Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Seven minutes had passed since Avery last spoke.

‘Seven Minutes and twenty-nine seconds.’

Derlord scowled beneath his helmet. The point that he was trying to make, before being rudely interrupted by the voice in his head, was that Avery’s strange silence was becoming unbearable—

‘Now seven minutes and forty seconds.’

Derlord's eye twitched.

He didn't care. The King’s curse wasn’t bothering him. No, not one bit. It was his usual mantra, and the only thing preventing him from slamming his head into the bowl of mushroom soup before him.

Unluckily for Derlord, The King, (ever so insistent on driving him insane) had interpreted his restraint as a challenge. So for what must have been the sixth time that evening, the curse flared, sending another crack of delightfully useless information to the forefront of his mind. 

A pained grunt wrangled itself from his throat despite his best efforts. The cause? Another image of a mushroom, only this time, The King chose to present it in its molecular form. 

Avery jerked back at the noise, frozen mid-chew. 

The slime stared blankly at him for a while, and Derlord feared that Avery wasn’t even aware he was staring at all. Was there even anyone upstairs? Maybe if Derlord grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, he could snap Avery out of his strange stupor. He considered it… but instead, he cleared his throat loudly. Thankfully, the noise brought about the intended result as Avery blinked rapidly, his brain rebooting visibly; no violence required.

“What did The King say this time?” Avery sent him his usual wobbly grin and the sight of it lifted the weight off Derlord’s shoulders.

Finally, the agonising seven minute and forty second silence had been broken. A personal best for Avery, whose prior record of silence had been a mere two minutes and ten. 

Derlord hoped that the relief in his tone wasn’t so obvious as he replied. “…That mushrooms are more closely related to humans than they are to plants.”

Avery squinted at that, seeming to actually ponder the fact. “Hmmm… well, I’m safe because I’m a slime, but does that make you a cannibal?”

“Don’t entertain him, he’s just jealous of our food.”

Avery huffed a laugh in response. Derlord couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

Until their eyes met.

For some reason, the slime turned away, suddenly very interested in the window.

How strange. 

Avery loved eye contact… Even stranger was the blush dusting along his slimy cheeks. 

Oh well, Derlord figured, as weird as it was, it wasn’t too alarming. Despite it being night time, the house’s temperature didn’t suggest it, thanks to the leftover heat from the stove permeating the room. He’d even considered switching out of his full armour suit for something more casual, so it was probably just too warm.

Derlord tilted his head to the side and tugged at the collar of his undersuit with a finger, peeling the fabric away from his skin to let the air graze it. It did little to cool him down, but it had caught Avery’s attention.

It must have been instinctual— Avery snapped his eyes away even faster before Derlord could catch it. (Obviously Derlord had caught it, he hadn’t looked away from the slime this entire time.)

Clearly Avery wanted to tell him something, right? So why wasn’t he saying anything?

Derlord went back to attending his bowl of soup as he  tried to feign nonchalance, but he suffered no real delusions as to why he was now irritated. 

The King in Yellow’s curse of infinite knowledge made sure he was acutely aware of anything even remotely embarrassing. The fact that he'd become dependent on the sound of Avery’s voice was no exception.

At first, he’d simply tolerated the slime’s incessant chatter since it distracted him from The King’s invasive stream of facts… Until somewhere along the line, he started counting the length of its absence. 

It even felt a little ridiculous, exaggerating the frequency of his King induced headaches, just to spend a little more time with his best friend. But at least his curse was good for something.

‘It has now been three minutes since the slime last spoke.’ The king’s voice echoed in his head alongside a snicker.

Derlord looked back down at the table, frustrated but resigned. Actually, it had been three minutes and fifteen, he thought bitterly. The King rounding it down only made Derlord’s correction even more embarrassing.

He needed to get Avery speaking again. His own sanity depended on it.

“You finally finished your soup,” Derlord said quietly. “Want seconds?” 

“Seconds?” Avery’s voice cracked slightly, then he cleared his throat. “N-No I’m fine, thanks.”

“You… are sure?”

The simple nod Avery gave Derlord made his jaw clench. 

He had never needed to ask Avery so many questions in an attempt to prompt the slime into a tangent. A terrifying fact considering he’d only asked two.

The sudden loss of appetite. Strange blushing and sweating. A fever maybe? The King would never tell him if he simply asked, he loved to torment him after all, withholding the answers that Derlord actually wanted. As a result, Derlord had learned to phrase his internal questions as facts.

There is something wrong with Avery.

‘Incorrect.’ Predictably, the knowledge flared right in his ears; The King’s ego was too big, he’d never pass up on the chance to prove Derlord’s brain inferior. ‘There is nothing physically wrong with the slime.’

The answer was a relieving one, but it didn’t explain why Avery’s hands had begun quivering, or why he was melting slightly at his edges. If anything, Derlord was more confused. The feeling in itself was ironic and uncomfortable, but by now he was used to The King's vagueness.

Derlord shot Avery an even sharper glare. “You are pink.” 

“It’s… my metabolism.”  Avery blurted, now even pinker. “Digestion is a very colorful process for me.” 

“Right. Of course.” Derlord huffed. 

Derlord could respect that. After all, it was none of his business, if Avery decided that it wasn’t. 

He almost went back to eating. Had almost swept the entire thing under the rug until The King’s grating voice returned.

‘The slime has a very creative mind.’ 

Derlord flinched.

The curious hum that accompanied it was sickening. ‘I find his thoughts quite amusing.’

A terrible chill racked all the way down his spine.

What are you— get out of his head! Derlord demanded in the silence of his own mind, focusing so hard that he barely registered the way his spoon had started splitting under his grip. 

Had The King’s curse somehow managed to spread? Had he unwittingly doomed Avery by selfishly hovering near him lately? Is that the reason why Avery had been so quiet?—

‘If you are truly so concerned, you could simply… look for yourself.’ The King's voice dripped with humour, ‘The connection is already established through me, if you so wish.’

Derlord froze up completely. He’d never even considered that it would be possible— even more suspicious was that The King was willing to allow it.

‘But I would advise against it.’

How laughable. He would rather die than listen to advice of an entity that relished in his suffering. What was the worst that could happen anyways? Another migraine? He’d dealt with plenty before so he could handle a few more—

‘You could lose his trust.’

The King's tone was light, the implication was not.

‘A breach of privacy at this scale… such a messy way to end a… friendship.’

Derlord’s spoon almost gave way. Thankfully he managed to relax his hand enough before it snapped in half.

For once, The King was right.

‘Naturally, I am the only truth that remains.’  The king sounded somewhat smug. Derlord wished that he’d been hit with a less sassy curse. ‘My knowledge is infinite.’

Infinitely annoying. Derlord corrected mentally. 

But as the fraying edges of Avery’s thoughts brushed against his consciousness, his resolve only hardened. If The King was trying to dissuade him from reading the slime's mind using guilt, it wasn’t working. 

Avery cared too much about others and too little about himself. To the point where he had even sacrificed his own sleep to help Derlord with his night terrors, back when he had just escaped from The King’s dreaded cave. 

If the slime was suffering from a curse, he would undoubtedly hide it just to keep Derlord from worrying.

So now it was his turn to help Avery. Even if the slime refused it. 

The King offered a thoughtful, delighted hum. ‘How noble, Little Knight. But I was planning to show you his thoughts, regardless of your stance.’ 

Derlord smirked. The King must have realised his wicked plans were foiled, and was backpedaling to save his pride. 

‘On the contrary, your determination will only make your undoing so much sweeter.’

Derlord had one final thought of his own. The undoing of our friendship? That won't happen as long as Avery doesn’t find out—

Before being rudely flashbanged by the full brunt of Avery’s thought.

His throat tightened.

Like many of The King’s flashes of knowledge before, he had expected a quick solution—one that was presented as a single sentence summarising the problem. 

He could not have expected the full high-definition video projection from Avery’s perspective that followed.

He was looking through a strangely vivid vantage point, watching himself—or rather a naked and disheveled, but helmeted version of himself—on his knees, his hands placed politely beside Avery’s legs as if he was waiting for something. They were no longer at the dinner table and had relocated to his bedroom, he’d established that fact from the fireplace that was lit behind him. It was almost as if he could feel the heat of it along his back, yet the contrasting roughness of the cold bowl still in his hands was maddening.

Something hovered just above fantasy-Derlord’s head.

Two slimy appendages branched out from a singular point from Avery’s groin. Each one, intimidatingly hard and impressive. It didn’t require much imagination to guess what they were supposed to be.

A faint noise echoed.

Barely there, and more like a rushed breath caught too tight. But undeniably a humiliating squeak from his real self.

The noise had to have come from his armour. Derlord refused to believe that was a noise he was even capable of making.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” He heard Avery’s voice distantly, tone sweet despite the erotic scene.

The dream version of him yanked one of Avery’s dicks closer, then placed an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive head of it. Derlord’s own breath hitched as he watched himself lick a long stripe up the side of each member, leaving them glistening with saliva.

This…Bitch, Derlord cursed him internally, his mouth going dry. He had just psyched himself up for a risky rescue mission…no, even before that, they were just sharing an innocent meal…Had Avery been imagining him on his knees the entire time? 

To make matters worse, Avery wasn’t even getting it right. Derlord wouldn’t be so…so eager.

“Are you trying to insult my durability?” The dream version of himself taunted seductively as he nuzzled his helmet against the slimy appendages, “Don’t be so stupid.”

Derlord would never have said that.

…Okay, well maybe if he was hypothetically in that situation, an insult might have been his natural response. At least Avery got that bit right. But It wouldn’t have even been possible, he thought angrily. One already looked optimistic and two… two would only result in a trip to the infirmary.

Notch, he should have never asked the slime if he wanted seconds.

Fantasy Avery chuckled lowly, the noise echoing as if he was underwater, “Greedy thing,” he said, before fisting the red crista atop his helmet, jerking Derlord’s helmet roughly towards his groin. Only one of Avery’s members had made it through the slit of his helmet, but the freaky version of himself wasted no time in putting his hands to work on the other.

Derlord swore he could feel it. A suffocating pressure that moved roughly against his mouth in a way that should not have felt even remotely pleasurable. He tried to shut his mouth against the intrusion, but the weight of it wouldn’t let him. It didn’t help that a part of him simply wanted to let it happen—

GHakK!—

He choked terribly on a spoonful of stew, his vision snapping back as the bowl responsible blurred into view.

“D-Der?!” 

Clawing at his throat desperately, he braced himself against the table with his elbows to try and cough it out.

Avery jolted up from his chair instantaneously. “Oh fuck—breathe Derlord! What do I…Do I—do I hit your back?” 

Within seconds, he was by Derlord’s side, patting his back frantically. Each thump rattled Derlord's teeth, and if the knight weren’t seconds away from seeing heaven, he’d strangle the slime for making it worse. 

"Hgk!-Stop..." Derlord choked out, his voice a gravelly wreck as he desperately fought for air. "I am...fine—!”

"You are clearly dying! Errr…Water. I’ve got it! I’m—I’m on it!" Avery lunged for the sink, slopping water into a glass then sprinted back. He practically shoved the rim of the glass against Derlord’s lips, his other hand cupping the back of Derlord's head to steady him, “Okay. Slowly now, you don’t want to choke again…”

Derlord pinned him with a glare that held the heat of a thousand suns as he gulped the water in one go. His face must have gone up in flames from how hot it felt. No. Spontaneous combustion would have been a mercy.

The phrasing was too perfect, and combined with the way Avery had tilted his head forward to help him drink—there was absolutely no way that the evil slime hadn’t said that on purpose.

“Stand back.” Derlord pushed the glass away, his hand trembling. He wiped a stray droplet from his chin with more force than necessary. “You’re too close.”

Avery flinched back slightly in confusion, then stood still for a moment as he took in Derlord’s condition.

When the slime lifted a hand toward him, Derlord grit his teeth.

A scathing retort had formed in the back of his mind. Locked and loaded. Ready to fire should Avery bring his hand any closer—

The offending hand slipped past him, aiming straight for their empty bowls on the table. Absurdly enough, Avery took them with an apologetic smile and a fond shake of his head, then stepped away towards the sink.

Derlord instantly slumped forward in relief. 

The sound of rushing water filled the kitchen, as Derlord distantly registered that Avery had started washing the dishes, blissfully ignorant to the internal warfare that he had caused. 

The slime even had the nerve to hum. “I’ve just saved your life, man, where’s my well deserved thank you?” 

“It’s up your ass.” Derlord cringed at how weak his voice sounded.

“Pfft—Tough crowd. Remind me to let you choke to death next time.”

“How can I remind you if I’m choking, idiot.”

Avery chuckled quietly, but otherwise let Derlord have the last word. Physically.

Mentally? He wasn’t as kind.

'Next time he chokes, I hope it’s on my dick. I’d love to see that bossy mouth finally be put to good use.’

The thought hit Derlord like a punch to the gut. He’d just nearly died from asphyxiation and Avery was already thinking about how to finish the job. 

Before Derlord could even find his voice to protest, the connection flared again, projecting a replay of Derlord’s earlier struggle—the coughing, the tears pricking the corners of his eyes, hands scrambling against the table.

‘Then again… he choked on a spoon of soup. I’d probably have to help him with his gag reflex first.’’

Against his will, the curse of knowledge flared in Derlord’s head again, correcting Avery’s statement by displaying a side by side comparison of the spoonful of soup versus the two, green throbbing objects from Avery’s vision.

The King’s voice boomed in his ears, unnecessarily adding, ‘A challenging task, but not impossible—‘

Derlord stood up so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet, his cape snagging on the table corner. His chair wobbled precariously beneath him, almost toppling.

“Just!—Just stop speaking!” Derlord hissed, pointing an accusing, shaky finger at the confused slime. Why he had chosen to point at Avery was unknown even to him but it felt fitting.

“W-what? I haven’t even said anything…?” Avery’s eyes widened comically as looked back over his shoulder, matching Derlord’s exasperation with an equally bewildered look. “Is… is it The King again?”

Derlord’s shoulders hiked up as he dropped his helmeted face into his hands with a muffled clank. 

It was The King's fault. By technicality.

“Yes,” Derlord said weakly. But then again, the actual subject material was entirely Avery’s doing. He added an even grumpier, “…No.”

“Okay, Mr Cryptic.” Avery snorted a laugh, but otherwise resumed innocently scrubbing their bowls. “Take all the time you need.”

Avery had always been so accommodating of Derlord’s plight. Always so patient.

But had he always been so… so shameless?

Silence stretched once more. The King took the opportunity to worsen his misery, and as if on cue, his curse stirred within Derlord’s mind. 

He could see himself on his knees again, could see the required tilt of his head and the relaxation of his throat muscles needed to ensure that he could… take all the time he needed, just as Avery had suggested.

Derlord tried to fight it, but how was one supposed to fight a thought? 

A quiet, miserable groan escaped him as the thoughts spiralled and he pressed his hands further against his helmet to try and squeeze them out of his skull.

Avery's head swivelled around slowly at the noise. Finally, he turned the tap off, but the silence only made Derlord’s thoughts louder. “You… okay dude?”

Okay?

He was far from okay.

He was mourning. Seething over the fact that he knew the exact amount of lubrication, to the millimetre, to prevent himself from tearing around Avery’s two terrifying mind members.

While wiping his hands dry, Avery’s eyes caught the reddened tips of Derlord’s ears, then picked up on thr tremors that rattled through golden armour.

“Ahh.” The look Avery gave him was one Derlord could only describe as pure pity. “Another migraine?”

Fucking hell. Derlord wished that was it.

Avery approached him casually, placing a damp hand on his shoulder causing Derlord to snap his gaze toward him. The slime’s forehead was wrinkled, concern written all over his face. Derlord could only press his legs together to hide the humiliating bulge in his pants. 

 “I can… carry you upstairs if your legs feel too weak?”

Another devastating innuendo that hit him right in his nether regions. Humiliating. He couldn’t be the only one suffering through this, and all he had to do was tell the truth.

…But what could he even say?

If he told Avery to stop the mental ogling, he would have to admit he had seen all of Avery’s private thoughts… that he had trampled ruthlessly on his only friend’s trust.

At the internal admission, all of Derlord’s flustered anger trickled out of him.

“Der, you’re doing the angry, silent statue thing again…” 

The voice Avery used was so devastatingly soft that he couldn’t even bring himself to look him in the eyes.

Oh my notch. Avery was going to kill him via blue balls… and worst of all, Derlord was going to let it happen.

Another snicker echoed in his ears. ‘You never listen, Little Knight.’’

Derlord nearly slammed his head against the wall in response. Instead, he somehow dragged himself towards the door, trying to keep his ragged breathing in check. 

“Not necessary. I can walk.” Derlord grunted, immediately proving his statement wrong by catching his shoulder on the doorway.

He caught the sight of Avery’s hand in his peripheral as he fled; it was still outstretched, reaching for the space he had just occupied. 

His heart wavered. 

Although, despite his aching conscience, something in his pants had been aching for far longer, and he desperately needed it to stop.

He clicked the door shut behind him, leaning against the frame in an attempt to catch his breath. 

The walk upstairs was less of a walk and more of a humiliating, agonising crawl, but he had somehow made it to the safety of his bedroom.

Finally, some peace and quiet—

A distinct crackle echoed. The fireplace. The same one that he had been kneeling in front of just moments ago— fuck his life.

He needed a distraction.

Disoriented, he almost tripped on his way to the bookcase in the corner of his room, but he caught himself against its dusty shelves. As soon as his eyes had stopped spinning, he let them scan the titles desperately, rummaging through his books like a madman.

‘Complete guide to stretching.’ Nope. Derlord sighed.

Too suggestive.

‘Redstone: Edition two. Everything about pistons.’

Fucking hell—

‘The structural integrity of underwater temples. Volume V’

…This should do.

Focus, he commanded himself, his eyes practically burning a hole into the page. 

The diagram of the turquoise archway on page twelve was actually quite interesting, the drawing had even shown what the load-bearing capacity of the supports was.

He wondered briefly how the material kept its structural integrity, despite being wet all the time. His eyes snapped shut as he braced himself. Whatever. He knew he had walked into that one. And almost simultaneously, The King informed him so.

The information flowed incessantly, ‘The materials are treated properly with a waterproof coating, before being placed onto the site. However, different materials should be treated accordingly.’ 

That…wasn’t so bad.

‘For example, your pelvic floor’s load-bearing capacity when wet and properly lubricated can handle—’

“Shut! Up!” Derlord slammed the book shut angrily with enough force to rattle his bones.

With the same force, he launched it across the room. 

It bounced off the wall, thudded quietly, then landed tauntingly at his feet.

With a guttural groan, he collapsed backwards onto his mattress and yanked a pillow over his face. The muffled yell that left him was as embarrassing as it was needed. His face was too warm. Why was he the only one being subjected to such hellish torture?…

He considered something, briefly.

Should I set the house on fire?

And then immediately after, considered how concerning that thought was—

Knock knock.

…No.

Another knock. “You okay, buddy?”

Derlord bolted upright. He looked down toward his pants, where something else was still bolted upright.

“I’m… fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. I’m coming in.”

Shit. Fuck. Shit shit shit.

His feet moved before his brain could even realise what he was doing, and before Avery could enter, Derlord practically leapt from his bed to the door, bracing his shoulder against it roughly.

“D-Derlord?! What are you—?”

The door rattled violently, caught in the middle between two desperate forces pushing against it from both directions.

Derlord’s hands were straining with effort around the brass doorknob. “Avery! I’m fine! Really—!”

“Then why are you being so difficult?!! You—stubborn—!”

Avery shoved harder, the force allowing him to fit his hand through the gap in the door, almost winning their reverse rug of war.

Derlord’s gaze snapped towards the offending object. To Avery’s slimy hand. 

A hand that was made of slime. A hand that could split. Shift. 

Multiply. 

Derlord shoved back even harder.

“Ah! Ow, wait—!”

The door hadn’t shut all the way, Avery’s bubbling hand got caught in the hinges with a wet thud.

Derlord winced and as quickly as he had shut it, he swung the door open in a panic.

He expected Avery to be writhing in pain. An apology sat right on the tip of Derlord’s tongue, about to spill—

“Gotcha.” 

The apology died as Avery forced his way in, a wicked grin spread right across his face. 

Derlord stepped back instinctively, tentatively.

“You… you wicked slime…” He immediately manoeuvred behind the open door, using it as a shield to hide his lower body, along with the shame of being so easily duped. 

That was the last time he’d ever show kindness.

“Sorry, bud.” At least Avery did sound somewhat apologetic. But he had already breached the threshold, moving with determined steps towards the first aid drawer beside Derlord’s bed. “But I just need to make sure you’re not dying, you were so flushed earlier..!” 

The sound of rustling. “You make a huge fuss about not needing my help, every time, and then pass out! It’s not good for either of us if you're sick.”

Avery brandished a thermometer and turned back around, showing it off as he closed the drawer with his hip.

A snort escaped him as he caught the sight of Derlord, still hidden behind the door, except only his helmet was peeking out the side. It was as ridiculous as it was endearing.

“What are you doing over there?” The bed gave way to Avery’s weight as he sat. He patted the space beside him. “Come sit.” 

Derlord didn’t move. He couldn’t. 

Avery’s amusement slipped back into concern as the silence stretched. “Did I… did I upset you earlier?”

“Yes.” 

Avery flinched back, a small frown forming. Derlord’s chest dropped at the sight and before he could help it, he corrected himself with a quiet, “…No.”

“Then… are you gonna come over here and let me take your temperature?”

“No.”

Derlord hid further behind the door, pulling himself entirely out of sight. The heavy wood was still rattling quietly against his armor.

“Can I come over to you?”

No response.

Avery sighed, standing up with sagging shoulders.

“Look, Der, I’m sorry… for whatever I did.” He started making his way towards the door, thermometer still in hand. “I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to talk, if-if you want to talk—“

THUDDD!—

He didn’t make it out of the room.

Derlord had slammed the door shut before he could.

It was unfair how Avery thought he had the right to look so sad. Especially when he was the root of the problem.

They were face to face now. Or rather, Avery’s neck was craned up towards Derlord’s helmet. There were only a few inches separating them, so Derlord crossed his arms angrily to ensure the distance couldn’t close further.

“H-hey buddy!” Avery stuttered breathlessly. Despite the knight’s larger stature, he felt agonisingly small, plastered against the door. “Long time no see?”

“Be quick then.” He tilted his head to the side, the action had exposed a small slither of skin right where his armour ended and just underneath his helmet. The new position forced him to shiver. Had the air always been so cold? 

The metal part of the thermometer was even colder, causing him to flinch as Avery pressed it against his neck. Almost immediately on contact, it beeped alarmingly.

Avery's mouth hadn't moved. But Derlord could still hear him perfectly.

‘Poor thing. He’s so stubborn… hiding his fever so I wouldn’t worry…’

Derlord scoffed. He wasn’t some… some poor thing.

His ego answered before his brain could.

“I would not be bested by something as trivial as a fever. Do not insult my durability.”

Oh for the love of Notch.

Maybe Avery did know him better than he thought. His answer had been completely instinctual, or maybe the slime’s filthy thoughts were beginning to merge with his own. 

He snapped his eyes back towards Avery with a flustered scowl, annoyed at his own slip up.

“Durability, Der?" Avery repeated, his voice wobbling with uncertainty and something else Derlord couldn’t name. It sounded suspiciously excitement. "That’s...that's a weird word to use. Any particular reason, as to why… you picked that word specifically?”

“…It is a standard engineering term.” 

Avery leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "Is it? Because I was thinking about...uh...a thing. A project. With that specific word. No, that exact phrasing. Just earlier.”

The beeping against his neck was incessant, matching the frantic beating of his heart. Even the thermometer was mocking him.

“Interesting.” He swatted away the offending device, his shoulder already dipping to weave past the slime, until—

Two slimy arms thudded against the door beside Derlord’s head. 

“That’s twice now. Only this time I’m certain I didn’t say anything out loud.” Avery leaned in closer, effectively caging him in. “It’s almost as if you can hear my thoughts.”

“D-don’t flatter yourself.” Derlord turned his head away with a shaky breath, looking anywhere but at Avery. “I doubt I’d be able to hear much.”

Avery snorted. “Wow, okay rude. Well, If you hypothetically could, it wouldn’t be so bad that you would need to lie about it.” He could feel the slime’s breath tickle the shell of his ear. Derlord was certain that his helmet was melting from the inside out. “I wouldn’t be mad, if that’s what you're worried about.”

Derlord’s eyebrows furrowed.

“You… wouldn’t?” The words left him before he could stop them. 

With relief came a terrible realisation.

He had only said two words, but it was basically a confession. And from the look that Avery was giving him, eyes gleaming with something soft, he knew that the slime had realised it too.

“Of course not.”

With the last few shreds of his dignity, Derlord tilted his head up defiantly, looking down his nose at the slime. “Drop this ridiculous accusation and let me go at once.” Derlord grit out, his chest puffed out as much as the little space between them would allow. “I was merely humoring your absurd hypothetical,”

Avery laughed once more, throwing his head back as the sound rattled Derlord’s armour from their proximity.

This was his chance. Avery was distracted. Derlord turned his body in an attempt to escape. 

He managed to nudge Avery’s left arm out of the way, with surprising ease—

‘Is that right?’

His body froze at the sound of Avery’s projected thought.

‘Then it should be fine if I run a field test.’

An image, so strikingly real, wormed its way into Derlord’s mind. 

A brief display of himself, helmet smothered into the couch and bound. Tied up with his arms behind the small of his back. Was he… was he draped over Avery’s lap? The realisation came with a sharp pain right on his ass that should not have been possible— and a fresh hand print bloomed on the skin of his vision counterpart. 

His hips jerked forward in real time, the non-existent pain blending into pleasure as a choked gasp tore from his throat against his will. 

“You!—Stop that—!” Derlord demanded, although it sounded more like a plea, as his knees buckled, forcing him to brace himself against Avery’s other outstretched arm.

“Whoops.” Avery whispered apologetically. He didn’t look sorry at all, in fact, he only grinned wider, “That looked like it hurt… Want me to do it again?”

“I want you to stop thinking.” He hissed miserably. Escape would be easy now, but he’d already been bitten by Avery’s thought. It would be foolish to try again and expect a different outcome.

“I can’t help it,” Avery murmured, his tone dripping with fond amusement. “You saw yourself choking on my dick and your first thought was that I would be mad at you for looking?”

Maybe he should just try to escape again. It would be easier than having Avery spell out his misfortune.

“I thought no such thing,” Derlord snapped weakly. 

“Seriously…” He leaned his head along Derlord’s shoulder plate with a quiet huff. “You’re so noble it’s driving me insane.”

Awkwardly, Derlord pushed Avery’s face away. The action only made his heart ache more as Avery nuzzled the side of his face into his gauntlet. 

“Stop jumping to incorrect conclusions. I refused to tell you because I was… merely fatigued by your delusions.”

Avery chuckled, his gaze dropping deliberately toward Derlord's lap. “How many of my delusions have you seen?”

He twisted his body away to hide his traitorous arousal from Avery’s lecherous gaze.

“Enough.”

Derlord didn’t even know if he had meant it as a serious reply or an earnest request to stop the infuriating teasing.

Apparently Avery had interpreted it as the latter. 

“Well I’m glad we cleared that up.”

As if the situation couldn’t get any worse, Avery simply stepped away, that same irksome grin still stretched along his face.

“What are you…?”

Avery strolled calmly towards the other side of the room, casually swinging the thermometer in his hand. He popped the first-aid kit open with his other hand as he spoke. “It's getting late. I think I’ll head to bed first.”

The audacity.

The sheer, absolute audacity.

“I was lying, you perverted loon!" He yelled, fully intending to march across the room and strangle the slime, until his knee immediately buckled embarrassingly. His hands clenched tightly into fists by his sides instead. 

He felt raw, exposed. “Get back over here and finish what you started! Before I change my mind…” 

Ironic, considering how the ship had sailed and Derlord was determined to see it sail or go down with it. He expected the same enthusiasm from Avery, especially after all the tension-filled implications. He had not expected Avery to still be rustling around in his drawer.

Dropping a thermometer into a box took precisely one second. The slime had been digging around in there for nearly ten, his turned back revealed none of the emotions that Avery’s face wore so proudly. 

Still, even more infuriatingly so, ten more seconds passed until Avery ceased his rummaging.

”You’re so easy to tease, Der…”

The sly smile Avery sent him as he turned nearly sent Derlord into cardiac arrest. The nail in the coffin was the small bottle of lubricant pinched between the slime’s shaky fingers.

“How about it then? Are you ready to test your durability?”

With the way his legs were trembling, it was a miracle that Derlord wasn’t kneeling on the floor by now, held up only by his shattered pride.

A groan reverberated through Derlord’s helmet.

“I despise you.” 

Avery’s smile only stretched wider when Derlord reached down to unclasp his chest plate.

“C…could you be any, h-haa—s-slower?” Derlord muttered angrily, his hips stuttering as he attempted to force himself further down Avery’s fingers. They’ve barely even begun yet, but he’s already so sensitive to the point where the soft texture of his beddings on his back felt scratchy sharp; the visions he’d been teased with all evening hadn’t helped one bit.

“Hmmm, I probably could.” Avery mused, pretending to ponder Derlord’s rhetorical question seriously. He had one hand pinning both of Derlord’s wrists above his helmet, his other hand had three fingers buried deep within the knight, reaching his knuckles. “Do you want me to go slower, Der?”

“What…what do you think, dickhead.”

Avery pulled all three of his fingers out with a fond huff, leaving Derlord’s entrance to flutter weakly around nothing. 

“MnGh!—f-fuck!—”

Derlord struggled against the grip around his arms as if the action would do anything, to try to get the motion back. Avery would have let him go immediately if Der had asked him seriously… not that he would ask. The restraint was surprisingly grounding.

Finally giving up, Derlord swore as his helmet fell backwards against the headboard. He stared stubbornly at the ceiling as he tried to catch his breath, his exposed body twitching weakly due to inputs that weren’t there.

“Move.” Derlord rasped, snapping his head down to face the slime with an even angrier glare that only made Avery blush harder.

Avery had insisted that they stretch Derlord properly. As desperate as the knight was, he appreciated the slime’s rare wisdom. But he should have known better than to believe it’d be that simple.

“C’mon now, you agreed we had to do this properly,” Avery whispered, leaning in until Derlord’s vision swam with green. “But maybe if you use the magic word, I may consider it.”

“…Please.”

“Hmmm, a good attempt...” Avery chuckled at Derlord’s heated glare. “It could be better.”

Derlord winced as another one of Avery’s thoughts invaded his mind.

“No. Fuck off.”

“P-Pretty please? Cherry on top?…Multiple cherries on top. All the cherries in the world—”

“Notch. Fine.” Derlord sighed. Avery had no right to act so desperate, not when he was the sole reason behind his torture. “Please Sir. There, happy?” 

It was a half-hearted attempt, but Avery seemed to light up at it anyways. “Y-yes actually…can you try the other one too?”

“Are you—are you trying to kill me?”

“I know you think it’s embarrassing but it would make me really happy! I’ll do anything!”

“Be quiet!! Just!—ugh.” He tried to curl in on himself, but Avery’s grip on his arms was unforgiving. So he tried to bring his knees up to hide the evidence of his own betraying body. Of course, Avery couldn’t even let him have that, and insisted against it by pushing his legs sideways, pinning them apart with his knees until Derlord legs were straining from the angle.

How humiliating. 

He’d never been so hard in his life.

“Please… Master?”

The second the word left his lips, Derlord felt a very violent urge to crawl into a hole and lay there for eternity. If Avery didn't kill him tonight, he was going to finish the job himself. He’d start by chopping his own dick off for the sheer audacity of getting impossibly harder at his own humiliation.

Derlord could tell from the way Avery’s grip shook around his wrists, that the slime wasn’t faring any better.

“I… I need you to say that again,” Avery whispered, his voice hitching in a way that was far too desperate. “Just one more time, Der? Please?”

“Fucking filthy degenerate.” He spat the word like a curse. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Avery’s blush only deepened.

“Oh… wow. Ha… that’s not too bad either. Actually, I think I like that even more.”

“…You’re hopeless.” 

“Guilty as charged.” Avery sighed, then pressed a shy kiss to the side of Derlord’s helmet. “Maybe one more time?—“

“Quit stalling. If you make me wait any longer—“

Avery snorted. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” He leaned back, leaving only one hand around both of Derlord’s wrists. With his free hand, Avery guided himself down, prodding the head of his member against Derlord’s entrance. “You know… that’s not how you're supposed to talk to your master...But”

Derlord's breath hitched, the sound echoing in his helmet. Fucking finally.

“I still think you’ve earned a reward.”

“MnGhh—!”

The squeeze was unbelievably tight. One that made Derlord’s back arch as he clenched his jaw. 

Only the head had made it through, but Derlord was determined to not embarrass himself any further by holding in any noises, even as his lower lip trembled with effort.

Avery paused halfway, looking down at where they were connected with a mix of arousal and concern. “Are you okay, Der?”

Derlord’s eye twitched in annoyance. Once again, he appreciated the concern, but he didn’t need it.

“Ye-ahh!-shit—!” That was supposed to be a demand to hurry up. Thankfully, it still came across as one as Avery resumed pushing, splitting him open even further.

“You’re stretching around me so much… it’s amazing…”

Oh my notch, Derlord groaned internally. Did this slime ever stop talking? He should do more pushing… How was he still pushing?

“Shut up—mnGgh!—”

The command was swallowed by a low moan as Avery finally bottomed out, sliding past a bundle of nerves that made Derlord’s vision waver. Avery wasn’t even moving, but it felt like he was still trying to impale him further.

He’d survived. He was dying. And from the way Avery was ogling him, the slime agreed.

“Shit—ah… if only you could see how good you look right now…”

Even The King seemed to agree, as he flashed another filthy projection straight behind his eyes, this one more detrimental than all the ones before.

The way his legs were trembling, the sheen of his sweat reflecting from the torchlight… he could feel it too, the way Avery’s dick carved him from the inside out. Every twitch, replayed back as something visual, each one made worse from Avery pausing at the deepest point to simply admire him.

He took a deep breath, simultaneously, his eyes caught the way his stomach spasmed around Avery’s length in response.

He shifted his leg up, then he saw the way it made his hole clench lewdly, a sight so jarringly erotic it made his breath hitch.

But then he saw the way Avery’s free hand shook as the slime caressed his hip gently.

Nor did he miss the way Avery traced each and every scar along the body with a delicacy that drove him insane. He hadn’t even realised he had one there, at the junction of his neck. But Avery seemed to like it, evident from the way he couldn't stop ghosting his fingers along it. 

The feathery touches were worse than a stab to the chest.

“You’re beautiful, Der.”

Derlord choked on a whimper.

He knew his worth as a knight. When one wore armour everyday like a second skin, it was easy to forget that something laid beneath it. And from what he remembered, he most definitely wasn’t some dainty or desirable thing. The view from Avery’s perspective only solidified that further.

So why was Avery treating him like something fragile? 

“There’s no rush… let me know when you want me to move.”

Avery was speaking… or was he thinking? Derlord couldn’t tell anymore. He stared at the ceiling distantly, lost in the feedback loop of Avery’s adoration. 

It felt…good.

When the vision ended, his own perspective coming back into view, Derlord hadn’t realised how much he missed the sight of the slime. Avery wore his same old grin as their eyes met, but if he looked closer, he could see the way they softened at the edges, the way they trembled with want.

He wasn’t used to that look, but it still made him feel good.

No, ‘good’ didn’t feel right. Excited, maybe? After all, regardless of how perverted Avery’s mind was, it would have been a lie to say he hadn’t had similar thoughts about the slime before. He was exactly where he wanted to be. Right beneath Avery’s awe-filled gaze. 

The frantic beating of his heart was a testament to that. 

But it was different. His chest ached with something heavy, leaving him breathless. It was similar to a sensation he had only felt once before, when running for his life from The King’s cave.

Why did it feel like fear?

“Stop,” Derlord rasped, his voice cracking out of desperation. “Don't... don't do that.”

“I.. are you alright?” Avery’s voice was hesitant. He started to pull back, his grip on Derlord’s wrists loosening. “Did I—am I hurting you?”

“No,” Derlord bit out, his eyes squeezed shut under his visor. Avery wasn’t hurting him. But maybe that was the problem. 

Instead, Avery was looking at him as if he held all the answers in the world. His curse definitely implied it, but that’s all that he was. A knight with a curse, a mystery to be solved.

As long as he was those things, he was interesting.

But right now, stripped of all that, underneath his piercing, worshipful gaze. He felt his facade crumbling. 

What would happen if Avery realised he was just some guy? 

“Just... stop treating me like I’m made of glass. You c-can… make it hurt.”

As the silence stretched for a few moments, Derlord briefly thought for a second, that maybe he’d ruined it. He’d made it weird—

Avery planted one more tentative kiss to the scar at his neck.

“Dont worry, Der. I understand.”

Derlord opened his eyes slowly at the sound of Avery’s voice. He hadn’t even noticed he was free to move his arms until he registered the sight of both of Avery’s hands at the cheeks of his helmet. There, on Avery’s face was that same wobbly smile.

Avery moved his hands down along Derlord’s ribs, then sides, before settling at his hips as if he was testing the placement.

He pushed back in with one smooth thrust, replacing the hollow space inside of him—

“Mngffff!… Shit, ah… Avery—”

And oh, notch, the angle of the thrust punched right into his prostate, and— ohhh, what had he been so worried about again? His thoughts felt so far away.

His neck was craned backwards again, his hands gripping onto the blanket beneath him as Avery pulled him back down by his waist, to where he felt him at his core. 

He couldn’t stop the noises from spilling from his throat. Avery's pace was torturously slow, compared to what he had promised, but Derlord found himself unraveling all the same.

It was too much. 

But Derlord could take even more.

“Hfff… Is—is that all you’ve, haa—got?”

Avery was never one to turn down a challenge.

With a renewed vigour, Avery doubled his efforts as he gripped Derlord’s hips for leverage— slamming him down until Derlord swore he could feel him in his throat.

“You’re making it—really hard to be a gentleman.”

Derlord couldn’t see straight, but the fact that he could see at all needed some correction. With one hand still fisted in the covers, he brought the other to pump his own painful erection in time with Avery’s thrusts.

“I didn’t ah!- ask… you to mmph- be gentle—“

He was so close. He could tell Avery was too, his pace was getting sloppy and he couldn’t stop chanting Derlord’s name in between moans.

Avery’s hands shot away from his hips to grab onto Derlord’s wrists— he pulled them down until they were flushed against the sides of his thighs.

Unable to touch his weeping dick, Derlord whimpered. A sound so miserably full of need that it made Avery’s heart stutter, both with pity and arousal.

“Aves! I— please my-mng- I can’t!—“

Infuriatingly, Avery slowed his pace to a deep grind, equally as desperate. “Yes… yes you can.”

Like this, Derlord could feel every excruciating inch. Avery moved less, but reached deeper, almost as if he was trying to hollow out his core. 

He was squirming now, trying to meet each one of Avery’s thrusts, but the grip on his wrists were solid. He needed to move his hands, to grab his erection. There was no way he could finish just from Avery’s dick in his ass—

“Ohhh, f-fuck—!”

Derlord slammed his head backwards into the pillow as his back arched, threatening to snap in half from the intensity of his climax. 

He came back down, crashing. His chest was heaving for breath, leaving him twitching. Avery had watched him intensely throughout the entirety of it, his brows furrowed in concentration to not miss a single thing.

It was endearing. That Avery was so focused on Derlord’s pleasure, considering that Avery hadn’t finished yet. Derlord could argue that maybe he was too focused, if such a thing was possible. 

Since Avery was still grinding his thrusts.

“Ahh-ah, what are you—“

Overstimulated, Derlord choked on another string of whimpers. His orgasm had left all of his nerves alight. Avery was barely moving now, the slowest up and down drag possible, but the knight couldn’t even speak. 

“Getting tired already?”

Avery was still smiling. His same wobbly smile, but Derlord felt like prey. His fight or flight response booted into action— he struggled but Avery kept him pinned by his wrists; still agonisingly thrusting past his poor prostrate. “Fuck! Wait, I—mnggh—!“

Avery loosened his grip slightly and paused, remaining perfectly still where they were joined as his eyes frantically scanned Derlord’s face for any discomfort. “W-We can take a break. Let’s have a break.” He’d said it with finality, almost as if he knew Derlord would never ask for a break even if he needed one.

And maybe he did need one. But that didn’t mean he wanted one. “Don’t stop… even if I tell you to.”

The look Avery gave him made him shiver.

“Notch…” Avery leant forward, bracing his forehead against Derlord’s chest, the touch sent a jolt straight through his molten skin. “I can do that…” he said, voice strained and breathless. “But… I think we should pick a safe word first.”

There was some wisdom to that too, but for some reason, Derlord would have preferred it if Avery made him beg.

“Don’t be absurd…“ Derlord sighed. His helmet creaked as he turned his head to the side stiffly. “I don’t need one.”

“Then can you pick one, for my sake?” Avery said, pulling his head away until he paused midway, his eyes catching the trembling nubs on Derlord’s chest; he looked up through his lashes at the knight, eyes wobbling. “Can… Can I?”

Derlord blinked. Here Avery was, buried to the hilt deep inside his guts, yet he was still asking Derlord for permission, and for what, to lick his nipples?

“Are you deaf?” He was once again glad he kept his helmet on. Although it did little to hide the blush that had spread down to his chest. “I already said you can do what you want.”

“What if what I want is… for you to pick a word for us?”

The groan that left Derlord was guttural.

Avery smiled against his skin at that, then licked a stripe right over his left nipple eliciting a stifled moan from the knight. “Don’t tell me you're pouting, Der.”

Of course not. Knights didn’t pout. 

Avery abandoned one of Derlord’s wrists, his hand diving down to claim a far more sensitive and neglected target, the stiffened nub on the right. He pinched—hard, and Derlord bit down on a stifled whimper; his pout only worsened.

“Howfs ‘Halt!’" Avery mumbled against the skin of Derlord’s chest, his words muffled by the fact that he was still trying to swirl his tongue around Derlord's left darkened peak. "You know... because you're a knight? It's... hng... on theme."

With his now free hand, Derlord pushed Avery’s head away from his chest, completely abashed. “H-halt? You must be kidding.”

“Then how about ‘I yield’?—“

“Absolutely not,” Derlord snapped. “Halt will do.”

“Are you sure?” Avery said, giggling, a dopey grin tugged at his mouth. “Not... Yield? It's much more dramatic, more urgent.”

“Halt. The word is Halt.”

Avery laughed harder, the sound reverberating up Derlord's arm. It was Derlord’s favourite sound, notch forbid, if he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“Thank you, Der.” He started nuzzling into Derlord’s hand again. Seriously, was this guy a dog in his past life? He even had the wide, wobbly eyes. Just like a golden retriever. 

“Don’t thank me… it’s just a word.” 

“It is, but it’ll make sure I don’t accidentally go too far,” Avery sighed, eyebrows furrowed with awe. “You already know how obsessed I am with you… I don’t want to scare you off after our first time.” 

First. 

First meant that there would be a second. Avery wanted their first to be enjoyable and ooh shit— his heart was doing that aching thing again. 

Only except this time he was certain it wasn’t fear. He still felt like running but… it was different. He felt…

What was it—?

‘Must you be so dense?’ The King whispered, bitterness woven into his tone. ’It is love.’

Derlord’s breath caught. A sound he was unable to suppress regardless of how hard he grit his teeth.

Love? 

‘A typical chemical trap, and you are falling into it with such... tiresome obstinacy.’ 

The breath that eventually escaped him was far too shaky for his liking.

"W-well? Start." Derlord commanded, glaring daggers at the slime. The effect would have been threatening had he not sounded so helplessly miserable. “You’ve stalled long enough that the King is bothering me again.”

"Thinking about another guy when I’m right here, Der?" Avery whispered, the remnants of his previous laughter keeping his voice light. “I’m getting jealous.”

Slowly, Derlord pulled his hands away and placed them politely above his head.

“Then make him quiet….”

Avery tilted his head to the side owlishly, looking back and forth between Derlord’s outstretched arms, and his helmet, with confusion.

“And grab my wrists again,” Derlord added, looking incredibly angry, and somehow profoundly flustered. “For... for grounding purposes.”

A genuine wave of affection and soul-crushing arousal washed over Avery all at once. He brushed his hands up Derlord’s arms before settling at Derlord’s wrists. 

“Of course.” He said, grinning uncontrollably, “For grounding purposes.”