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Mob’s burgeoning relationship with Verity had grown incredibly tense since he murdered Twixxel.
The last vestiges of Twixxel’s presence in this world were in the books he’d messily scrawled in. His last traces were also drying from a strong garnet red to as brown as the dirt it was splattered on, but thinking of that felt too taxing on Mob's already fragile psyche.
It was dangerous to be here, but after Twixxel was killed - murdered, coldly and spontaneously - coming to any structures made by his friend brought Mob a bit of peace in Verity’s chaotic world, as well as a maelstrom of discomfort. Verity would be livid if he found Mob here, lying among a knowledge bank of all the trial and error it took to invoke Verity’s death. Maybe, Mob thought generously, his anger wouldn’t extend to the fact that Mob was trying to get rid of him again - the little bastard was so smug that Mob was pretty sure he thought himself immortal - maybe he would just be mad that Mob was in a room created by someone he was so jealous of.
Someone that he had seen as an obstacle rather than another human, as something to be in competition with for Mob’s attention rather than accepting the simple fact that he was there first, and had more stake over Mob than Verity ever would. Verity’s covetous feelings towards Mob stirred up a whole slew of complicated implications that hurt Mob’s head to think about, and he wanted nothing more than to slam his thoughts into a database and delete them like a corrupted code.
Mob thought belatedly that Verity might even stop taking pity on him, or whatever he feels for him, and gnaw him in half. He was so deluded with himself that he even considered it a courtesy, if only Verity would!
Because Mob couldn’t foresee the distance that Verity’s envious gaze encompassed, it was just Verity and Mob again. There is nothing better for Verity to do than come looking for him. There’s nothing he would rather do then come looking for him, revealed to Mob by Verity's invasive squandering of what little alone time he sought with Twixxel.
Verity could not stand the idea that Mob could rely on someone else for companionship, or that he would rather seek out someone real.
Mob was possibly betting his life by staying down here, which was becoming heftier with each trip to this den. Despite Verity’s omnipotence, he seemed none the wiser to what Mob’s day trips were really about. As long as Mob brought home a sufficient amount of animal hide and broken oak logs.
Their dynamic felt like a cheap plastic copy of what it previously was.
Mob wouldn’t describe Verity as altruistic, but it was charitable that he was giving him some time to himself. He didn’t talk a lot, watching quietly as Mob went out of his way to direct his cold shoulder in the sphere’s direction.
It was dedication on Verity’s part. Endurance. His passiveness was a display of affection, and knowing what the alternative was made Mob feel lightheaded if he thought about it for too long.
Verity’s misdeed brought up a lot of old malcontent feelings in Mob. He never got over his companion trying to kill him, even if he felt that Verity was too codependent to go to such lengths with him anymore. He had still tried! And no matter how much they bonded, it was incredibly hard to fully trust someone that chased you across a mountainscape.
Mob tucked his face into his hands. His fingernails raked down his face, tucking his oversized turtleneck below his chin to finally catch his breath, a breath free from beady eyes.
He felt lost.
“Goddammit, Twixxel,” Mob rumbled, slack hands finding the book on the lectern in front of him, and haphazardly flipping through the mostly blank pages for the umpteenth time. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this..?”
Mob thought that all the repeated words at the end of the book might be the names of other people who had had Verity. That helped him about as much as wearing sunglasses indoors. He searched this place up and down, almost tearing the entire bunker apart in his search for more tangible information regarding Verity’s mortality, just to find that all roads led right back to the book in his grip.
Mob was spooked out of his thoughts by a sound he had dreaded, the crackle-pop of sinew sliding bones into place, of old joints hissing under the reflexes of its possessor.
No, Mob thought, among a slew of curses.
Mob’s body twisted on its own, animated by the sudden release of adrenaline poisoning his blood.
His stomach dropped.
Brittle and gaunt stared back at him. Verity had to hunch over in the three block space, making him take up so much more room to try to fit into the small bit allotted to him. He didn’t fit down here because he wasn’t supposed to be here, but Verity always pushed until he got what he wanted, didn’t he?
He was fully blocking the exit. Mob stared longingly over Verity’s shoulder at the ladders he placed for easier transit. Verity didn’t move as Mob stepped back, his lower back connecting with the lectern and forcefully pushing a hiss from him.
“Mob.”
“Verity,” Mob responded, hushed and spilling with warning. “Don’t be pissed.”
This form of Verity - still yet to be named by either party - couldn’t articulate many emotions. His thin lips stuck to his gums, mouth shiny with spit, but silent aside from his heavy breathing. He didn’t say a lot when he was like this, but Mob knew that this time he was baiting Mob into talking.
It was working, as begrudged as Mob found himself to admit it. His lips worked dryly, pressing into various vowel shapes before he finally found his oral footing. “Verity, please don’t be pissed - I was just… I’m just…”
The small shimmer in Verity’s concave, beady eyes shifted, and Mob knew, mouth flooded with saliva and bile, that he was reading the signs around the room.
Mob stuffed his hand in his hair and ran it through his locs when a deep hum roared from within Verity’s chest. He flinched.
“Okay, so I don’t have an excuse. I- I don’t care if you liked Twixxel or not, okay, he was - is - my best friend! Dead or not, I would choose him over you any freaking day!”
He was shoving his own boot in his mouth, but Mob couldn’t stop talking. He was dying out here, floundering as badly as a fish out of water. “You can’t be mad that I’m mad at you forever, you know? And since you know everything, you should have known that I would wanna get rid of you after hurting Twixxel, right?”
All Mob could hear was his own panting after his rant, and for the first time since he saw Verity he took a proper, filling breath.
Mob blinked, and Verity was on him.
Verity shoved Mob into the lectern, managing to spin him around before grinding his face into the open pages on the podium. Mob’s ribs creaked under the force of the blow, knocking the breath from Mob’s solar plexus and suffocating him on his own gasp.
“How are you so freaking strong?” Mob rasped, caging his arms on either side of the lectern. By bracing himself, he assumed he could use his core strength to buck the humanoid off. For his efforts, his face was shoved into the book on the lectern, crinkling its pages beneath his cheek.
It appeared, with the way things are going, that Verity is not in a talkative mood, for once. All of Mob’s vocal efforts would be in vain, but fear and adrenaline are too powerful of a cocktail to adhere to logical thought. Again, he tried to push himself up, almost whinging as he said, “Verity, what the hell did I do? Maybe I needed- Ever think that maybe I need a break from you?!”
“I don’t want to have to remind you to keep your mouth shut, Mob, but,” Verity said, voice so deep and rattling that Mob’s eardrums went numb, “let this be a lesson on insolence.”
If Verity hadn’t already figured out why this bunker existed, or who made it, then it wouldn’t be hard to conclude after Mob’s verbal suicide. That must infuriate the thing, but Mob was hard pressed to think about Verity’s feelings when he was shoving his pants down.
Shoving his pants down?
Mob was so stunned by the action that he completely ceased all movement for a few seconds before fear struck him so abruptly that his limbs turned gooey. Mob fought back against the entity with renewed force, thrashing his chest any way he could to escape his companion. It wasn’t working. Verity leaned onto Mob, crushing him under his weight.
“You sick, sickly sicko!” Mob grunted, and he again tried and failed to flank out of Verity’s grasp. He pressed one large, cold hand into the small of his back to hold him down, which was all the behemoth needed to do in order to trap Mob. No matter where Mob tried to place a kick he was at a disadvantage because he was bent over, and Verity was just too fast for him to properly catch with a shin basher.
The worst part of it all is Mob didn’t even know the monster could feel arousal. Mob had seen him, standing in all his muted yellow glory, in nothing but his birthday suit. He had… Well, Mob hadn’t seen anything there. He was bashful to admit he looked.
It is insane to think that Verity had genitals, and the insane questions it posed in regards to his origins. Were there more Verities out there, do they replicate and mate and spread like the virus Mob is starting to suspect that he is?
The scariest possibility was that Verity had given it to himself - he hadn’t seen anything down there. This was starting to feel like another power play from the monster, just like his first attempt at Mob’s life had been. Just that now, he was after something much more important, philosophically speaking - Mob’s dignity.
“You’re mine, Mob,” Verity said with the conviction of a dying man uttering prayer, so sure in its factuality that it brought honest tears to Mob’s eyes.
“You can’t-”
“I can. I will, and you’ll remember what we have together. What I can give you that no one else can.”
He could feel it now, he could feel everything. Verity’s skin, which he assumed would be leather and grainy, felt smooth over his rump. It was far too cold to feel soft, but if Verity had warmed up a little before putting Mob in this position, he may consider it so. It was incredibly thin, and Mob almost thought delicate suited his physical appearance adequately, until his nose was shoved against the pages of a book that claimed Verity didn’t want to hurt him.
Whoever Twixxel got that information from had to have been full of shit.
Mob’s eyes stung with stray tears that rehydrated and smudged Twixxel’s inked lettering across the page. Mob wanted to sob outright when he realized he was ruining his friend’s - his best friend’s - last imprint in his world.
“I hhh-hate you, Verity,” Mob said, voice strained and throat burning with the effort it took to hold back a sob. He always thought of himself as strong, or at least emotionally fortified. Verity was undoing him like a loose knot, and it hit Mob that he was never as strong as he gave himself credit for. Verity always knew how to get right under Mob’s skin, how to push his buttons and string him into a false sense of security before brutally reminding Mob that he was not predictable.
Verity’s drool ran over the page and mixed with Mob’s own tears and Twixxel’s writing. It was almost like a threesome, and the thought was so absurd to Mob that he almost cackled aloud.
Hot, foul smelling breaths swept over Mob’s forehead in waves. It reminded the man all too well of glass splintering his clothes as Verity smashed his face through the window overseeing his bed at the lookout tower. It raised his hackles, spread goosebumps over his skin and gave Verity some pause.
Mob could feel Verity’s thick cock resting over the arch of his ass. It was slimy and heavy along the dip of his spine, almost spongy in its texture. It was damn near relieving that Verity had a weird tentacle dick instead of something humanoid. It took Mob out of his skin a little, which felt better than being grounded to this moment.
Verity’s hips were pressed right against Mob’s posterior, his long fingers webbing around Mob’s iliac crest with bruising force.
A familiar feeling prickled at the back of Mob’s mind. He was being studied again, considered with too much attention that may have been flattering when things were going good.
“Mob,” Verity pleaded, and the man under him jolted. He didn’t know Verity could take on that tone of voice when he was like this, that he could almost sound like himself.
“Oh, God, stop,” Mob responded.
“Are you scared?”
“Are you fucking- Are you - Are you kidding?”
Mob grit his teeth. His companion had a way of extracting information from Mob without even really trying. All he had to do was step back after sending Mob into a spiral, and Mob was mentally putty.
The fresh scent of death subsided, and Mob risked a peek over his shoulder in time to find Verity bending down. His eyebrows folded into each other, but Verity struck lightning quick, quicker than it took for neurons to fire and form a conclusion, and Verity’s slick tongue flattened against the inseam of his ass, and dragged upwards.
Mob had never felt anything like it before.
To be touched languidly, or anywhere near his buttocks, was a unique kind of humiliation. Embarrassment and arousal struck him so fast that his head felt like it was shoved in an oven, cheeks burning as he gripped the lectern with one hand, and his locs with the other. All he could focus on was his hot face, sliding his hand over his dark skin just to make sure it wasn’t melting off, as irrational as that thought was.
“Ver-er-erity,” Mob gasped. His body instinctually jerked away, but Verity easily dragged him back without fussing. Mob was a doll in his hands.
Verity was so fucking evil.
Mob’s skin was feverish, and with each press of Verity’s slick tongue to his puckered hole the man shuddered and whined. It felt like Verity’s spit was corrosive acid melting his skin and making him hot, hot, hot.
Again, Mob’s head dropped, this time sinking down into his sleeve. He somehow got the childish idea that if he couldn’t see what was happening, then it wasn’t happening at all.
Verity was helping Mob again, extending another olive branch. The rogue algorithm had already made up its mind, and it was at this point that Mob couldn’t stop Verity, but Verity would lessen the blow, and prepare him for the next steps. Just as he had the first time Verity revealed himself like this.
A nostalgic feeling curdled in Mob’s chest. He missed the times right before he spilled his anxieties to Twixxel, when it was just Verity and Mob.
The monster’s tongue was demanding, plunging in and out of Mob as it extracted the man’s arousal, and brought a painful throbbing to his loins. Mob didn’t know if his tongue was obscenely long or if it just felt that way because he had no previous measure for objects stuffing his ass before.
Verity’s jaw clicked as it unhinged further, a sound that brought another wave of humiliation boring down on Mob’s shoulders. It turned hot and wanting in his belly because of Verity’s tongue delving further. Mob felt as the tip of his companion’s tongue flexed, prodding his insides, searching for-
“Oh no- no no no, Verity!” Mob cursed, hips twitching. Shame choked a sob out of him, but lust and Verity’s groping hands kept him pinned against the lectern.
Of course Verity knew how to get him off untouched. He knew everything.
Mob could feel Verity’s imploring grin turn smug and shit eating. That was his checkmate, the tender area inside Mob’s ass that reduced him to his most primal, uninhabited version of himself that could possibly exist.
He couldn’t believe he was getting off on this despite how hard Verity had driven him away emotionally. Mob wanted to vomit all over the podium he was strewn out on, but then he would really soil the last things Twixxel had ever contributed to their friendship.
This library acted as a beacon of the connection they shared, of how much Twixxel cared to help Mob out. And now, Mob was about to get railed in it.
“I’m doing this for you,” Verity said behind him, so abruptly that Mob nearly cried when his tongue left his hole. Mob clenched around nothing, trying to close himself off from the pestering entity behind him.
“I could break you, Mob. You’re lucky I know my own strength, and that I know how to preserve my friends.”
Mob’s teeth sunk into his forearm, mouth filling with fabric, hoping that he might choke on it and pass out before he would be violated in places he couldn’t reach with soap.
Verity’s mocking him, isn’t he?
Mob was finding it excruciating to think about anything other than the throbbing of his hard cock between his legs. He felt the precum pearling at the tip, dripping down his searing flesh with all the facsimile of hot candle wax.
A rumble came from behind him, somewhere deep inside Verity, and Mob interpreted it as a half baked moan. Verity’s frigid fingers ghosted over his cock, and Mob nearly jumped out of his skin to evade the unwanted touch.
The dull points of Verity’s fingers indented the bony flesh of his hips. He was admiring Mob, taking in the sweat glossed sheen to his obsidian colored skin before he finally took what little Mob had left to give, as if he’d earned it, as if he didn’t have blood on his hands.
Verity was, by all means, gentle. It was worse than if he just lost his mind and played a game of break the cutie.
His enormous cock breached Mob’s hole slowly, wielding a paralyzing pressure with it. Mob’s spine stretched, his hands white knuckled the edge of the lectern as he feebly attempted to escape it. When Verity bottomed out, Mob felt like he couldn’t breathe. The monster was so far inside him, his pebble lined and flexible cock molding into every crack in his intestinal lining, filling Mob like it was an effort to merge with the guts he was submerging himself in.
“I can’t, no-”
“Mob.”
“Verity, stop! Please, just- just stop, an-and I’ll forget this ever happened, and-” The man’s fingers spasmed as Verity drew back, and pressed into him in a tease of what was to come. He grinded against Mob so deeply, so obscenely that Mob almost wretched.
“What did I do?” Mob asked, small and pleading. Verity smoothed his hands up his back and under his hoodie in a gesture that was supposed to mimic the soothing touch of a lover. It failed on every calming front.
Fireworks went off in Mob’s distended abdomen as Verity angled himself back, barely dragging his thick cock out of the man below him before he pushed back to rest his hips against Mob’s plump buttocks.
Verity said he could break him, and if he seriously wasn’t trying to right now, then Mob sent what half formed prayers he could manage to whatever benevolence Verity had left within him to show such restraint.
It couldn’t have been easy. Behind him, Verity’s breaths were coming out in fast, shallow puffs. They had barely even started.
Chittering came from behind Mob, a sound as solid as teeth jittering, and that was the man’s only warning before Verity retreated a substantial amount, and then gently conducted himself back into Mob’s body. It was all so slow but powerful, the shallow retreat of a wave before it crashed into rocks, and slowly wore down the sediment.
It sounded like heaven for Verity, who was chittering and mewling deep, brooding sounds behind him. Mob bowed his head and protected his sanity by pretending that Verity’s gentleness wasn’t downright reverent.
Mob could handle violence, but this all consuming affection was another monster entirely. It made everything so much more complicated than if Verity had just been rough with him. He didn’t know why, but he almost wished Verity would duck his head and tear out his throat, or bash his head into the lectern until it was a smashed pumpkin beneath his wiry limbs.
“Ver-er-ity,” Mob moaned, which unfortunately sounded quite whiny as Mob choked on another sob. He felt like he was drowning in his own saliva and snot and tears. If he passed out, he would consider that a small mercy handed to him by whatever divinity might exist - it would be tangible proof of a benevolent god - of one other than Verity.
As Verity pulled out, a low baritone note blasted from his agape mouth. He groaned inhumanly, which was most fitting for his displayed lack of humanity the last few days, and his puppeteering of this grotesque vessel.
When Verity’s pace increased, when he angled himself and contorted his body in a way that had to feel uncomfortable, it hit Mob that Verity was prioritizing Mob’s pleasure over his own.
Mob chewed on his sleeve as he came, and it was a rather quiet affair. His ass clamped down hard around Verity, whose hips stuttered as his drool spilled over Mob’s hoodie. Mob was so mentally expunged from the emotional weight of his own orgasm, riding off the high of it as his insides were stirred up, that he didn’t notice Verity slowing down, or the warmth of hot spunk running down the inside of his thighs.
Mob could only slump over, drained of all his energy. It was at this point he realized Verity had taken everything - from liquifying his current close relationships and replacing them, to taking his modesty and putting him back in his place. Mob was punished for being mad that his friend was killed, and he felt too disemboweled to even cry about it.
Verity had the decency to rip a page from the book below Mob’s head, and clean the cum spilling out of his hole with it.
And there goes the sanctity of this space, and what used to be Twixxel’s.
He pulled up Mob’s pants slowly, careful to avoid unnecessary contact. He pushed Mob too far, and far too soon, apparent by his lack of response even as Verity stepped back.
It was quiet for a few minutes, something that Mob felt grateful for. He needed time to cool down, and to think. Then, Verity spoke, his tone high, and Mob felt so relieved that his knees wobbled and gave out under him as he heard the jovial, comforting voice of his Verity.
“Woah-ho, friend!”
Mob squeezed his eyes shut, feeling how the thrum of his heartbeat had navigated from his groin to his head. “Verity…”
The sphere’s smile grew tight, and he thought carefully about his next words, sorting through his algorithmic thoughts before settling on what statistically would be least likely to result in conflict. “I should have been less pushy with you.”
Mob’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. No, he wasn’t going to forgive Verity again. He couldn’t keep hurting Mob and getting away with it like he was just another line of code to be abused.
But it took so much effort just to turn toward Verity. It would take so much more energy to set boundaries that would be broken by next sunrise.
“Mob, I think we should go home,” Verity decided, and Mob nodded drowsily. One of the many positives of having Verity around was that he didn’t have to think when things got too unbearable. He just had to trust that Verity had Mob’s best interest in mind.
Except he couldn’t trust that.
He also couldn’t just blow Verity off. Mob knew a punishment when it was dished out, and this was Verity’s warning to him before he really got pissed.
“Please stop ignoring me, Mob,” Verity implored softly, his voice so light and caring that Mob nearly crumbled. It kept happening, Verity kept making Mob fear for his life, and Mob kept feeling too numb to do anything but forgive him.
It made Mob so angry he could mangle Verity.
It made him so manic he could kick the little shit into the nether.
It made him so tired.
“I am so angry with you.” It spilled out of Mob before he could stop it, like Verity was conducting the truth from him. It was on his own accord, but Verity looked pleased that Mob was communicating at all, proud as if he had any control over Mob’s voice. He was happy even if it was through a voice bubbling with sorrow and defilement.
“I know,” Verity conceded, “but I did what is statistically best for us.”
“What?”
“Ehh, it’s complicated. But I did it for you. Everything I do is for you.”
Mob was too tired, drained, and fucked out to challenge the notion that Verity’s flippant disregard of his consent was what was best for him. He scooped the yellow sphere up carefully, and took his time to stand.
“You came back for me,” Verity said, sounding so sticky sweet and starry eyed, “so I came back for you.”