s cum in his palm.
“So much for me. Good boy.”
Mob collapsed forward, panting against Verity’s neck, trembling with the force of it. His mind was white static; shame and relief twisting together.
Verity gave him a moment, then moved. With easy strength... he flipped them, laying Mob on his back against the bed and settling over him. He stripped his own remaining clothes away in one smooth motion: revealing pale inhumanly perfect skin and the full length of his cock, still hard and flushed.
Mob stared, chest heaving.
Verity dipped his fingers into the mess on Mob’s stomach, scooping up the warm cum. “This will make it easier for you,” he said simply, voice calm and certain. He parted Mob’s thighs with one knee, settling between them.
“Stay still for me.”
Mob whimpered, already twitching under the new position. His hands flew up, claws digging into Verity’s chest as one slick finger circled his entrance.
“Verity.. hahh— please…”
Verity pressed the finger in slowly, careful and attentive with eyes fixed on Mob’s face. The stretch burned sweetly; Mob’s breath hitched, thighs trying to close on instinct.
“Stay still,” Verity repeated, softer but firm. His free hand pressed down on Mob’s hip, holding him open.
“Let me open you.”
Mob’s nails raked down Verity’s chest, leaving red lines.
“T-too much.. alreadyyy,” he whined, voice cracking. His hole clenched around the single finger, greedy despite the words. “Please.”
“You’re doing so well,” Verity murmured, curling the finger gently and searching. When he found that spot inside, Mob jolted hard, a broken moan tearing from his throat.
“There. Listen to the sounds you make for me.”
Mob clawed at his shoulders again, hips twitching despite the order.
“D-don't.. nooo, stop teasi—”
Verity added a second finger, slow and slick with Mob’s own cum. The wet sound of it made Mob’s face burn hotter. He bit his lip hard, trying to stay quiet but another whimper slipped out anyway.
“Hm. Only you lasted long enough for this,” Verity said quietly, scissoring his fingers with patient precision. “Only you get to feel me like this, Mob.”
The praise hit low in Mob’s gut, twisting with the shame. He hated how true it was; hated how his body opened wider for it. His nails dug deeper into Verity’s shoulders, scratching red trails down pale skin.
“Shut up.. nghh— don’t say that while you’re— hhh...”
Verity curled both fingers again, pressing firmly against his prostate. Mob’s back arched clean off the bed, a raw moan spilling free. “M-more—”
“Stay still,” Verity reminded him, voice gentle even as his fingers worked deeper, spreading him open with slick filthy sounds. Cum leaked around them, warm and obscene. His free hand stroked Mob’s thigh, possessive and steady. “You’re taking my fingers so well.”
Mob whined, high and frustrated; claws raking across Verity’s chest again.
“I’m— fuck, I’m trying.. hahh— but it’s not enough.”
His hips rolled up once, chasing the stretch, before Verity’s hand pinned him down harder.
“You’re being impatient again.”
Verity’s tone stayed soft, almost fond.
He twisted his fingers just right, dragging another desperate sound from Mob’s throat.
“Listen to yourself.”
Mob’s eyes stung.
He scratched harder, nails biting into skin. “I hate you— hahh...”
But his hole clenched greedily around the intrusion, body betraying every word.
Verity hummed, pleased and kept working him open: slow thrusts, careful stretches, thumb brushing the rim where cum made everything wet and shiny. Every motion sent sparks racing up Mob’s spine. His cock, still sensitive from earlier, twitched against his stomach, leaking again.
“N-need— please.. ahh..” Mob gasped, head tossing against the pillow.
His hands slid up to Verity’s neck, claws digging in lightly. “It’s not enough— fuck—”
Verity leaned down, breath warm against his ear.
“Ask for what you need. Properly.”
Mob trembled, hole fluttering around Verity’s fingers. Shame and heat burned through him. He clawed at Verity’s back, pulling him closer even as he whined. “T-third.. finger. ’M sorry for moving, just... please—”
Verity made a low satisfied sound. He withdrew slightly, gathering more of the mess on his fingers, then pushed three in; slow, so slow... stretching Mob wider. The burn was perfect, overwhelming. Mob moaned loudly, raw and humiliated and body arching into it.
“There,” Verity whispered, curling them just right. “Only you, mhm?”
Mob’s nails dug deep into Verity’s shoulders, legs shaking around his waist. The stretch, the praise, the reminder of isolation, the starvation; all of it twisted together until he felt like he was burning apart. He rocked his hips minutely, desperate and whiny and chasing every careful thrust of Verity’s fingers.
“D-deep.. nghh..”
Verity kept him pinned, fingers moving with deliberate care, opening him thoroughly while watching every twitch and gasp. His free hand stroked Mob’s stomach, smearing the remaining cum across heated skin.
Mob whimpered again, claws raking down Verity’s chest as pleasure built unbearably. “Please Verity, I— hahh... I can’t—”
Verity leaned over him, eyes bright and hungry; fingers still working him open. His now other hand slid up, resting lightly at the base of Mob’s throat.
“...Tell me you want me inside you.”
Mob’s breath caught under the warm pressure of Verity’s palm. Three fingers stretched him deep, curling lazily against that spot until his vision blurred. He tried to roll his hips, chasing more; but Verity’s hand tightened just enough around his throat to still him.
“Verity— hahh— please,” Mob moaned, voice strained. His nails dug into Verity’s wrist, claws scraping skin. “W-want it.. want you inside me.”
Verity smiled, slow and patient. He withdrew his fingers with a wet sound, leaving Mob empty and clenching around nothing. His cock, slick with cum and lube, lined up against Mob’s hole, pressing the head there but not pushing in. The threat of it made Mob’s thighs shake.
“Mob.. say it again,” Verity murmured, hand steady on his throat. “Properly.”
Mob bared his teeth, frustration burning hot. He bucked up, trying to take it but Verity held him pinned by the throat and hip. “Y-you're.. such a fuckin' tease-hh,” he snarled, then bit down hard on the side of Verity’s wrist. Teeth sank into skin, tasting salt and something sharper.
Verity made a low pleased sound but didn’t pull away.
“You’re eager again.”
His fingers flexed lightly around Mob’s neck, a gentle squeeze that stole just enough breath to make stars spark behind Mob’s eyes.
“Apologize.”
Mob released the bite with a wet gasp, lips shiny.
“I’m— fuck, I’m sorry,” he whined, trembling under the hand at his throat. His hole fluttered uselessly against the blunt head of Verity’s cock. “I’m sorry for being too eager— Verity please, I need you inside me.”
“Not yet.”
Verity rocked his hips in tiny maddening movements, letting the head catch and press against Mob’s rim without slipping inside. His hand stayed on Mob’s throat, thumb stroking the racing pulse there. “Tell me clearly. Look at me.”
Mob forced his eyes open, glaring up through the haze. Verity’s face filled his vision; pale hair falling forward, eyes too bright, smile too soft for how cruel this was. The pressure around his throat made everything sharper, hotter. His cock leaked steadily against his stomach.
“I want you inside me,” Mob gasped, voice hoarse. “Verity— hahh.. n-need you..”
Verity’s grip tightened a fraction, just enough to make Mob’s next breath come thin and desperate. “Great. But you keep trying to take it.”
Mob bit Verity’s wrist again, harder this time, a frustrated growl vibrating against skin. “Sorry.. hahh— 'M sorry,” he moaned around the bite, then released it. Tears of pure need pricked at his eyes. “Sorry.. sorry for moving. Please, Verity.”
The hand on his throat loosened slightly, rewarding him. Verity leaned closer, forehead nearly touching Mob’s again, cock still notched at his entrance. He rocked once more, teasing the stretch without giving it. The slick pressure made Mob whimper, legs spreading wider on instinct.
“Only you get this,” Verity whispered, voice low and reverent. “And you're asking nicely, hm.”
Mob clawed at Verity’s chest, nails leaving fresh red lines. “S-stop talkin'.. and just— please.”
His voice cracked on the plea, body burning with humiliation and want.
Verity’s smile softened further, dangerous and fond. His hand stayed at Mob’s throat, a constant warm weight while he kept the head of his cock pressed right there, barely breaching. Every tiny shift made Mob’s hole clench greedily, leaking more.
“Again,” Verity said simply. “Tell me you want me inside you.”
Mob’s head spun. He bit down on Verity’s fingers this time when they brushed his lips, sucking one into his mouth in desperation before pulling off with a gasp.
“I’m sorry, 'm sorry.. Just want you inside me, Verity, please..”
Verity hummed as he was pleased, thumb stroking Mob’s throat as he finally—finally—began to press forward.
The blunt head of Verity’s cock breached him slowly, stretching Mob open with careful relentless pressure. Mob’s breath shattered.
“Hahh— fuck,” he moaned with his back arching clean off the bed.
The burn was perfect, overwhelming after so long without anything real.
“There you are,” Verity whispered, voice soft and reverent as he sank deeper, inch by inch. “Taking me so well. Look at ya.”
Mob’s nails raked down Verity’s back, clawing hard enough to draw red lines. The stretch made his head spin; every slow push dragged against sensitive walls and lit him up from the inside. Touch-starved for months, his body sang with it now; overwhelming euphoria flooding every nerve like he was finally alive again.
“Ngghh.. deeperr— ”
Verity bottomed out with a low sound, hips flush against his and buried to the hilt. He stayed there, letting Mob adjust; one hand still loosely at his throat while the other tangled in Mob’s hair.
Their eyes locked.
“So warm inside,” Verity murmured. “So tight for me. My good Mob.”
Mob’s snarl came out wrecked. “Move— hahh.. s-stop teasin' and fuck me properly.” He clawed at Verity’s back again, hips jerking up demandingly, trying to force the pace.
Verity’s grip tightened in his hair, pulling just enough to sting.
“Slower, Mob.”
He rolled his hips in one deep controlled thrust instead, grinding in slow circles. “Apologize.”
Mob whined, the sound humiliating and raw.
“I’m sorry— shit, 'm s-sorry for rushing...”
Another deep thrust cut him off, punching the air from his lungs.
Pleasure sparked white-hot behind his eyes.
Verity kept the rhythm devastatingly slow, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with possessive drags.
Every thrust was deliberate, eyes never leaving Mob’s face.
“You.. feel perfect,” he praised, voice steady even as sweat gleamed on his skin. “Taking every inch. Only you.”
“Harder.. hahh— Verity, harder,” Mob demanded, an edge sharpening even through the moans.
His legs locked around Verity’s waist, heels digging in as he tried to pull him deeper. Nails scratched bloody trails down Verity’s back. “Stop holding ba—”
Verity pulled his hair harder, forcing eye contact again. A deep, possessive thrust made Mob moan loud and broken.
“Slower,” Verity reminded, voice gentle but unyielding. He pinned Mob’s hip with one hand, controlling every slide. “Say sorry.”
Mob’s face burned.
His cock throbbed between them, leaking steadily. “I’m sorry— ahh... ’m sorry for bein' greedy,” he gasped, voice cracking. “Just— please, Verity— need it deeper..”
Verity rewarded him with a harder thrust, still measured but deeper, grinding against that spot inside until Mob saw stars. Hair pulling kept Mob’s head tilted back, throat exposed under Verity’s palm. Their eyes stayed locked; Verity watching every twitch, every desperate expression like it was precious.
Mob clawed at his shoulders again, cursing through another moan.
“R-right there..”
His body shook with euphoria, every deep stroke dragging him higher after endless months of nothing. The fullness, the heat, the way Verity filled him so completely: it was too much and not enough.
“You’re doing so well,” Verity praised, leaning down to brush their lips together without kissing... another slow, possessive thrust.
“Look at me.”
Mob’s snark slipped into pure need.
“H-harder..”
He dragged his nails down Verity’s back again, leaving fresh marks.
Verity’s hand flexed around his throat in warning, hips snapping once—deep and sharp—before slowing again.
“Apologize.”
“I’m sorry— sorry for demanding,” Mob whimpered, trembling hard.
Verity hummed, pleased, and set a deeper rhythm; still controlled, but each thrust dragged perfectly against Mob’s prostate. Hair pulling, eye contact, the steady pressure at his throat— everything kept Mob pinned and open, lost in the overwhelming pleasure.
His body sang with it, euphoria crashing through every starved nerve.
Verity’s thumb stroked his throat as he thrust again, deep and claiming.
“There you are.”
Mob moaned, raw and desperate.. claws digging in as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter.
He was so close already; too close.
“V-verity.. I’m—”
Verity slowed instantly, hips nearly stilling, hand tightening just enough around Mob’s throat.
“Do you want to cum?”
Mob whimpered, hole clenching desperately around him. “Y-yes—”
“Not yet.”
Verity’s voice was soft, calm. He gave one shallow thrust; then stopped again, hand sliding down to wrap loosely around Mob’s leaking cock.
“Ask properly.”
Mob’s hips jerked helplessly. “P-please.. 'm sorry...”
Verity squeezed the base of his cock, edging him cruelly while rolling his hips in tiny, maddening movements.
“Again.”
Mob clawed at Verity’s back, nails biting deep. “I’m sorry— hahh.. 'm sorry, I’m being too desperate. Please, l-let me.. nghh.”
“Good boy.”
Verity started moving again, deeper but still too slow. His hand stroked Mob’s cock in time with the thrusts, thumb teasing the head. Mob’s whole body trembled with the overwhelming euphoria of finally being filled after so long without touch.
He got close again, dangerously fast. Verity stopped completely, buried to the hilt, hand still on his cock.
“So.. do you want to cum?”
“Yess.. hahh...” Mob’s voice cracked, tears slipping down his temples. “'M sorry for bein' close again, c-can’t help it...”
Verity’s eyes were bright, reverent, and hungry as he watched him fall apart.
He gave one slow thrust, then another, hand working Mob’s cock with perfect pressure.
Mob broke.
“Verity— please, need to cum..”
Verity leaned down, forehead pressed to Mob’s, hand tightening lightly around his throat again.
“Go on, Mob.”
Mob came hard with a raw, shattered moan. “Verity, hahh— fuck—!”
His whole body seized, back arching sharply as pleasure crashed through him in violent waves. He bit down hard on Verity’s shoulder, teeth sinking in as his cock pulsed between them, spilling hot and messy across his own stomach. The orgasm was intense, shaking him apart after months of starvation; overwhelming euphoria mixed with humiliating relief. His hole clenched rhythmically around Verity’s cock, milking him as he trembled uncontrollably.
Verity fucked him through it, deep and steady; eyes never leaving Mob’s face.
“There you go,” he whispered, voice rough with want.
Mob whimpered around the bite, body twitching with aftershocks. Verity’s thrusts grew faster, more possessive; chasing his own release while watching every twitch and gasp. His hand stayed on Mob’s throat, the other tangled in his hair... forcing their eyes to stay locked.
“You’re mine,” Verity breathed during a particularly deep thrust, voice low and tinged with raw possession. “You came back to me, right.. no?”
He came with a quiet shuddering groan, burying himself as deep as possible.
Mob felt the hot pulse inside him, Verity’s cock twitching as he filled him up. That reverent, hungry smile stayed on Verity’s face the entire time, eyes drinking in every detail of Mob’s wrecked expression.
They stayed locked together, breathing hard. Verity’s weight pressed Mob into the mattress, cock still buried deep. Mob’s teeth finally released his shoulder, leaving a dark, glistening mark.
He felt raw, used, and terrifyingly full— shame and lingering euphoria twisting together in his chest.
Verity’s hand loosened around his throat.
He brushed damp hair from Mob’s forehead, then leaned in...
Their mouths met in a slow, breathless kiss. It wasn’t gentle— it was deep, messy, and hungry... like Verity was still claiming him even after they’d both finished. Mob kissed back just as desperately, one hand still weakly clutching Verity’s back.
When they finally parted, foreheads resting together again, both of them were still breathing hard in the dark.