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In the vast, unforgiving world of the Lifesteal SMP, where alliances shifted like sand and every fight could steal a piece of your life, boredom was the real enemy. The server had been quiet lately—no massive wars, no chaotic events, just the occasional skirmish that ended too quickly. FlameFrags, the immortal demon of PVP, known for his unyielding skill and demonic flair, grew restless. He craved a real challenge, something to get the blood pumping.
That's when he messaged Wemmbu and ClownPierce. The three of them had history–Wemmbu, the half-dragon hybrid with scales glinting under his skin and a mace that could shatter worlds when paired with elytra flight, was always up for a scrap. ClownPierce, the deadly clown with his piercing gaze and unmatched spear work, never backed down from a fight.
"Why not?" Flame typed in the group chat. "Let's battle. My arena. No holds barred. It's fun, and honestly, nothing interesting is happening right now."
Wemmbu grinned at his screen, his dragon-like tail flicking in anticipation. He equipped his netherite armor, slung his heavy mace over his shoulder, and strapped on his elytra. ClownPierce simply replied with a clown emoji and coordinates.
Flame's arena was a masterpiece: a massive coliseum carved into a mountain, surrounded by lava moats and obsidian walls. Pillars rose high for elytra maneuvers, and the floor was littered with traps that could be activated mid-fight. The three met in the center, potions bubbling in their inventories, swords and spears at the ready.
"Rules?" Wemmbu asked, his voice a low rumble, horns casting shadows on his face.
"No rules," Flame said with a smirk, his demonic eyes glowing faintly. "Last one standing wins bragging rights."
ClownPierce twirled his spear. "Let's dance."
The fight erupted in a blur. Flame charged first, his sword a whirlwind of precise strikes. He was fast—inhumanly so—and he quickly gained the upper hand, landing critical hits on both opponents with combos that left them reeling. ClownPierce blocked and countered, his spear jabbing like a viper, but Flame dodged effortlessly, popping a totem when Wemmbu swung his mace in a wide arc.
Wemmbu launched into the air, rockets propelling his elytra as he soared above the arena. This was his style—the mace-elytra combo that made him a terror. He dove like a dragon in flight, mace smashing down with thunderous force. The impact cratered the ground, sending shockwaves that knocked Flame off balance. Wemmbu followed up with rapid dives, his half-dragon strength amplifying each blow. Scales shimmered on his arms as adrenaline surged, giving him a momentary lead. He clipped ClownPierce with a glancing hit, stealing a heart, then turned on Flame, forcing him back toward the lava edge.
For a brief moment, Wemmbu was on top—his aerial dominance turning the tide. "Not bad for a half-breed, huh?" he taunted, grinning fiercely.
But ClownPierce wasn't called the deadliest for nothing. He anticipated Wemmbu's next dive, sidestepping at the last second and thrusting his spear upward. It pierced Wemmbu's armor, knocking him off his high horse—literally sending him tumbling from the sky. Wemmbu crashed hard, losing momentum, his elytra wings folding awkwardly.
Before Wemmbu could recover, ClownPierce was on him. In a swift, brutal move, he grabbed Wemmbu from behind, one arm locking around his chest, the other pressing the tip of his spear to Wemmbu's throat. Wemmbu's back pressed firmly against ClownPierce's chest, the clown's breath hot against his ear.
"Struggle, and I'll make sure Eggchan pays for it," ClownPierce whispered, his voice low and threatening, laced with that signature menace. "I know where your little friend hides. One wrong move, and he's gone."
Wemmbu froze, a deep growl rumbling in his throat. Eggchan—his closest ally, the one person he truly cared about protecting. The threat hit harder than any mace blow. His muscles tensed, but he didn't fight back. Not yet.
FlameFrags had been watching from the sidelines, catching his breath after Wemmbu's onslaught. A sly grin spread across his face. This was getting interesting. He approached slowly, his demonic aura intensifying, eyes fixed on the pinned half-dragon.
Wemmbu growled again as Flame got closer. When Flame was near enough, he casually kicked Wemmbu's feet further apart, forcing his stance wider for better control. Then Flame stepped in even closer, sandwiching Wemmbu between himself and ClownPierce. Flame's body pressed against Wemmbu's front, his hands resting possessively on Wemmbu's hips.
"Look at you," Flame murmured, voice dripping with amusement. "The mighty half-dragon, caught like this."
Wemmbu snarled, trying to twist away, but ClownPierce's grip tightened, the spear pricking his skin. "Let go," he demanded, voice rough.
Flame chuckled. "To make things more interesting... why don't we turn this fight into something else?"
Wemmbu's eyes widened slightly, catching the implication. He growled louder, a mix of anger and embarrassment flushing his scaled cheeks. "I don't bottom. And I won't. Get off me."
ClownPierce leaned in closer, lips brushing Wemmbu's ear. "We can change that."
The words sent a shiver down Wemmbu's spine—not entirely from fear. Flame's hands slid up his sides, teasing the edges of his armor, while ClownPierce held him immobile. The arena felt smaller now, the lava's heat mirroring the tension building between them.
Wemmbu groaned, frustration boiling over. He tried to walk away, shifting his weight forward, but ClownPierce yanked him back hard, pulling him flush against his chest again. Wemmbu let out a involuntary whine—a sound he rarely made, vulnerable and raw.
"Please," he muttered, the word foreign on his tongue. He didn't usually beg, didn't say please for anything. But this... "Don't do this. Not now."
Flame tilted his head, exchanging a glance with ClownPierce. "Why not? You're the one who showed up ready to fight."
"I have important things this week," Wemmbu grumbled, his growl softening into reluctance. "Can't afford to... not be able to walk around properly."
ClownPierce's chuckle was dark. "Smart choice."
They didn't push further—no penetration, no full act. That was Wemmbu's line, and surprisingly, they respected it. The threat to Eggchan hung in the air, but it was more leverage than intent now. Instead, the "punishment" turned teasing, intimate.
Flame's lips found Wemmbu's neck, kissing along the scales there, while his hands roamed under the armor plates. ClownPierce released the spear, opting to tilt Wemmbu's head back for a deep, demanding kiss. Wemmbu resisted at first, growling into it, but then... he kissed back. Fiercely, accepting his role in this twisted dynamic. He was the bottom here, in this stupid, heated flirting situation they'd stumbled into.
Minutes blurred into a haze of touches and whispers. Flame's demonic heat pressed against him from the front, ClownPierce's steady strength from behind. Wemmbu's whines turned to reluctant moans as they explored boundaries without crossing the one he'd set. Kisses deepened—Flame claiming his mouth next, then ClownPierce again, the three of them tangled in a rhythm that was equal parts dominance and desire.
Wemmbu accepted it, his half-dragon fire simmering under their control. He kissed back with the same intensity he brought to battles, hands eventually gripping Flame's shoulders, pulling him closer even as he grumbled protests.
Wemmbu stood rigid between them, breath coming in short, frustrated huffs. Flame’s mouth found his first—hot, demanding, tasting faintly of smoke and victory. Wemmbu growled low in his throat but didn’t pull away. Instead, after a stubborn second, he kissed back, sharp and reluctant, teeth grazing Flame’s lip in warning.
ClownPierce tilted Wemmbu’s head back with a firm hand on his jaw, claiming the next kiss slower, deeper, tongue sliding in like he already owned the space. Wemmbu made a small, involuntary sound—half whine, half surrender—and let it happen. His scaled hands fisted in Flame’s shirt, not pushing, just holding on.
Flame’s fingers traced the edge of Wemmbu’s armor, slipping under to brush warm skin and harder scales along his sides. ClownPierce pressed closer from behind, lips dragging down the side of Wemmbu’s neck, nipping where dragon hide met human softness. Wemmbu shuddered, wings twitching uselessly against his back.
They took turns kissing him until his protests dissolved into quiet, ragged breathing. Flame licked into his mouth again while ClownPierce sucked a faint mark just below his ear. Wemmbu let them—didn’t fight, didn’t run—just stood there and accepted it, cheeks flushed dark under faint scales, body tense but pliant.
When they finally eased off, lips swollen and breaths mingling, Wemmbu only muttered, “This is still stupid,” voice rough and wrecked.
Flame smirked against his jaw. “Yeah. But you liked it.”
ClownPierce gave one last slow kiss to the corner of Wemmbu’s mouth. “Next time you won’t even pretend to complain.”
Wemmbu just growled softly and shoved past them both, elytra snapping open as he launched into the sky—leaving the arena, the heat, and the taste of them behind.
For now.