Warframe - [The Hunters and the Prime(s)] - Sleeping with Ghosts
PART OF THE SERIES: The Hunter and the Prime(s)
It’s not him.
They’re just another traitor, a target, an Excalibur Prime.
But then, why, why is there a painful coiling in his chest – why aren’t they fighting back?
Contents | Non-canon biology, Combi-genitalia, mistaken identity, sexual frustration, tentacle mouth, oral, cunnilingus, vaginal, grief while fucking, position switch, sexual replacement
Length | 9,498w
In the back of his mind he’s flipping through intel.
His ship jolts as its boarding pylons ensnare themselves onto the drifting Orokin vessel; a cruiser. Its immense gilded carapace dwarfs the single-person ship latched to a service hatch. He sets the ship to idle and yanks off the seat harness. It drops against the side of the seat.
An Excalibur – a prime – about average height. Potentially carrying a high-powered rifle and side-arm. No information on their reserve weapon. But he can hazard a guess.
Stalker picks up his signature weapons; bow, throwing knives, scythe – all custom. In short time they’re secure, strapped and belted to him as he exits through the broken airlock of his mended ship; he still needs to fix that. And as he works on forcing the service hatch open he goes over the intel for the tenth… or fifteenth time, doesn’t matter. His target is an Excalibur Prime, a bit tall, the usual traitor Tenno weaponry. There were some minor specific details, but he glosses over it again – it’s not every day his prey is an Excalibur Prime. No need for nuances.
A knot sits coiled in his chest - he chalks it up to the void’s pull.
The service hatch inevitably gives and he pulls himself into the awaiting airlock, closing the door on behest of the lit ‘warning’ beside the seal panel. Stalker taps in the master passcode into the panel with his sight on the inner seal. He goes over the details one more time, flipping through his memory bank.
An Excalibur Prime; tall, usual weaponry, probably has all abilities. He shifts through the minor details; noticeable twitching in an infested, blast marks in the head region – exposed teeth, black scarring on upper body, a ring of scar tissue almost encircling the neck. The inner seal opens, he doesn’t move for a moment. Then a sigh.
They’re not his prime. He knows that.
It doesn’t take long to find the first bodies, and soon the trail of twisted corpses and sprayed corrupted blood. Typical Tenno brutality, he huffs, before continuing to move on, following the trail of corpses through several spattered rooms. Large gouges burnt into the wall line the way; Stalker takes a moment to drag his fingertips across them as he passes. The blood is getting fresher; he finds a bisected husk still struggling to breath. He dispatches it quickly with a cleave of his scythe. They’re close.
A few rooms later Stalker finds his mark, peering in at the Excalibur Prime through an open door. The prime is leaned over a console in one corner of the room, tapping away at the translucent Orokin keypad. Just as the intel suggests; they’re well-armed, appear more than standard height, their body twitches and quakes as they ‘breathe’. He can’t see any of the noted scarring from the back, just a glimpse of what appears to be remnants of a shotgun blast near the back of their head.
It's not him, Stalker tells himself.
They’re enamored with whatever is on the display; the prime barely moves apart from their ticks. From his position at the doorway he can watch them make mistakes brought on by the twitches and as quickly reverse them – they’re talking to their self in fluent Orokin, words inter lingering with terminus expletives as they search the database. Stalker is too far to hear everything and only understands some of the dead language; the coiling in his chest tightens.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s not him.
“I’m already infested. I’m so sorry.”
Stalker inhales slow and steady, to calm himself.
It’s not him; they’re dead.
As calm as ever Stalker notches an arrow, aiming for the back of the prime’s head – for the middle of their horrid blast scar. If he’s quiet, a single shot can take them down.
“It’s too late to save me.”
‘One shot will be enough,’ Stalker comments to himself. His ‘breathing’ slow and even, his stance relaxed but coiled. There’s no room for error here. He feels the weight of the scythe shift on his back as he pulls to a full draw.
“Just do it; kill me.”
The prime stops typing and cranes his head; Stalker releases the string.
His prey steps out of the way of the arrow, the metal tip embedding into the wall with a tight plink; Stalker bolts. The marred prime stares as Stalker zeroes in on them, his bow switched for his cruel scythe. Slashes of worn scythe are met with air, the prime makes their own shifting and twitching jolts to steer clear of the precise swings. Their weapons – a sybaris, a lato, a bo – Stalker identifies and proceeds, pushing the prime back against the wall. For barely a second Stalker waits for their response to his attacks, sizing up his prey.
The ring at the front of the prime’s face is cracked and chipped, broke on one side where a slab of skin had been shredded off, exposing a portion of their plated maw to the stale derelict’s air. Their skin is scarred and scratched black, a ring of black dotted blue around their neck.
“Just fucking do it!”
It’s not him.
Stalker swings for the line of black and the prime rolls out of the way, a hand pressing their lato down. They’re hesitant; why?
Stalker is quick to pursue the prime over the blood slicken floor, his scythe barely grazing the prime’s arm and adding another nick to the canvas of lines crossing their chest – alit with their internal energy. Stalker takes a second to pause -
Angry lines cut into his chest, each breath heaving warm gasses through an open mouth and maimed chest, torn apart by infested claws. A useless swallow; his face unfocused. “You can do this.” A pained inhale.
– then it’s back to the melee as the prime attempts to divert from Stalker’s cornering maneuvers. Again, he pressures the prime away from their escape route, the single door in and out. The twitching prime weasels his time out of the tactic once more, their weapons still holstered. Why are they hesitating?
In a momentary clasp of energy the prime summons their exalted blade, swinging soaring brilliant slashes as he backs away into the adjoining room. Stalker follows suit, effortlessly deflecting the energy with his aged scythe. His mind racing, his exterior calm – do they have a squad? What are they planning? Anger coils in his gut
“I don’t want to come back to hurt you…”
The Excalibur prime continues to fling wasted energy towards the hunter, maneuvering their way through the corpses they left from the earlier firefight. Their steps are careful and light, leaving bloody footprints in their wake even as they flinch and twitch. Despite their jagged motions their aim is precise, driving Stalker into a focused guard
It infuriates him – they aren’t running.
The prime watches Stalker’s movements carefully, his attention partial to the hunter’s heaving chest – or more precisely – the thin traces of red lining the location of their vents. He can feel the frustration in their movement, the taut atmosphere by their hard silence. He can feel his reserves dwindling, timing his slashes to extend his defensive offense. He glances back, still a way to go into narrowed halls and a small room. On the return glance, he catches the fresh gaping of the hunter’s upper vents, outshined by their energy nodes.
If he can get into the smaller hallway, the prime can better assess the situation, and potentially deescalate it in one way or another. He spins out another irregular series of energy cuts – Stalker is getting closer.
He knows it’s not them – that this prime is not his.
Then why, why does the burning in his chest persist; why won’t the aching go away?
Stalker’s mind continues to race beneath the cold exterior, focus only on the prime’s defensive slashes and their pathway into another room. They’re going somewhere secluded, he figures, having memorized the common cruiser layouts centuries ago.
“I thought you’d like the view. This was the best one I could find.”
The emotional swell in his chest grows;
haunted by a long-forgotten ghost as an energy slash grazes his forearm.
‘Why now?’ he scowls to himself as he deflects another of the prime’s slashes.
‘Why?’ the coiled anger in his gut grows into a low snarl, barely heard by his
prey as they deliver a small series of cuts to hold him off. ‘They’re going to
run out of energy soon,’ he muses, deflecting another slash. ‘I’ll get them
then.’ Another series of blinding blue light soars towards him, this time he
steps out of the way; the scythe extended for a blow.
Xev, the prime, extinguishes his eternal blade and is just quick enough to catch the crook of Stalker’s scythe mid-swing. Ends of the bo glow with channeled energy as he shoves, pushing the hunter away and, as he hopes, into a stun to give him time. Xev isn’t as lucky, and the hunter is on him again.
As their distance diminishes, melees clashing in back-and-forth parries, Xev can feel the hunter’s formal frustration boiling, their taut atmosphere fabricated by restraint. Their split vents open and gleaming, breathing irregular through frustrated cleaves, pressuring Xev backwards into the hallway that he skips out of another slash. He must be reminding the hunter of someone.
They kick up dust in their wake as melees continues to clash, the prime deflecting the hunter’s scythe in a precise manner. Little-by-little Xev lowers his guard, shrugging off certain blows he lets slip pass his bo. His focus is on the doors around him and the hunter’s shifting appearance, analyzing his breathing patterns and his split vents. The trace of arousal is there – but what the hunter will do about it, Xev doesn’t know.
A hand coils around his waist, pulling him close. “Come here fussy,” they say, their body warm and comforting in the depressing glow of the empty vessel. He yields against his gilded partner, lying against their chest as his partner wrapping his arms around Stalker’s center – a gilded chin on his head. “I would never leave you.”
The coiling within his chest continues to tighten, barely nicking his prey as he forces himself to continue the assault as his mind swarms with old memories. Bitter. Painful. Guilty. Happiness turned to unhealthy rage. What makes the encounter with this prime so different? Why couldn’t it wait until he was alone like before; what’s so different now? He makes another swing for the prime, his scythe unceremoniously shoved away with the back-end of their bo.
At the slight inclination, the prime makes a movement towards one side of the hallway Stalker lets him, curious of what the mutilated prime is planning to do with such a restricted space like the residential quarters. But the duration of the time between first entry into the hallway and now they hadn’t made intentions until now, why now?
Xev slides into the first open door he sees, Stalker follows in hot pursuit.
A thin coat of dust covers the room’s sparse décor; an untouched set of cots embedded on one side of the room, its floor pale, the walls decorated with forgotten gilded cloth, and a window – or screen – set on the far end. The large display peers out into the depth of the void, the room basking in the brilliant blue hues. It’s here that the prime stops, Stalker stands at the doorway with his scythe extended and prepared.
“Got you,” he growls, remaining still as the prime turns. He’s silent as the prime tosses his protective Bo away, as well as their Sybaris and Lato. “What is your intention, traitor?”
“I am no traitor, hunter. I’m merely a cog forgotten by the Orokin machine.” Xev raises his hands, his attention focused on Stalker’s movements and the scythe still held out at arm’s length. Xev is quiet for a time as Stalker approaches him, as he lowers his scythe little by little. “My intentions, they depend on your own.” His glance peers down along the lines of red split along his chest and stomach – a sign of arousal – he hopes the type he can fix.
They’re close now, a few steps separate them. Stalker’s scythe is held at his side, staring up at the mutilated face of the Excalibur Prime before him – gilded and broken. He can make out the details in their scarring; jagged dark edges mingled with cream, the healed crescent of a dire neck wound, the split vents marred by old injuries – backlighting boosting the glow of their vents and deep scars. There’s a closeness he hasn’t felt with another in an agonizingly long time – the coiling within his chest throbs, his breath withheld.
The Prime is waiting for him to make a move.
They’re trusting him.
To the prime he’s quietly staring, unmoving, thumbing at his scythe in thought. Internally Stalker’s emotional coil is cracking, a flurry of suppressed emotions seep through his body, chipping away at his dissolving demeanor. A lack of facial features bolster his emotional façade, but his gasping vents betray his attempts at remaining stoic and unfeeling. But the warm memories still linger in his thoughts, their proximity, the prime’s trust in him despite the earlier outright assault.
He takes a moment to think, to pick through the swarm of thoughts filling his mind; if he should submit to the yearning, to bask in sporadic intimacy, to take comfort with another. A different part of him just wants to run.
Stalker drops his scythe and throws off the bow.
One hand presses against the prime’s chest. “Get on the floor,” he commands, his palm grazing against the healed scar and an open vent. Xev breathes a heavy sigh before he moves, an expression of his relief before he moves into a crouch. Stalker pushes him further with his foot until the prime’s back is on the ground. “Don’t move,” Stalker breathes, staring down, looking over his ‘prize’ as he moves to stand over the prime’s waist. The coil in his chest flexes and flutters, feeling his slit splitting – open in front of another after centuries of solitude.
He’s vulnerable, but he’s the one in control; the dominant one.
And it excites him.
Even then he’s still hesitant.
He takes his time to kneel just at the prime’s waist despite his desires, held back by strangling doubt. In the time he takes to soak in the sight of the prime laid between his legs, the prime’s hands at set on his thighs, fingers lightly pressed into his skin. The emotional coil in Stalker’s chest tightens, staring down at the prime between his legs – frozen. “You alright?” ask the prime.
“Are you okay, fussy?” Arms pull him into a warm chest, a head on his own.
Stalker rests his hands on Xev’s – his thoughts swarming with ideas.
He pushes the prime’s hands down as he starts to shuffle forward, pressing Xev’s arms out of the way and behind him. Stalker comes to stop with his thighs on either side of the prime’s head, his crotch sat in front of Xev’s face, his parted slit open before their damaged maw. “Lick,” Stalker stares down at the prime laid between his legs.
Xev’s hands curl over Stalker’s thighs as the remaining portion of his damaged maw splits open. A flurry of tentacles slide between his plated teeth – damaged or intact, blues and whites, a sharp contrast to Stalker’s black and rich red slit and flesh. Anticipation stirs in Stalker’s stomach, his hands on the prime’s wrists. His breathing shallow as he watches the maw tentacles extend, feeling the prime’s hands over his legs, the fingers pressing at his inner thighs.
Stalker’s breath hitches as the first tentacle makes contact, softly exhaling as the beckoned intrusion meets his flesh. As the warm bundle of slick tentacles part his long-neglected flesh tensity slowly begins to melt off him, forcing back a gasping moan. He suppresses the sudden movements his body outright begs to make, restraining himself from forcing himself right against the prime’s maw. Xev’s tentacles prod and explore the hunter’s flesh, from the soft external carapace down into his sensitive cavity. Tentacles swirl against Stalker’s pooling sensitivity; a set at his bud, another caressing his lips, others exploring his cavity. The prime’s fingers press against the skin of Stalker’s inner thighs, spreading the skin of the hunter’s slit more open to his adventurous maw; teasing the timid flesh with a soft exhale. A slight noise rises from the seasoned killer’s inner restraint, barely trembling from the warm breath that meets his flesh.
The swarm of tentacles make a slow retreat into the prime’s maw, teasing the hunter’s flesh as they withdrew from their positions. The last of the tentacles coil against the hunter’s bud before departing with a small flicker, enough to bring out a twitch and a short grunt from Stalker. The prime snorts. His tentacles, warmed and slick, return to the hunter’s flesh.
Stalker’s grip on the prime’s wrist tightens as the warmth coils against his flesh. The prime hums as the tentacles spread out and embrace the black and red, his fingers pressing at the hunter’s inner thighs. “Sssh,” he whispers, drawing them into a single mass. The mass of two-toned tentacles slides up through Stalker’s slit, taking care to slowly move the rolling tops against the hunter’s bud to his delight. A short gasp carries through him before he forces it back, pressing himself down against the prime’s mobile tentacle mass. Xev chuckles, then continues.
“Wha-hnnn,” Xev’s tentacles make another pass over Stalker’s bud, “What’s so funny, prime?” He growls.
“Nothing, hunter,” the prime fixes his grasp on Stalker’s thighs; Stalker’s own hands move to down to the prime’s elbows. "Do I remind you of someone?”
Two bodies caught in a passionate embrace. They’re exhausted, yet one finds the energy to sit up and lean over the other. A free arm coils up beneath him, holding his head as his partner nuzzles against him. “Let’s just stay like this, forever,” they whisper, kissing his forehead.
Stalker is quiet, still, before the prime’s mass of tentacles make another flickering pass over his bud. He grunts, shifting himself up a tad as the prime’s grip lets him. Then the mass of tentacles retreat into the glowing maw, Xev’s head at a tilt staring up at Stalker’s emotionless helm.
“Yes, you do.”
Memories of old times flicker by before the prime’s tentacles return to Stalker’s flesh. This time he lets the guttural moan roll through, arching up against the gentle mass. The tentacles split after the second pass, leaving a few to tend to the hunter’s bud. “Who is it?” The lower set of tentacles return to tending to the rest of the hunter’s flesh, teasing between his lips.
A soft grunt, Stalker shuffles. One of his hands moves up to the side of the prime’s face, thumbing at the scratches turned scars. “They’re gone now. It doesn’t matter.” Another grunt, a low whimper as the coils around his bud roll and flicker. “Just-Just keep it up.”
The tentacles roll up against Stalker’s flesh, contorting in slow swirls and tentative laps. Another whimper crawls through Stalker as the tentacles move, a set endlessly lapping at his engorging bud. He huffs, furthering his arch down against the prime’s tentacle mass. With his chin pressed against his chest he can’t help but to watch the mass of blue and white contrast ungulate, tinted red by his glowing flesh.
Caught in the hunter’s focused gaze, Xev steps up his motions – forming his tentacles into a single mass. The slick conglomerate of tentacles slides up against Stalker’s slit and lips, a single tentacle swirling at his bud. Stalker rolls against the tentacles, shifting as a low whine works its way out of him, ended with a hushed moan. There’s a building pressure in him he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever. His left holds onto the horn on the front of the prime’s head, his right reaches back to prop him up. “Keep going,” he groans, whimpering right after.
Xev shifts his grasp on Stalker’s legs as his tentacles return to his maw for ‘refueling’, his fingers pressing at the crook of the hunter’s groin before proceeding. They return to his flesh as a conglomerate, the shape pressing against the red flesh, the tip teasing against his bud before moving down between his lips. Stalker watches from above as the mass sinks into him with a softened groan – his right-hand curls up at one of the vents at his chest and presses against his flesh. The tentacles test at his walls, a single tentacle coils and vibrates at his bud; he twitches then rolls against it.
He gasps, whimpers, and groans; his left moves up to the back of the prime’s head and holds, arching up against them. “Ahnn-mm. Ke-keep going, j-just like that,” he whimpers through a sharp gasp. He rolls up against the tentacle teases; the pressure inside him builds. His right moves to the prime’s arm again. The tentacles continue their motions; tentatively teasing pumps, flexing his walls, vibrating at his bud. A pressure builds inside him tenfold, making him more sensitive to the touches.
Xev removes his tentacles; the hunter whines.
And then the warm mass returns with renewed vigor, swirling against his bud, his lips, against his flesh. Stalker rocks against them, holding his breath for a moment before a shortened, gasped moan. He’s so close – so close. “More,” he whimpers, trying to press the prime’s head further against his moving slit as he rocks. Xev steps up his pace, his fingers adjusting and spreading the hunter’s flesh open further, holding onto Stalker’s rolling hips
“Hold-hnng, hold on,” he whimpers, his voice distorting. “Hold on,” he whines, his legs squeeze against the prime.
Stalker’s peak comes quickly, flooding his senses into a mess of motion and sound, rubbing against the prime’s tentacle mass. His grip on the prime tightens as he rolls against the tentacles. Xev tries to hold onto the noisy hunter for the short time, his tentacles slowing their teasing as the hunter rolls. The bucking slows as Stalker comes back down, regain some control of himself – his breathing heavy.
While catching his breath, he breathes out disheveled words in lost Orokin. Xev snorts.
As Stalker is sitting there recovering his breath, Xev returns his tentacles to his maw. “I’m sorry.”
“Hn?” Stalker lays his left on the prime’s hand, matching his right. His grip lightened, legs relaxing.
“The prime; what happened to them?”
Angry scratching dug into gilded skin. Pooling blood staining greys and gold. An apology. A plead.
He leans back, propping himself up on the prime with his elbows. “He’s dead,” his breathing has slowed, able to form coherent thoughts and sentences. “What happened to him isn’t important,” He stares down at the prime, the front of his face aglow in the light of his still open slit. He considers going at it again. The feeling of those tentacles, those motions, against him again sends a chill down his spine, a coil in his loin. He shifts.
The prime presses one hand up, a finger dipping into the hunter’s vent. “Again, I presume?”
Disgruntled, Stalker stares down at Xev with masked annoyance. “Yes, again. Would I be sitting here if the answer was any different?” He growls; the prime snorts, releasing his tentacles from his maw. They return with renewed warmth – sliding through his slit and against his lips, teasing the nub with the end of a damaged tentacle. The uneven texture causes the hunter to pause for a moment before he sinks against the tentacle embrace, the masses forming a comfortable cupping shape beneath him.
The prime’s hands move back down Stalker’s skin, his rough fingers coming to a rest at the crest of Stalker’s stomach. With his chin tucked against his chest he carefully watches the illuminated prime work him a second time, letting whatever noises slip through him. Partial groans, hummed moans, he melts into the careful slick touches. The cupping turns to shallow undulating, rubbing him up then down in alternating patterns. “Tell me, prime,” a hushed groan, leaning up against the moving tentacles, “did you learn all this yourself?”
“I’ve had,” Xev purrs, breathing a shallow huff, “a lot of time, hunter.” His hands press against Stalker’s skin, pressing expose the flesh to the slow upward motion of his tentacle mass – a humming slow lick; Stalker exhales, a soft whine. “This prime, did they have a name?” The mass finish their slow motion and returns to the base.
“Yes. Do you?” The two-tone tentacles coil against his lips and nubs. A hummed moan, a groan.
“I do, actually. It’s Xev.” The prime’s tentacles coil up and down between the hunter’s lips, an upper bundle nesting themselves against the sensitive bud to Stalker’s delight, releasing a low whimper taut with partial restraint. “What was their name?”
“You don’t deserve his name,” Stalker hisses, followed with a vocal moan as the tentacles at his bud create a mellow vibration, his hips roll against the wet embrace. He shuffles his weight, rising from his elbows to his palms for a better view of the prime between his legs. He moves a hand as the tentacle mass shifts again, his hand pressing against the edge of the prime’s groin. Something coils around his finger, he lightly squeezes it. The prime blows a short sigh, a momentary slack in the tentacles against Stalker’s flesh. He twirls the flexible item around his finger – a huffed gasp from the prime. “Ooh, someone’s gotten excited,” he hums, feeling out the prime’s length with his hand. Stalker adjust his posture, his free hand laying on the prime’s head.
“Mmm,” Xev sighs, “sort of hard not to – with this view.” He chuckles, his maw tentacles wrap against the hunter’s lips, circling in a mass around his sensitive bud. Stalker groans, squeezing the prime’s parts. The hunter curls up against the mass, sat in a low lean. “It’s very nice, by the way.” The tentacle mass uncoils and reforms the previous cupping shape against the red flesh.
“Thanks for the compliment,” Stalker hums, running a finger up the underside of the prime’s member – he responds with a low groan. He rolls the thin tentacles through his fingers, listening to the prime’s sounds as internally he fiddles with his inner mechanisms – it’s been so long since he’s configured them. “But, what if …” he sighs. His red tinted phallus begins to express from his swelling bud; the tentacles are quick to morph around the length and textures. Stalker hums, “what about this?” He squeezes the prime.
“One moment, hunter,” Xev gasps, shifting beneath Stalker. The two-toned tentacle shift the red and black member off the front his helm, letting it rest against the scarred side of his head. The chill of the prime’s exposed flesh and teeth make the hunter’s length twitch, Stalker fails to hold back a groan. The tentacles wrap around the base and against the crest of his lips – coiling and rolling. “How’s that,” the prime purrs; the resonance feeds into his tentacles, through his skin.
Stalker trembles, cursing on Orokin.
“Prepared for anything, aren’t you?” He purrs, giving the prime’s length a firm squeeze. The maw tentacles flex against him while he strokes the prime’s textured member, the connected slim tentacles latch around his wrist.
The prime’s hands snake up Stalker’s sides, trailing his fingers along as a portion of his amassed tentacles return to his maw. With an open sigh he exhales warm steam, nuzzling the exposed sides of his chilled teeth against Stalker’s illuminated shaft. A choked noise squeezes through Stalker, his hand pressing and twirling the prime’s length and claspers as he rolls into the sensation. “I’ve prepared …” Xev whispers, returning the warmed tentacles as a kiss upon the hunter’s girth, “for many things.” The warmth wraps themselves around the hunter’s twitching flesh, undulating in careful motions between the sensitive ridges. The cool tentacles return to his maw, the warm ones move into a slow and shallow pace.
A muffled groan rolls through Stalker, hips rolling against the tempered dual sensations. The prime’s cold fingers tease their way up into Stalker’s open vents, fingering at the flesh within tentatively – Stalker answering with a low hummed moan. The teasing, edging strokes and light fingering brings more sounds to pour from him; he balls his thumb against the underside of the prime’s smooth tip, twirling his fingers with the prime’s thin prehensile tentacles, clutching onto the side of the prime’s head and against old scars.
The return of the remaining tentacles pushes him further, swarming his base and lips with their warmth and slick coating. Together with the rest of the tentacles they coil and roll along his flesh, paying special attention to his tip and the junction of his member and lips. Stalker whimpers, hips shifting. The prime’s right hand dances down from one of Stalker’s vents, tracing minor shapes in lazy patterns of unimportant origins. He breathes, rolling against Stalker’s tightening grip. He whispers in fluent Orokin; a word stands out to Stalker and he pauses. A wave of memories.
“What is it?” Xev breathes. His right hand crawls back up to Stalker’s vent, massaging the flesh within.
“It’s just been a while-” Stalker’s words are cut off by a rolled moan, rocking with a twitch against pulsating tentacles, “since I’ve heard fluent Orokin.”
“I see,” the prime purrs, his tentacles catching the reverb and turning it into a momentary vibration; Stalker twitches, pressing the prime’s member tight. Xev lets a whimper slip through, breathing heat onto the hunter. “You speak it?”
“Rarely,” Stalker whimpers out, fingers digging into the crest of the prime’s head. He’s feeling close, edging himself against the tangle of tentacles.
“Did he speak it?” The prime breathes out as Stalker tangles his fingers around his claspers and girth. His tentacles constrict for a moment, squeezing the black and red.
“Yes,” Stalker exhales, pressing himself against the knotting tentacles. They wind around his tip and the joint of his flesh – they ripple, contort, drawing him ever closer. “It’s all he ever spoke,” he breathes, his words traced with lingering memories. He’s approaching his peak, semi-transparent fluid dripping from his tip.
Some of the tentacles begin to withdraw, rolling from base to tip in slow swirling spirals. Stalker’s hand shifts; Xev groans into Stalker’s flesh, huffing heat through the tangle of tentacles making their way off the hunter’s primal sensitivity. His right hand travels back down again, finger tips trailing symbols and signs as it nears the base of Stalker’s engorged phallus. As the final few tentacles make their full retreat they push the member upwards, away from his maw and beneath his waiting palm.
The roughness makes him twitch; a rolling groan.
The palming doesn’t last for long, Xev taking the length into his guiding fist and stroking the ridged and tapered tip slowly with the worn texture of his hands. Stalker murmurs something in Orokin, rocking against the low and rough jacking. He shakes his one hand free of the prime’s clinging claspers, grabbing onto the prime’s hand still petting the inside of his vent.
He curses in Orokin, feeling his peak edging closer
A few more moments of caressing and strokes
finally push him over for the second time. Xev’s grip loosens as Stalker’s
senses take control, casting him into barely restrained bucking and mixed
noises caught in whimpered gasp. “Nghn,” he whines, whimpering Orokin as he
thrusts into the prime’s slicked loose grip; his grip on the prime is tight,
pressing hard into the gilded frame’s features. The final series of thrust take
him the hardest, making him mute as his viscous fluids spatter through the
prime’s hand and onto his stomach. After a few final thrusts he slowly ends
gains control of himself; finding himself leaned over the prime - both hands
held onto Xev’s head.
Stalker remains there as he focuses on catching his breath. The prime purrs,
bringing his messy hand to his maw.
The prime’s tentacles begin to clean his hand of the sticky luminescent
material. “You’re beautiful when you’re like that, hunter.”
“S-shut up, prime,” Stalker wheezes, removing his hands from the prime’s head in exchange for stable ground.
“Was that his name?” Xev’s cleaned hand matches his other one; both at rest over Stalker’s hips.
“Hng?” Stalker’s mind is still frayed, partly together from the furious orgasm.
Xev repeats the words Stalker whimpered as he came, adding emphasis on what may be a name.
It takes some time for Stalker to understand the prime, forcing himself to sit back on Xev’s chest for breathing space. “What’s-” Stalker takes his moment for a slow breath, clearing his mind. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” the prime’s voice holds a trace of concern, collecting the remains of the fluids from Stalker’s stomach.
“Then why’d you ask?” Stalker stares down at Xev, watching as he removes the viscous fluids.
“I just thought – well – since I remind you of him, I could act as a stand-in.”
“No.” Stalker starts before he has time to think – but forces himself to stop. “You’re nothing like him.”
“I know,” Xev’s tentacles coil back into his maw. “But, technically, I could let you be with him again.”
The hunter is silent – staring.
“Wouldn’t you give one more night, just to be with him again?” The trace of concern is there again.
Around them lies disfigured corpses, a mass of reanimated bodies brought to life by an unending plague. He’s holding him in a cradle; the wounds on his gilded skin oozing deep red and slick. It seeps between his fingers as he in vain tries to keep pressure, forcing himself to ignore choked words. “I’m so sorry,” his partner whimpers, choked with pain and remorse. “I’ve already become infested, it’s useless.”
“I’m not going to let you die!”
“It’s too late to save me,” his dying partner chokes out, a bloody hand on Stalker’s own. “Please,” he follows with his given name. “You can get out of here before it takes me.”
Stalker stares down at the living prime below him; the hands at his sides real, the weight beneath him real – the heaviness growing in his chest again very real. He remains mute; his thoughts a growing storm.
Stale silence swirls between them; Stalker by now almost recovered from his whimpering orgasm. Xev shifts below him. They stare in silence at each other, awaiting something to be said. Xev’s still aroused; Stalkers vents still open and his length still expressed.
“I tak-” Xev starts then stops when Stalker moves. He unhooks his legs from around the prime’s shoulders and moves himself down the scarred chest, coming to a stop almost on top of the scarred warframe’s length. The prehensile claspers caress Stalker’s skin, unable to slide themselves under and around to his open slit. Stalker is silent as he guides Xev’s hands to his hips, his sight on his hands than to the prime’s mutilated face.
The hunter’s hands touch the prime’s neck, fingering the rough edges of the circular scar in thought before moving downwards. Xev keeps his breaths slow and calm as Stalker’s fingers trace over the blackened scars and open but torn vents. The grip he has on the black thighs relaxes, thumbs carefully rubbing the smooth skin. As Stalker’s hands near his waist and leave does the prime look up at him – aglow with the void’s brilliant blue light, the reds of his illuminating flesh a stark contrast.
Stalker lifts himself and settles further down, his lips pressing at the base of the prime’s sensitive member – a huff is the response. Carefully he rolls against it, coaxes hushed gasps and slowed moans from the prime. The hands on his hips gently press at his skin, his own settled on their wrists. The prehensile claspers twirl around his building girth, gently squeezing the base as he rocks back and forth, running his warm texture folds along the prime’s underside. He taps the sensitive joint where his member and lips meet with the prime’s dripping tip; sending jolts of pleasure through his own.
Xev groans as his pressure builds, twitching against the red folds with inconsistent bucks. He moans, his hands tightening on the hunter’s dark skin. The prime murmurs in Orokin as he gets closer – his vents clenching, his energy glow bleeding through the scars decorating his chest. Stalker increases his grinding, teasing the prime’s underside.
“Ssh,” Stalker whispers, continuing to roll the slicken texture of his flesh on the prime. Prehensile claspers squeeze with the little strength they hold, pulling down on Stalker’s length. The hunter’s smooth rolls slowly turn lopsided as the grasp on his length increases, pulling him down against the prime’s stomach as he continues to roll. A short whine slips through Stalker with every grind; a snicker as the prime bucks in return – rising close.
The prime slowly removes his hands from Stalker’s hips and pushes himself halfway up, watching on his elbows as Stalker grinds against his up-bent girth. He does his best to restrain himself from bucking harshly, letting Stalker do the work for him; but, when his peak comes, he rolls right against Stalker’s folds, his hands again on Stalker’s hips. Stalker waits for him to finish, giving the prime’s twitching length a short roll every few seconds. The prime’s fluids pool on his stomach, his fingers dug into Stalker’s hips as he collects himself.
“You good?” Stalker chuckles. Xev takes a moment to breathe before he nods.
“Yep,” the prime sighs, blowing out a warm exhale. “And you?”
“Fantastic,” Stalker purrs, rolling against the prime’s softened member and loosened claspers.
“So, you’re going to take me up on my offer?” Xev presses himself up again to his elbows.
Stalker huffs, pressing himself down hard on the prime’s length. “Let’s just do it before I change my mind.”
The prime pulls himself up, his hands at Stalker’s waist. “At your command, hunter,” he purrs, his head inches from Stalker’s own – fingers tracing at the edges of Stalker’s glowing vents. “I’m yours to do with as you wish,” he purrs in Orokin, sending a shiver down Stalker’s spine before he pushes the prime away.
There’s a moment of hesitation before Stalker acts.
He rolls himself against the prime’s softened length at first, looking over the white and dark-grey textured length, watching as the prehensile claspers unwind themselves from his own. Once the claspers move themselves out of the way and laid against the prime’s skin he reaches down, fingering the Excalibur prime’s textured length. He thumbs at the nodes that line the sides of the soft length, running a finger over the triangular tip. He adjusts, rises, and tries to point it to his awaiting cavity – its softness makes it difficult to handle. Stalker growls in frustration.
The prime snorts. His claspers worm their way up and around his own length, forming a temporary rigidity. “Thanks,” Stalker grumbles, aiming the tip successfully between his lips. Slowly, carefully, he impales himself on the prime, feeling as the claspers unhitch themselves within him and slide their way out, leaving the soft member within him. Stalker takes a moment to adjust, uncertain how much the prime will change within him.
“You good?” The prime purrs, thumbing at Stalker’s skin. “If it’s not enough, I can still provide.”
“What do you mean by that?” Stalker breathes, already beginning to roll with the prime inside him. Then there’s a shift, the mass inside him increasing in girth in an instant. Stalker gasps, barely holding back a groan as he clutches around the prime. He curses in Orokin. The shape reduces, but the feeling lingers for another second. “How?”
“Practice,” Xev sighs, laying his head on Stalker’s shoulder. “Just say where you need it – I can’t be him, but I can at least feel like him,” the prime whispers, his hands sliding down to Stalker’s knees as he lies back on the floor.
Stalker curses in Orokin, rocking on the prime’s soft stiffness. His thoughts fall back to the last time he and his partner were as intimate as now, before they boarded. “He was … thicker, and more curved.” He withholds a gasp when the prime provides, the shape shifting against his walls. “More weight … on the bottom,” he holds fast as the prime adjust the distribution of his length’s mass, the shifted underside pressing at the bottom of his cavity’s opening. He whimpers, pressing himself against the prime’s crotch. “A … little bit thicker, please.”
The prime provides, watching Stalker twitch as he provides. He snorts, “you could’ve just ‘said fill me up’.”
“S-shut up, prime,” Stalker gasps, his hands grasping onto the prime’s wrists as he rocks. He barely holds back a whimper, letting his head lull backwards as he lets himself indulge in the sensation of being filled. The prime’s claspers last around Stalker’s member, holding still as Stalker works himself over both ways. He gasps, groans, whimpering words in Orokin as he bucks. Whimpers directed to the deceased, heart-retching pleas for the impossible.
Xev lets him ramble on despite the knotting in his chest from his desire to help. The clutching around him slowly coaxes him into mildly heavy breaths, moving his hands back up to Stalker’s hips, following Stalker’s movements. “You alright?”
“Shut up,” Stalker snaps. “Just – just give me my moment,” he whines, a clutching in his chest. In the proceeding silence he rocks hard against the prime, pressing his chin against his chest, his hands on the prime’s chest and along the blackened scars. Stalker whimpers through, his fingers pressing against the prime’s vents, the warm feeling of a rising final balls up within his groin. Xev’s own takes its time to build, keeping him in control as Stalker’s sharply rises from the dual sensation of penetration and mock penetrating.
An increase of the penetrated thrusts forces Stalker’s head back, leaning backwards as he approaches this third orgasm. One hand holds him upright on the prime, his other pressing at the base of his twitching length. He stutters in Orokin, whimpering as he approaches his peak. His movements growing sporadic – a twitching of his hips, fingers curling, shuttered grinds and groinal presses. The prime’s prehensile claspers are slickened by the hunter’s pre-orgasm drippings
Stalker’s movements increase in sporadic rhythms – a twitching of hips, fingers curling, shuttered grinds and groinal presses. An increase of choked grunts, whimpered moans, synching with his movements. Then it hits, casting him into another bout of sounds and motions. He thrusts hard, pinning the prime’s stiffening length deep inside him. His finals cast viscous red glow mixes against the prime’s stomach, leaving him left to catch his breath.
Xev rubs Stalker’s thighs, quiet as the hunter catches his breath. He waits until their breathing is regular, already beginning to shift again. Again, he asks, “you okay?”
“Yeah,” Stalker quickly answers; he begins another session of penetrated thrusts, keeping his hands held against the ones laid at his hips. “Just… let me forget,” he whimpers, voice distorting. Then he returns to his grinding thrusts.
It doesn’t take much for Xev to notice the hints of remorse in Stalker’s voice; a lingering air of repressed anger long sealed away. The coil in his chest tightens; thoughts racing with ways he could alleviate some of the repressed emotions long sealed away. After some time, Stalker already working himself up into another bout of ranting whimpers, Xev acts.
He slides his hands up Stalker’s sides carefully, slowly working his way up to the hunter’s ridged head – his hands held at either side of his face. “Hunter,” he starts in Orokin. “It’s okay, I’m here.”
Stalker says nothing – but Xev continues, pressing his mutilated crest against where Stalker’s temple would be.
He tries again, “You’ve done well, hunter.” And again, “You’re safe, it’s okay, hunter.”
Again, no response from Stalker besides his moans and groans.
The prime tries one more time – and fails. Xev sits there in silence, then says “I’m sorry-.”
“Don’t say that,” Stalker whimpers, increasing his rocking on the prime’s member. “Don’t ever fucking say that,” he briefly cries in Orokin, head tilt down, voice distorted. He balls his hands up at the prime’s side vents, squeezing the skin and flesh. Xev is silent save for the sounds coaxed from the tight walls squeezing and rolling around him.
“I’m … I’m sorry I left you,” he speaks in Orokin, pushing his head against Stalker’s neck. His fingers trail against Stalker’s vents, massaging the illuminated flesh. “But, I’m here now, I’m here,” Xev whispers, gently nuzzling into Stalker’s neck as the thrusts slow, Stalker’s arms curling up behind the prime’s back.
“I … I can’t,” Stalker shakes his head, twitching around the prime’s girth.
“Sssh,” Xev whispers, rolling himself up against Stalker’s tender flesh. “It’s okay, hunter. Just let it all out. Just let it all out,” the prime nuzzles into Stalker’s neck, bringing a hand to Stalker’s back as he slowly resumes his rocking.
“I just – fuck,” he whimpers in Orokin, “I miss him so much,” he barely cries, hands crawling up the prime’s back – his breathing increased as he closes in on his next peak. The forces of the motions increase, leaning against the prime for support as he bounces on the prime, murmuring in Orokin. Xev is forced to unwind one of arms to support them both, leaning on it hard as his own finish draws near. The hunter’s rough bucking makes it hard for him to concentrate out what to say, his senses flooded with the warmth around his throbbing length and the desperate rocking on top of him. Stalker continues to whimper in Orokin, gasping and whining, pulling himself closer to the prime as he edges on his brink.
Then it eventually hits him, making him loud and noisy, twitching inside and out – quickly leading to the prime’s just seconds after; Xev’s grunts turned into choked groans. The mixture of disjointed thrust melds their sensitivities; Stalker pressing down on the prime’s crotch, Xev thrusting hard into Stalker’s cavity. A blur of sounds and Orokin words stammered and whimpered between breathless gasps and half asphyxiation. The prime barely catches what Stalker says, responding with repeated reassurances. By the time the prime is through his orgasm Stalker is still feeling his own, pressed up against the prime, his head tucked beneath the prime’s.
Xev waits for Stalker to come down, letting the hunter linger in his arms as long as he wishes to. He lays flat on the floor, staring idly at the ceiling and stroking Stalker’s back as he catches his breath. And even then he refuses to get up, the prime still inside him, twitching. He can tell he’s at his limit; his breath endlessly shaking, rasping, hyper sensitive to the motions against his flesh. A prehensile clasper unwinds itself from Stalker’s member to slide across his tip – answered with a desperate moan. “How you feeling, hunter?” he asks in Orokin.
There’s a moment before Stalker responds, his breathing slow and deep. “Doing great,” he barely chuckles, pulling himself into an unstable kneel. Stalker wobbles as he tries to steady himself with his shaky legs alone, having to hold onto the prime’s helpful arms as they help him back down into a penetrated sit. Despite his wooziness, the hunter tries to initiate a new rocking, even as Xev holds his arms to keep him stable.
“You’re sort of … out of it,” Xev attempts to hold the hunter still, barely succeeding.
Stalker grunts, rolling against the prime. “I’m fine,” he mutters; his innate reverb making him sound slurred.
“You sure?” Xev forces himself up, helping Stalker ground himself better.
“Yes, just,” Stalker grunts, rocking on the prime, “just knock me out, would you?”
“Uh … hm,” Xev pauses, sitting there watching the wobbly hunter try to keep a consistent rocking motion. He could either keep going and indulge Stalker a little longer – or – withdraw now and hope the dazed killer calms down. Stalker grumbles in Orokin as he barely manages to rock on the prime, eventually becoming inconsistent enough that it gets to Xev, more so from annoyance than from arousal. “Let’s switch places, okay?”
Stalker stares down at his trembling arms dejectedly, barely able to keep himself upright let alone able to keep a consistent rhythm. For a moment as he’s in thought … and eventually concedes. “Sure,” he answers in Orokin, his gaze turned downwards – embarrassment, for showing weakness to the mutilated prime. Xev watches Stalker for a moment, then sighs. ‘Stubborn’, the prime comments to himself before he switches their roles; starting with helping Stalker ease back onto the ground. He reduces his size to slide out of the hunter before he himself moves to be knelt between the hunter’s legs – his claspers again straightening his length.
“You good?” Xev asks for final confirmation, Stalker’s legs over his own.
“Yeah…” Stalker scoffs, looking away from the prime.
“You certain? Is there something bothering you…?” Xev leans over with his hands set on Stalker’s sides.
“Yes. Just, shut up and knock me out,” he grumbles.
“Never been the one on top before, huh?”
“Was it obvious?” Stalker snaps.
“No; you did well,” the prime nuzzles his crest onto Stalker’s neck. “If we meet after this, I wouldn’t mind being on bottom again.” Stalker watches as the prime rises back to a sitting position, his hands shifting beneath Stalker’s hips. But, he waits to penetrate. “When you’re ready,” the prime purrs, his member held still by his claspers – above Stalker’s own.
“Ye-yeah,” Stalker mumbles, looking away. “Yeah … I’m ready.”
Xev, again, leans over Stalker – cupping Stalker’s head in one of his hands, them both face to face. “Hey, being on bottom doesn’t make you weaker, okay?”
Stalker is quiet as the prime returns to his position, and only then… “Thanks,” Stalker whispers.
The prime nods and Stalker props himself up on his elbows, semi eager to watch the prime work. Xev shuffles for a moment, lifting Stalker’s hips as his claspers point him beneath the hunter’s length and between the soft red glowing lips. Slowly he buries himself into Stalker’s folds, the claspers snaking their way out after his first half slides in, before their groins make full contact. Stalker groans as Xev grows his member back to its previous size, filling him up all over again – the claspers coil themselves at the base of his length.
Xev is slow to move at first, letting Stalker become acclimated with the texture and size. He shuffles his grip on the hunter’s waist, shifting himself to a better angle for both of them. “Just relax, hunter. I’ll take care of you,” Xev coos in Orokin, beginning his first roll into the exhausted hunter. His pumps are slow, rolling his tip deep and carefully into Stalker’s cavity, his claspers stroking Stalker’s length at a similar pace. The slickness of their earlier romps make it easy for him to find the right rhythm to coax a short whine from Stalker with each patient thrust.
As the mellow thrusts even out Xev bends over Stalker with his hands dug against the hunter’s dark skin, Stalker’s arms crossed over the prime’s back – his head laid back as the prime lies his head on him. Compared to the hard thrusts of before Stalker feels it through more than just his groin. In this moment, held tight beneath a seasonless glow, a warm body against his, the gentle thrusts, another breath on his skin – it just feels … right. Something he’s needed over the last few thousand years. Slowly his mind clears of the horrors that haunt him, the ghost of another disappears. He goes from whines to open moans, rolling up against the prime and their pawing claspers as their pace draw him closer. Xev moves one hand to the small of his back, dragging his hips closer, burrowing deeper. Stalker begins to ramble in Orokin, spreading his feelings freely on the prime buried deep inside his cavity.
Xev listens to the rambling as he slowly steps up his pace, thrusts that twitch in needing bucks and sharp rolls, bringing them closer in motion. The prime curls his arms around Stalker’s waist, holding his head up to look down at the weary hunter mumbling to him, his grip still firm. “Keep going,” the hunter whimpers between softened moans, rocking beneath the slightly larger prime.
“Mhm,” the prime hums, increasing his pace; Stalker feeling himself moved into a gentle bounce, his back gliding up and down on the floor.
A hand moves out of its coil to feel along the prime’s nearly perfect circular neck wound, tracing along the black scar. Xev rests his head on Stalker as he continues, nuzzling his damaged head into his neck, keeping his throat extended for the curious killer. “That scar, where is it from?” Stalker barely manages out, gripping onto the prime’s backing spikes.
“A long time ago,” the prime purrs, snapping a quick buck into the hunter – Stalker gasps – and returns to the pace he had kept up. “Did – he have a similar scar?” Xev slowly forces out between his groans, his claspers pulling Stalker’s length against his stomach.
“No,” Stalker whimpers, feeling himself close. His arms turn into vices, pulling the prime down on top of him as he rolls. “I killed him.”
“Oh,” the prime grunts, pressing himself up to his base into Stalker – a motion greeted by loud moans and fingers squeezing at his back. His clasper slide from the hunter’s base to top and slatter his length with his slick red drippings. Stalker rocks against the prime’s shifting claspers, his motions un-paced with the prime’s careful thrusts for a short time. Then the prime calms his own, and syncs up with the hunter’s own – coaxing sounds from them both.
At the peak of their thrusts the prime is well buried into Stalker, pressing his lips flat against his flesh. And, as they both draw back for another thrust the prime is dragged about halfway out of Stalker, exposing his tender, sensitive flesh to the chill of the derelict air before being plunged into again. Their breaths intermingle, both drawn into only motions and sound as they near their respective peaks; the third for the prime, a fifth for Stalker.
Their motions lose their rhythms, their volumes uneven as the contact of their flesh echoes. One of the prime’s hands reach down and presses Stalker’s hips close, his other at the hunter’s back. Stalker’s own pull the prime down against him, pressing his head into their neck scar. Between his gasps, moans, and groans, he begins to murmur, his volume increasing as the prime begins to vigorously buck into him. As he’s approaching his peak he whimpers the same name, nearly inaudible to the panting prime thrusting into him. It’s not his name, that’s for sure – he doesn’t mind.
Stalker’s peak is the one hit first, as the pressure within him swells his legs pull down on the prime’s waist. His sounds turn from groans to near squeaking whimpers, still breathing the dead prime’s name. The living prime hammers his way into his own, growling against Stalker’s neck as he releases into their warm cavity. Their ends are quick, leaving them both gasping for breath, the prime unhooking his arms to lean over the hunter. He says nothing, his head lax and his crest on the hunter’s neck.
“I’m good now, prime,” Stalker whispers, nudging the prime’s head.
“Oh,” the prime snorts, remaining where he is, “that’s good. Don’t think I got another in me.” He laughs.
They go silent save for their recovering breaths, one slowly becoming more audible over the other – the prime shifts to withdraw from the hunter. When he tries to sit up Stalker’s arms hold him in a sleeping vice, a second try and he feels a bit of slack. Instead of pulling again Xev removes the sleeping hunter’s arms off his back, lying them on his chest. Freed of the limb-made vices he’s free to sit up, looking down at the sleeping Stalker as he withdraws his limp length and loose claspers. His slit seals itself.
“Now what,” Xev says to himself with a sigh.
Leaving him alone would be the safest option but … to him, it just doesn’t feel right.
Still sat in a kneel he calls in to his cephalon; that he’ll be onboard a while longer. He’s not sure how long.
With that out of the way he hooks his arms around Stalker’s chest and drags him to the side of the room with the inlet beds. There he finds a reasonably comfortable spot and sits down – with the sleeping killer laid on his lap.
“What have I gotten myself into.” The prime huffs, leaning back on the bare bed.
