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“…Banhammer, where are your pants?”
Sniffling where he sits atop his larger than average bed, Banhammer wipes the crust from his eyes and squints at the suspiciously Medkit-shaped figure by the door of his bedroom. It’s early – too damn early to be up and about on a Saturday evening – and he’s already regretting the fact he allowed Medkit to stay the night with the excuse of ‘still feeling sore’. Of course, he feels fantastic, but, well, Momma had told him a few days before that she wouldn’t be home for a while, and… well, maybe he got a bit lonely—
“What ‘bout ‘em?” He mumbles, voice groggy and thick with sleep. The silence between them draws out the longer Medkit stares, and Banhammer cannot find it in himself to question why. Instead, he flops back down onto the bed, face-first, and groans. His voice comes out muffled when he says, “’ake some ‘reak’ast, will ‘ya?”
A brief silence and then, “Unless it’s microwaved food, I’m not sure you want to taste my cooking.”
“Who the hell don’t know how ‘ta cook?” Exasperated, Banhammer moves his face out of the pillows and turns it to the side, just in time to see Medkit’s eye flicker toward his face instead of wherever he had been staring. Hm, suspicious.
They stare at eachother for a long moment. The look on Medkit’s face is like someone trying awfully hard to look like they hadn’t been doing a specific something, but his face is so flat most of the damn time Banhammer has no idea if he’s being delusional or just plain paranoid. It takes long – so long – for Medkit’s slow, distracted reply to come.
“Not everyone grows up to be a chef, Banhammer. I don’t have the time for that sort of thing.”
Cheek squishing into the pillow, Banhammer frowns in dismay. Cooking for himself was mandatory back when Momma wasn’t around as much. Sure, Firebrand would cook for him every once and a while, but even the old man had to go do his duties as a deity, so Banhammer found himself tinkering in the kitchen more often than not after getting tired of the same old snacks and frozen meals.
“Sounds rough.” He mutters into his pillow, one of his hands pawing around for the edge of his blanket which is… well, probably on the floor now that he thinks about it. Damnit. Groaning dramatically, Banhammer yanks another one of his pillows from their pile and shoves it over his head. Hungry or not, he is getting a few extra minutes of rest.
After a brief moment of silence – that goes on almost to the point that Banhammer forgets there’s another demon in this household besides himself – an awkward cough sounds in the room and the soft pad of footsteps wander away.
Predictably, Banhammer wakes up to silence. His eyes peel themselves open one by one as his body slinks back into a mock seiza atop the sheets, sniffling and yawning as he does, and the silence remains. So, assuming Medkit already packed his bags and hauled rear, Banhammer wanders into the bathroom for a few minutes to freshen up then makes his way to the kitchen. A stupid part of him hopes to see plastic wrapped containers with a written-on sticky note on them, but all he finds is an unwashed glass in his sink and the faint smell of smoke.
Smoke?
Brows furrowed, Banhammer stomps up to the front door and yanks it open, letting in all the atrociously heated air that comes with living in a literal volcano for land. His eyes shift down to Medkit in the corner flinching harshly with a cigarette between his fingers and a lighter in the other hand, the ash remains of what must’ve been another fully used cigarette staining the concrete floor of his entrance. A grimace overcomes Banhammer’s face, edging towards a sneer as the smell of smoke hits him full force. Peachy.
“The hell you doing out here?”
“…I thought you said you did not wish for me to smoke around you.” Medkit says carefully, gathering himself enough to bring the cigarette back near his mouth and begin lighting it. One click. Two clicks. Banhammer snatches the lighter away at the third click and goes to shove it into his pocket, only for his hand to slip against the skin-tight fabric of his boxers.
Ah. He forgot about that.
Slowly, awkwardly letting his hand drop to his side, a sudden urge possesses him to throw the lighter away, and he does just that, sending it flying behind him with a flick of his hand and hearing the loud crack that comes with it hitting something.
Medkit blinks up at him like he just killed a child, eyebrow furrowed indignantly. “I don’t—that wasn’t necessary, was it?”
Banhammer leans his hip onto the side of the door threshold, crossing his arms pettily. His eyes drop down Medkit’s face to… his bare body, only covered up by mere grey sweatpants. “…No, not really. Still, unless ‘ya go and dip that there stick in some lava, I don’t think ‘yer gonna light it anytime soon, so it’s a personal win. Also, where’s ‘yer damn clothes?”
Medkit’s stare shifts into a deadpan, and Banhammer gets the slightest inkling that what he just said is about to be turned against him, but its so small he ignores it in favor of observing the droplets of sweat rolling down Medkit’s toned torso like tiny rivers and darkening the hem of his drenched sweatpants. Man’s sweating buckets out here. What is it, March? It ain’t even that hot yet!
A blast of fiery hot air whips around them and into the house as if to combat that statement. Banhammer glances at Medkit, who stands there in silence as if a stare were enough to convey whole sentences – it is not, in fact, enough to exchange silent words. He just looks a little constipated at this point – and he grabs the smaller demon by the bicep and drags him into the house, slamming the door shut.
“Can’t we adjust the thermostat in here?” Medkit asks after a few moments of silence, wiping the sweat off his brow and glancing down at his pants with a grimace. Banhammer, striding into the kitchen in search of something preferably with caffeine, grunts in reply.
“Don’t you mess with my thermostat.”
“Banhammer, last time I checked, it was reading over eighty degrees. I’m pretty sure an old woman would get a heatstroke just by standing in here.”
“Well, don’t bring no old hag into my house then. Problem solved! Don’t touch the damn thermos.” He hisses back, throwing back a cup of water before fumbling through his pantry for the ground coffee. “Go find something to fan yourself with, I dunno!”
Medkit goes silent, though the sounds of him wandering about lets Banhammer know he isn’t just standing behind him like a creep. Good. Now, Banhammer focuses all his attention on brewing a feasible cup of coffee, enjoying the somewhat quiet atmosphere they have going. And then it happens. Banhammer’s grabbing mugs out of the cabinet when there’s a hefty sigh from behind him. Not even a second later, a loud smack rings through the house.
Sighing harshly through his nose, Banhammer sets down the mugs before they cracked in his hands and pushes back his locs as he registers the sting vibrating through his rear.
“I wanna know what compelled you to do that.” He says without looking back, hands twitching with the urge to backhand the demon behind him in retaliation.
“…I figured it would be a waste not to. You… you have a rather tempting backside.”
Banhammer turns himself around, impassively staring down at Medkit who looks far too resigned to his fate now that he’s gone and assaulted the warden of Banland’s cheeks. “And you’ve been thinking of doing that for how long?”
Medkit’s gaze finally meets his own. “A while.”
His hand absently drifts behind himself to grip his own rear – which feels irritatingly full and gives easily to his hold – and for a moment, Banhammer understands the thought that had been plaguing Medkit’s mind for the past who knows how many hours as he gropes himself, narrowed eyes staring off into the distance before sliding back to Medkit’s intrigued face.
Medkit glances up at him, curiosity belonging to a scientist shining in his eye. “Isn’t it soft?”
“…Yeah.” He mutters under his breath, giving his own flesh one last squeeze before allowing the humiliation to swarm him in drones. He feels stupid.
And then Medkit goes and says something that makes Banhamer feel a little less stupid.
Gaze flickering between Banhammer’s face and further down his body, Medkit’s hand wavers by his own side as he asks brazenly, “May I?”
Banhammer stares at him.
Medkit stares back, his fingers predestined and twitching around thin air.
Finally, Banhammer squeezes out of a clenched jaw. “You sweaty bastard pervert. Get outta my kitchen if you ain’t gonna cook.”
Whipping around, he snatches up one of his bear mugs and fills it with the steaming, heavenly drug known as coffee, stubbornly taking a scalding sip to ignore the stupidity of the current situation. A flat silence hangs over the house. Banhammer takes it and runs to the hills, shouldering his way past Medkit and making his way to the fridge. He’s grabbing the carton of milk when cool hands slide over his hips and settle there as if to test something.
Banhammer exhales hard through his nose, unscrewing the cap with one hand to pour some of the milk into his coffee. “The hell you want?”
A hum answers him, distracted and wholly not the kind of explanation Banhammer would like. Instead, fingers dig into his hips and slide up, feeling the divot of his spine between his lateral muscles. The touch is curious as it grips the developed muscle, and Banhammer slams the fridge door shut with another irritated exhale when those fingers smooth their way to his waist and feels it up.
The touch doesn’t feel bad per se, but there’s a sort of reverence behind it that makes a tendril of apprehension slither down Banhammer’s spine.
“Hold on.” Is the only thing Medkit says when he goes to turn around, and Banhammer’s pretty sure he feels a blood vessel pop on his forehead, jaw clenching and unclenching as he – stupidly so – pauses. The hand on his waist squeezes twice as if out of approval and drifts further down to the sides of his thighs, toying impishly with the hems of his boxers.
“I’m not stripping this early in the morning.” Banhammer mutters, and he hates the way his voice wavers near the end. He also hates how an amused huff comes from behind him and those fingers send a shiver up his spine by slipping under the hem and pressing bare skin against bare skin like he’s some kind of hotpack.
“Meds?”
Silence answers him. Banhammer clicks his tongue against his teeth in annoyance.
This is something he’s noticed about Medkit; when something catches his eye, he goes quiet. Damn near non-verbal. Unless something requires him to speak up in order to continue his observations, a literal attempt on his life could be made and he wouldn’t notice until bleeding and dead on the damn floor. And Banhammer just happened to let him get his grimy little hands on the source of his intrigue, and now he’s stuck standing in front of his fridge while being groped.
Lovely. A great way to start off his Saturday, that’s for sure.
The fingers slid out from under his boxers. In all frankness, it doesn’t surprise Banhammer when those fingers run up the back of his thighs and carefully cups his rear. Medkit seems to pause for a moment, testing the waters, and when Banhammer stays resolutely quiet and simply lets his forehead thump against the fridge in resignation, the groping, the squeezing, the feeling continues.
It’s a good few moments when Medkit pauses, lets his arms circle around Banhammer’s hips, and sidles close enough for his still slightly sweaty chest to press against Banhammer’s lower back. Their closeness presses into the short, bear-like tail Banhammer knows sits right on his tailbone yet always forgets, and he grimaces in dismay as he feels it attempt to flop even while being crushed.
He doesn’t exactly mind his tail. It’s small and stays out of the way most of the time, and most of the demons he knows don’t even know he has a tail. It’s… convenient? He’s not sure. He spent most of his childhood flaunting it, and then most of his teenage years hiding it, and then he settled into an awkward middle ground where he tries not to care too much.
A fluttering sensation is pressed against his spine.
It takes a few moments for Banhammer to register it as a kiss, distracting wholly by the feather-like caresses near the base of his tail. A rumble threatens to bubble up his throat the closer the fingers get to his tail, and a croon – a sound entirely out of his control, a noise that drags itself from the depths of hell, actually – eases out of his throat when another handful of kisses trail up his spine, echoing through the house.
Banhammer presses his head harder against the fridge and squeezes his eyes shut, embarrassment warming his face to an humiliating degree. Damn it all.
“Turn around for me.”
Banhammer resolutely stares at a spot above Medkit’s head the moment they face each other, and Medkit merely glances at him for a moment, expression quiet and focused, before his lips quirk up into tiny semicolons.
Banhammer’s eyes snap down to witness the look.
He’s smug. This groping, perverted, son of a—
“I hate you.” Banhammer hisses out through gritted teeth as he goes to pry Medkit’s arms away from his hips. Medkit, in retaliation, presses closer, his eye glinting with an unspoken request.
“I know.” He murmurs in a pleased tone, his breath warm against Banhammer’s skin. “Bend down?”
Banhammer shoves him aside with a hand to the head, sending Medkit stumbling into the dining table like a piece of paper unsettled by a gust of wind, and Banhammer ignores the loud thunck that follows what must’ve been the smaller demon colliding with said table in favor of taking an aggravated sip of his morning brew. If his ears are burning, no they aren’t, and if the areas where Medkit’s hands slid over his skin are tingling, the hell they are.
“You piece of sh— no, truly, is the only way for you to escape a situation throwing me into nearby surfaces?” Medkit snaps from the table, groaning and hissing as he pushes himself up. Banhammer slams his mug down a bit too harshly in response, yanking the fridge open once more and pulling out breakfast ingredients with uncontained aggravation.
“I dunno, try healing yourself? Besides, ‘yer the one getting all handsy anyway, so don’t ‘cha start complaining! I didn’t ask to get groped!”
“Well, I’m sorry I took your compliancy as consent. Not everyone can read minds for when you don’t say anything.” Heated sarcasm drips from Medkit’s every word, and Banhammer glowers at him while tearing open packets of bacon if not to ignore the fact he has absolutely nothing to defend himself regarding Medkit’s words.
Medkit glares back, an eyebrow raising victoriously the longer Banhammer keeps his silence.
“Trip on the stairs on ‘yer way out, will ‘ya?” He mutters, turning back around and grabbing one of the cast iron skillets hanging on the wall.
Medkit doesn’t respond to the jeer, though sounds of a huff and his footsteps do go further away. Banhammer ignores it in favor of cooking breakfast.
And then some minutes pass.
And some more, when Banhammer’s emptying the food he prepared for himself onto plates.
And another set of minutes after he stares at the closed bedroom door with furrowed brows before begrudgingly starting on another, smaller serving of food.
At some point, too much time has passed for Banhammer to not wonder where what and why Medkit has gone. Did he… did he leave?
Banhammer finds himself staring at the closed door longer then he should with his wooden spatula in hand, mind sprinting over all the possible ways Medkit could’ve left while he had been distracted with cooking. It really hasn’t been that long, has it? He hadn’t actually meant it when he mentioned Medkit leaving.
“Oi, Meds?” He calls out, flicking off the fire and hauling the skillet to the cooler side of the stove as silence answers him.
Did the guy actually up and leave?
“The hell?” Banhammer mutters under his breath as he makes his way over to his bedroom, testing the door only to find it unlocked. Peachy. He kicks it open.
“Oi, Meds! Food’s ready!” He yells only to startle at the sight of said demon sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing his dripping hair with a towel and adorning only another pair of sweatpants. He stares at the equally surprised demon for a few moments. The rhythm of his heart, which had been in a steady staccato ever since the idea that Medkit had left popped into his mind, eases its way down into a more reasonable rhythm.
Banhammer swallows away the unease in his throat with a click, scratching the back of his head. “Uh… grub’s done.”
Medkit blinks at him a few times before gathering himself and humming in acknowledgement, looking rather at home as he dries his hair on Banhammer’s bed. The sight causes a pang of… something to ache in Banhammer’s chest. He has to remind himself that Medkit sat right in front of him to prevent another pang. Medkit’s here. He’s here.
He’s not leaving.
The odd sensation in his chest doesn’t leave even after the reassurance. Banhammer stands there shifting from foot to foot, words on the tip of his tongue yet refusing to come out. What will he even say? Gee, I know I told you to get out but consider staying a little longer? Hell no.
Digging his fang into his bottom lip as the well of melancholy emotion fills up inside him, Banhammer realizes something. He needs a distraction – something to ignore the weird mashup of emotions trying to clarify themselves in his mind. He doesn’t need clarity right now; he needs an empty mind. It is that line of thought that pushes Banhammer to slinks over to Medkit and cage the smaller demon in using his knees on the bed, grimacing as the mattress gives to his weight a bit too generously while Medkit cranes his head to look up at him.
Somewhat warm hands settle on his hips. There’s an eager wag to Medkit’s stubby, deer-like tail, and it almost hurts to look down at the expectant look in Medkit’s eye. His gaze – it turns painfully soft sometimes. Not quite endeared. Not quite loving – the sun would freeze over before that happened – but when he lets himself slip, Banhammer feels like he’s peeking over the top of a wall, staring down at the flood of affection behind Medkit’s apathy.
He seems eager to give.
Banhammer doesn’t want to think too much about that. Instead, he threads his hands through Medkit’s frazzled, shoulder-length hair and leans down to nibble inquiringly on his bottom lip, sprouting a self-satisfied smile when Medkit’s expression takes an exasperated turn and the smaller demon drags him down into a kiss by the nape.
This is what he had been looking for.
The longer they kiss, the sloppier it gets. Banhammer rumbles into Medkit’s mouth when a tongue laves over the tingly roof of his mouth, cupping Medkit’s face with his hands and pressing forward until they both go plopping onto the mattress. Even then, they don’t break apart, a prospect Banhammer enjoys more than he should. He can feel his own tail wagging contently behind his back, flopping over itself like it has no sense at all, and for once he really doesn’t care, especially not when Medkit winds a free hand around his body and gathers the flicking, gigantic appendage in his small hand.
“Your tail’s not bad.” Medkit murmurs when they break for air, his fingers rubbing slow circles on the base of the now frantically whipping tail, and Banhammer huffs breathlessly, face scrunching up at the zips of pleasure up his spine.
“It’s… it’s alright. Stays outta the way.” He squeezes out, Medkit’s intrigued gaze burning into him as he squirms into and then away from the touch. One particular spot has his hips twitching up to an embarrassingly degree, and Banhammer lets out a wavering groan, gripping Medkit’s forearm and tugging his touch away. “Leave it alone.”
“It’s interesting. I don’t think I’ve seen a tail that moves like this.” Medkit murmurs in response, his hand moving towards it only for Banhammer to yank it away once more. His tail – treacherous bastard – continues to flop over itself and wag, worsening the heat in Banhammer’s face as Medkit raises a brow at him.
“Ignore it. C’mere.”
There’s a small, amused lift to Medkit’s lips when Banhammer drags him closer for another kiss, and though warm hands slither around his waist again, they don’t go for his tail and instead simply holds him close.
This is nice, Banhammer thinks to himself as he slowly slides down into Medkit’s arms, knees spreading apart so he can lay flat atop the smaller demon and purr into his jaw when a curious finger toys with his tail once more. If he’s heavy, Medkit doesn’t mention it, staring down at Banhammer with a hint of surprise in his gaze before he slowly settles down as well and relents to their… well, it’s not cuddling – the idea of a criminal and a warden cuddling is like picturing the sun and Pluto hugging without any sort of cataclysmic disaster and Banhammer would sooner die from that before calling whatever the hell they’re doing cuddling – but there isn’t any better way to describe this, so never mind. They’re hanging out. Yeah, sounds about right.
“I think the food’s gone cold.” Banhammer murmurs against Medkit’s lips from where they had been exchanging irritatingly short kisses, resisting the lull of the serene atmosphere, the indescribable urge to clink his horns against Medkit’s. It’s been ages since he bumped horns with someone, nevertheless the fact he only remembers bumping horns with his mother when he was freshly spawned.
Of course, Medkit is non-the-wiser to his woes, staring up in a daze at him, frazzled hair fanning around his face, and his voice – low with a hint of a posh accent, slower than usual in speed – rest pleasantly in Banhammer’s ears as he replies, “Shall we go and eat then?”
“…Nah. A few more minutes.”
An amused huff answers him. Banhammer buries his face into the crook of Medkit’s neck as the morning drowsiness from earlier returned full-force and slumps fully onto the smaller demon, unable to be peeved about the prospect of eating microwaved food when Medkit is just… warm.
Nice and warm.
An unknown amount of time passes when Medkit shakes him awake, and Banhammer has to wipe the slobber off his chin from where he had eased his way into the most restful sleep he’s had in a while, flopping to the side when he’s shoved away.
Medkit says something, maybe along the lines of sleep. Banhammer isn’t sure with the ringing in his ears. He merely drags himself to his feet and shoulders his way out of the bedroom, yawning and sniveling.
A sharp smack rings through the house. The hand on his rear cheek makes sure to get a good grip this time, squeezing the fabric-covered flesh before letting go, and Banhammer can only blink sluggishly as Medkit strides past him, sniffling as he registers the tingling ache in his rear.