To the Victor goes the Spoils/Continued

Author's note: Still own nothing. That makes me angry... and you won't like me when I'm angry...
Ah, I kid, I kid, but Still own nothing...

Matthias had been dozing, but the sound woke him. He growled under his breath, turned away from the sound… No good.
He stood; let the sheet slip from him to pool onto his consort. She stirred faintly, pulling the sheet about her tightly, showing him in the dim light the promising curve at her waist.
The soft, red glow of the God lit the room faintly. Never brighter, never darker, the perpetual twilight… The noise came again. He hissed, pulled his cowl onto him.
What had woken him was apparent. The demons were holding another revelry, feasting on flesh they had stolen from some other plane of existence. The demon Lords engaged in similar behavior with little less abandon. The smell tempted him, and the sound of snapping tendons and the wet splatter of fluids roused his hunger. He refrained, there was too much a chance that he would be lost to the revelry himself, and he needed to be alert. High above Behemoth slept, his rumbles shook the floor below his feet.

He was well usto it.

This realm was nothing; this realm was air and mist. It was a plane dreamed of by the God. He slept, visualized, and from his vision emerged the madness that was their domain. But He would be waking soon, so Shapron, his Sire, had told him. He slept to heal, and the wounds were nearly mended. Soon he would wake, and they would march en-mass on Hell to reclaim the sacred land of their beginnings.
Soon…
The demons closest to him bowed their heads, held out their hands in worshipful respect, offering him a place at their frenzy. He bowed his head, feeling their desire to share his company, feeling the pride that came with it, and the strange humility. He walked close enough to brush them, a signal that he approved but wanted to be alone. They read him and resumed their sport, filling the void with growls, hissing, and sharp cries of excitement or exhilaration. Just making sound to show they were alive, always noise, without it they were lost.
The blackness of the void, just beyond the doors, it was almost unbearable. Living in constant anxiety was impossible. The noise banished the harsh reality, and made the mood light, if not eccentric. Chaos. This was their realm, but it was no Hell.

He passed over twisted roads, sometimes walking sideways, or even upsidown. The red muted with shadows revealed only his outline to the untrained eye. A different chaos lay before him now, one of his own making and inspiration.

Eyes glowed white in the blackness, growls and mutters filled the air. These creatures, his malformed Eden. They were most of his army; they were the beasts of war. Bears that had been stretched to three times their normal length, lions with malformed jaws, capable of dislocation. Horses stripped of skin, shriveled, their legs over muscled and their teeth sharpened. Other creatures of mutilation, all warped by the chaos of the god and his imagination allowed to run unchecked over their frail forms.

It had been necessary to do this; he was dangerously short of fighters. Demons had few sons, and the queens followed no pre-decided times for reproduction here in the realm of chaos. Most were carrying, or too worn from years of doing so to be of any help in a battle. Cenobites, the sin of the molding, was Leviathans dark trick, and it was forbidden here under Behemoths few laws. He could not create an army from men, so he had malformed the beasts instead. 3,040 strong, they were. Then he had 300 demon Lords, and a bout 2,000 females who would rise to the task. It would have to be enough; those demon lords also included his own twenty seven heirs. Matthias laughed; caught up temporarily in the madness of the moment; letting his creations rub against him, snap at his arms in play. Play that would hopefully be deadly in the labyrinths confined passages. Yes, one cenobite was probably worth ten of his pets, but he certainly had the numbers to spare.

He moved from their pens upwards, toward the god himself. There was a single chamber underneath the God, and there his Sire knelt, and offered snippets of hell prayer to the being who ruled them all. Shapron, Behemoth's priest.
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The door was ajar, as it had been since his last visit two months in the past. Matthias stood in its archway, basking in the light from above. He would tell the old demon about the encounter he had experienced with the Black Pope, and try to gain an insight into how to proceed.

It would not be easy, Shapron had moved from madness into insanity, and rarely spoke in full sentences, even when speaking about nothing.

In the center of the room a shriveled, wilted specimen of a demon knelt. His clothing was almost non existence, it decayed upon him unnoticed, soon Matthias would have to order it replaced. Matthias moved closer, eventually kneeling three feet from his father’s side.

“Ah… my Son…” Less than a whisper, hardly a hiss.

Matthias bent his head. “My sire.”

“You… saw him, yes, swell him, can still smell… blood and damn him…”

Mathias hid his surprise behind a blank facade. This was more already, and making more sense, than the twenty previous visits had, but would it last? “Father, he was not as strong as I had expected… I wonder if he was playing with me.”

“With you, Behemoth. He is a worm!! A worm, a corpse a maggot a flower falling to rot!!” The small frame was wired for a moment with frightful tension, then that bled away. He resumed half spoken prayer, leaving his son nothing to do, but wait.
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Xipe Topec woke with a soft groan. Someone was holding his shoulder, shaking gently. His eyes opened slowly, but before they gained more that an inch he recognized her. His first knelt on the bed before him, they were alone.
He had not been so when he shut his eyes, but he knew well she would not suffer the company of others, when she was in the mood… Seeing him awake she moved her fingers from his shoulder, her eyes darker than the shadows around them. He made as if to speak, she smiled, placed her fingers on his lips. He let his tongue slip out, run across them lightly. He could see her shiver, even from his angle. As she gasped lightly he sat up, pulled her to him so that their chests were touching. They did not do this as often, as they had in the past… It was something to savor.
His hands traced her leather, knowing the folds well, parting them without effort. Her small, pert breasts free now to his touch. She sighed, leaned forward as he did, both enjoying the skin to skin contact. But he knew well she had more sensitive areas. With a push he laid her flat across his bed, her legs under the leather fell open. He groaned lightly, eyes lidded at the sight. Her skirt was easily pulled up, and she was exposed before him in her welcoming glory.

His hand curled over her sex, rubbed back and forth slowly. She moaned, spread her legs further apart, lifted herself for him. Under his thumb her lips parted, and he stroked the entrance shallowly, not letting his fingers penetrate.

He was being slow, teasing, she let him. Her sex tingled at his touch, and his thumb was falling just short of where she wanted it to be. Encouragingly she lifted her hips higher, spread her legs wider, and moaned aloud. He had inserted a finger, was rubbing it up and down against her walls inside her. Another, she twitched around him, it had been some time. The two fingers started to scissor, allowing a third entry. She moaned again, sighing at the feel, giving a shallow gasp as he began thrusting the three inside her.

She could hear how heavy his breaths had become, smiled at the sound of his arousal. His fingers were faster now, she thrust back against them, knowing what it would do to him. His deep groan triggered a spasm and her walls squeezed his fingers, promising the same treatment to something far more sensitive. Out came the fingers.

Topec let his head hang, breathing shallowly, aroused and captivated by the way she was waiting for him, open for him. Her lips were wet, he felt himself harden further. He pulled his robe away, hissed as he rubbed his head against those lips, felt her scoot forward to catch him. His first inch buried within her, she clenched around him making him moan. She was wet, warm… so very tight… Another inch, another. Beneath him she creened, tried to spread her legs even further… they came together around his waist and in a fluid motion she took him all.

They both cried out, Topec jerked a few times, fighting to get his control back. When at last his balls had settled enough that he could thrust without fear, he bent over her and began a deep, slow stroke. She pushed back against him, squeezed her legs to push him further in. “So… thick...” She hissed, rolling her hips to adjust. He jerked and panted at the feel, his thrusts came faster, his hands fisted the sheets at her sides.
She savored his movements, the feel of him stretching her, rubbing right against her cervix. A hand slipped to her inflamed nub and began rubbing in time with his hips. She began to twitch inside, seizing with wet walls, arching with small tremors, feeling orgasm approaching fast.

Topec was thrusting hard, shaking her hips with his strokes, her moans and spasms were making him throb almost painfully in her, speeding the growing pressure in his sacks. He felt himself seep inside her, her walls tugged at his cock, squeezing him, it felt so… He began a sharp jerking, his sacks were far too tight, he couldn’t last much longer... He moaned heavily, feeling her fingers rubbing frantically just above his swollen manhood on the down-strokes.
She was crying out under her breath now, fingers slick with her own arousal rubbing faster, so close… she could feel the peak coming… “Topec.. I… Feels so… can’t, I’m, ah Topec …!” She jerked on him, clenching and forcing him to flood her, his roar of pleasure bordering on pain as he filled her contracting channel with his seed.

He bucked weakly above her a few strokes, rumbled deep in his chest. His eyes shut he stilled, feeling her pulling him down.

The two lay on the ruffled sheets, regaining their breath. Topec made to pull free, but she grabbed his arm and kissed his wrist, bidding him still. He let her hold him there; limp muscled, flaccid, feeling their passion leak out around him. At length he began to drift, a half sleep to regain strength. She watched him quietly, and waited.

…A time later he roused from his daze to the feel of her running her fingers lightly around his thigh, her sex pressed up against his so that he was still inside her. He relaxed into the soothing motion, until it began to move north. He felt her fingertips trace the base of his manhood, shivered as it roused him slightly, shuddered at the feeling of being aroused and already inside her.

She rolled him so that he was straddled, rubbed herself back and forth on him, one hand reached down to gently scratch his sacks… He filled, moaned and tossed his head, arched up into her welcoming heat.

“Is it… the upcoming war,” he gasped lowly, “That has you, excited..”
“Yess…” she hissed, squeezing him gently.
Ah, his eyes seemed to say before they glazed in passion, I will remember that.

They coupled just as hard as before, eventually moving so that he was over her, taking her fiercely against a wall.
Hell quaked at their calls.
When it was done they fell forward, both trembling in the aftermath, limp and spent. He used the last of his strength to lay them on the mattress. She curled to his side, sharing his chill as he did hers to cool down from their warmth. Topec slept first, his fist Consort soon followed.