Chapter Text
War can do many things, from drafting to traumatizing fools who's mindsets weren't fit for the roles they were enforced in, their use was as good to be a meat shield and if they survived the injuries, you'd bet your ass that they'd get put up front as the first to die before those with actual use were to take hit.
Nightmare was lead in that battle,
And true to his nature, the prince led a charge into battle, just as he always had, it was a duty he never shirked away from.
But the spider webbed fracture marring his very socket left a grotesque testament to a near-fatal blow,
And here they were, in his tent, sitting still and carefully while his medic tended to his soon to be scar like all the others that littered his arms and thighs.
Ccino wiped the black goop from his skull, small cracks formed around the right socket as the smaller flinched away from the wet cloth. The socket throbbed and gushed more of the black liquid, it leaked and trailed it's harder to leave and Ccino pressed on the damaged bone firmly.
Nightmare scowled, objectively hissing every time the rag licked and rubbed against the injury,
He remained still as Ccino continued to clean his eye, the stinging pain becoming a dull throb compared to the magic radiating from the tallers hand. Ccino reached in his bag and grabbed the needed necessities to patch the others socket.
Intrusive thoughts came to mind yet he kept still, Ccino ripped a piece of banged from his supplies and looked directly at him.
"Keep still, this'll take a moment knowing you,"
'well fuck you too'
He didn't fight back, didn't even flinch as much as before as the bandages were now being partly secured. Ccino's brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line – a familiar expression of exasperated concern that Nightmare found both irritating and endearing.
There was a pregnant pause before the taller let out a sigh,
"You were reckless," Ccino finally said, his voice softer than the accusation suggested. "Do you even consider your own safety?”
“You already know where my stance is,”
“You lead from the front, yes I get that, but that doesn't mean you have to be the first one to fight, then stupidly receive damage like this,"
A slight smack from Ccino’s hand hit the back of Nightmares skull, it didn't hurt nor did it mean any intention of harming him.
Nightmare shifted, the hard cot beneath him creaking in protest. "Someone has to inspire them. Show not to be afraid to fight piss poor men who play arrogant when attempting rebellion."
"Inspiration doesn't require a near-fatal head wound, Nightmare. It requires strategy, thinking, not just charging in blindly and clashing weapons."
A furied look on Nightmares face appeared, “So you doubt ME–”
Ccino's fingers tightened momentarily on the bandage, Nightmare jerked his head away but Ccino held onto his skull tightly, his gaze gentle but firm. "I never doubt you or your ways of thinking, as it's kept thousands alive and defeated many. Without you, none of us would even be alive,”
Nightmare let out an annoyed hum, looking in the other direction with disinterest. His fingers tapping as Ccino chuckled.
"Honestly," Ccino continued, a playful lilt in his tone, "sometimes I think you enjoy getting hurt just so I can fuss over you."
A low growl rumbled in Nightmare's chest. "Don't be absurd." He shifted, the leather of his armor creaking softly. He hated this. Hated being coddled, hated being teased, hated the implication that he was reckless.
Ccino huffed, stepping back to survey his work. "Am I? Because it certainly seems that way. You think your title protects you, that your strength makes you invincible. But out here, in the thick of it, none of that matters. A stray arrow, a lucky strike of the blades – you're just as vulnerable as anyone else." His gaze softened, a flicker of genuine worry in his eyes. "Don't forget that."
Nightmare knew he was right. Titles meant nothing in the face of cold steel and brutal reality. And he knew Ccino was more than just a healer; he was a survivor, a sharp observer, someone who saw through the facade of power and bravado Nightmare often projected.
Ccino was someone before he was drafted to war, something he didn't want nor wished to do.
The day these two met was the day Nightmare would never forget. And just on instinct—
His arms stretched out.
his calloused fingers gently tracing the line of Ccino's jaw. "I won't forget that, not ever," he murmured, his voice rough. "But you worry too much. I'm not so easy to take down.”
Ccino caught one of his hands, holding it firmly. "I worry because I care," his voice barely whispers. "And because I know what you're capable of. You're a force of nature, Nightmare, but even forces of nature can be broken."
“I won't be broken as long as I have you at my side,”
Ccino chuckled, a warm, melodic sound that always managed to chip away at Nightmare's guarded exterior. His hands lingering long, tracing down the sharp angle of Nightmare's jaw.
Nightmare swallowed, his throat suddenly dry,
Ccino eyes twinkling with amusement. He stepped back, his gaze sweeping over Nightmare's armored form. "All patched up. The fabric shall do its work and your socket should be as good as new,"
But Nightmare wasn't feeling exactly "new."
He felt…stirred.
The lingering tenderness of Ccino's touch had ignited a flicker of heat in his legs, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. Like the negativity that would break at his bones if he wasn't careful with the amount he would need to release.
He heard footsteps leaving. Nightmare didn't want that. He reached out, grabbing Ccino's wrist before he could leave.
"Ccino," he rasped,
Ccino's breath hitched.
He knew that tone, knew the hunger that lurked behind Nightmare's socket. He turned and leaned close to his lover, his lips hovering just a breath away from Nightmare's.
"Yes?"
Nightmare tugged him closer, his other hand reaching up to unbuckle the clasp of his breastplate. The metal fell away with a soft clang, revealing the dark, tight fabric beneath.
"Tend to me," he murmured, his voice laced thick with desire.
It was a demand, not an ask.
Ccino hesitated before his fingers danced over the intricate fastenings of Nightmare's armor, slowly peeling and stripping away the layers of protection.
Plates clattered to the floor, discarded like Nightmares burdens. It was a slow, deliberate striptease, each movement a silent promise of what was to come.
Soon, only the black, legging, skin-tight bodysuit remained. Ccino's fingers traced the outline of Nightmare's hips, his touch sending shivers down the other's spine. He sent small sparks of magic to Nightmare's hips and pelvis.
Everything started to filled in as the fabrics stretched.
With final, deliberate movement, the taller tore the last fabric off swiftly, revealing the soft, vulnerable purple flesh beneath. Nightmare's hidden sex was now on full display.
And Ccino enjoyed every second, witnessing the joy beneath.
It was a beautiful sight to see, to hold such vulnerability, such sight, even in the battles of blood that stained both their hands.
Ccino trembled slightly, feeling his breath hitch. His fingers began exploring Nightmare's chest with gentle touches twords his nipples that caused the smallers body to twitch and squirm.
The prince groaned, arching his body into Ccino's touch. Feeling his soul thumping as excitement filled him, eager, wanting, needy.
Ccino pulled back enough to meet Nightmare's gaze, his own eyes dark and smoldering. "You're insatiable," he whispered, but there was no heat in his voice, only a soft grin of him being cocky.
Ccino would fulfil Nightmares needs, even if he couldn't fulfil his own.
He lowered his hand, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path down Nightmare's abdomen, pausing just below the waistband of his trousers. Nightmare's breath caught in his throat. He knew what was coming.
Ccino's fingers slipped inside, finding a familiar heat and softness. Nightmare groaned, his head falling back against the cot. The tent seemed to shrink, the sounds of the camp – the clanging of sounds and footsteps, the shouts and talks of soldiers – fading into a distant hum.
Ccino's touch was both gentle and demanding, teasing and possessive. He knew exactly what pleased Nightmare, knew how to navigate the complex landscape of his desires. He knew how to break through the barrier, how to unravel the tightly wound control that Nightmare maintained over himself.
He stroked his clitoris rhythmically, his eyes locked on Nightmare's face, watching the tension build, the carefully constructed mask crumble. A small smile shaped on his face as Nightmare's breathing became ragged, his body arching against the healer.
"That's it," Ccino murmured, his voice low and husky. "Let it go. Let me take care of you, show me the side I haven't seen in weeks."
Nightmare closed his eye, surrendering to the pleasure, to the intimacy, to the complete and utter trust he placed in this man. He let go of his thoughts, the war, the council, the facade of invincibility. He was just Nightmare, vulnerable, exposed, in the hands of the man he loved. He let Ccino guide him, control him, until he was nothing but a raw, pulsating need. And in that moment, surrounded by the chaos of war, he found a sliver of peace, a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.
He came quickly under Ccino’s touch.
…………
Nightmare was no stranger to violence; it was practically ingrained into his very being. His upbringing, far removed from the presence of his mother and brother.
The decisions that put him here were not of his own choosing.
It had been a relentless cycle of brutal training and harsh battlefields, surrounded by comrades and enemies alike. Titles and positions meant little to nothing; what truly mattered in the arts of conflict was his ability to fight, to survive, and break the enemies that would not keep at bay.
From the beginning, the dark prince, though loved by his mother, Queen Nim, was often overshadowed by his twin brother, Dream. He barely knew them, their relationship limited to brief updates and occasional small favors – insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It was difficult to comprehend having a family so consumed by their own happiness that they seemed oblivious to his existence.
This neglect made him vulnerable. His governess and ladies-in-waiting, while tending to his physical needs and early education, consistently failed to address his emotional distress and emotional needs. In a kingdom dominated by women, the birth of a male heir was met with an uproar, even hostility. Those women never bothered to hide their disdain.
He felt like a parasite, leeching off a luxury that wasn't rightfully his. Inferior in every sense.
But that didn't help nor prepare him for the future he was to encounter,
Nightmare was ten when he was presented to his mother's court alongside his twin. Before he could even speak, he was met with venomous whispers and disapproving stares. Overwhelmed by the pressure, he retreated to his quarters.
Soon after, his mother summoned him. The council had decided to use him as a pawn, nothing more. They would train him, sell him, and display their teachings, turning the young prince into a weapon, pushing his magic to its breaking point. His mother fought against the decision, but her objections were overruled, disregarded.
Though she held the title of queen, Nim was merely another piece on the chessboard, constrained by the rules set by the council. With Dream chosen as her heir, Nightmare's fate was left to the council, his existence deemed unnecessary to Dream's fairytale.
The twins possessed magic far surpassing that of any royal in generations. Yet, Nightmare never fit the mold of a traditional prince, unlike Dream, who charmed everyone with his naivety and innocent appearance. He was seen as a caring and doting boy, destined to rule – a destiny that vanished with their mother's passing.
Nightmare remembered his mother's decline. Her vibrant green skin, neatly kept hair, and captivating eyes faded as illness gripped her. Letters came and went, just like him. He never had time for frequent visits, even in his childhood, as the council kept him occupied with training or on the battlefield.
And while he and Dream were brothers by blood, Nightmare barely knew him, their connection limited to brief messages about their mother's deteriorating condition.
The last time Nightmare saw his mother, she was a bedridden husk, close to death. It was a sickening sight, but she had summoned him before she passed. She handed him a satchel and a map, detailing a route to safety, a truce to be made. She could no longer speak, but Nightmare understood her warning. It was time for him and Dream to run, to seek refuge in the distant desert regions, where another kingdom awaited. His life was on the line, with only his companion to patch the wounds inflicted, he had gotten a new scar for the cost of his eye.
. . . . . .
One must either be the brute or the adversary; he opted to be the brute. He was trained half his life for this. It was his only fate. Nightmare the unruly. Forever bound to the blood and murders.
Exhibiting hostility and violence despite his stature. Nightmare remembered having the final strength in his legs to twist and break the bastard's neck until the oh so sweet foolish brother had yanked him off before he had much time to move.
His soul was racing, he was immediately on his feet but Dream was right in front of the monster that had been hunting them down. Protecting him as if his life held any worth.
That distraction alone didn't help and Nightmare had finally lost his temper, letting go of all the built up frustrations onto his singular familiar left. Gripping at Dreams shoulders, shaking him violently.
Yelling at his twin.
The unwanted burden.
The thorn in his side.
The brat who had everything and never listened to him half the time.
Nightmare didn't mean it.
Yet he did.
The rotten filthy words that leave his mouth, they would never return back where they belonged.
Dream was just another individual that would come and go, leave him and never return. Save others and abandon him when Nightmare would no longer hold value.
Death had come for him more times than he could remember. He had let his guard down and didn't pay attention until a blade was thrown directly at them both, causing Nightmare to react fast. Shoving Dream down violently as the blade was nearly stabbed into Nightmares socket.
That bastard was still standing.
Nightmare wanted to strangle himself. The fucker before them, that unsettling expression, he hated that look.
"Alright, enough is enough," Killer said, the sound cracking through the tense atmosphere. "Let's wrap this up. I'm startin' to get bored."
He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, ignoring the damage Nightmare had done to his body earlier. The taller dusted himself off, and tilted his head at the two. "No need to hurt each other's feelings now, yeah?”
Right. The reminder of what Nightmare said, he couldn't take those words back.
But he wasn't going to let Killer win either by letting his guard down.
“Dream.” Nightmare's voice was low and commanding.
“Brother..?” He could hear the fear in Dreams' voice, yet Nightmares didn't falter and he didn't keep his eyes off Killer either. He could sense the other two bastards hiding either in or behind trees.
Nightmare took his satchel off before shoving it into Dreams arms.
“I need you to run, don't stop, don't look back, trust no one, use your magic if you have to. Read the map mother gave us and run.”
Those were the last words he said before pushing Dream harshly to the path they were going, Dream stubbled on his feet, almost falling before catching his balance and started running.
“Hey~, don't forget me buddy, we've got business to catch up on,”
Nightmare felt Killers breath on his neck, he turned around immediately.
. . . . .
Could this ever be called a fight??
Nightmare could feel the ragged breaths of the skeleton beneath him. Killer was strong, unusually so for someone of his stature, but Nightmare was fueled by a desperate rage that surpassed mere strength. He had to buy Dream time. Every second Killer was occupied with him was a second Dream was closer to getting away.
The forest floor was a muddy canvas of their struggle. Dirt and mud covered their clothes, leaves stuck to nightmares back while Killer’s black sleeveless shirt was ripped slightly.
Leaves crunched, small shrubs were flattened, and the air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood. Nightmare pressed the knife close, the edge biting into Killer's boney neck, a thin line of dark magic oozing out.
"Where's your crew?" Nightmare growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. His single good eye, a vibrant, piercing violet, glared down at Killer, while the other remained a milky, scarred ruin.
Killer let out a strangled raspy chuckle, the sound grating and unsettling. "Worried about your little brother? Should've kept a tighter leash, pretty prince."
Nightmare snarled and slammed Killer's face into the dirt as hard as he could.
He pressed the knife even harder, a thin trickle of magic and blood now flowing freely as it carved into the bone. "Tell me!"
Instead of fear, a strange, almost manic energy seemed to surge through Killer. He writhed beneath Nightmare, his movements jerky and unpredictable. "Oh, you want to know where my fuck heads are? You want to know what's coming for your precious brother?" His voice was laced with a delirious excitement that sent a shiver of disgust down Nightmare's spine.
Suddenly, Killer bucked with surprising force, managing to throw Nightmare off balance. In a swift, desperate maneuver, he twisted around, his bony fingers scrabbling for purchase. He managed to get a grip on Nightmare's wrist, the one holding the knife, and with a surge of adrenaline, he flipped their positions.
Killer was now on top, straddling Nightmare's chest, his expression one of wild, unhinged glee. He tried to wrench the knife away, but Nightmare's grip was like iron. A brutal struggle ensued, both of them straining against each other, their breath coming in ragged gasps.
Nightmare, despite being pinned, was undeniably stronger. He used his leverage to slowly turn the knife back, the blade now hovering precariously close to Killer's own throat. Killer's grin widened, a disturbing expression of pure, unadulterated madness.
"Is that it?" Killer hissed, his voice thick with a strange, breathless anticipation. "Are you going to kill me? Go on, little prince. Do it!"
Nightmare hesitated, repulsed by the pure, unadulterated thrill that shone in Killer's empty eye sockets. He had killed before, but this… this was different. He was desperate. Dream was his priority, and if those two other bounty hunters were anything like this asshat, then Dream was in dire danger.
This wasn't a battlefield nor a map to scan areas out, this wasn't the cold, calculated violence of war; this was something far more disturbing, something that resonated with a darkness Nightmare had tried to bury deep within himself.
"Just tell me where they are," he repeated, his voice strained.
Killer threw his head back and laughed, a high-pitched, almost hysterical sound. "Nope!"
Something shattered, like glass. A disgusting feeling that was now fueled in his bones, caused his body to shake.
Fueled by a sudden surge of rage and revulsion, Nightmare finally snapped. He released the knife, using the momentum to grab Killer’s skull, slamming his face down into the muddy ground. The sickening crunch of bone and earth filled the air.
Killer went limp, his laughter abruptly cut short. For a moment, Nightmare simply knelt there, panting, his body trembling with the aftermath of the fight. He felt a perverse satisfaction at silencing that manic glee, but it was quickly overshadowed by a cold, gnawing dread. He was wasting time.
He grabbed Killer by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him back to a relatively clear patch of ground. Killer groaned, stirring slightly. His face was a mess of dirt and blood, and his eye sockets seemed to be cracked.
"Listen carefully," Nightmare said, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't have time for this. Dream is gone, and if your friends are following him, I will hunt them down and make you regret ever being born."
Killer coughed, spitting out a mouthful of black liquid. He looked up at Nightmare, his expression still disturbingly gleeful despite his injuries. "Oh, I highly doubt that, princess."
He grabbed Killer by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him back to a relatively clear patch of ground. Killer groaned, stirring slightly. His face was a mess of dirt and blood, and his eye sockets seemed to be cracked.
Nightmare knew he couldn't simply kill Killer. Dust and Horror were still out there, and killing their partner would only make them more determined to hunt Dream down. He needed a different solution, something that would buy Dream more time, something that would keep Killer and his companions occupied.
His composure was starting to break like earlier, and his body shook.
An idea, dark and desperate, began to form in his mind. It was a gamble, a dangerous one, but he was out of options.
"I have a proposition for you," Nightmare said, his voice carefully controlled.
Killer raised a cracked eye socket, a flicker of curiosity replacing the madness. "Oh? Do tell."
"I have money," Nightmare said, his voice flat. "More than you and your friends have ever been paid. And… other resources." He let the implication hang in the air.
Killer licked his teeth, the black liquid barely being cleaned off, a predatory glint returning to his eye sockets. "Go on…"
"I will give you everything," Nightmare continued, his voice thick with disgust. "My money, my… body. My chastity, Everything. In exchange, you and your friends will leave Dream alone. You will let him go, and you will tell your king that you failed once this trip is over.”
Killer was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he let out a slow, deliberate chuckle. "Interesting. Very interesting indeed."
"So, do we have a deal?" Nightmare asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Killer reached up, his fingers tracing the line of blood trickling down Nightmare's jaw. "I think we do, princess. I think we have a very… interesting deal."
Nightmare closed his good eye, bracing himself for what was to come. He had sacrificed everything for Dream, his freedom, his dignity, even his own body. He could only pray that it would be enough.
"But don't think this means I like you," Killer continued, his voice low and menacing. "I still hate you. I still want to tear you apart. To see you squirm and die by my hands. This is just business, a form of entertainment that just so happens to spike my interest. Understand?"
Nightmare opened his eye, his gaze meeting Killer's with a cold, hard intensity. "understood."
The deal was struck. A pact forged in blood, and mutual loathing. It was a desperate gamble, a descent into darkness, but Nightmare was willing to pay any price to protect his brother. He just hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
. . . .
“It's done,”
As the deal was sealed, Nightmare felt a shiver run down his spine. He had never been one to back down from a fight, but this was different. This was a surrender, a sacrifice of his own desires and dignity for the sake of his brother's safety. He steeled himself for what was to come, knowing that it would be a brutal and heated encounter.
Killer, on the other hand, seemed to be reveling in the moment. His sockets seemed to gleamed with a manic energy. He reached out and grasped Nightmare's wrist, his bony fingers closing around it like a vice.
“Consent,”
Did he hear correctly just now? A look of confusion came to him as he looked at Killer with disbelief.
Killer’s words didn't seem pleased anymore. He was more serious than ever and his grip tightened on Nightmare's wrist.
“ I'm not that type of sicko, I need your consent first before I take action.” He forced Nightmare’s head up, and the dark prince saw Killer's jaw clenched. Killer’s eye sockets leaked with hate once more as he waited for a response.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then that's fine, money is always the option to go for anyway,”
He wanted to break Killers arm. but he pushed his feelings aside. He had made a deal, and he would see it through to the end. He nodded, his good eye never leaving Killer's face.
“I consent.”
Killer grins, and he pulled Nightmare close. Their bodies clashed, the impact sending a shockwave through Nightmare's entire being. Magic was forming and he felt himself being pulled down by Killer's weight.
The forest around them was silent, the only sound was the heavy breathing of the two. The air was thick, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of their mutual loathing. Some of it was desperate.
. . . .
As they moved together, their bodies seemed to be fueled by a desperate, violent energy. It was a clash of wills, a battle of strength and desire. Nightmare felt himself being consumed, his body responding to Killer's touch despite his own revulsion.
It was a moment of pure, unadulterated lust, a moment that seemed to transcend their hatred for each other. Nightmare felt himself losing control, his body surrendering to the pleasure that Killer was inflicting upon him.
And yet, even as he felt himself being pulled under, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was making a terrible mistake. That he was sacrificing too much, that he was giving up a part of himself that he could never get back.
It was too late, his vow, his chastity, his value, it was all gone and he was too lost in the pleasure to care. He made the decision.
The rough bark of the ancient forest pressed against Nightmare’s back, a stark contrast to the searing heat coiling within him. Killer’s grip was a vice, his skeletal fingers digging into Nightmare’s hips, anchoring him as if to ensure he couldn’t escape the torment, the pleasure, that was being relentlessly inflicted. It was a desperate, violent energy that fueled their bodies, a primal clash of wills that tasted of pure, unadulterated lust.
Nightmare’s single good eye, a swirling vortex of deep amethyst, was clenched shut, but he could feel Killer’s grin, sharp and predatory, against his cheek. Each thrust was a question, a demand, and Nightmare’s breath hitched, a strained groin escaping his teeth. He hated this. He hated Killer. He hated the way his own body betrayed him, the way it thrummed with a desperate need that belied the icy loathing in his soul.
“Fuck. Fuck. Damn it.”
Killer’s words, a low growl laced with a cruel amusement, were a brutal affirmation of Nightmare’s surrender. He forced Nightmare to face him. Killer’s eye sockets burned with an almost manic glee, a reflection of the twisted desire that held them both captive.
The memory of Ccino was a distant, almost forgotten whisper. Ccino was always different. Gentle, almost reverent, coaxing pleasure from Nightmare with a soft touch and whispered promises. He had been a slow, deliberate seduction, a buildup of exquisite sensation that had left Nightmare breathless and wanting. But this… this was a conflagration. Killer was a wild predator with experience, consuming everything in his path, and Nightmare found himself caught in the corner with a dick jabbing and stabbing his walls in the best spots possible,
Killer’s movements became more demanding, his rhythm becoming a more brutal, insistent beat. Nightmare’s body bucked against him, a reluctant dance of pleasure and pain. He felt control fraying, unraveling with terrifying speed. His vision swam with dark, pulsing patterns, the sounds of their ragged breaths and the thudding of bodies against each other echoing in the oppressive darkness.
Killer rasped, his voice rough as noises escaped his mouth. Muttering curse words.
Nightmare felt himself quietly enjoying it.
the raw truth of it, sent a fresh wave of shame and something disturbingly akin to arousal through him. He had wanted this. He’d wanted it with a desperation that disgusted him.
He was trained not to value his libido, nor sexual encounters. But he broke those rules when Ccino became his lover and he broke them again when deciding to lose his virginity to someone below his status.
THe’d broken every vow, every principle, every ounce of his carefully guarded chastity and value. It was a sacrifice, a terrible one, but it was his decision. And now, lost in this consuming heat, he couldn’t even muster the regret he felt he should.
Killer’s possessive grip tightened.
Nightmare’s body arched again, a helpless cry tearing from his throat. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave crashing over him, drowning out the hatred, the disgust, the fear. It was too much, too intense, and yet, he craved it, needed it, until he felt he would shatter.
Killer’s rough hands found their way to Nightmare’s hips, his touch more a demand than a caress. He angled Nightmare’s body, forcing him into a more compromising position against the rough bark.
With a guttural growl, Killer drove into Nightmare with renewed force, a raw, unyielding power that stole Nightmare’s breath. Nightmare’s good eye widened, a gasp escaping his lips as a searing wave of pleasure washed over him, eclipsing all other sensations.
It was too much, too hot, too overwhelming. He felt himself spiraling, losing himself in the dizzying pleasure that Killer so brutally, so expertly, inflicted. The hatred was still there, a smoldering ember beneath the surface, but for this moment, it was eclipsed by a molten, consuming desire.
As the encounter reached its climax, Nightmare felt a wave of pleasure wash over him. It was a feeling that was both intense and terrifying, Killer pulled his cock out immediately and came on his bare stomach.
And when it was finally over, Nightmare laid there, his body trembling with the aftermath. He felt empty, hollow, as if he had been drained of everything that made him who he was.
Killer, on the other hand, seemed to be basking in the glow of their encounter. He lay beside Nightmare, his chest heaving with exertion as he laid on his back, out of breath his eyes gleaming with a satisfied energy.
As the darkness closed in around him, Nightmare couldn't shake the feeling that he had just made a terrible mistake. That he had sacrificed too much, that he had given up a part of himself that he could never get back. He could only hope that it would be enough to keep Dream safe, that it would be enough to protect his brother from the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
The cold night air did little to settle the lingering warmth that coiled in Nightmare’s nonexistent stomach. He remained curled on his side, the damp forest floor a stark contrast to the heat that had only moments ago thrummed between him and Killer. Killer’s words, laced with that familiar, unnerving casualness, floated in the heavy silence.
"I'll let you recover before we are to chase them down." Killer had said, his voice a low rumble that still resonated in Nightmare’s ribcage. "They're slower than your brother surprisingly."
The mention of Dream sparked a familiar spark of protective instinct, even now. He felt Killer’s gaze, sharp and detecting, tracing the outline of his form. Killer, ever observant. Killer, who could be so terrifyingly violent one moment and disconcertingly calm the next.
The bastard was now hard to predict, where's the damn mockery, the evil smile, this bastard now was a calm creepy bug eyed bitch with unknown intentions after a hastey fuck.
Killer shifted beside him, a rustle of bone and dirty ripped fabric. Then, something soft and surprisingly warm settled over Nightmare’s bare back. He tensed, expecting a jab, a taunt. Instead, it was the tattered cloak Killer often wore, now draped with care to shield Nightmare from the air. It held the faint, musky scent of decay and sweat, a smell that was both repulsive and, lately, disturbingly familiar.
Nightmare didn't turn. The raw, exposed feeling of the aftermath was too much. Killer’s touch, even one of simple act of a bristle, felt like a brand. He hated this, hated the vulnerability that crept in after their… encounter. He hated that Killer, of all beings, could elicit such a response from him.
And he's terrified and angry at what the taller will do next. He remained still, the cape a solid weight against his back. Dream was safe, he reminded himself. That was all that mattered. The task ahead, the pursuit of those who dared to threaten his brother, would come. But for now, in the quiet darkness, with Killer’s unwanted gentleness a tangible presence, Nightmare could only endure. His magic, usually a wellspring of power, felt sluggish, muted. He felt… undone. And a part of him, a part he despised, found a strange, unsettling comfort in the steady presence beside him.