Page 17 of Fallen: Darkness Ascending, Vol.1
Z E R O
E ven more terrifying than seeing both men bare and nude before me, more than seeing Cornelius toyingly drag the tip of his silver blade around Cillian’s nipple, is seeing the bedroom door cracked open behind their forms.
I could get up and run. Hell I could probably get up, walk off calmly and get dressed to leave this estate, and they’d keep on playing with one another without worrying about me.
Because all three of us know it’s a hundred percent my choice to be here doing this, that I can take it back at any moment if I want to.
And that’s the truly terrifying part.
I chose this. To participate. To be here. To sit back, nude and vulnerable myself, as Cillian is laid out across the bed on his back and Cornelius stands at the edge, near his head, ‘punishing’ the man for having taken liberties with me and scared me more than was deemed necessary.
And it’s clear that Cillian fucking hates it, but is holding himself to the bed purely because I said it’d make me feel better if he had some sort of consequences for all the tortures he inflicted on me.
There’s a constant twist of rage and resentment on his face, which flashes deeper when Cornelius’s knife slits into the skin of his nipple and makes a fake apology.
“Oops. My mistake…let me kiss it all better…”
Cornelius’s breath drifts over Cillian’s tense chest, pink tongue flicking out across the cut nipple. It must hurt, but Cillian’s stomach barely clenches in response and Cornelius of course takes the opportunity to mouth across the small, taut nipple in a sexual tease.
Cillian’s soft growl of loathing sends a shiver up my spine.
I see his hands fist at his sides as he tries and fails to take a calming breath.
The failure comes in when Cornelius’s knife is set broadside across his ballsack—the fallen angel’s eyes lifting to me and holding my gaze as he works the knife around, trailing, teasing, threatening, drawing it up the half-hard shaft and then twisting it in his grip with a deft spin of fingers to press the point of it into his frenulum.
Cillian’s stomach clenches again and his groan of restrained anger is louder this time, thighs quaking a little.
Cornelius’s mouth laughs over his nipple and the tongue draws a broad stroke over the saliva-smeared blood there, eyes watching his work now as he pins the limb between Cillian’s own body and the point of the knife.
I shudder and pull into myself at the sight of the metal cutting through, making headway, and releasing a small puddling of blood at the point of incision.
But it is goddamn satisfying to hear Cillian’s faint little breath of pain.
The narrow point of the silver blade is pressed halfway through the cock before receding, bringing a little trail of blood up with it. The droplets flick outward and splash across Cillian’s hips as the blade is twirled and turned, the handle extended toward me. An offering.
I stare at it, and shake my head at Cornelius.
He laughs and teethes at Cillian’s nipple to make him twitch. “Go on, lamb. Claim your vengeance. Demons can’t be killed with a blade even in human form. But they can still feel the pain of it, and you deserve his pain. Doesn’t she, Cill?”
Cornelius’s hand reproachingly smacks against Cillian’s cheek as the man grits his teeth and snarls. Another, firmer little slap and he bares his teeth like an animal. “… Y-Yesss…She does… ” His voice is hissing, strained, and full of hate.
“See? Good boy.” Another teasing smack to the cheek, softer and praising this time.
Murder flashes in Cillian’s eyes, and his fist twitches up and seizes Cornelius by the throat—who laughs against the man’s grip and offers the blade to me again.
…I take the ruby-inlaid handle, since Cillian is at least laying still and consenting to the tortures.
That’s more than I ever gave him when the tables were turned.
Once the knife has left Cornelius’s hand, he replaces it with Cillian’s semi-soft erection and gracefully pumps the foreskin in slow strokes.
I glance around the body in front of me, the thighs, the genitals, the stomach…
My grip adjusts and readjusts on the knife.
Do I go in with a big, sudden stab to the stomach for all the times he tore me open there?
Or jam the knife right up through his taint for all the times he fucked me? ?
There’s a coyness to the speed at which Cornelius’s free hand reaches to trace fingertips across mine on the blade, cresting over my fingers, then softly holding.
A thumb runs a tiny circle over my skin, and his voice has a teasing, but encouraging tone.
“I know, I know…You’re not one for violence.
This is new for you. I can help you?” His grip softly guides our shared grip on the knife down, toward Cillian’s shaft.
“Will that help, little lamb? If we do it together?”
I breathe, panting, staring at the reflection of Cillian’s skin in the polished silver metal of the blade’s edge.
Cornelius’ s thumb strokes me again, voice drifting to a featherlight whisper. “…Do you want my help? Yes…no? Maybe a little?” His voice is so delicate, so softly empowering, like he’s offering to help me do something grand but frightening—not stab a man’s cock .
I lick my lips and remind myself of all the awful things this man has done to me, as Cillian and as Phantasmus. Cornelius isn’t any less innocent, but…
…I’ll get my revenge on him, too, eventually.
I lick my lips, maneuvering the knife over to the very base of that shaft, right where the balls start to sag away. The point of the blade sets down on the skin—his sack coiling up and tensing—and I drive the knife point forward with hesitation and firmness in equal measure.
The little twitch of Cillian’s hips and the laborious outbreath gives me sick joy.
“Slow and torturous…that’s my girl,” Cornelius says with an approving chuckle. His thumb strokes mine more certainly, an expression of praise, before his hand slowly draws back and away to let me work the knife however I please.
Cillian’s voice is a rasping thing. “…If you think that hurts, then you?—”
“Hush now. Let her play; it’s only fair.”
The man’s words are silenced by a pair of Cornelius’s leather-bound fingers being confidently stuffed between the other man’s teeth as he speaks. Cillian growls and I see violent wishes flicker in his gaze again—Cornelius simply chuckles as the man bites down firmly on his digits out of anger.
My eyes return to the scene beneath my hand, the softly bleeding cock.
The small stab wound Cornelius had driven through him seems to have healed, or mostly, by now.
Something about that feels like the violence I’m carving into him is more justified.
Like it’s safer to indulge in because I’m not really hurting him.
I watch the skin slice open as I trail the blade tip down between his balls, watching them lift and twitch as the internal muscles struggle to try and escape.
The cut is shallow, but satisfying. I flick the blade off the end and earn another twitch of his waist, then set it back at his base again.
The flesh shakes and presses against the blade as Cornelius pumps, his pace not having changed—but Cillian’s cock is now fully alert and at attention.
Cornelius draws his hand along some of the blood at his waist, using it to wetten the tight foreskin and continue his ministrations.
“Do you want her to cut you deeper, hmm?” Cornelius taunts as his palm jerks at Cillian’s head. Something in me makes me press the point in at his base, piercing softly to hear him groan. “We all know you like it more when it hurts. You can ask for it, demon. Go ahead.”
Cillian’s teeth grit and bite into Cornelius’s hand, as he staunchly refuses to play along.
Something in the flare of determination and self-control there makes me want to break it. I wonder if that’s how he’s always felt when looking down at me?
Well. Regardless.
I pull the knife up and away a little, watching his body slightly relax and twitch in momentary relief—then I thrust forward and drive the narrow, half-inch thick blade deep into the root of his cock shaft.
The sudden punch of metal-through-flesh makes his eyes flash open, mouth agape in a sharp gasp as his body flexes in pained surprise.
Cornelius laughs , entertained by my sudden viciousness, and I feel my breaths come in shorter, softer pants as I watch Cillian’s pain write across his face and body.
The knife is pressed further, the tip working into his waist and skewering the base of his shaft even as Cornelius’s hand begins to work merciless strokes against it—each one tugging his flesh against the sharp, silver edge.
The sounds Cillian makes are half fury and half whimper.
They sound glorious .
What have these men done to me, that I think such things?
I sink into the eye-for-an-eye mentality, enjoying both the torture and the bliss Cillian seems to be struggling through.
Cornelius works his cock earnestly, mouth occasionally tending to his nipple or biting in at his body, as I hold the knife in place and lift, tug, and fondle Cillian’s sack in my hand.
It makes them graze the knife every so often, mingling pain and pleasure in a way that feels hauntingly, beautifully similar to the things he would do to me when visiting my wet nightmares as Phantasmus.
“You’re not resisting, are you? Hmm? Are you going to cum soon, little devil?
” Cornelius taunts, teasing jerks of his palm at Cillian’s cockhead to slightly overstimulate him.
The hips twitch and jostle against my firm hold on the knife handle, working more blood up from the stab wound—which Cornelius makes clinical, detached use of under his soft leather glove.
Cillian speaks in a jerking tone, “You wouldn’t…fucking let me come, and I know it…”