Chapter Text
Moxxie ran for the door-
But he didn’t get far.
Striker’s tail wrapped around his tiny waist and yanked the fleeing imp back towards the center of the room. Arms as strong as steel wound themselves around him, trapping the shorter fiend as he screeched out in panic. Something warm slipped over his mouth, cutting off his desperate cries and the hit man took the opportunity to thrust his snout against the crown of his prey’s head. Like a feline he rubbed his cheek into the soft waves of Moxxie’s hair and made a sound somewhere between a purr and a chest deep growl. It was a sound that was uniquely his and as an uninhibited response Moxxie’s pupils blew wide open.
“Easy little dude.”
His legs kicked the ground with fervor, tail whipping around erratically. The hit man hoisted the small imp up until his hooves were kicking air and quickly worked his way up the stairs. Moxxie weighed next to nothing in Striker’s arms but holding him down was worse than wrangling an aggravated hellcat.
“Keep squirmin’ like this and I’m gonna hog tie ya.”
Striker’s voice bellowed gruffly into the thespian’s ear, breath and face smelling of spice. Moxxie hissed from behind his captor’s hand and nipped at the leather covering the offending palm. A fang managed to sink in and he chittered with satisfaction as the taste of blood trickled past his teeth. Striker’s tail rattled menacingly close.
“Hmph. Stubborn little shit.”
Striker’s hot breath had washed over the sensitive skin of Moxxie’s neck, gold fangs threatening to puncture the skin above a rapidly beating pulse. The small imp went suddenly still and the sharp shooter’s wicked grin widened with satisfaction. Striker kicked open his bedroom door and all but dragged the wiggling fiend towards the bed. Moxxie yelped when he felt himself dropped onto the spring loaded mattress and scrambled to put himself upright. He’d been prepared to throw himself onto the ground when he caught sight of the door which swung shut almost immediately. Striker stood in front of it, back pressed to the wood and his arms resting easily on his belt.
“Don’t think so buddy." Striker thumbed the brim of his hat just in time to catch the furious look on his compadre’s face. “Don’t think the folks would take too kindly to ya sneakin’ around the house in the middle of the night all feral and shit.”
Moxxie’s eyes glowed like embers in the dessert night. His lips curled back in an unhappy snarl to reveal sharpened teeth, tail whipping with agitation.
Yup. That’s a feral imp if Striker had ever seen one. It was funny that the little dude had come into his time during a visit to his in-laws. Unfortunate, mind you, but just as fucking funny as it sounded. It was enough the small man toted around like some child with a superiority complex. Throw in the complexity of hormones and base demonic instinct and you’ve got yourself one hell of a sitcom.
Striker had known something was up two days into the Mildred girl and her husband visiting the farm. The male of tiny imp duo had started to look a bit worse for wear, having come down stairs one morning with dark spots beneath his eyes. He had chalked it up a restless night and hadn’t thought much of it until the runt showed signs of a depleted appetite after a long day of work. Now, Moxxie wasn’t built for the rough and tumble life of a ranch hand but surely after skipping breakfast he had to have been starving by the time dinner rolled around. Suspicious of these changes the sharpshooter made a choice to keep a closer eye on him.
Four days in to their visit Striker grew to recognize the not-so-subtle shifts in Moxxie’s moods. The little dude didn’t seem capable of sitting still or even carrying on a conversation past a few clipped ‘yes’s’ and ‘no’s’. Having been the only one to sense the growing tension he invited the small imp out to a lassoing. He’d been tasked with breaking in a stallion the ranch had recently acquired and thought a little fresh air might do the vermin some good. His sad attempt as breaking in the majestic hell horse would not only keep him busy but provide Striker with a good laugh to boot. He only saw it as a win win.
And it was…
Until it wasn’t.
When the thespian failed to wrangle in the stallion Striker hit him with a gut punching insult. He was just too damn entertaining not to pick on and really the little guy had it coming. This seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back as one moment as Striker was having a blast laughing his devious heart out at the small imp’s expense, when he’s suddenly taken aback by the potent odor of challenge and arousal.
The smell hit Striker like a fucking freight train. It was almost embarrassing how he tumble off the fence post in shock only to climb inside the riding ring to assure himself of the validity of what his instincts were telling him. Rarely were they wrong about these sorts of things. He’d been around long enough to have his fair share of seasons and the more he thought about it the more he realized every tidbit of the imp’s strange behavior was consistent with the unpredictable nature of an imp in heat. Adding insult to injury Moxxie had the fucking gall to growl at him.
Now, he could admire the other’s nerve but the condescension of that growl and outright affront to his status in their rough and tumble hierarchy wasn’t appreciated. It took next to nothing to put the disgusting little vermin in his place and, admittedly, Striker rather enjoyed it. To the sharp shooter’s credit he had made sure the two of them were completely alone before delivering the smack down. He’d worked with imps who had gotten carried away with their times before and knew just what to do to keep things perfectly calm and on track.
He pounced on the little fucker’s back and forced his face into the dirt. Crude as it may have been it was effective in delivering his message: I am bigger and stronger than you. You WILL comply. Since then he’d kept his guard up.
The whole ordeal had been too humiliating for Moxxie to bare. So much so that afterwards he avoided Striker at all cost. He’d stow away in his room during meals and hid behind Blitz when their meetings were unavoidable. Striker kept his distance and tried to keep busy but his stare was never far. Now that he knew what the little critter’s problem was it was damn near impossible to ignore. So when he caught Moxxie attempting to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night Striker’s patience finally snapped.
If given the chance he’d blame the vermin entirely for the actions he took that night. He told himself it was the scent of the imp’s arousal that muddled his common senses and led him to make the decision that he’d be the one to attend to handle this. Striker never ran from a challenge. He met it head on with full force and endless confidence, and Moxxie had unknowingly goaded him into it.
The ruby skinned devil rolled onto his stomach, eyes glowing bright in the twilight hours of the evening, as Striker made his way across the room. The bed sheets were bunched and tangled beneath the smaller imp from the enthusiastic display he’d presented, stretching and mewling on the bed in a manner most enticing to the sharpshooter. Nearly every inch of threading now smelled of spice and rainwater and Striker’s pride rose to new heights with the knowledge that it was his sheets that retained the runt’s earthy essence.
The sharpshooter divested himself of his hat and placed it on the night stand before going about removing his jacket. Moxxie’s eyes blinked slowly against the thud of boots as they hit the floor and to his utter delight the tall male he’d enticed just a moment ago was standing partially undressed before him. Striker smelled of citrus and leather and the small imp’s mouth watered with the desire to taste it.for himself. Rising to his knees Moxxie invaded the assassin’s bubble and carelessly placed his face within range of those weapons one would call hands. He’d seen the kind of damage they could do and the precision with which he operated his guns. It was the kind of marksmanship a weapons specialist like him could appreciate.
The small imp’s eyes were challenging. The way he dragged his nose across Striker’s chest, inhaling his scent directly, had the assassin growling in approval. The chitter of pleasure he got in return served only to enhance the intimacy of their exchange.
Striker’s claws came to either side of Moxxie’s face and for a moment he stood there admiring the small male’s features. Upon closer inspection he realized what a perfect mix of feminine and masculine elements the small imp possessed. It allowed for a range of choices. He could choose the pompous fiend in any capacity he so desired; as a male, a female, as both or neither. The potential for such pleasurable discovery made the sharpshooter’s tail rattle with excitement. Moxxie’s pupils blew wide open at the sound and Striker chuckled into the soft white waves of the runt’s hair. When he made to pull away Moxxie’s claws caught in the loosened flaps of his dress shirt and dragged the tall imp back to him, hissing his disdain for the distance.
Striker smirked, ringed eyes glowing.
“Easy there kid. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He tried Moxxie’s hands from his shirt and snickered at the crestfallen expression written on the tiny imp’s face. “Just wantin’ to enjoy the moment while we can.”
The shirt fell to the floor and Striker’s claws found themselves cradling the back of Moxxie’s head. The small imp folded in his hands like putty, eyes rolling into the back of his head from the contact and it took significant effort on the assassin’s part not to dive for the slender throat put on exquisite display.
“Little sheep’s left the flock.” He gruffed, claws curling against the other’s scalp and grasping fistfuls of hair. “Nearly waltz right out of the pen. Almost like he’s lookin’ to be devoured.”
Moxxie’s mind was far from his being. Too distracted by the sensations of power wafting off his partner to pick up on the red flags. This made Striker’s sly smirk become serpent like. He yanked Moxxie’s head back and cooed at the soft huff of pain he made.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be consumed-” His thumbs dug into Moxxie’s freckled cheeks. “By me.”
A whiny chitter was all the answer he was prepared to receive so imagine his shock when the little devil ripped himself out from the assassin’s grasp and shoved him down to the ground. Moxxie settled over the sharpshooter’s lap before he could gather his wits and rubbed their crotches together in so desperate a manner it was pathetic. All Moxxie really knew was that this felt good. That the man below him was the perfect specimen and that he needed this to continue.
Unamused and snarling Strike grabbed Moxxie by the neck and forced the lust addled fiend to still. When he didn’t immediately stop the assassin let out a chest deep growl that sent unsatisfied shivers racing down Moxxie’s back, demanding immediate compliance. If they were going to do this he had to be careful. If he lost himself to instinct there was no telling the kind of damage they could cause. Imp coupling could be a vicious process full of teeth and claws and copious amounts of blood. All in a bid for dominance over the other. Pleasure and pain. Reasoning lost to wild physical abandon. Demons were just curious that way.
Striker forced Moxxie off as he stood, keeping his grasp around the fiend’s throat and returning the cheeky imp back to the bed. “We’re doing things my way. You got a problem with that, take it up with me later.”
Moxxie snapped his teeth in displeasure.
“Good. Keep that energy. You’re gonna need it.”
His claws grazed Moxxie’s narrow chest and flicked off the buttons to his silk gray vest. The feel of skin on skin was molten. The steady rhythm of Moxxie’s heart beat was a delicious sound and the pulse of it beneath his calloused palm made it all the more enjoyable. Closer he came until their naked chests were touching. Oh Satan what a feeling. He couldn’t wait until he had the other writhing beneath him.