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Wemmbu loves the feeling of being free.
This goes in many ways.
It can be the early morning flights he takes, letting the crisp air brush against his elytra, mace in his offhand. It can be the satisfying cracking of skulls, allowing Gambit’s voice to take over his head, letting one body fall after another. But it can also be taking his righteously defeated enemies, leading them to his bed, and giving them a second fight in the sheets.
Needless to say, Wemmbu values his freedom above all else. And he’s always thought things would remain that way. His lifestyle just works, and he’s generally a very stubborn person when it comes to change.
Surprisingly, perhaps even scarily, meeting Minute changes things.
During their first encounter, things went about the same way as it always does for any worthy enemy Wemmbu faces.
He pops several totems, gets some of his own popped, and ends up taking the fight to the bed, where he gets his guts thoroughly rearranged.
Something goes a little different though. Basking in the afterglow of their orgasms, the two of them figure out they have the same motive, and they team up. Wemmbu’s never done this before, but he feels more confident, extra powerful, fighting with Minute by his side.
From then on, Minute became a safe haven Wemmbu could always return to, in more ways than one.
He goes to him after each difficult fight which leaves him badly injured. He goes to him when things get boring in the overworld. He goes to him when he’s searching for answers to complex questions.
Each time, Wemmbu tells himself that it’s just to return to Egg, but really, he knows the truth deep down. Minute seems to know it as well, when he greets Wemmbu with open arms and an open bed to share.
So maybe it’s only natural that Wemmbu starts to feel a certain devotion to this man, the end guardian, his literal stronghold.
It’s the dangerous type, the type with purple lava that rises up to his throat and burns him inside out with need and desire. His passion is only reciprocated tenfold, an equally possessive darkness grasping him tightly, fogging his vision.
And somewhere between each fight and each return to the End, Wemmbu finds himself doing something he’s never done before.
He promises to be loyal. He vows his love to Minute, and they become partners. Mates. Boyfriends. Whatever they are, there is no one clear title. What is clear is Minute’s expectations for him from the start.
“Wemmbu. Don’t commit to me if you’re going to keep sleeping around. I–I don’t think I can live with that.”
Minute knows his tendencies well. But, Wemmbu knows himself better; better than anyone else. He doesn’t know why he promised to be loyal then.
To be fair, he does a good job for a while. He fights, keeps it in his pants, and leaves–most of the time to the End. He regears, meets Egg and Minute, spends a night or two, and goes back out again.
His raw, obsessive devotion has its limits though. It would be cruel to say he got bored–truly he didn’t. He just needed a change in air.
Perhaps that is why it takes an unspeakable amount of his willpower to walk away from that fight with Flame. Wemmbu digs his heels into the ground, however, and flies away before he can make any advances. He’s guiltily proud of himself as he returns to the End, and gets rewarded by Minute with several rounds of victory sex which leaves him bedridden for days.
By the end of it, he’s bored again.
The secret identity seems like a great solution.
Minute thinks otherwise. In fact, he hates it. He tries to convince Wemmbu to stay, to stop making useless enemies and anchor down with him in the End. In his defense, Wemmbu genuinely considers it for a while.
But he loves his freedom. He simply cannot imagine a life without it. So he refuses tranquility; refuses peace.
He leaves, with an undetermined return date. At the edge of the portal, Minute stops him. A gift. It’s a necklace, made with thin obsidian string and has a black eye of ender charm. It nicely contrasts his diamond armor, sitting comfortably on his chest.
“So everyone knows you’re mine,” Minute tells him.
Wemmbu simply gives him one last farewell kiss before falling backwards into the portal.
The necklace lies hidden inside his ender chest when he sees Jaden for the second time at the Great Sea. It’s tempting, but Wemmbu holds himself back for a fortnight. However, when the two of them retreat to their tent as the moon rises on the third night, he can’t help himself. Wemmbu religiously keeps the veil on the entire time, not letting his true identity slip a single time.
That night, as he gets taken on the sheets by someone other than his partner for the first time in months, he tells himself that this isn’t himself–he isn’t known as the ruthless mace wielder demon who is devoted to the Guardian of the End. He swears to himself under the softly waning moonlight that this is the first and last time he’s going to let this happen.
The obsidian necklace sits ever so guiltily forgotten in the aftermath, glowing a deep purple under the weak moonlight.
So, it’s unsurprising that a sense of impending doom takes over his entire being when Jaden figures out who he is after his duel. With nothing to hide anymore, Wemmbu flies away. He convinces himself that there is just no way Minute will find out, especially when he has forced Jaden into silence.
The guilt does him no good. He makes a plan to go back to the End, make sure Egg and Minute are alright, maybe spend a day or so there until he resumes his hunt for Boosfer.
Before he enters, he prepares for his visit. After some shuffling around, he finds a pair of black, lacy panties and some matching garters from his ender chest. They’re usually only reserved for special nights, and Minute always seems to love it when Wemmbu puts them on.
Because the guilty part of him longs to give Minute a good time tonight, Wemmbu puts them on. He plans on letting Minute take him in any location and position he desires, for as long as he wants. It’s a secret compensation that he’d never admit to the other–a solution to his overwhelming regret for what he’s done.
However, when Wemmbu steps back into the End portal, he’s met with the obvious remnants of a difficult fight. His heart drops–a heavy weight in his stomach appearing as he treks through the empty, deserted chambers.
He transitions into his demon form in preparation for a fight, horns growing larger and skin turning purple as he scouts the area for any intruders. With Gambit in his hand, he rounds the corner into the exit to the outside, when he hears a sound from behind the wall.
To his relief, he sees that it’s Egg straight away. He parts the bush to reveal his very scared yet poorly hidden best friend. The veil is taken off, and Wemmbu returns to his human form, so that they can talk a little. Egg explains that Flame had come searching for Wemmbu, and that he and Minute had fought for a long while, until Minute had to accept defeat and temporarily flee to the End Islands.
“Ever since he’s come back, everyone that enters through that portal’s been killed,” Egg finishes his retelling.
“By Minute?” Wemmbu knows Minute’s morals like the back of his hand. He’s certain he would do no such thing under normal circumstances.
“Yup. Everyone’s scared to enter the End now. Even I’m scared to disturb him, bro.” Egg’s voice holds a certain strained fear to it that only serves to confuse Wemmbu more. The Minute he knows would never harm those around him, nevertheless any defenseless people.
“Is that why you’re hiding now?” Wemmbu scoffs a little. This makes absolutely no sense. “Where even is he now?”
“I’m not sure. He should be in one of the rooms. He’s very pissed, just be careful dude,” Egg replies, true concern lacing his tone.
“Pissed about what?” Wemmbu’s question goes unanswered as Egg retreats back into his little hideaway cove, covering the entrance with the inconspicuous leaves.
Wemmbu tilts his head in confusion, deciding to let it go for now. He goes back into the halls, looking into each and every room, only to find the same chipped floor, leaking walls, and ransacked chests in each one.
Eventually, he reaches Minute’s office. Wemmbu’s hand is shaky as he pushes the heavy black stone door, inviting himself into the unknown. His heart is beating out of his chest as he takes a peek inside the dimly lit room.
“So you’ve finally decided to show up.” Wemmbu hears him before he sees him.
Minute’s sitting at his desk, books and papers scattered everywhere around him. His mace leans against the table, dried and crusted with blood. His void eyes peek out for a second from his pitch black fingers, staring into Wemmbu’s soul.
“Minute … what happened?” Wemmbu slowly approaches the void demon, diamond heels clicking on the tiles as he gets rid of his veil. His long, purple hair flows down, untied, ending just above his waist.
Minute merely laughs; a broken, disbelieving sound which leaves his lips. “You would know.”
Wemmbu walks closer to the desk, brushing Minute’s disheveled hair back. His fingers try to undo the tight cover of his hands shielding his eyes from view.
“I–I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” An uneasy premonition takes over Wemmbu. There’s no way that Minute found out. Wemmbu made sure that he left zero loose ends–no doubt.
“I’ve heard,” Minute grabs Wemmbu’s wrist as he pulls away his hand from him, “a certain demon’s been sleeping around like a whore.” Wemmbu gasps, pain shooting through his bones at the sudden grip. His deep purple eyes immediately open wide, a look of disbelief written on his face.
“What? I–”
“Strip.” He discards Wemmbu’s wrist, empty eyes looking at him expectedly. Wemmbu’s thoughts are racing, his heart rate increasing in panic.
However, Minute’s eyes hold so much self-restrained anger that Wemmbu has no other choice but to obey. His usual bite and bratty self is gone, shocked by how much his usually gentle boyfriend has changed. He’s starting to regret his choice of clothing as he removes one armor piece at a time, squirming under Minute’s gaze.
“C’mon. Everything,” Minute tuts, eyes piercing through Wemmbu, who still has his inner layers on.
Wemmbu bites the inside of his mouth, before pulling the hem of his compression shirt over his head, revealing the pale, slightly toned plane of his chest. He silently, and a little guiltily, thanks Jaden for leaving no marks.
His leggings go next. They unceremoniously hit the cold stone floor, revealing Wemmbu’s lewd outfit underneath. Wemmbu cautiously steps out from the mound of clothing, eyes downcast on the tiles below him.
Minute loudly scoffs once he sees the panties and garters. Wemmbu hears the chair being drawn, and a familiar set of footsteps approach him. Minute’s gloved hand soon tilts his chin up, forcing eye contact.
“Bu, who’s this meant for, hm?” The same hand pulls on the hem of the garters, letting the elastic band hit the inside of Wemmbu’s thigh.
“For you, your color …” Wemmbu trails off as he observes the clear disbelief written across Minute’s face. “I–I could take them off if–”
He hears it before he feels it.
A satin-covered palm lands a heavy-handed thwack across one side of his face. The sheer abruptness of the impact twists Wemmbu’s head to the side. He only registers the sting of the slap seconds after, as tears start filling his lower lash line–not in pain, but in surprise.
“No. Stop fucking lying to me.” Minute’s voice cracks a little, exposing his exhaustion and lack of sleep from days prior.
The worst part of it all is that Wemmbu can’t protest. He doesn’t know how Minute has figured out the truth, but he knows better than to be bitchy about anything right now.
“Please, Minute–I don’t know where you heard that from but I promise it’s not true,” Wemmbu pleads, even though he knows it’s useless. Whoever Minute’s source is, it must be very reliable for him to be sulking in his anger for who knows how long.
Minute doesn’t respond. Instead, he grips Wemmbu’s shoulders, pushing him down to kneel on the floor. Wemmbu finds himself face to face with the other’s crotch, a slight tent in his pants visible.
“Shut the fuck up and just do what you know best.” It’s degrading, far from the gentle words of praise Wemmbu usually receives during sex. Wemmbu only whines a little, shifting his knees against the cold floor before unzipping Minute’s pants and pulling out his cock from his boxers.
He doesn't tease like usual, instead opting to wrap his lips around the cock in front of him immediately after stroking it to fullness. For some reason, a part of him tells him it’s a good idea to look up at Minute while sinking down on his length.
He’s met with hands gripping his hair, forcing his head impossibly close to the other, nose bumping against Minute’s naval. Wemmbu barely starts breathing through his nose in time, desperately fighting to relax his throat around the sudden intrusion.
However, before he can properly catch his breath, the hand on his hair forcefully tugs him back, then shoves him all the way down again. This time, Wemmbu properly chokes, throat spasming around Minute’s thick length as his hands come up to clutch on the latter’s legs.
Mere seconds after, he gets pulled back off again, cockhead catching the tip of his lips. But the reprieve is short-lived, and before Wemmbu can truly process what’s happening, he gets pulled towards Minute’s crotch yet again.
Registering Minute’s intentions, Wemmbu tried his best to relax his throat, allowing Minute to easily fuck into the wet cavern of his mouth. Tears have spilt out of his eyes by now, streaking down pale skin from drooping eyelids.
A few moments pass, the only sounds in the office the slick pass of Minute’s cock against Wemmbu’s lips, and his soft mewls which echo out with each especially hard thrust. Involuntarily, Wemmbu found himself pressing his thighs together, cock hard and leaking, peeking out from his lace panties.
“Slut. That’s what you are. A cock slut that can’t even give me the one thing I wanted from you.” Minute eyes Wemmbu’s pitiful erection, driving his cock into his throat hard in emphasis.
Wemmbu wants to protest; wants to reassure Minute of his fidelity, but he knows it would all be lies–and the other knows him too well. Besides, the thick length which hits the back of his throat at a break-neck pace makes a response difficult.
He starts to lose himself in between each thrust, his hands leaving the tight grip he has on Minute’s thighs and falling to the floor. His eyes also start losing their focus, blurred by tears and the lack of proper oxygen.
Wemmbu’s quickly brought back to his senses when he feels the fingers pulling on his hair leave, instead coming up to grab his horns. The stimulation there is immediate, making his eyes widen in unprecedented arousal as he keeps getting dragged back and forth from Minute’s cock.
“Little slut likes that, huh?” Minute’s mocking goes unheard; all of Wemmbu’s senses wired onto the hands gripping each of his horns.
A few more moments pass by, each tug making Wemmbu moan, sending pleasurable vibrations down Minute’s length. He’s reaching his climax quickly, spurred on by the pure rage he has been suppressing alone in the pitch dark of the End for days.
Suddenly, with no warning, Minute drives in as deep as possible into Wemmbu’s mouth, before spilling his hot release into the back of his throat. Wemmbu mewls in surprise, hands clambering back to Minute’s hips, trying to tug himself back from the overwhelming sensation.
The hands on his horns are unforgiving, however. They keep Wemmbu rooted onto Minute’s pelvis as he fights to breathe through his nose to the best of his abilities.
After what feels like ages, Minute finally pulls out from the warm cavern of Wemmbu’s mouth, letting out a groan as Wemmbu’s lips persist on his softening cock.
“Swallow. Swallow all of it,” Minute orders, coldly watching Wemmbu cough, trying to catch his breath from the rough throat-fucking he just received.
Wemmbu obeys, glassy eyes glancing up to look at the man standing in front of him, searching for any sign of the Minute he knew before he last left that End portal. He only finds pitch dark, unadulterated fury, hidden behind each judgmental pass of his eyes across Wemmbu’s skin.
The room is painfully silent as Wemmbu lets himself be dragged towards the office desk, fidgeting with the lace of his panties as Minute clears the table, books, papers, and ink bottles falling to the floor.
Before he knows it, he’s bent over the mahogany desk, hip bones coming into contact with the edge of the table. He attempts to push his thighs together, hiding how much being manhandled like this turns him on, and just how wet he is from having his throat brutally fucked.
Minute catches on fast, using his dress shoes to roughly kick apart Wemmbu’s legs. In the blink of an eye, Wemmbu hears the loud ripping of fabric coming from behind him, and he attempts to turn around but is blocked by Minute’s hand on his back.
He quickly realizes his panties have been torn apart to reveal his ass, pink hole fluttering around nothing as he feels the weight of Minute’s gaze from behind him.
Ungloved fingers come around to where his face is resting on the mahogany surface, inviting themselves into Wemmbu’s thoroughly-used mouth.
“Better coat them well, baby. Be grateful I’m even deciding to prep you.” Minute’s voice echoes out from behind him, and Wemmbu nods way too enthusiastically, swirling his tongue around the digits.
The same fingers leave his mouth eventually, reaching behind him to prod at Wemmbu’s entrance. Nothing is said in advance as one digit, then quickly two digits bully themselves into Wemmbu’s tight heat.
Wemmbu gasps as he feels the intrusion rub against his sensitive walls, letting out an unintended moan. “Fuck, ngh …” His fingers scramble against the flat surface of the desk, eventually finding the edge to cling to.
Meanwhile, Minute leans over the desk, latching his teeth onto the pale expanse of Wemmbu’s neck. His fingers are still lodged deep within the latter’s hole, roughly scissoring him open.
Minute’s mouth moves from Wemmbu’s neck to the blade of his shoulders, eventually detaching and admiring the marks he’s created.
“You’re mine. Nobody else’s. Okay?” Minute accentuates his entirely rhetorical question by harshly brushing his fingers against Wemmbu’s prostate.
“Yes! Y–yours!” Wemmbu exclaims. His cock throbs, laying untouched between his legs.
“You tell that to every man that fucks you, don’t you. Moan all pretty and let yourself be taken easily.” Minute’s words land hard. Because he knows; he knows the tricks Wemmbu plays: his seductive undertones and the soft sway of his hips to entice his suitors.
Still, Wemmbu tries to deny it. “N–no … Only for–ngh, shit–you!” He vehemently shakes his head, tears spilling freely from his already soaked eyes.
At that, Minute’s fingers unexpectedly pull out, his palm immediately straightening out. Within a split second, that same palm swings back and lands on his ass, leaving an angry imprint on his pale skin.
“Fuck!” Wemmbu squeaks, legs tensing up in surprise. His hole clenches and unclenches around nothing at the sudden emptiness.
“Just. Lie. After. Lie.” Each of Minute’s stark words are matched with an equally harsh strike across Wemmbu’s ass, cheeks turning red from the impact.
Wemmbu can only helplessly moan, held firmly in place by the hand on his hip. He moans with each hit, toes curling against the stone floor, precum leaking onto the tiles below him.
His mind is indescribably clouded as he feels Minute’s blunt cock head brush against his entrance, poorly coated with spit. Wemmbu knows he’s not prepped enough, the usual three fingers reduced to two, spit used instead of actual lube.
It’s meant to hurt as Minute ruthlessly pushes in, biting down on Wemmbu’s shoulder as he digs impossibly deep.
“Hah, too much, too much–slow down–” Wemmbu whimpers, hands coming down to clutch at Minute’s hips, trying to push him back but to no avail.
Minute simply straightens up and grabs Wemmbu’s wrists, effortlessly pinning them with one hand across the other’s back.
The pace starts up all too fast, making Wemmbu arch his back in response; a weird mixture of pain and pleasure running through his spine. He can hear Minute’s muted grunts from behind him, harmonizing together with Wemmbu’s unrestrained whimpers.
Soon enough, each rough drag of cock against Wemmbu’s tight walls eventually turns pleasurable. When Minute’s cock brushes up perfectly against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside him, Wemmbu can’t help but let out a sharp moan.
“Ah–feels so good …. Yes! Right there!”
As soon as the words of pleasure spill out of his lips, he feels Minute still inside him. His cock digs impossibly deeper as he bends over Wemmbu’s back, hands coming up to caress his horns. It’s the gentlest he’s been with Wemmbu this night, and Wemmbu finds himself comfortably leaning in to the touch.
“You know what he told me?”
Wemmbu doesn’t even register what’s being asked.
“He told me … you like it when you get your horns pulled.” Drool drips out the corner of Wemmbu’s mouth, his eyes rolled back in sheer ecstasy. “And I was thinking about it. When he left, I returned here, and had plenty of time to consider it.”
Wemmbu’s hips twitch, trying to push back onto Minute, but to little success.
“How the fuck would Flame know that? Hm? How would he?” The mention of that name sharpens Wemmbu’s sex-hazed brain for a second. Not Jaden? That made no sense.
“Ah–what?”
However, his question goes unanswered as his horns suddenly get violently pulled back–used as leverage to hold him upright as Minute resumes his break-neck pace. Wemmbu can only let out loud whines with each thrust, any of his prior concerns instantly wiped clean from his head.
After a few more seconds–or minutes, Wemmbu isn’t too sure–he feels Minute pull out and hoist Wemmbu by the hip onto his shoulder. Wemmbu lets himself get carried over to the side room to Minute’s office and get tossed carelessly onto the king sized bed.
Wemmbu scrambles onto his knees, intently watching from the bed as Minute finally discards all of his clothes. The fabrics land haphazardly onto the wood paneling below them as Minute clambers onto the bed, hands on Wemmbu in an instant.
He manhandles Wemmbu so that his back is against the sheets, cock catching onto his entrance and sliding back into him smoothly. The garters have slid down to Wemmbu’s knees by now, feet struggling to wrap around Minute’s waist as he continues his pace from earlier.
It’s rough and animalistic, the way Minute fucks him. He speeds up when Wemmbu begs him to slow down; bites onto his collarbone hard enough to bleed. Wemmbu can only mewl pathetically, clenching down on the thick intrusion inside him, clawing Minute’s back in desperation.
Wemmbu can only whimper in confusion when Minute detaches his mouth from his skin, the familiar pressure leaving him. That same mouth travels up his neck to his lips, teeth nipping at pink lips. Minute uses the soft moan elicited from Wemmbu’s lips to slide his tongue in, stealing his breath in no time.
It’s an all-consuming kiss–passionate, yet filled with hurt, anger, and everything in between. Wemmbu lets Minute have all the control over it, lashes fluttering from the lack of oxygen.
Just when he desperately starts requiring air, Minute abruptly pulls off, leaving Wemmbu gasping. “Open.” His thumb coaxes Wemmbu’s mouth open, his tongue lolling out involuntarily.
A thick glob of spit shoots out from Minute’s mouth, landing straight on Wemmbu’s tongue. Wemmbu openly moans at that, seductively swallowing it as his body is rocked with the force of each thrust. His hair frames his fucked-out expression perfectly, purple bangs sticky with sweat and tears.
Eventually, Minute takes each of Wemmbu’s legs in his hands, putting each knee on top of his shoulders and leaning closer to Wemmbu. The latter whimpers as he feels his muscles protest at the stretch, feeling Minute’s cock reach impossibly deep with the new position.
“Tell me–tell me who you belong to.” Even if it’s just lies. The second part goes unsaid, yet Minute pants out loud as he continues roughly fucking into Wemmbu’s tight heat. His hands gently brush Wemmbu’s hair to the side so that he doesn’t painfully tug on it when he places his palms on either side of his head for balance.
The small notion doesn’t go unnoticed by Wemmbu, who can only open his mouth to produce the desired answer. “Y–you, Minute. Hah, only you.”
Minute only hangs his head at that. No matter how many times Wemmbu reassures him, the truth is painfully obvious. A lone tear leaves his blank eyes at that realization, streaking down his cheek as he looks into Wemmbu’s eyes, vulnerability and sadness bleeding out from him for the first time that night.
That makes Wemmbu’s heart ache the most–the ocular consequence of what he’s done, how they’ll probably never be the same after this.
“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, Minute, ah, please–” He doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but he does anyway, shaky hands coming up to wipe Miinute’s tears away.
At that, Minute’s thoughts go back to the fight with Flame–the taunting words tossed to him, the undeniable proof he’d come to accept despite everything. Suddenly, he can’t stand the sight of Wemmbu’s face anymore, and he unceremoniously flips Wemmbu around, shoving that same guilty expression deep into the mattress.
Wemmbu’s hands come around to grip the covers tightly in shock. He attempts to twist his head back, only to be stopped by a hand on his neck which keeps his face planted in the sheets. His whimpers are swallowed by the covers as Minute keeps fucking into him at a constant pace from behind.
Hips that are splotched red are pulled up harshly as Minute chases his release, grunting at each clench of Wemmbu’s ass on his length. He spits possessively at where they’re connected, watching as Wemmbu’s abused rim greedily takes it in, split wide from the merciless assault.
Suddenly, with little to no warning, Wemmbu comes untouched onto the dark fabric below him. His scream is effectively muted by the bedding, hips twitching in Minute’s bruising hold as his cum drips onto the sheets below.
Just like that, Wemmbu lies limp, hips convulsing weakly with each forceful thrust against his sensitive nerves. Minute simply chases his own climax, elbows planted next to Wemmbu’s head as he rapidly fucks into his ass.
Not long after, Minute slams his hips into him, groaning loudly as he comes deep inside. The grip on Wemmbu’s neck loosens, and he can finally turn his head to the side, taking in sweet gulps of air in exhaustion.
Wemmbu lets out an overstimulated whimper as he feels Minute pull out, hole clenching around nothing as he feels Minute’s come indecently leak out of him, staining the inside of his thighs.
“F–fuck, I can’t, I–” Wemmbu whines as he feels two of Minute’s fingers slip past his abused rim, lewdly scooping out his expense. His eyes are drooping from the exertion, bangs plastered to his forehead, and skin covered in a thin layer of sweat.
“Oh, baby, we are far from done,” Minute mutters as he spins him around, dragging Wemmbu onto his lap as he leans against the headboard.
“Get on top of me, Bu–show me that you love me.” Minute orders, intently observing as Wemmbu wearily nods and straddles his lap, gaze fixated on Minute’s once-again erect cock.
The cum inside him makes an obscene squelch echo out to the otherwise silent room as Wemmbu sinks down on Minute’s length, hands struggling for purchase on broad shoulders.
Wemmbu can feel some of it spill out as he starts moving, cautiously moving up then sinking back down, setting an easy pace for him to maintain. The overstimulation makes it difficult; his insides too sensitive and already scraped raw.
Still, all the trained battle stamina wasn’t for nothing, so he persists, fingers trembling and thighs shaking.
“Aww, that's the best you can do?” Minute taunts at the slow pace, hands languidly sliding up Wemmbu’s thighs, hips, then waist. Wemmbu only gives a quiet whine in response.
All of the sudden, the dark fingers which have crept up to his chest find his nipples, tugging hard. Wemmbu all but screams, back arched taut like a bowstring, and throws his head back.
“C’mon baby, I know you can do better than that.”
His thighs burn in protest as he picks up the pace, hands tightly grasping onto Minute’s shoulders for the much needed support. Minute’s fingers remain on his chest, toying with the sensitive buds there as Wemmbu rides him.
“P–please, can … I, k–kiss–?” Wemmbu can hardly get a proper word out as he begs for an ounce of affection; the love and adoration he’s so used to receiving from Minute.
And Minute’s always been a weak man when it comes to Wemmbu. So, he lets him lean in, swipe his tongue against his, suck on his teeth. Even as he acknowledges the lack of obsidian against pale skin; even as he knows his eyes are not the only ones to graze upon delicate skin.
Regardless, his hands settle on Wemmbu’s waist, aiding Wemmbu’s fatigued muscles to continue the rhythm. When the two pull apart, gasping for air from their fervent kiss, Minute tenderly cups Wemmbu’s cheek and brushes his sweaty bangs to the side.
“Why? Why do you do this to me?” Minute’s voice comes out broken, exhaustion and sorrow dripping from the cracks of his heart, already stricken once by fiery wrath. “I gave you everything. Always here, always waiting. For you.”
Wemmbu doesn’t know what to say to that, mouth opening and closing like a stupid goldfish under Minute’s longing gaze.
“I–I’m sorry.” He means it. He knows his self control is reprehensible, the devil on his shoulder a louder voice in each and every situation he faces. But Wemmbu doesn’t know how to get rid of it, get rid of the voice that lingers at the back of his mind and tempts him.
Minute only pulls Wemmbu’s hips down at that, pressing his cock impossibly deep as he stares into shadowed purple eyes.
“Did your promise to me mean anything to you?” Wemmbu can feel how severely Minute’s hands shake on his waist as the question gets asked.
“It does, I–I love you, I really do.” That is the truth. Yet, Wemmbu can tell that it isn’t enough to convince Minute. “Please Minute, I mean it. I–I’m an impulsive, shitty person, but I love you. Please.” The last few words are croaked out, fresh tears streaming down alabaster skin once again. It’s the most honest he’s been this entire night.
Instead of responding, Minute guides Wemmbu’s quivering body to rest against him, softly fucking into the other while leaning backwards. He can feel the soft tremors and wet tears as he gently thrusts into Wemmbu, lightly caressing the back of his head.
Minute soon circles his hand around to wrap around Wemmbu’s length, lying weeping and untouched between their torsos. It only takes a pitiful amount of tugs to send Wemmbu over, who whines as his second orgasm of the night crashes over him.
Minute follows behind before long, groaning as he paints Wemmbu’s insides white, the familiar warmth once again filling Wemmbu up.
The two lie on their bed like that for a while, basking in the afterglow of their climaxes. Wemmbu is completely limp on top of Minute’s body, about to fall asleep, when he feels Minute move below him.
Wemmbu can barely keep his eyes open as he’s carried to the bathroom, covered entirely in bodily fluids and sweat. He’s carefully set on top of the bathroom counter as Minute walks over to fill the tub with warm water.
As he takes off the garters which have fallen down to his calves, Wemmbu finds himself connecting the pieces together on how Minute mistakenly found out the truth. Breaking the silence is irresistible. “It was during the Zam Empire. Long before we met.”
Minute pauses from testing the temperature of the water, immediately freezing as he understands Wemmbu’s implications.
“I promise I’d never do that to you.” Wemmbu looks down at his own feet as he says it. He knows that it’s more of a promise to himself than to Minute. Flame had somehow convinced Minute of Wemmbu’s infidelity, but Minute didn’t have to know that it was partially true. As long as Wemmbu doesn’t let it happen again–and Jaden keeps silent–he would be fine.
“Okay.” Minute nods, lips pursed together as he turns off the tap. Wemmbu isn’t sure what to make of that reaction. Still, he strolls over to join Minute in the bathtub.
Their shower together is unexpectedly sweet, Minute gently shampooing Wemmbu’s hair, and tenderly helping him scoop out all of his release from earlier. Wemmbu thinks he dozes off once or twice, and somehow, he ends up in another guest bedroom, underneath clean covers and a soft mattress.
Beside him, Minute poignantly watches, tired but unable to rest, as Wemmbu snuggles into his chest, drifting off to sleep. The dim candlelight of the dark room illuminates Wemmbu’s face just right to reveal his peacefully closed eyes.
Now that the raging storm Minute had been suppressing for so long has been let out, he’s left in the remnants of his own emotions, a sad sense of acceptance taking over his soul. He knows that the enchantment of the obsidian necklace is still glowing inside Wemmbu’s ender chest, a telling sign he had set up to know if he had been disloyal.
A small, precautionary measure he had put together, just to ease himself of the doubts which often crept into mind whenever Wemmbu left for especially long trips in the overworld. He knew it was immoral, and felt a twinge of guilt at even questioning Wemmbu, but when he had seen the undeniable proof appear after his fight with Flame, he had been devastated.
Minute sighs out loud. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He silently decides then and there that he’s going to ask Wemmbu to give him the necklace, so he can get rid of the enchantment it’s encased in. Ignorance is bliss, and he’s learnt that the hard way.
He lowers his gaze from the ceiling to Wemmbu again, focusing on the subtle rise and fall of his chest with each breath taken.
Like this, Wemmbu looks tranquil; innocent. He’s not the blood-thirsty merciless mace wielder, or the stunning demon with waist-long purple hair. Instead, he’s just Wemmbu, the genuine, funny, yet witty version that Minute fell in love with.
Unbeknownst to himself, Minute places a loving kiss on top of Wemmbu’s head, just between his horns. As his own eyelids finally start feeling heavy, he finds himself smiling bittersweetly to himself.
Because despite everything, he knows how Wemmbu is. He knows that, some day in the future, Wemmbu will come back from a particularly long trip, and he’ll have a slight limp to his gait that’s hard to ignore. He’ll have foreign marks on his skin, hidden to the best of his abilities yet exposed when the time comes.
And even then, Minute knows that he would still sorrowfully welcome Wemmbu into his arms.