He wasn’t sure when he passed out or why- maybe it was blood loss, maybe exhaustion- but the Host came too with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, a splitting headache, and feeling as if he were encased in ice.
A few bewildered narrations escaped his mouth as he struggled to piece together the foggy memories and snatches of voices floating around his head.
“Awake, are you?” Everything came flooding back at the sound of Dark’s voice and the Host fought as the entity’s arms constricted around him, but his fists struck uselessly against Dark’s shoulders and chest.
“Host- ugh- Host! Calm yourself.” Dark grabbed at the Host’s wrists, managing to still him. “You’re safe. You’re safe. It’s just me.”
“Dark-” the Host stammered, hot fury coursing through him. “Dark- don’t touch me- Dark- Dark left the Host-”
“I did no such thing,” Dark interrupted, then his voice softened, and he let go of the Host’s wrists. “You had a vision. I found you in your library. And you’re lucky I did. You almost bled to death, Host. How many times have I told you not to overwork yourself?”
Dark hadn’t left him. He hadn’t thrown the Host to the floor. Hadn’t mocked and ridiculed him.
The Host was so overwhelmed by relief that he couldn’t formulate a reply. He only buried his head in Dark’s chest and heaved a shuddering sigh. After a moment he began to mumble rapidly to himself.
“Don’t cry, Host. It’s unbecoming.” Despite his tone, he didn’t push the Host away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the Host again and pulled him closer, rubbing soothing circles on his back. When he spoke again, there was a hint of smile to his voice. “You’re going to bleed all over my shirt.”
The Host managed a soft laugh that quickly dissolved into more narrations. “Please don’t leave.”
“Why would I?” Was Dark’s only response, and he didn’t protest when the Host clutched him closer.
They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound being the Host’s muttering, drifting through the still air.
Host is tired. His wings and his back ache, his eyes bleed, his narrations force themselves forward rapidly and harshly. He’s tired and he wants to sleep. The day has been long, his latest project proving to be more difficult than he had originally intended. Numerous times he has requested Dark, Bim, and Wilford read over the script he is creating for it. Though they insist he’s doing well, the Host’s craving for this project to turn out perfectly nags him into redoing and starting over more than he needs to.
Now his brain hurts, his eyes ache, and he wants his bed.
He makes his way carefully to his room, avoiding any of the egos still up and about as though they’re some kind of plague. His wings stay drawn close to his sides despite the fact they just want to stretch. When he finally approaches the door to his room, his safe haven, he wants to scream when he hears voices. It takes him much to long to realize just who those voices belong to, and the moment he does he relaxes with a soft sigh.
It was pouring. The sky was dark. It was a setting Author had placed many of his characters into, dark and dreary nights with pouring rain that battered down even the sharpest of wits and mightiest wills. Rain seemed to drain all hope; that’s why he had always used it. To show his characters there was nothing to hope for.
But those days were over. Long gone, just like his eyesight. Hell, the only way he knew that it was raining was because of the sound that he heard even inside his recording booth, making him stop in the middle of his newest story and comment to his listeners about the rain. He had stopped, listening to light pattering become the noise of fat droplets striking down upon the roof. Then, the story continued.
He knew it was dark because the man across to him only came at night. His schedule was too busy for anything else.
He knew from the sounds that Dark sat in a chair across from him, his aura a muted creaking groan that accompanied the rain. The usual ringing was thankfully absent. From his narrations, Host could see Dark was paler than usual, his aura a wave of red, blue and black. The aura cracked and whipped out in spikes like lightening bolts, but did nothing to harm the shelves of books around him. It was distracting. Host could almost see the silhouettes of two- three people?- tied, mushed together in the conglomerate that was flaring around Dark in violent screams, whipping around him-
“Stop moving,” Host finally said, breaking the comfortable almost-silence they had nearly perfected.
Dark tilted his head to the side. Host heard his neck crack. It sounded like lightning splitting wood.
“I’m not moving-“
“Your aura.” Host grimaced. He touched his bandages, which were thankfully still dry.
Dark must’ve done something, since soon his aura was much more… contained. Without another word, the man stood, and Host narrated every step as Dark flicked his wrist, a teapot materializing in his hand. Host smiled. It was always nice to have Dark around, to be able to freely use magic without having to worry about any consequences. The perks of having Dark as a friend.
Host pulled a teacup into existence, and narrated as Dark poured him a glass of sweet smelling tea before taking a seat. Then, back to silence. Host sipped the tea, bitter at first but too much sugar gave it a saccharine aftertaste. It was Darks preference, so he never bothered to ask him to change it.
Besides, the tea was like Dark. Bitter, gritty, overly sweet, but familiar. Warm. Like coming home.
At first, the visits were always to ask Host for something. Glimpses into the future, changes to reality, things that tested Host’s newfound powers. Every time, he would ask Dark to make his aura move less, and Dark would listen.
Then, he came to borrow books, then, for tea and magic late at night after long days. Familiarity, warmth. Two things that Host would never had associated Dark with, until he got to know him.
More silence as Dark moved his chair closer to Hosts, so now their knees bumped together. Host felt the coldness of Darks aura wrap around him as the entity leaned forward, wrapping Host up in a hug. Host didn’t ask, didn’t break the precious silence like the raindrops or the thunder, but instead pulled Dark close.
Neither of them moved. Host felt the tea in his cup grow cold, but stayed still, feeling cold all over from Darks touch. Their chests rose and fell with synchronized breaths. Host was the first to move, forcing the teacup out of existence and moving his hand to comb through the strands of Darks hair.
Thunder from outside shook them, but together they were steady. Familiar, warm. Home.
Dark gave up on his attempts at flying, really flying, a long time ago. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still go out and sit in a tree to watch Host soar through the sky, diving down only to swoop back up at last minute. They had, with a little time, become friends. Where previously there had been only awkward encounters and a very clear, “I only talk to you because we need to work together,” air to every conversation, there was now a sense of familiarity and safety when the two came to spend time with one another.
Some days they would sit in the sun, Dark ever-so-gently cleaning Host’s wings while they talked about menial things. The weather, Host’s boyfriends, Wilford’s latest (unsuccessful) escapades. They never discussed business, never brought up the breaking and cracking of Dark’s shell that was always soothed by the end of their time spent together. They never brought up things that would end with them being tense, they only discussed what made them… happy.
Host would talk about his doctor and his android, a smile on his lips as his wings slowly began to fluff up happily at the thought of his lovers. Dark would listen with a smile on his own face, amused by the reaction the mere mention of the two seemed to cause. Host could go on for hours at a time about them, and Dark was always oddly willing to listen. Sometimes it makes Host wonder if Dark wants something like he has, a little love in his life. Host never asks, though, and Dark never tells.
Though their wings are different, they’re friends closer than anything. Their loyalty to one another grows strong, and soon they’re practically attached at the hip. Their friendship grows with every encounter, every day spent preening and talking. The Host is happy, really and truly happy, for the first time in a long time. He has a family now, a family that loves and protects him, and while it’s new he knows he’ll do anything to protect them in return.
No one is sure how Host ended up as a child. It baffles everyone, but they decide to just make do until a solution presents itself. The small boy with fluffy, downy wings, is undeniably adorable, Edward decides as he picks Host up to carry him down to the kitchen for lunch.
Host coos and chirps at him, wings flapping in excitement as Edward mentions chicken nuggets for lunch. Edward laughs softly, shutting one eye as one wing flaps upward and smacks the side of his face. “Host, try and control those wings of yours for me?” He requests, smiling as the child blushes and tucks his wings back to his sides. “Sorry Eddie.” The child huffs, and Edward places a gentle kiss on his head.
“It’s alright, Host. You didn’t mean to.” Host bounces back, then, feathers smoothing from where they had puffed up while the child pouted. He grins blindly up at Edward, begin to wriggle excitedly again when they reach the kitchen and he can smell the nuggets. Bim giggles at the sight of the small owl boy in Doc’s arms, watching the doctor settle Host down at the table.
“Who’s ready for some chicken nuggies?” Bim coos, carrying the plate over and dramatically placing it down in front of Host. Host lets out a thrilled screech which is less cute but definitely in tune with the bird of which his wings originate.
The child settles in to eat, and Edward heads off to continue his work covering how to get Host back to normal.
((*jingle* one of these things isn’t like the others!))
Anti’s wings were that of a giant beasts, skin stretched over delicate bones, looking as if they could break in seconds, despite the fact that they were the strongest bones he had. Host knew exactly how to get what he wanted, just from playing with his wings.
The ridges along the top, Host discovered, was an especially sensitive spot, and he found that out and ended up bent over the couch. That was a fun spot to mess with.
That’s what he found himself doing. Bandages off, carefully grooming Anti’s wings. Anti was purring, leaning into his touch, and that’s when Host smirked, unseen by Anti and traced along the top ridges of his wings.
Anti’s purr became a growl, and Host shifted, tracing the top ridges again, dodging Anti’s pounce, dropping to his knees in front of the questioning demon.
“Anti… Anti, please.” Host tilted his head up at him, Anti tilted his head a moment, before grinning, understanding, moving a hand into Host’s hair, struggling with his pants to get them off. Host grinned, leaning into his hand slightly.
The moment he could, Anti thrusted into Host’s eye socket, hand holding his hair tightly. Host gasped, clinging to Anti as he did. Anti gave no pause, no slow build up, just quick and rough, something rare when they did this with Host.
Host was loud, moans echoing around the room, Anti only going harder and faster as Host got louder. Blood dripped from his eye socket, drool down his chin. Anti smirked.
“Such a good boy, look at you, covered in your own blood, letting me fuck you like this. You’re such a good little slut for me, aren’t you?” Anti’s voice was more a growl, deep in his throat. Host cried out softly, moving his hand down to his crotch, rocking his hips up against his hand. He came in moments, but Anti held him up by his hair, continuing the brutal pace.
Host just got louder, voice cracking, still rocking his hips up against his hand. Anti smirked, tightening his grip a moment, thrusts getting rougher, faster as he got close.
“Oh, such a good little fuck toy.” Host whimpered at the nickname, grabbing onto Anti’s leg, cumming again.
Anti purred, softly, stroking his hair back, thrusting in as far as he could go as he came, shuddering slightly. Host nearly purred, collapsing back onto the bed, shaking slightly.
Anti took a second to recover, then moved over to the bathroom, grabbing as washcloth, cleaning himself off, then cleaning off Host’s face carefully.
“Hey love… Say something for me, alright, so I know you’re still in there.”
“Mmm…” Host shifted a moment. Anti smiled.
“There you are… This is gonna be a bitch of lecture from Henrik…”
emptynarration 