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Ifrit’s breath stutters when he sees it: sleek and silver between Alpha’s fingers, glinting in the low light of their quarters.
Alpha watches him carefully, almost appraisingly, perched on Ifrit's hips, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he twirls the thin rod of metal between his fingers. A gleaming instrument, finely delicate, but Ifrit knows that delicate is the last thing it is.
"Do you know what this is for?" Alpha murmurs, voice low and teasing. He twirls the rod again, just a little faster, the metal making a soft, high-pitched sound as it spins. His gaze remains on Ifrit, intense. Hungry.
He's already made a mess of Ifrit this evening; pale flesh marked red and purple, streaks of pink from nails biting deep but not too deep, mixing in with the flush of his skin. Ifrit gives a nod, swallowing hard. He knows this is something Alpha's done to himself, but the idea of his own experience makes him tremble slightly. He expects Alpha to lose patience; he's not often even-tempered.
But now Alpha pulls back just a little, just enough to guide Ifrit up, off his back and onto his knees. They’re face to face, breathing the same air, and Ifrit’s still reeling a little, legs wobbly and lips kiss swollen. He sways slightly forward until Alpha steadies him with a hand on his hip, the other bringing the rod to a stop in his fingers.
“You trust me?”
Ifrit shivers, eyes flicking between Alpha’s face and the metal, his breath hitching, coming shorter, “Yeah. You know I do.”
Alpha hums, pleased, and leans in, mouth brushing against Ifrit’s jaw, then lower, sucking a bruise into the column of his throat. "So be good for me."
He trails the sound up Ifrit's arm in a tease, pulling back slightly to look down at him again.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” Alpha murmurs, voice thick and low as smoke, the tip of the sounding rod grazing Ifrit’s bottom lip with featherlight precision, “Need you to get it wet for me.”
The metal catches a glint of the candlelight, cold and gleaming, and Ifrit shivers, breath hitching as the cool edge nudges more insistently, clacking against his lip ring. Alpha's other hand slips under his chin, tilting his head up just enough to keep him right where he wants him.
“Open up.”
The command hums like a thread pulled tight through Ifrit’s spine, and this time he obeys without hesitation, lips parting on instinct, breath shaky, pupils blown wide as heat pools low in his belly.
Alpha watches every second with a predator’s patience, the metal now slipping just inside, pressing to Ifrit’s tongue.
“Good,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. “That’s it.” he presses a soft kiss to Ifrit's cheek, pulling the sound away with a wet little noise that echoes through the room before catching Ifrit's lips with his own.
It's barely a distraction as the cold tip of the sound presses to Ifrit's slit, and he arches instinctively, but Alpha keeps him steady, keeps him right there on his knees, thumbing circles into his hip.
“Breathe,” Alpha whispers against his lips, voice low and coaxing as his free hand anchors at Ifrit’s hip, “You’re doing so fucking well for me, sweetheart.”
Alpha’s expression shifts the moment he sees that first deep shudder roll through Ifrit’s body, his usual smugness giving way to something sharper, more focused. The metal rod in his hand is coated generously with slick, drips of pre a steady stream, gleaming faintly, and his movements are slow. Careful. Every millimetre he eases in, he watches Ifrit’s face, the way his brows pinch, the way his mouth opens around a soundless gasp.
Ifrit’s fingers dig hard into his shoulder, enough to bruise, but Alpha doesn’t mind. He barely feels it over the sound of Ifrit’s breath catching again, over the faint metallic click of Ifrit’s lip piercing against his teeth as he bites down hard—trying to keep some semblance of control while his body trembles, overwhelmed by the foreign intensity of the sensation.
“Fuck,” Ifrit chokes, hips twitching, a whimper torn from his throat, “Alph—”
Alpha shushes him gently, but there’s reverence in the way he moves now—no teasing, no sharp commands, just a slow, precise glide of the rod and the softest press of his palm over Ifrit’s thigh to keep him steady.
Ifrit’s shivering, body humming with pleasure and tension all at once, every nerve focused on the fire building inside him; a quiet internal pressure that settles deep in Ifrit’s gut. The steel slides a fraction deeper, and he gasps, fingers flexing, his body tightening, eyes fluttering closed.
“Don’t stop,” he breathes, and Alpha smiles, slow and wicked, but the edge of gentleness is there, a soothing undercurrent,
“Wasn’t planning to.”
Alpha stills for a moment, watching the way Ifrit trembles—legs spread and barely supporting himself, face flushed and lips parted. His chest is rising in shallow, desperate breaths, but his eyes are locked onto Alpha’s with a mix of need and awe that makes Alpha’s pulse spike.
An idea sparks behind his eyes.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing sweat-damp strands back from Ifrit’s forehead with a gentleness that betrays the hunger rolling just beneath the surface, “I wanna try something.”
Ifrit’s voice is wrecked when he speaks, barely more than a rasp, “Try what?”
Alpha doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches for the tip of the rod with fingers made steady by intention. The other end is still deep inside Ifrit, but he shifts slightly, angling it—carefully—and then, with his other hand, he reaches for himself.
“Gonna share this with you,” he breathes out, voice a shaking timbre, a mix of restraint and anticipation, “Feel you in a whole new way.”
Ifrit’s eyes widen, pupils blown, sunset swallowed up by void. He sways forward a little, both hands now gripping Alpha’s shoulders. "Alpha—"
Alpha leans in close and presses another kiss to his jaw. "Breathe."
A gentle reminder, and he's adjusting slowly, surely, easing the other end of the rod toward himself. He doesn't flinch as the steel slips past resistance and sinks into his body. A quiet breath escapes him, not sharp, but accepting.
Ifrit moans, and it’s ragged, desperate, high in his throat. Alpha groans through gritted teeth at the noise, his forehead dropping to rest against Ifrit’s as he pushes just a little further.
“Holy—fuck,” Ifrit chokes, his hips jerking despite himself, and Alpha nods in agreement.
Alpha’s hand wraps around the centre of the sound, keeping it steady, and their foreheads stay pressed together, sweat-slicked and trembling.
He moves carefully, purposefully, adjusting the angle just slightly, just enough to make the sound inside Ifrit drag across something raw and lightning in sensation. A wet noise follows, quiet but obscene, and Ifrit arches with a ragged groan.
“Gonna make you cum like this,” Alpha breathes, voice dark and reverent. “Wanna feel you pulse around it while I’m right there with you.”
And Ifrit? Ifrit is already close—he can barely think, the connection between them lighting up every nerve in his body like a fuse burning too fast.
Alpha’s breath hitches, and he tries to force it down, but Ifrit feels it in the tense rise of his chest, the sharp intake that ghosts across his lips. Still, on the surface, Alpha holds together like always—lips parted, gaze heavy-lidded in deep pools of burgundy, but in control.
Ifrit's forehead drops to press into Alpha’s collarbone, sweat beading along his temples. His eyes stay locked low, transfixed by the filthy intimacy between them—the glint of metal, the glisten of slick, the way Alpha’s hand glides so carefully over the length of both of them where they meet.
Every shift pushes something deeper inside Ifrit, burns him up from the inside out, and tears begin to prick the corners of his eyes.
Alpha’s voice is low, a soft command laced with filth and reverence as he curls his fingers around Ifrit’s wrist and guides it lower, beneath them. “Here. Press right there, sweetheart.”
And Ifrit does—shaky fingers obeying, pressing against the stretch of metal where it bulges faintly under Alpha’s skin, right against the ladder of piercings that run along the underside of his cock.
Alpha groans, deep and guttural, something strained slipping past his lips. His hips twitch forward slightly, breath shuddering, “That’s it,” he breathes out, “You’re so deep in me, could cum just like this.”
Ifrit shudders fully, violently, as the last thread of control snaps inside him at the filth laced in Alpha's words. The pressure, the drag of the sound, the way Alpha’s hips grind forward just enough to make the glide between their tips echo loud in his ears as they finally touch with a sticky wet noise—it’s too much. Too heated. Perfect.
The slim steel between them pulses faintly with every breath, every tiny shift inside their bodies, and when their tips touch again—barely brushing in that wet, tender space—Ifrit jerks like a wire pulled too tight.
His breath stutters out of him. His chest lifts with a ragged inhale, and the tears that had only shimmered at the corners of his eyes finally threaten to fall.
Alpha watches, transfixed. Stunned.
He hadn’t expected this.
He dips his head, brushing his lips against the corner of Ifrit’s lashes, tasting salt, and then again at the hollow of his cheek where another has begun to fall. Slow. Shaky. Barely there—but enough.
Ifrit doesn’t know what finally tips him over.
Maybe it’s the unrelenting fullness. The way their bodies pulse in tandem, every beat of Alpha’s heart echoing down the slick, vibrating length of steel between them. Maybe it’s the pressure—steady, too steady—against that unbearably deep place inside him that won’t stop throbbing.
Or maybe it’s Alpha’s voice, low and reverent against his jaw, "Let go, sweetheart."
He gasps, high and breathless, fingers clawing against Alpha’s shoulders, nails raking over pale skin. His whole body trembles as the wave crashes over him—his thighs tense and stomach tight, and his forehead buries deeper against Alpha’s collarbone like he can hide from how hard he cums. It’s not clean or quiet. He whines through it, near-pathetic little sounds spilling from his lips, each one more desperate than the last.
Alpha chuckles, deep and pleased, his breath ruffling strands of sweat-damp hair, his lips brushing the shell of Ifrit’s ear.
“Fuck,” he rumbles, smug and warm, his voice rippling through Ifrit like velvet soaked in sin, “That’s it, sweetheart. Just let it go. Listen to you—so needy. So fucking pretty like this.”
He’s still slowly rocking into it, chasing slick, slippery friction between them as the aftermath rolls through Ifrit’s body and Alpha’s fingers never stop moving—one hand at the base of his own cock, the other still guiding the rod just so, not pushing any deeper now, just... feeling. Relishing.
And Ifrit, limp and overstimulated, can’t do anything except hold on tighter and sob into Alpha’s skin, wrecked and gasping, the sticky mess dribbling between them a testament to just how thoroughly undone he is.
Alpha grins against his hair, voice like a hum, "You okay, sweetheart?"
A nod, another shuddering sob, and Alpha can feel the shiver still running through Ifrit’s thighs, the way his breath stutters in the aftermath. He’s gentle this time, hand steady, slow—carefully easing the rod free from Ifrit with a quiet slide, coated and warm, the motion enough to make Ifrit flinch and gasp like he’s still on the edge.
“There we go,” Alpha murmurs, low and fond, brushing his fingers over the inside of Ifrit’s thigh in a soothing stroke. “You did so good for me.”
He doesn’t give much time to recover, though. Because the moment the rod’s out, Alpha shifts—lithe and sinuous as he pushes Ifrit back onto the pillows, climbs up to straddle his hips with fluid, effortless grace, and that same rod glints between his fingers, wet and wicked.
“You just lay there, sweetheart,” he purrs, a little breathless himself now, but riding that edge of smugness and lust, “You’ve earned the front-row seat.”
Ifrit watches, wide-eyed and dazed, as Alpha sinks it in slow, biting his lip at the stretch, the click of the ring threaded through it loud as it taps the enamel. The sound he makes is low and feral, a growl curling at the edges of it, but there’s something achingly tender in the way he works it in, hips flinching, breath catching. His thighs tremble where they cage around Ifrit’s waist, his hand braced on the smaller ghoul’s chest as he sinks it down with practiced control.
Ifrit can feel the heat of him, the slick grind of Alpha’s length brushing against his stomach as he works the rod inside himself, the faint tremble in Alpha’s arm as he holds himself upright, fingers curling tighter around the metal.
“Fuck, feels—hah—feels different with you watching,” Alpha pants, flushed and shaking a little, pupils blown wide, “You’ve got no idea what this is doing to me…”
But Ifrit does. He can see it. The way Alpha’s body flexes, pierced cock kicking with every shift of metal. His breathless moan, the little stutter of his hips as he rocks, deliberate, dirty.
Ifrit reaches up, hands on Alpha’s thighs, grounding him, feeling the strain, the tension, the desire rolling off him like heat.
“You...” he breathes, voice hoarse, still wrecked from earlier, “You’re fucking unbelievable.”
Alpha grins—sharp, all fangs but strained, and entirely sincere. “Then keep watching. I’m gonna make sure this is burnt into that pretty head of yours forever.”
He groans low in his throat, a sound that rumbles straight through Ifrit’s chest where he’s pinned under him, hands splayed wide on Alpha’s thighs like he’s trying to hold himself together—trying, and failing.
Because Alpha’s taking it deep now.
The entire length of the rod disappears into him, slow and steady, and when he finally bottoms out, Alpha arches—head falling back, throat bared, chest rising in a shaky breath. The motion makes every line of him flex, every piercing catch the low light. The barbells along the underside of his cock stand out in sharper relief and-
“Fuck—” Ifrit gasps, voice breaking like it’s been punched out of him. He can’t stop staring, can’t breathe around the way his cock twitches against his stomach, the way it kicks and threatens to punch another orgasm through him again just from watching.
Alpha smiles. Not cruel. Not entirely. Just full of that dark, heavy hunger, soft and wanton in a twisted, possessive way.
“You’re mine.” He says it like a prayer, fingers wrapping around both their lengths now, smearing slick between them as he starts to move. Slow at first—then not, “Come for me again, sweetheart. Just like this. Come from watching me lose it for you.”
And Ifrit does.
He jerks, chest heaving, body bucking up into Alpha's hand and the filthy, electric friction of their cocks pressed together with the rod still deep inside Alpha. He cries out—a stuttering, broken sound as he cums, vision white-hot and hips shaking. Alpha rides the wave with him, breath catching as he watches Ifrit fall apart, as he squeezes tight around the rod and shudders with the effort to keep control.
But it’s slipping—already—because Alpha is right there on the edge with him.
It starts with a full-body shudder. His hand glides up his cock in long, sure strokes, perfectly in time with the slow rock of his hips—steel still buried deep—and then he stills, shoulders tense, eyes squeezed shut as his breath stutters in his throat. Then he lets go.
His release spills out slow, warm and thick, dripping down the sound still buried deep inside him, slicking over the gleam of his own piercings—smearing over the barbells with a crude, wet warmth. The sensation is too much, almost delirious. A hot rush that crawls up his spine and blooms out in lazy sparks behind his eyes.
And Ifrit whines, gutted by the sight, his own spent cock twitching pathetically against his stomach.
Alpha exhales like he’s just surfaced from deep water. His body tipss forward slightly, but he keeps the sound in, holding it there as if to savour the ache, the fullness, the exact moment of release stretching long and deliberate.
And then—he laughs.
It’s soft at first, barely a breath, then it rolls out of him low and warm, bubbling from his chest like something giddy. He slumps, hands braced on Ifrit’s chest, still riding the aftershocks. His hair falls over his eyes, a sweaty, tangled mess, and his mouth finds Ifrit’s collarbone to press a kiss there. Not possessive, not taunting—tender.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, voice frayed at the edges. “Fuck, that was—”
He doesn’t even finish the sentence. Just laughs again, body too warm, too soft, too wrecked. He pulls back just enough to look at Ifrit through half-lidded eyes, the ends of his grin lazy and fond in a way that’s rare and precious.
“You look ruined,” he smirks, thumb brushing over the smear of cum on Ifrit’s stomach, chasing it in lazy, teasing circles, “Like I broke something in you.”
Ifrit just exhales shakily, eyes narrowing and lips parted, still floating. “You did, asshole,” he mutters, voice hoarse, hand sliding up Alpha’s arm—over the muscle, over warm skin—and curling there.
Alpha hums, pleased. He shifts slightly, hissing at the sensitivity of it all as he carefully begins to ease the sound free from himself. Slow, steady, his breath hitching at the drag. He winces, but his mouth is still tilted in a smirk.
He slumps forward fully now, resting his weight gently against Ifrit’s chest, the last of the tension leaving his shoulders in a tremor. His voice is a hoarse scrape against Ifrit’s skin when he grates out a worn-out "Fuck."
Ifrit blinks up at him, dazed, chest heaving, lips parted in something close to awe. His fingers twitch where they’re still clinging to Alpha’s hips, grounding himself.
Alpha turns his face to the side, presses an open-mouthed kiss to Ifrit’s collarbone, then noses lazily at his throat, still laughing under his breath.
“You,” he says, voice still a little breathless, “are the worst kind of addiction.”
They lay there in the thick warmth of it, tangled and trembling, breath shared in the silence that follows.
Alpha’s head rests against Ifrit’s shoulder, face turned slightly, eyes fluttering shut as he exhales the last of his laughter in a sigh that sounds almost reverent. A clawed hand is still curled lightly around Ifrit’s waist, thumb brushing slow, mindless strokes over sweat-slicked skin.
Ifrit lets out a breath, almost a laugh but not quite—too tired, too full. His heart still hammers like a drumbeat in his ribs, but the rest of him is melted, boneless, completely undone. His hand lifts sluggishly to thread into Alpha’s hair, the motion gentle, dragging slow through the damp strands.
Neither of them speaks.
They don’t need to.
It's just them. Just this: skin on skin, breath syncing up, the heady mix of release and warmth lingering between them like incense smoke. Alpha presses the softest kiss to the space beneath Ifrit’s jaw. Ifrit turns his head, pressing his lips to Alpha’s temple.
Completely spent.
Utterly ruined.
And euphoric in a way that has nothing to do with dominance or pleasure and everything to do with each other.