Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Warrace sat on the old sofa and flicked lazily through the midnight television channels. He had almost given up on finding something interesting when a tiny sniffle lifted him from his phosphorescent- screened trance. Warrace looked at the doorway to the room, and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. A small figure stepped into the room, covering its face in its hands.

"... Pesty?" The figure choked back a little sob, took a few wobbly steps forward, and stopped again. 

"Hey, come'er buddy. It's okay. What happened?" The little figure that was Pesty didn't come any further, just stood in place with an almost imperceptible tremor going through his petite frame. It didn’t happen often but when the Horsemen had nightmares, it wasn’t pretty. Knowing the bloodshed and personal suffering you caused, now with the full empathy and awareness of the victims’ pain, was sickening to say the least. Growing a conscience was probably Warrace’s least favorite part of their “rehabilitation”, as Mot called it. Warrace stood up slowly and crossed over to his friend. The horseman placed his large red hand on the other's slight shoulder. Warrace kneeled slowly with pained grunt as his knee hit the floor. Now he was at eye level with Pesty, although the crying man still covered his face from Warrace's view with his small hands.

Warrace reached over to grab Pesty's other shoulder as well, and he squeezed them both softly.

"Do you wanna talk about it…?" The little figure shook his head, hands continuing to latch onto and hide his face. Definitely a nightmare, Warrace decided. The smaller man twisted forward suddenly as a silent sob wracked his body, and Warrace felt a painful leaden weight in his chest at the sight. He put his arms around his friend, and scooped him up and cradled him in his arms. Pesty’s head curled into him, and the Horseman of War could feel wet eyes and small breaths on his neck. Warrace turned back and returned to his place on the couch. As he sat, the motion triggered a wave of sobs that made the bundle in his arms shake against Warrace's chest. Tears dripped down War’s neck and onto his shirt collar. Under any normal circumstances Warrace would be mad if someone got snot all over his shirt. But this wasn’t a normal circumstance. And it wasn’t just someone. Warrace rubbed Pesty’s back and shushed him quietly. He rocked the two of them forward and back, and the sobs grew softer. After more rocking, and the sobs had stopped, Warrace settled back down into the couch cushions.

"Is that better?" he asked softly. A hiccup answered him, and Pesty's watery purple eyes gazed up at him. They blinked and then the back of a small white sleeve rubbed at them furiously, trying to be rid of the tears still remaining.

"I hate him,"

"Yeah?" Warrace asked, brown furrowing. Another little hiccup-sob, and a reassuring pat on the back from Warrace's large warm hand.

"He.... he killed them. My poor babies. He killed them! How was I supposed to know that he could take all my little germies away!" The sobbing came back now, harder, and small hands clamped onto Warrace's shirt. Warrace waited patiently, rubbing small circles into Pesty's back as the sobbing ebbed between keening cries of denial and the low, utterly miserable moans of acceptance. After his friend seemed to have calmed, Warrace said softly:

"I am so sorry about what happened to your germs, Pestilence... I wish I could have been there to stop it all from happening..." 

‘And you could have been', his mind said coldly, 'if only you hadn't been fooling around with emotions of the doctor and the priest! You sensed something was wrong, but you didn't do anything. You could have saved him from this!'

Warrace grimaced at the truth of the words, and hugged Pesty tighter to his chest. His fingers tangled into his friend's hair while his other hand stroked Pesty's back. Warrace felt the little man shudder from the dissipating sobs beneath him. Warrace made soft shushing noises, cradling his friend and stroking his back and hair. Pesty curled into Warrace's chest, the comforting scent of his cologne, cigars and sweat filling up his nostrils. It smelled like never-ending love and affection, and like safety. It smelled like home.

“Thank you, War…” the smaller man murmured. Warrace paused at the mention of his true name. It brought back old memories- their first meeting, that infamous party on December 31st of 1999, and finally going into retirement with the others. When they chose their new names. Pesty had actually been the one to suggest Warrace, going through a dusty human census book excitedly in the “war-“ section, reading off the options with vigor. The corners of Warrace’s mouth twitched into a smile. There was something about his friend’s usual joy for life that was infecting. Haha.

Warrace could feel the tiny hands on his shirt begin to relax and the figure in his lap began to droop against him. Warrace sat unmoving as he felt his friend slowly drift off to sleep. Warrace carefully picked up the tv remote and powered off the television. The room was instantly encased in darkness, with nothing to indict the presence of the other in the room except for Warrace's knowledge of him, and the warmth of that small, delicate body curled into him. Warrace could hear the soft breathing below him, and he flushed as peering down at his friend’s sleeping form. An idea- no, an urge- crept up out of his throat. Moving ever so slowly, Warrace leaned down to meet the crown of Pesty's balding head with a chaste kiss. He lingered a moment, savoring it, butterflies in his stomach.

As he lifted his lips away, the smaller man stirred below him and Warrace froze. The butterflies in his stomach vanished, replaced by a sickening chill. If Pesty was waking up, how could he explain himself? Warrace felt disgust bubble up in his chest. Why had he done that? He was supposed to comfort Pesty, nothing else. They were just friends, a fact that Warrace had despondently dealt with every day since their retirement.

...And Pesty was so childlike and kindhearted these days. Unlike himself. Warrace only ever disliked his extreme bloodlust when Pesty displayed his caring, through actions or words, and Warrace was reminded of how... Unalike the two of them were. How he would never be good enough to be any closer than friends.

With these thoughts swirling around the Horseman of War's head, he didn't notice the returned stillness in his friend until he looked down and realized Pesty was indeed still fast sleep. He let out a huge breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Disaster had been yet averted.

***

Warrace hadn't planned on spending his night out here on the couch. But, he would happily do so if it meant he could continue to feel his friend against him, with Pesty's body heat, trust and love soaking into him. It left Warrace so full of giddy happiness that it actually seemed impossible. He didn't feel like a burden to his friends. He was actually helping one of them. And Pesty needed him.... and maybe- just maybe- one day he could even love him. No harm in hoping anyways.

These heady thoughts cycling through Warrace's mind, he stroked his small friend gently and dreamed of a world where their friendship led to something less one-sided.

Chapter Text

He moved through the crowd of dancers, invisible. The air in the grungy night club pulsated with house music and the smell of rancid alcohol. The people here were wasted out of their minds, but that suited Marvin just fine. He got less looks that way. Most people came to clubs to drink anyway, not eat, so he didn’t have to lay low. Even if there was the occasional starving wanker, he was usually able to blend in under the dance lights and darkness.

Mot had insisted they lay low after their “unexpected visitors” a few days ago. But Marv was going crazy cooped up in that house, and the threat of Mot’s anger hadn’t stopped him from leaving before and it wouldn’t now. More than he liked to admit it, the attack had shaken Marvin. The Horsemen had been living quietly in their retirement for over 60 years, and in one night they’d not only been attacked by a crazy witch and her strange… accomplice (according to Pesty that is), but Mot had made a deal signing away who-knows-what to save them. When Angela had started working for them it had actually been pretty fun, having a human they could talk to and ask questions. They were going to expand their newspaper (if they could win Angela over before she snitched on them at least). Life had been looking up. But now they were in legitimate danger. Marvin just needed to let off some steam.

At first glance you wouldn’t think there could be any seedy underbelly in the quaint town of Reading, but anywhere there was people, there was hunger for cheap thrills and lasciviousness. And it wasn’t the same as hunger for food, but it spoke to him. Perhaps a bit more fuzzy on the edges, but it was almost as much fun. And, the part of him that he refused to acknowledge also enjoyed it because it was, well, human. The Horsemen may have first roamed the earth as solitary beings, but they were made just as humans- to be supported by one another. Sometimes Marvin felt jealous of humans. The way they would shake hands or embrace upon meeting. Their love for each other. Even the drunken slow dancing of couples in the club was endearing (in an odd sort of way). Marv had always been a bit of a sap, but he’d never admit that some small quiet part of him yearned to held like that too.

Marv walked through the mass of sweating, gyrating bodies until he found a spot tucked away in a corner where he could see the stage. There were 3 performers dancing in synch. Two men and one woman, and they strutted in a circle. The leather fringe on their tight bedazzled shorts swished and jumped with their movements. The woman wore a frilly white corset, and the men’s chests were naked except for black leather harnesses. All of them wore sultry black eyeshadow. Marvin watched as the two men began to tango while the woman grabbed her water bottle and walked off stage.

The mens’ skin sparkled with sweat as they danced as one. The taller man spun and dipped his partner, lunging as he laid his partner across his knee. The man grabbed his partner’s hair and tugged his head back roughly. He leaned down, making a show to the audience of biting the shorter man where his neck and shoulder met. Marvin’s jaw dropped as the crowd whooped and hollered. That… was certainly a new act. It’s not that it was any more graphic than what this club had brought to the stage in the past, but they usually didn’t have mouth to skin contact. The dancer brought his head up, his lips and teeth red in a wicked smile. His partner shuddered under him, breathing heavily with the crimson teeth indentions on his neck shining wet under the lights. As if drawn by the sound of Marvin’s heart beating in his throat, the dancer made eye contact with him across the floor of drunk patrons. The dancer’s reddened mouth twitched into a smirk, and he winked at Marvin. Marvin felt his cheeks erupt in heat. He whipped his head around, trying to see who the man could possibly be looking at. But it was just Marv and the wall. He turned back to the stage, and the man grinned at him again and slowly licked the blood off his lips. Heart hammering in his chest, Marvin tore his gaze away from the dancer and ducked through the nearest door.

The thumping of the bass beat traveled muffled through the walls of the all gender-restroom. Marvin went to the counter and front row of sinks. He gripped the edge of the laminate, trying to ground himself. The man’s slow, domineering gaze was seared into the back of his eyelids.

Marvin looked down and swore under his breath when he realized his black slacks had become very tight around one particular region. He leaned forward and splashed water on his face. Okay, fine. So yeah, the dancer had actually been able to see him. And was sexy. And winked. Whatever. He needed to get a fucking grip.

A sound came from behind him, and Marv jerked upwards. The door knob rattled again and he darted into the first stall of the bathroom. He could walk around invisible or at least inconspicuous most of the time, but tonight that dancer on stage had seen him. It wasn’t out of the question for it to happen- maybe the man hadn’t eaten before performing. And yet… In the moment their eyes had met, the fiery look the man given him hadn’t seemed like hunger. Well. Not hunger for food. Marvin’s face flushed. That certainly wasn’t a look he could ever remember being on the receiving end of. And the implication of the man seeing him from sheer… feelings of desire alone was, to say the least, concerning.

The bathroom door opened and sounds of voices and footsteps travelled inside. The bathroom felt stuffier and closed in under the weight of Marvin’s thoughts. He had half a mind to barge out of the bathroom and go back to their stupid, broken-in house when he heard what the voices were saying.

“God, you’re so fucking hot right now. I’m begging you, baby, please,”

“Please, what? Use your words,”

Marvin was rooted to the spot, dumbfounded. Surely they weren’t going to… In the bathroom of all places??

Marvin’s eye widened as a moan came from the other side of the stall door. Holy shit. They were.

“Please… Please fuck me.” The voice whimpered pitifully. There was a sadistic laugh and a soft spoken sentiment Marvin couldn’t make out. The sound of a zipper being undone echoed in the suddenly very cramped bathroom. There were sounds of frantic kissing, and then creaking from weight being put on the counter.

Something dark and shameful and yearning blossomed in Marvin’s chest. This was something he didn’t get to have. Companionship. He could feel the couple’s hunger coursing through his veins like staccato. It was so heavy in the air he could have reached out and touched it. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Basking in the libido of the club crowd was one thing. The lust emanating from this couple was a whole other beast, its presence intoxicating, suffocating.

Marvin felt cold sweat down his back. His dick felt hot and heavy in his trousers. Against his better judgement, he reached down to palm himself, and he staggered as pleasure ripped through him like electricity. Fuck. Shame clouded his vision and he bit his lip anxiously. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should just wait here awkward, humiliated, and half-hard until the humans finished and left. He couldn’t risk walking out and having them see him. Not when the dancer had picked him out of the crowd so easily. Marvin tasted copper on his lips- he had been biting down too hard. His mind flashed to those red lips, that red smile. He choked back a moan, covering his mouth with a shaking hand.

“Mmm, do you like that?” Marvin jolted to attention, panic etched into his face. The noises were wetter now, slick noises filling the small space. Ah, right. They weren’t speaking to him. They couldn't see him. Marv wanted to relax but his nerves were like a live wire. He tried to cover his ears with his hands, but he could still hear the lewd noises and breathy moans. He really shouldn’t… Not like this…

But at the same time, it would be so easy. They had come right to him. And they were in a public restroom for fucks’ sake, anyone could just walk in here. Given the club they were at, they were honestly probably exhibitionists. Besides it all, if Marvin did do something it would make them leave quicker. That was it. That was why he wanted to feed on their hunger. It wasn't because he desperately wanted a taste of that passion that had only graced him in restless dreams. No. That wasn’t it at all.

He had decided. Face burning hot and his mind full of cotton, Marvin closed his eyes and slowly reached out for the couple’s hunger. It glowed bright in his mind’s eye and he coiled it in within himself.

A chorus of groans echoed outside the stall in response. Marvin’s eyes fluttered back as he tasted the hunger of their lust, slumping against the side of his stall. Sparks of pleasure arched through him, and he could barely stand. God, he really hoped Mot wouldn’t pick up on this through their mental link. Mot always knew when one of the Horsemen slipped up and used their powers in their retirement. Bile rose in the back of Marvin’s throat. If Mot realized what he was doing right now, he would literally die of shame. And he should be ashamed. So desperate for connection that he was siphoning off energy from two random humans shagging in the bathroom? Like a goddamn parasite. Marvin’s eyes prickled and he rubbed furiously at his face.

The image of the blood-stained smile flickered across his mind again, but this time it wasn’t the dancer. The old memory popped up like an unwanted guest and Marv could only watch it replay with helpless mortification.

*****

It was March 29th, 1461 of the village of Towton. During what the humans dubbed the Wars of the Roses. The fighting had gone on for ten hours in a snowstorm, the whirling snow and volleys of arrows competing for dominance in the sky. The snow underfoot had turned to stinking crimson slush from the bloodshed. Even the river nearby ran red, littered with bodies. It had been Warrace’s greatest masterpiece.

Marvin had come to watch him work. He was awestruck. Every time the troops’ morale seemed to suffer in the freezing cold, Warrace orchestrated a new wave of violent rage. There were tens of thousands of soldiers, and the scene extended into the horizon. But Warrace had control of them all. It was incredible.

When the battle was over, Marvin joined him and they walked over the piles of bodies, finishing off the survivors. Marv let Warrace do most of the killing- this was his accomplishment, and Marvin was just honored to have witnessed it. His companion must have picked up on Marvin’s humbled awe, because after a while he reached out and shoved Marvin’s shoulder.

“That impressive huh? Watch out, you’re gotten get me all soft.” Warrace had said with a wink. Marvin had chuckled.

“It might have been,” he replied, peeking through the strands of his long hair. He glanced across Warrace’s wide armor chest plate, covered in dried blood. It definitely had been.

Then Warrace had found his next victim. The man yelled bloody murder, red in the face. His legs were gone, wet stumps in their place. He shouldn’t have had any strength to yell, but Warrace liked his men going out kicking. He had pulled the dying man up, then turned to Marvin. Warrace smiled a deep, taunting grin and sunk his sharp teeth into the man’s neck. The man seemed to die instantly of shock- he didn’t even utter a cry.

This gesture of Warrace’s had the same performative air as the dancer. He had smirked at Marvin and dropped the fresh body to the ground with a flourish. The blood dripped from his teeth and down his chin. Marvin had tried to recollect his thoughts quickly, but his mouth was agape.

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from,” Warrace had said with amusement, his voice a deep rumble. He had wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, and grinned again. The blood was still on his teeth and Warrace swished his mouth, then swallowed it. Marvin could have died and gone to Hell right then…

They had gone right back to stalking the dying like nothing had happened, but Marvin had sworn to himself that he couldn’t look at his friend any differently. Even as his legs shook and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.

*****

The memory pulsed in Marvin’s mind like hot iron and he shuddered. He palmed himself again, whining under his breath and his eyes watered. Fuck. What he would have done to be that dead soldier. Fuck. The sounds from the couple filtered back into his ears, and Marvin gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to be here, he couldn’t take much more of this!

“Yeah? That’s how you like it?” There was a wet, muffled moan in response.

“What a good boy. You’re such a good little slut for me.” Jesus Christ. The words cut through him and left him breathless. It was so easy to imagine them coming from another set of lips. Whatever resolve Marvin had left collapsed. Without a second thought, he opened his belt with shaking hands and undid his zipper. Marvin gripped himself rough and desperate through the thin cotton fabric of his underwear. He rubbed himself raw, doubling over against the wall. The friction was painful, but that’s exactly what he deserved. The pleasure was still there though and it rippled through him, shame-laden and heavy in his stomach. He blinked furiously, teardrops welling up in his eyes. Parasite, his mind echoed, parasite.